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nico-di-genova · 1 month

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Make Me Like Anything

Summary: Alex doesn't like Halloween, Pato is determined to change his mind. AKA: playboy bunny Palex

Dedicated to @raapija, because without Mari giving me a deadline this might never have seen the light of day.

Warnings: NSFW, this was meant to be PWP, it just spiraled away from me.

AO3 Link

Halloween, to Alex, has always seemed like a largely nonsensical holiday. Maybe because he’d never been allowed to celebrate it much in the first place – not to the extent that he found most people did, once he was old enough to move away from home and gain a new perspective. “Dressing up” as a kid had been largely limited to what he could make on his own out of discarded scraps of cardboard and tinfoil. He’d been a battery one year, a traffic light the next, and both times he had come home with a meager supply of candy and been made to count it out so he could learn to ration it appropriately.

Alex is old enough now to buy his own candy, keeps his house stocked with sugary snacks ferreted away in the cabinets for when a sweet tooth inevitably hits. He doesn’t need to don a cheaply made costume and hunt the streets for it, wouldn’t be allowed to at his grown age anyway. And most of the adult activities associated with the holiday aren’t activities he much likes engaging in. Parties, loud and dark and filled with people whose faces are hidden behind macabre masks, are not really his scene. Alex isn’t big on horror, wasn’t allowed to watch the genre for most of his life, and he hardly likes being crammed into a room full of people when their faces aren’t dripping fake blood.

The problem is, like with a lot of things in their relationship, Pato holds an exact opposite opinion.

“What do you mean you don’t like Halloween?” the man had asked, when summer was beginning to tip into fall. The leaves on the trees had just begun to curl in on themselves from the slight chill that had crept its way into Indiana.

Alex, wearing a hoodie, hands stuffed in the pocket, had walked beside Pato as they made their way through his neighborhood. Pato had taken the dogs’ leashes, Brunner and Norbi pulling eagerly, because Pato never gave them the command to stop. He was stumbling along behind them in a rush to keep up. Alex, long legs and long stride, did not face this same problem.

“I just don’t like it,” he had shrugged.

The house that had prompted the conversation, already decked out with ghosts and fake skeletons littering the yard, was left behind them. Alex’s house didn’t have any decorations yet, because it was only the end of August, and he wasn’t insane. He’d put them out closer to October, and even then they’d be sparse.

“But it’s Halloween,” Pato pressed.

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’? It should be exactly your thing, Rossi.”

“What? Because of my cheery personality and lovely disposition?”

He’d been told this before, by friends and family alike, that because the dark holiday matched his mood it should be one he loved. They were always shocked to learn Thanksgiving was the holiday he preferred, namely for the labor of it. The cooking, the preparation, the order to how it all proceeded, he preferred that to the chaos of a night founded on sheer unpredictability and secrets happening in the dark. Trick or treat, and Alex was never in control of which he was going to get. At least with Thanksgiving he knew there would always be three things: turkey, football, and a fight between family members who hadn’t seen each other in a year to keep things interesting. Dependability, predictability, that’s what Alex preferred, and Halloween had little.

It made sense for Pato though, who lived for chaos in all its forms. Last minute flights booked hastily as an afterthought, cars bought because he desired the rush of a new toy, money spent on a whim, while Alex watched him swipe his card with an increasing sense of dread. He couldn’t act on impulse the way Pato did, wasn’t made for it, unless he was solidly sat behind the wheel of a racecar – then it was all impulse, drilled into him from a young age, his senses hammered into reliability.

Even this, Pato here in a brief break between races, had been planned last minute. One second Pato was complaining on Facetime about how much he missed Alex, the next he was boarding a flight to Indiana. Alex wasn’t sure if Pato’s family liked him very much, was less sure after he indirectly cut into their vacation time with him.

Pato bumps into him, a not so subtle jab for his attention.

“I bet I could make you like Halloween,” he says, smirking, nearly tripping over Norbi when the dog pauses in his straight-line pace to double back and jump at Alex, twisting the leash across Pato’s legs in the process.

He leans down to pet the corgi, and then Brunner because the doodle doesn’t like to share his toys, let alone Alex – the impacts of being an only child.

“I doubt it,” he says, scratching behind Brunner’s ears, and then Norbi’s, stuck in a cycle because the dogs seem to be fighting for his affection.

Pato scoffs, “I’m very good at making people like things.”

“Making people like you, you mean.” Sponsors, fans, Alex – Pato draws them all in with an effortless magnetism. Not his dog though, Norbi is hardly paying him a bit of mind.

The mock affront that Pato puts on is cute, all open mouth and raised eyebrows, the scoff he lets out is comical, “No. I mean, yes. But I’m a good salesman! I sell things all the time!”

“Yeah, your Electrolit sales are through the roof.”

“Exactly-!”

“The Mission tortillas are flying off the shelves. Because you pitch them so well, of course.”

“Rossi!” Pato’s voice goes all high-pitched when he’s indignant, Alex likes getting him to this point, because he gets defensive in a way he rarely is. He smiles to himself, hides it when he ducks his head to pet Brunner, kneeling on the concrete to better reach the dog. His shirt is going to be covered in dog hair, the corgi’s more than Brunner’s, because Norbi keeps jumping up on him in an endlessly energetic ball of fluff.

“Whatever,” Pato pouts, “I mean it though. Halloween with me will be fun.”

Alex likes that Pato is already anticipating being with him for the pseudo-holiday, likes that he doesn’t ask, but instead has inserted himself into Alex’s life with all the ease of a wrecking ball. The presumption of it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it usually would, because Pato has a way of smoothing over the more brunt elements of his personality with a syrupy sweet grin and a laugh that makes it so that Alex forgets why he was rankled in the first place.

“Sure. Give it a go, O’Ward,” he challenges, already sure that this is an area where Pato will fail. Alex does not like Halloween, he never will. He doubts Pato O’Ward will change that.

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

They are late.

Alex watches the time tick by on his watch, sponsor provided, and always just on the side of too expensive for his taste. James’ house is only ten minutes down the road, max, but Alex hates being late. Even if everyone will be too drunk to notice them arriving past the stated invite time, and even though James has assured him it’s fine, he cannot help but to feel his agitation grow. Schedules are important to Alex, he lives his life by him, and late to James’ party means out later than he intended, means up late for his workout tomorrow. Like a domino effect, he can see his perfectly coordinated calendar falling with each second that passes.

All for a Halloween event he hardly wanted to attend. His one concession had been that he wouldn’t wear a costume, no more than the velvet black bunny ears Pato had slid on his head before he darted his way up the stairs. Alex had pulled them off immediately, had them resting in his lap where he was picking at the fabric with anxious fingers, his other hand tangled in the coarse fur of Brunner, who was snoring on the couch beside him.

The news was playing on mute on the tv, weatherman rambling about the projected first bit of snowfall heading their way. Alex watched him gesture at the projected clouds on the screen behind him, focusing on the way the guy pointed with energetic poise, trying to distract himself from the increasing tapping of his foot on the carpeted floor.

Eventually, the anxiety won out.

“Pato!” he calls, leaning back on the couch to shout up the stairs. Pato had locked himself in the master bathroom, kicked Alex out in the process, told him he would be ready in a few minutes. That had been a little over an hour ago. “What are you doing, sewing the damn costume?!”

Pato’s reply is distant, muffled by the space and the closed doors between them.

“One second!” “You’re out of seconds!”

“Almost done!”

“We’re late!”

The argument was a well-trodden one by this point. Alex could almost play it on a loop in his head. Their perception of time differed, in that Pato had none, not outside of a car anyway. To him, late to a party was on time, to Alex it was enough to have tension building in his gut. He kept waiting for a text from James, despite knowing it wouldn’t come, because the start time was a suggestion, but Alex had wanted to adhere to it anyway.

His grip on the bunny ears was tight enough that he could feel the plastic of the headband creaking in his grip, threatening to snap. For a moment he considered it, figured it might just get him out of the night altogether. It was the shuffle of noise upstairs that eased some of the building frustration within him, the opening of the bedroom door and Pato’s footsteps on the stairs that helped him release the breath he’d been holding.

His footsteps are distinct, accompanied by the eager tapping of Norbi’s nails on the wood. They both needed a trim, he and Brunner both, Alex should add the groomers to his list of Sunday chores.

“Dude-“ he starts, complaint about the tardiness stuck in his throat when he twists around on the couch and sees Pato standing at the foot of the stairs. Any words he may have been forming leave, get lost somewhere between his mouth and the line of sight his eyes have taken.

“Yes?” Pato asks, voice lilting in the teasing way that Alex is used to hearing in the bedroom – rarely in the open space of his foyer where Pato is leaning casually against the banister of the staircase.

Alex stares him, at the substantial amount of exposed skin that his presence has brought. Broad shoulders, the wide expanse of his chest, all just barely covered by the black strapless bodysuit he wears. Alex’s ‘costume’ a t-shirt and jeans accessorized by the bunny ears Pato is making him wear, suddenly feels comically pathetic – more so than it already was.

“Are you-,” he starts to ask before the words catch in his throat all over again. Because yes, Pato is wearing makeup. Alex doesn’t even need to ask the question, he can see the eyeliner applied around Pato’s eyes, smokey and a little messy. It’s not much, confined to his eyes and the gloss that’s shining wetly on his lips, but it’s enough to make Alex choke a little on the breath stuck in his throat.

“What the fuck?” He manages to get out.

Pato grins, Cheshire wide, “You like it?”

Alex is not usually lost for words, not of his own volition. Normally, his lack of speech comes from choice, never from the ability being shocked out of him.

“It’s good, right?”

As if to tease him further, Pato bounces up on his tiptoes, turns to the side so Alex can just barely catch the sight of the white puff ball that’s meant to be a tail affixed to the bodysuit just above his ass. His thighs are as much on display as his chest, just as firm and solid as the rest of his body. Alex knows the feel of them beneath his hands, is used to grabbing Pato and sliding him down the bed, used to lifting one of them up to rest on his shoulder. He is not used to having to look at so much of Pato when they are not in equal amounts of undress.

“You’re-,” again the words refuse to come, again he swallows.

Halloween costumes are not meant to be this, Alex doesn’t know much about the holiday, but he does know this. Masked killers and comedic plays-on-words, that’s what guys are meant to dress as. James in a hot dog costume comes to mind. Pato is not in a hot dog costume, he’s barely in a costume. He’s barely in clothes. He’s in a one piece bathing suit with a fucking bunny tail.

“You okay, Rossi?” Pato asks, with all the air of someone who knows Alex is very distinctly not okay. He comes up to the back of the couch, leans over it so he’s inches away from where Alex is twisted around to face him. A strand of his hair falls free from where he’s pushed it back, curls over his forehead. Alex wants to pull it, wants to wrap an arm around the back of Pato’s neck and pull the man down onto the couch. Hinchcliffe party be damned.

“Earth to Alex,” he sing-songs.

“Fuck,” Alex breathes. This close he can see how messy Pato’s makeup really is, applied with an amateur’s hand, but somehow hotter for it. Alex used to hide a playboy magazine under his bed, stolen from his friend’s house and tucked between the box spring and mattress. He knows the look Pato was going for and finds that it’s exceedingly better in person – more than it had ever been on those sticky pages.

Pato’s smile widens, “Maybe later. C’mon Rossi, we’re gonna be late. Remember?”

The fucking tease.

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

The ride to James’ house is exceedingly tense. Alex grips the steering wheel so tight he’s half afraid the leather will be molded with the shape of his fingers when he finally removes them. His eyes don’t leave the road, so locked in that it’s like he’s doing 220 on an oval. The suburban roads of Carmel don’t require this level of attention, not with their 15 mph average speed limit, but Alex is afraid that if he looks away for even a moment that he will end up in someone’s mailbox.

Pato’s spread thighs in his passengers seat are an open invitation, one that Alex would normally accept. He’s used to keeping one hand on the wheel, the other on Pato’s leg, but never when Pato’s exposed this much. The feel of Pato’s warm skin against his palm, no clothing to act as a barrier between them, it would send him into a tailspin.

It would have him parking the Silverado in someone’s driveway and fucking Pato in the truck bed, Hinchcliffe Halloween party be damned.

“I’m going to kill you,” Alex grits out through clenched teeth when Pato shifts, props one foot up on the seat and exposes the muscle of his inner thigh. He’s taken off his shoes, black Nike’s that clash with his whole ensemble, because as much as he’s trying to push Alex he knows better than to dirty up the freshly detailed interior of his truck.

Pato, playing at innocence, looks up from where he’d been scrolling through his phone. The dim light of the screen illuminates his face in the dark of the cab, casts shadows across the makeup, catches on the shine of his lip gloss.

“What?” He asks, while Alex casts him a sideways glance and clenches his jaw tighter.

“You know what,” he growls, grip on the wheel going white knuckled.

“Is it turning you on this much?” Pato asks, sounding genuinely surprised, genuinely thrilled at the realization that his costume is doing more damage than he had originally thought it would.

Alex slams to a stop at a stop sign so hard that they both lurch forward with the force. He takes a second to breathe, tries to clear his head of Pato on his knees, looking at him, eyelids smeared black with eyeliner. It takes him a significant bit of time.

“Baby-“ Pato starts.

“Don’t.” Alex warns, the pet name going straight to his cock that’s already half-hard in his jeans and aching with the pressure.

He counts to ten, breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, like he’s employing the tactics used to deflect an anxiety attack. He can feel Pato’s smug satisfaction, it’s rolling off of him in waves, seen in the smirk he catches when he glances back at Pato one last time before gunning it down the last stretch of street to James’ place. It’s late enough that all the trick-or-treaters have wrapped up for the night, confined by bedtimes and age, so he doesn’t have to worry about hitting anyone.

“Don’t forget your ears,” Pato commands when they park, climbing down out of the truck and casting Alex one last look over his shoulder before he’s bounding up to James’ front door. The white of his bunny tail stands out starkly against the black of the bodysuit, calls attention to his ass in a way that has Alex biting back a groan.

He’s not going to survive the night. Becky is going to find him fucking Pato in a closet, hand held over the man’s mouth to muffle any noise. If this is Pato playing with Alex’s self-control, Alex is sure he’s about to find the limits of it.

He forces himself to let go of the steering wheel, flexes his hands a few times to ease out the lingering tension. His shirt is sticking uncomfortably to the undersides of his arms with sweat, clothes feeling too tight already.

God help him.

-----------

“Your boyfriend looks good, man!” Conor yells to be heard over the speaker they’re stood beside.

James has hired a DJ, had the guy bring in professional equipment for his house party that spills from the living room out onto the back lawn. The Hinchcliffe Home for Wayward Drivers is commonly full, but never to levels that Alex can feel the heat of everyone crammed together. He’s steered clear of the crush of bodies on the makeshift dance floor that occupies where James’ couch once was, content to nurse his beer on the outskirts where pockets of AC can still be found. Pato does not share his need to stay cool, perfectly content to find himself in the middle of the dance floor, where he was practically grinding on Becky Hinchcliffe, dressed in a matching playboy bunny get up. Alex hadn’t been aware he was agreeing to a double couples themed costume when Pato had slid the bunny ears on his head, not until he’d seen James wearing a duplicate pair.

“What the hell, man?” He’d asked, feeling betrayed at not being told, still accepting the Bud Light the man offered him, before being ushered into the house.

He lost the bunny ears around the same time he lost James, now stood in his t-shirt and jeans with his arms crossed over his chest and tried not to make his staring obvious. He was failing.

Conor told him as much when he said, “You gonna get in there?” He nudged Alex with an elbow.

Alex shoved him back with a press of his arm against Conor’s side, sending him stumbling away. He didn’t justify Conor with an answer, too busy staring at the way Pato’s ass was half hanging out of his costume, the way the top had slipped down his chest with movement and sweat. Fucking indecent.

“It’s a good look for him,” Conor presses. It’s what he’s good at, especially when he’s drunk and the last smidge of a filter he possesses on a good day falls away. Alex can normally tune him out, finds it hard where Pato is concerned. He’s a lot like Brunner, he’s not good with sharing. Watching Pato grind on his best friend’s wife is sending waves of jealously through him. He has nowhere to direct it, other than at Conor in his zombie make-up, with his mixed drink spilling tendrils of smoke down his arm from the dried ice in the concoction. James had hired a bartender too, because he was anything but unprepared when it came to a party and a good time.

“Surprised he didn’t dress you up like Hefner.”

“Shut up, man,” He snipes, rolling his eyes and grinding his teeth in a way he knows is going to make his jaw ache. Becky’s got a hand on Pato’s hip, Pato’s got an arm around her neck, he’s leaned close enough to her that there’s no space for anything to get between them. Their twin bunny ears are getting tangled together.

“Touchy,” Conor says, holding his hands up in surrender, drink sloshing in the clear party cup and spilling in a sticky tendril down his arm. “You know, if you want him that bad, you could probably just go dance with him.”

The heat of all those bodies alone is enough to keep him far-removed from the dance floor, the fact that he’d have to be nearly in the center of it to reach Pato is another. He likes his corner by the speaker, half stood in the fake cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. At least from here he can keep an eye on the front door and Pato, monitor the exit and his increasingly inebriated boyfriend.

But he can’t explain his anxiety about large gatherings to Conor so instead he settles for, “Fuck off.”

Conor does not. He’s never been a very good listener.

“I’m just saying, if you want to get grinded on by your boyfriend it’s not going to happen over here.”

Alex thinks about shoving him again, settles for glaring at him with all the aggravation he can muster. His grip on the bunny ears clenched in his fist goes tighter. They were giving him a headache, or maybe the music was, or the way he couldn’t seem to clear the tension from his jaw. Pato’s plan to make him love Halloween had started off strong but was falling apart with each bad remix the DJ attempted. He’d already heard Michael Jackson’s Thriller two times in the twenty minutes he’d been standing here. Pato had danced to it both times, not the actual dance, he and Becky were too drunk for any sort of coordinated choreography.

Alex is on his second beer, hardly feels the buzz of it. James had offered the guest bedroom for them to crash in, but Alex was craving the comfort of his own bed, keeping himself sober so he didn’t have to fuck Pato in the room right down the hall from James and Becky. He’d already spent half a year muffling moans into the pillow when he lived with them, sleeping in that exact bed, jerking off and feeling guilty every time he came. It was one of the motivators to finding his own place, the shame of having to wash his sheets while Becky watched him load the washer from the kitchen becoming too much.

He takes another swig from his drink, watches Pato tilt his head back to laugh, how it exposes the long column of his neck in the strobing lights James has hung from the ceiling – or that the DJ’s hung, fuck it if Alex knows. Purple and green lighting catching on the sweat coating Pato’s skin, the slick expanse of his chest. Alex’s mouth goes dry, his dick twitches uncomfortably in his jeans.

“Jesus, he’s really got you whipped, huh?” Conor says.

Alex tunes him out, doesn’t care how intensely he’s staring or that he’s been caught at it. Pato, in the brief glimpses of him that Alex catches through the throng of people surrounding him, looks sinfully good. He looks like all the parts of Halloween that his parents warned him about, something sent to tempt him away from the light. Alex finds himself wanting to be lead, doesn’t care where it lands him.

He suddenly understands why his childhood experiences of Halloween had been largely confined to the one block of houses he was allowed to trick-or-treat at. He understands the strict curfew he was given, his dad trailing him as he walked to each doorway and held out his plastic shopping bag to be filled with candy. Of course they wanted him indoors and in bed before the night took a turn, and by the time he was old enough to sneak out of the house, he never once considered it. By then he was being homeschooled, little in the way of friends, or invites to parties. If this was what he was missing, Alex understands why his parents had fought so hard to hide it from him.

Pato turns, one hand held above his head as he waves it along to the music, the other trailing a line down his body, from his chest to his stomach, pausing when he catches sight of Alex staring at him. He smiles, wide, teasing. The bunny ears have gone lopsided on his head, tilting toward the left and making him look messier than he already did. Alex is thinking about later tonight, picturing how he’s going to lay Pato out beneath him and strip him slowly, if he manages to hold onto his willpower for that long.

He thinks he’s going to tell him to keep the ears on, likes the image of them sliding from Pato’s head with the force Alex is going to fuck him later.

-----------

It’s nearing one by the time Pato tires himself out dancing.

Alex is sat in the backyard, lounging on the couch that has been moved from the living room to the covered patio. He’s discussing the merits of pool ownership with James, the upkeep and the cost of it all, when Pato makes an appearance. He gets the brush of a hand along his shoulder as a warning before Pato is coming around to the front of the couch and depositing himself in Alex’s lap. He’s heavier than he looks, more muscle than anything else. Alex grunts under the weight of him.

“Jesus, Pato,” he grumbles, just barely managing to pass his beer to James, who takes it without question, finishes it off as he eyes Alex over the top of the can. James hasn’t removed his bunny ears yet, wears them like he’s trying to guilt Alex into putting his back on – of the four of them, Alex is the only one who’s ditched the ensemble. He’s been asked five times already what his costume was meant to be, James replying for him, ‘Buzzkill,’ while Alex not so subtlety flicked him off.

Pato’s lips ghost along his neck where he nuzzles up against him, breath warm and smelling distinctly of alcohol. He’s sweat most of it out though. His speech is clear when he whines, “Want you to fuck me,” quiet enough that only Alex hears it.

Alex coughs, shifts in his seat, regrets it when the movement shifts Pato’s weight In his lap. Pato’s arms are slung around his neck, fingers inching their way beneath the collar of his shirt. The feel of his nails barely there, just a light brush against his chilled skin, faint scratches along the top notch of his spine. Pato runs hot, and while Alex normally prefers the chill, would be perfectly content in his jacket in the October air, the heat roiling off of him in waves is welcome.

The look James keeps shooting him is less so.

“Pato-,” he starts, tries to shift again. His hands go for Pato’s hips, plans to hoist the man off of him going out the window when Pato grinds down on him. “Pato-“

Pato’s lips against the shell of his ear, his teeth nipping at the cartilage, are unexpected. Alex chokes on his words.

“Please, Rossi.”

“Fuck,” Alex grunts out, knows James hears him, because the man’s eyebrow arches obviously. He grins, slyly, like he’s getting anything on Alex here. Alex would be mortified, if it were anyone but James witnessing this. They’ve seen each other naked, shared a bed on nights that James didn’t have his own bus at a track, nights when the couch wasn’t cutting it. He’s woken up with his morning wood pressed against the curve of James’ ass. Neither one of them spoke of it, but he’s witnessed Alex in far more humiliating situations than this. Doesn’t mean he wants James to watch as Pato teases him in his backyard in a playboy bunny costume. Some things he doesn’t want to share with the man, Pato being one of them.

“Babe-“ he tries again, muffling a moan with his teeth digging into his bottom lip when Pato grinds on him again. His jeans are too tight, Pato’s weight on top of him too much. And there’s so much skin, Pato’s whole chest basically exposed by the costume that’s slid further down, his thighs that he’s got bracketed on either side of Alex. Alex’s hands stay on his hips because the feel of the costume’s fabric is the only thing keeping him sane.

Pato leans back, gives him enough space to breathe in air that isn’t heavy with the heat of him. His eyes go to the top of Alex’s head.

“Your ears,” he states, frowning slightly. His lips have been wiped clear of the gloss, lips only wet with his own spit when he licks across them.

The costume ears are the least of his concerns. He’s so hard in his jeans it aches, he can feel James staring at him, see other people around the party beginning to notice Pato’s half-dressed state and how he’s deposited himself in Alex’s lap. The attention only grows when Pato slides the ears off of his own head, and then hooks them over the back of Alex’s ears. Alex can feel that they’re lopsided, feel himself growing red when Pato adjusts them with fumbling hands. He maintains eye contact the whole time, lips slightly parted, tongue poking out between his teeth. They’re both flushed, Alex from the contact, Pato from the dancefloor. The red of Pato’s cheeks bleeds down his neck, to his chest, Alex follows the spreading expanse of it. When he looks back up Pato is still staring at him, eyes gone dark in the dim lighting from string lights James has strung along the roof of the patio.

“They look good on you,” Pato says, genuine, not teasing in the way most people have tonight.

Alex can’t help but grumble, “They look stupid.”

“It’s Halloween, baby. Everyone looks stupid.”

‘Not you,’ Alex thinks, doesn’t voice it, because he doesn’t want to stroke Pato’s ego right now – not when he’s got a lapful of him and Pato’s already proven he doesn’t mind the attention tonight. Besides, he’s too busy studying a curl of Pato’s hair where it’s fallen across his forehead and stuck with sweat. Too busy resisting the urge to reach his hand up and brush it away, trail his thumb along the messy eyeliner that’s gone from the corner of Pato’s eye to his temple, smear it further.

“Elba helped me do it,” Pato says, like he can tell that’s what Alex’s attention is most caught on. “That’s why I took so long. The facetime call kept going out. My stupid hands were too shaky.”

Alex finds that hard to believe. Pato is known for a lot of things, unsteady fingers is not one of them – so sure on the wheel when he executes a perfect save.

“It looks dumb-“

“No it doesn’t,” Alex interjects, quick. It’s messy and chaotic, and it’s not perfect, but that’s exactly why Alex likes it. He would never have had to confidence to wear the outfit Pato was, to sport the makeup he did, to dance the way he had. He’s too pent up, too aware of his own body and his own thoughts and never able to get out of his own head. He envies Pato’s ability to act on impulse sometimes. Putting on makeup for the first time just because he’s trying to impress Alex, because he wants to try something new for the simple pleasure of it. Alex could never have been half as bold as he was tonight. He won’t let Pato begin to doubt himself now.

“It’s hot, I promise. So hot, baby.”

His hand on Pato’s hip tightens, a brief squeeze, before he’s bringing it up to rest on the back of Pato’s neck and pulling the man down to kiss him. Despite the lip gloss being gone, Alex can still taste faint traces of it, sticky sweet and mixing with the lingering remnants of tequila when he licks into Pato’s mouth.

Pato moans against him, hands resting against Alex’s chest and fisting around the fabric of his t-shirt. It’s damp with sweat, with the beer Alex had spilled on it when he’d been speaking emphatically about the proper chemical balance of a pool to James earlier – James who had made himself scarce. Alex could feel the difference in weight in the couch beside him, knew his friend wasn’t there anymore. He’d apologize to him tomorrow, for practically dry humping Pato on his couch during what was meant to be a mature Halloween party. Tonight, he didn’t care about niceties.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks, when they manage to break apart for breath.

Pato nods where they’re foreheads are pressed together, looking at Alex through heavy lashes and with lips bitten red.

“Please,” he begs, like he’s been waiting for Alex to suggest the idea.

Alex is going to show him just how much the makeup, the costume, Pato’s easy confidence has been driving him crazy.

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

Alex gets him spread out on the bed easy enough, Pato’s danced himself into a state of borderline exhaustion. He doesn’t protest when Alex picks him up in the foyer, just wraps his legs around Alex’s waist, lets Alex press him against the wall of the entryway and kiss him senseless. Alex’s arms strain under the weight of him, he figures he’ll count it as part of his workout for the week. If his trainer asks why he’s so sore, he’ll say he was doing reps with the weights in his garage.

There’s a moment, before he lays Pato out on the bed, when he’s still carrying him up the stairs and to the bedroom, where he half thinks about how dirty their sheets are about to get. He adds laundry to his list of Sunday chores. And then he drops Pato onto the mattress.

Pato bounces, reaches for Alex, pulls him down with his fingers looped through his beltloops in the same movement he lays back on the sheets. Alex goes, easy and pliant and oh so eager. He’s been holding out all night, letting Pato tease him and toy with him, thinking about all the ways he was going to take him apart in retaliation. Pato’s got a glint in his eye, the barest hint of a smirk, that tells Alex that was his exact intent.

Pato’s been putting on a show with the sole purpose of entertaining Alex, gone to lengths to ensure Alex knew that. He says as much when he’s got his head propped up on the pillows, one hand raised to rest on the back of Alex’s neck, fingers ghosting featherlight along the stubble short hair at the base of his skull. It’s a sensitive spot for Alex, sends a shudder down his spine. Pato knows this too, it’s exactly why he’s doing it.

“Did you like my costume?” he teases.

Alex has one hand resting on the mattress, propping himself above Pato, the other tracing the exposed line of his collarbone up to the hollow of his throat, feeling Pato’s heartbeat skip a beat when he cups his palm around his neck. If this is a night of playing with one another, Alex won’t be left out. He knows Pato likes the warm weight of a hand around his throat, the threat of oxygen being lost without it ever being fulfilled.

He leans down, until his lips are just barely brushing along Pato’s jaw, up to his ear.

“I’m gonna rip the damn thing off of you,” he promises.

Pato’s breath hitches, Alex can feel the stutter of it against his hand.

He swallows the gasp Pato lets out when he leans down to kiss him. It’s not the gentle kiss they share on easy mornings, as soft and easy as the sun peeking through the blinds. It’s the crushingly violent kiss of two men who have been toying with something the whole night, walking the fine line between decency and fucking in the bathroom for the quick thrill of it.

Alex bites Pato’s bottom lip, nips at it enough that Pato keens and twist beneath him. And then licks at the chapped skin with a quick swipe of his tongue. He takes the last lingering bits of the lip gloss with him, tastes the makeup when it mixes with his and Pato’s spit.

The grip Pato’s kept on the back of his neck has gone desperate, fingernails just starting to scratch at the sensitive skin. Alex arches into the touch.

“I need-“ Pato pants, in the brief moments where they break apart. He’s been thrusting up against Alex with a desperation that’s rapidly approaching frantic.

He’s quickly silenced by Alex’s reply of, “I know.” Before he’s leaning back in, slipping his tongue into Pato’s mouth to keep him quiet. He uses one hand to pin Pato’s hips to the mattress, makes sure there’s no chance of him gaining the relief he’s so desperately seeking. It’s a bit like payback, revenge for the knifes edge that Pato’s kept him on all night.

“Rossi,” Pato begs, sounds so pretty as he’s doing it.

Alex bites at his lip again, and then commands, “Wait.”

Pato is obedient, doesn’t chase Alex when he pulls away. The bunny ears had fallen somewhere in their journey from downstairs to here, put back on Pato’s head when they left the party and slipped off from the force of Alex slamming him up against the wall. He finds them in the hall, counts it as a small blessing that Brunner and Norbi have stayed sleeping downstairs and hadn’t gotten to them yet.

Pato is still waiting for him when he gets back to the room, propped up on one elbow. The position accentuates the line of his body, draws attention to his exposed thighs. The top of the costume has given up on trying to stay up, has rolled down beneath his chest. Pato’s made no move to fix it. He’s looking at Alex with eyes shining in the lamplight, pupils dark and wanting.

Alex figures two can play at this game, makes a show of working his way back up the bed. His hand traces the line of Pato’s leg, mouth following behind it. When he reaches Pato’s thigh he bites at it, just to feel the way Pato jumps beneath him. The feel of the bodysuit is like liquid, cheap costume silk that slides against his fingers when he follows the seam up Pato’s side, kissing along his hip, just below the exposed skin of his pectoral, making his way back up to Pato’s shoulder.

Pato’s breath hitches with each ghost of warm breath along exposed skin, each touch that Alex gives him. By the time Alex gets to the line of his neck, licking along the sweat-sharp skin, Pato’s gone. Alex takes one look at him, slightly parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes, and knows he’s slipped into that space that Alex is always aiming to take him. The brown of his iris is a barely there ring, almost completely swallowed by dilated black.

“You’re gonna keep these on,” he tells the man, slides the bunny ears back onto his head with careful fingers. Pato leans into the contact, the feel of Alex’s fingers tangling with his hair, and then nods. “Don’t let them come off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good boy.”

Pato whines, Alex silences the sound with another kiss.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he promises, “Gonna take care of you.”

Contrary to his promise, he doesn’t rip the costume off. It’s cheap, would give easy under his hands if he wanted to, but the force of it isn’t what Alex wants right now. Pato’s been so good to him, did all this for him, he plans to show him how appreciative he is of that. He’s careful when he slides it from Pato’s body, works it down over his hips, his thighs, and then tosses it off the side of the bed.

Pato, fully naked, spread out beneath him, flushes. All confidence and easy bravado until he’s got the full attention of Alex studying every inch of him, and then it falters. Alex knows he’s prone to bouts of self-consciousness where his body is concerned, lingering remnants of childhood insecurity making itself known when he’s got nothing to hide behind.

Alex strips off his shirt, throws it in the same general direction he did Pato’s bodysuit, unbuttons his jeans and kicks those off too, tries to level the playing field so Pato doesn’t start to feel so insecure. He also makes sure Pato knows how good he looks, praises him just to see the way the blush spreading across his cheeks deepens.

“You know how insane you’ve been making me?” he asks, leans down to nose along Pato’s jaw, suck at the warm skin of his neck, pressing a kiss to the mole that sits just above his collarbone.

Pato shudders beneath him, “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Alex corrects him, both of them knowing that getting him to this point had been the whole intention of the night.

“No, I’m not.”

Alex keeps working his way down, kisses at another mole dotting the right side of his chest. Pauses only to hold Pato down where he’s started rolling his hips up again, and to speak so that his breath ghosts warm over Pato’s skin.

“I wanted to fuck you on that dancefloor,” he admits, just to hear the way Pato’s breath catches in his throat. “Wanted to rip that damn costume off you and fuck you right there. Show everyone who you belong to.”

Pato’s hand comes up where it had been fisted in the fabric of the comforter, grabs desperately at the back of Alex’s head, like he’s trying to ground himself. Alex kisses just below his sternum, works his way down the line of Pato’s abs, looks up at the man as he does so. Pato’s looking down at him, chest rising and falling with each half-panted breath he draws in through lips Alex has bitten red.

“You could have,” he says, around a groan when Alex licks at his v-line, just barely avoiding his cock that’s hard and twitching against his stomach, “Fucked me, there. I would have let you.”

“I know, but then everyone would know what you sound like moaning my name,” Alex shrugs, looks at Pato as he takes the base of his cock in his hand, “Didn’t feel like sharing that.”

“Alex,” Pato keens when Alex wraps his lips around the head of his cock, licks at the precum beading there. His hand on the back of Alex’s head tenses, like he’s trying to grab for hair that’s not there, being met with rough stubble. Sometimes Alex regrets not trying to let his hair grow out, thinks he would like the pinpricks of pain he would feel if Pato was able to pull at it.

“You can’t- I’m gonna-,” Pato tries, thrusts up on instinct so his cock sinks further into Alex’s waiting mouth. “Please, I don’t want to-.”

Alex pulls off, gives Pato the reprieve he’d been searching for. So maybe they’d been toying with each other for too long, maybe Pato was more gone than he might have originally thought.

“Breathe, baby,” he soothes, sits back on his heels and gives Pato a second to collect his senses. He keeps one hand on his thigh, closer to his knee than to his dick.

“Don’t wanna come,” Pato cries, “not yet.”

“Okay, you’re okay.”

Pato’s young enough, could probably go again if Alex got him off now, but that would require giving him enough time to recover. It’s close to three in the morning, Alex has been exhausted, powering through on the sheer need to sink his cock inside Pato and feel him around him. But at some point the exhaustion is going to win out for both of them.

“Think you can take my fingers?” he asks, which is the wrong thing to say if the way Pato groans is any inclination, cock twitching against his stomach, hard and red and leaking and looking oh so pretty. Alex didn’t think a dick could look pretty, figures it probably wouldn’t if he wasn’t so horny, but Pato’s is – just like the rest of him.

“Yes,” Pato finally pants out, arm thrown over his eyes, jaw tense, “Yeah, just, quickly, please.”

The bunny ears are sliding down his head, resting more on the pillow than they are on him, but Alex still commits the sight to memory. The black of the silk against the white of the pillowcase, the red of Pato’s cheeks when he pulls his arm away and meets Alex’s gaze. Next year Alex thinks he should add the collar and arm cuffs to the ensemble, the black bowtie would look good resting against the hollow of his throat. His eyeliner is smeared further, nearly gone, just faint lingering remnants of kohl at the corners of his eyes.

He’ll need to make sure that gets cleaned away before they fall asleep, figures Pato won’t be thinking about it once Alex is done with him. At least that’s Alex’s goal.

Careful, he leans over Pato. The lube in the nightstand is nearly gone, another thing to add to his list for tomorrow, but there’s enough for tonight. Pato watches him as he grabs it, looks at the line of his arm, follows up until he’s looking at Alex again. Alex leans down long enough to give him a quick kiss, just to taste him, just because he can.

“Keep these on, remember,” he says, flicks at the bent ear of one of the bunny ears while Pato nods beneath him. He’s quick to adjust them, pull them back down on his head while Alex smiles approvingly.

With his other hand he’s been warming the lube, making sure it’s not cold when he coats a finger in it and slides into Pato.

“Ah,” Pato cries out, hand grabbing at Alex’s bicep where he’s propped above him. His grip is tight, just like the rest of him.

“Easy, Pato,” Alex soothes. He waits until Pato opens his clenched shut eyes, until he breathes and some of the tension leaves his body. Because as hard as he is in his boxers, he’s got no intention of rushing Pato into anything.

“Okay?” He asks.

“Okay.”

It’s been a minute since they’ve done this. Pato having only just flown in for Halloween, coming in late last night, so there hadn’t been much time for anything other than a messy hand job in the shower. Pato coming with his head thrown back against Alex’s chest, while Alex categorized the image away into his growing mental folder of expressions he liked on Pato. He’d already added a few more tonight.

Alex pulls his finger out, slides it back in, repeats the motion until Pato’s grip on his arm loosens.

“Second, add a second,” Pato urges, thrusts down like he’s trying to encourage Alex.

Alex complies, slides a second finger in beside his first, works his way up to a third. Eventually the tension in Pato’s expression fades. It’s replaced with the open-mouthed pleasure of someone who’s single thought is on getting off. He’s practically riding Alex’s fingers, moans spilling from him as he arches his back off the mattress. The ears slip back down his head, he doesn’t even seem to notice.

Alex lets him enjoy himself for a minute, content to watch the way he slips further and further into his own pleasure. He manages to slide his boxers off with his free hand, push them below his ass so they end up wrapped around his knees. His own cock his just as hard and leaking as Pato’s when it springs free and rests against his stomach. He’d been so caught up in Pato’s pleasure that he’d been ignoring his own, until the cool air touched his dick and he realized he needed this just as bad.

“Baby,” he chokes out, hand wrapping around the base of his cock, fighting the urge to stroke.

Pato’s eyes blink open slowly at the endearment, find Alex looking at him with pure want and need and barely held-back lust. He whines at the sight of Alex’s dick.

“Can I-?”

“Yes.”

Alex slides his fingers free, lines his dick up with Pato’s hole. Distantly he remembers he was meant to be teasing the man, getting back at him for fucking with him the whole night, but the thought quickly leaves his mind when he slides inside Pato. Any logical thought of the night is quickly replaced by the feeling of Pato’s fingers clutching desperately at his shoulders, trying to drag him down and closer. The pinprick feel of his fingernails digging into Alex’s skin, it’s what he’s been searching for the whole night, grounding and all consuming.

He falls forward and Pato catches him.

“Fuck,” he pants out, once he’s fully inside Pato, enveloped by the warm, tight, heat of him. “Jesus. Fuck.”

“You can move,” Pato says, “Please, move.”

Alex has his forehead resting against Pato’s shoulder, can feel Pato’s arms snaked around him, fingers scratching lightly at his shoulder blades. He hopes Pato leaves marks, hopes they’re still there come morning, hopes when he slides his t-shirt on that he’ll feel the sting of them. The first time he did, he’d spent half the morning apologizing, until eventually Alex admitted to liking it. It made him feel owned, wanted, needed – he’d asked Pato to dig deeper next time. In return, Pato had told him the hickey he’d left on his neck was welcome. Alex made sure he always left them where the collar of his fireproofs would hide them.

Now, Pato presses his nails deeper into Alex’s back, goads him into thrusting forward, hips stuttering. They both moan.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he pants, slides back out until he’s just barely in Pato before thrusting back in.

Pato chokes on whatever reply he’d been crafting. His head falls back on the pillow, bunny ears shifting with the movement, long column of his neck being exposed. Alex takes the moment to suck at the skin at the base of his neck, where his shoulder blade meets his carotid, bites at it so Pato cries out.

His fingers scratch deeper at Alex’s shoulder blades in retaliation. Alex hisses, feels the pain go through him like molten heat.

“Do that again,” he commands, setting a steady rhythm fucking into Pato while he obeys.

The strangled noise that escapes Pato when Alex nails his prostate is loud, enough that Alex finds himself muffling the rest of Pato’s cries with a kiss that swallows it down. Pato lets him slide his tongue into his mouth, commit the taste of him to memory. When he pulls away Pato’s lips are slick with spit, drool dripping down his cheek and trailing down onto the pillow. There are tears just barely beading at the corners of his eyes, when they spill they track a line through the lingering eyeliner.

Alex wipes them away with a trembling pad of his thumb, leans down to kiss another.

Pato nods against his unspoken question of ‘are you okay?’ Alex feels the motion against his lips, kisses Pato’s temple in response.

“Good boy,” he commends, just to hear the way Pato keens at the praise.

“Close,” Pato whimpers. Alex can tell, can feel it. He thrusts back into Pato and feels Pato clench around him in response, feels his fingers as they skitter desperately across his back.

It’s Alex’s permission that tips him over.

“Come, baby. I got you.” Alex wraps a hand around his cock, strokes him the way he knows he likes, swiping his thumb over the head and twisting on the downstroke.

Pato comes with a cry, a shudder running through him. Alex holds him through the whole thing, whispers praises in his ear as he spills across his stomach. He follows along right after, feeling Pato tighten around him, and the tightening of his stomach, just barely managing to pull out before he’s coming and adding to the mess on Pato’s abdomen.

Pato watches him through heavy lidded eyes, lips quirking into an obvious smile, sated and happy and continuing to be a tease when he swipes up the mess of their come with his finger and sucks it into his mouth. The noise that escapes Alex is indecent, a choked off moan that might have been an attempt at Pato’s name.

“Fuck, I love you,” Alex pants when he collapses down on the bed beside Pato, chest heaving, breath still returning to his body. He can already feel all the places he’s going to be sore tomorrow. Maybe he’ll cancel training.

If Pato hears him, he doesn’t respond, nothing more than the twitch of his lips. He’s already closed his eyes, drifted off into that space he goes into after they fuck, all blissed out and heady with it. Alex reaches up to brush a curl of his hair back from his forehead, sweat soaked, and damp to the touch.

“I love you,” he says again, because it’s easy to do so, surprisingly so. The confession is not one that’s ever come to him easy, wasn’t something he ever thought would. But Pato’s still got the bunny ears just barely clinging to his head, lopsided and resting fully on the pillow, but still where Alex placed them.

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

“Do you like Halloween now?” Pato asks the next morning, well – afternoon.

Alex had slept through his alarms, woken to Pato propped up in the bed next to him. His arm was in Pato’s lap, the man tracing Alex’s tattoo, nail following the pattern of the ink on his forearm.

“What?”

“Halloween. Did you like it?” Pato asks again, reaching the end of the pulse line and tracing back up the design until he reaches the pink heart resting along Alex’s vein.

He’s wearing one of Alex’s shirts, some faded thing advertising a local brewery, it’s what Alex had managed to slip him into after cleaning him off last night. Alex can smell his own detergent, his cologne, but beneath it there’s the familiar scent of Pato, mixing with the stench of sex from sheets they still need to clean.

He blinks, wipes at the sleep that’s crusting at the corners of his eyes, tries to get a sense of what time it is. The sunlight through the blinds betray the truth, it’s not the early morning light Alex is used to waking to, but the midday sun that brings a warm heat to the room.

“I missed training,” he grumbles, less of a question, more of a statement. His breath tastes of stale beer, like the sweat he’d licked from Pato last night.

Pato nods.

“Fuck.”

“I texted James, he said to just let you sleep.”

Alex hates when his system is thrown off, when the structure he’s so carefully put into place slips, which is maybe why Pato’s tracing figure eights around his tattoo trying to keep him calm. It’s working, surprisingly. He’s warm, comfortable where his head is resting against Pato’s thigh.

“That okay?” Pato asks.

Alex thinks it through, figures most of the areas he was meant to be working on today he’d done a pretty good job of working last night.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he amends, curls closer to Pato. He’s so warm, heat roiling off of him in waves, and Alex would normally hate it. But from Pato, it��s a comfort, it’s like a blanket.

Pato keeps tracing figures around his tattoo, following the line of his vein, the repetition is lulling him back into the sleep he’d just clawed his way out of. He doesn’t fight it.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Pato says, when Alex is on the brink of unconsciousness, when opening his eyes takes monumental effort, so he just keeps them closed.

“Mhmm?” he says.

Pato huffs out a laugh, goes back to tracing a nail along the pulse line of the tattoo.

“Halloween. Did I make you like it?”

Alex is already slipping into sleep when the answer falls from him like water, “You could make me like anything.”

#palex #my fic #gang...this got away from me #like a lot of things i try to write #but like...this really got away from me #why the pwp got plot now?#why does it have feelings?

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piggyette · 4 months

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if you don't know me, i treat ask games like surveys because ask games as we know 'em are pretty much dead. here's the og

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

guitar hero 2, deviantart x reader fanfics, not being allowed to watch horror movies as a child

show us a picture of your handwriting?

3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

i'm not a big movie person, but probably zero day, the original child's play, and crash

what’s an inside joke you have with your family or friends?

kitty synth, "wentzian", bathroom updates, pig as a slur

what made you start your blog?

old one got too much anon hate

what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

there are so many images of pretty men to be found. some of them are dead.

what scares you the most and why?

probably the prospect of instability. i imagine its bc i moved a lot as a child

any reacquiring dreams?

in the case u meant reoccuring, not particularly. i have a bad memory.

tell a story about your childhood

oh, you dont want that.

would you say you’re an emotional person?

i learned apparently im more emotional than i even knew, recently.

what do you consider to be romance?

sensuality and the human connection.

what’s some good advice you want to share?

goal setting without clear vision is like building a couch with no instructions, just a picture of the end result.

what are you doing right now?

listening to pretty hate machine by nin and filling out this questionaire

what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

learn to drive

what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

my partner

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

my need to dig up the corpse to make sure it's really dead down there

name 3 things that make you happy

i. discovering new fetishes ii. my partner system iii. animals

do you believe in ghosts and/or aliens?

its a fool's errand to try and define our surroundings with our limited perception. radio exists. anything is possible.

favourite thing about the day?

the kids playing on the street loud enough to hear from inside.

favourite things about the night?

the quiet coolness.

are you a spiritual person?

that part of me ain't dead yet

say 3 things about someone you love

i. prevailing ii. patient iii. not appreciated enough

say 3 things about someone you hate

when will it ever be enough for you? nothing can learn you. nothing will.

what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

trying again.

fave season and why?

autumn. bugs are going away, coats are coming out. halloween and thanksgiving. the bus is going by again.

fave colour and why?

pink, green, and black. they're just nice to look at.

any nicknames?

i get called lee more often than not.

do you collect anything?

records, tarot decks, stuffed animals.

what do you do when you’re sad?

attempt to logicize if i can help it.

what’s one thing that never fails to make you happy/happier?

a live set for my current favorite artist

are you messy or organised?

messily organized

how many tabs do you have open right now?

one pinned, three unpinned

any hobbies?

writing, art, producing music

any pet peeves?

sloppy eaters

do you trust easily?

i'm working on trying to. i can be paranoid, but i don't want to be

are you an open book or do you have walls up?

i think i have more walls up than i realize

share a secret

i'm currently organizing with a stranger to have her steal a dog being neglected by someone in my neighborhood

fave song at the moment?

the only time (nin)

youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

dollar tree dinners. the sheer culinary efficiency and humble kindness...

any bad habits?

worthless martyrdom.

#meow #edited to put under a cut

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maveras-posts · 3 years

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🖤Michael Myers Headcanons🔪

Michael Myers General Headcannons:

Firstoff Michael LOVES anything sweet

Wouldn’t be surprised if there was candy corn in the pockets of his suit

On that note I have a feeling he’s a fan of black licorice

Would terrorize Trick or Treaters for fun (Gets a kick out of childrens screams)

Would SNATCH the kids candy (Lowkey feels NO REMORSE)

Most likely has wrestled a child for their candy bucket

SUPER PETTY OMG this man will try to get you back for the smallest shit (A six year old in a man’s body)

Will literally HUNT the poor soul who decided to cut him off

Silently road rages (Imagine him throwing his fist up or flipping someone off😂)

Violence is never the answer… it’s the solution.

He listens to Heavy Metal (Cannot convince me otherwise)

Would blast it in the house like an angsty teen.

Has an emotional support squishmallow he stole from Walgreens (Has Autumn the cat)

LOVES scary movies but is a highkey critic.

Living With Michael:

Shows up one day and NEVER LEAVES

Eventually you get used to Stabby Boi (No you don’t)

For the LOVE OF GOD WATCH HIM

Is curious about the modern world but can sometimes cause some…issues.

Has no clue what the fuck is going on (Cut him some slack he was locked up)

Michael is not used to modern technology (He proves its both our savior & DOOM)

Grows more curious with each device you show him

Begins to play with ALL of it

You come home one day to the whole fucking power grid for the neighborhood out (This isn’t the first & wont be the last)

Michael will randomly stare at the power outlets with fork in hand (STOP HIM)

Is fascinated by credit cards (DO. NOT. LEAVE. HIM. ALONE.WITH YOUR. CARD.)

Your card will get declined and you’ll wonder, how? (He stocked up on candy with YOUR CARD.)

You’ll FaceTime him & he will dump the bags of candy on the camera (Petty lil bitch)

You have to explain/guide him through our modern tech if you don’t he sure as hell will figure it out (Might cost you a pretty penny)

When he’s not doing his “experiments” he is actually pretty helpful (Might wanna teach him how to do house chores)

Imagine Michael Vacuuming or mowing the lawn (IM DECEASED)

On that note please keep him away from tide pods (What can I say? He LOVES candy)

Has a hidden stash of stuffed animals (Pretend that you never saw them. TRUST ME.)

Will randomly disappear BUT don’t worry he always comes back (Might show up in the middle of the night looking like death)

Will ALWAYS watch over you

Real fucking observant (Don’t try to hide anything from Micheal. He already knows.)

I feel like he would play the Xbox w/ you (might have to replace a few controllers)

Side Note: You might hear ruckus in the middle of the night not to fear, Michael is just in the fridge.

I could go on and on but we would be here ALL DAY

AN: Hiya pals! I got a random itch to write and decided to share my Michael Myers headcannons. Michael is my fav slasher and I always think it’s funny to imagine him outside of what we see in the films (Hopefully I don’t bore y’all). Personally, horror is my fav genre for books and film so I wanted to share this and hopefully everyone enjoys. I don’t normally write for slashers but if y’all enjoy this, maybe I will write for them more?

Till Next Time!

-M

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tricksters-captain · 3 years

Text

Bucky Barnes imagines - Some Sunny Day Part 4

AN: What a crazy episode! I definitely think this episode was one of the best so far and I cannot wait to see what happens next after that insane ending!

Overall Summary: Before the Blip, you and Bucky were close. After you both returning and Tony’s funeral, you decided to go back to your home town to spend time with your family. When duty calls, you return.

In this chapter: Now in Latvia, you and the boys must find Karli before the Dora take Zemo away (Based on S1 EP4)

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3)

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Sam Wilson x Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 6,123

Warnings: Spoilers for episode 4, violence, strong language.

Once inside Zemo’s apartment, you started to look through the cupboards.

Zemo had excused himself to take a bath but you felt starved.

Even with the limited stock you managed to whip something up for you and Sam.

“Thank you.” Sam took the bowl from you gratefully. The food Zemo had given you on his private plane wasn’t exactly edible and you were still feeling the affects of the Nagel fail in your body.

“Well, the Wakandans are here.” Bucky announced as he entered the apartment; having returned from his walk. “They want Zemo. Bought us some more time.”

“”Were you followed?” Sam looked up at him.

“No.” Bucky made his way over to you and Sam by the kitchen island.

“How can you be so sure?” Zemo pondered.

“Cause I know when I’m being followed.” Bucky sent an unimpressed glance to the man in the bathrobe.

You pushed a bowl of pasta towards Bucky but he shook his head and pulled out his phone.

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least.” Zemo stated.

“Hey, you shut it.” Sam quipped. “No one’s defending you. You killed Nagel.”

“You gotta eat.” You whispered to Bucky.

“Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?” Zemo rounded the island so he was closer to you all.

“I’ll eat later.” Bucky mumbled back to you as he furrowed his brow at twitter.

“There’s nothing to litigate. You straight shot the man.” Sam argued with Zemo.

“Sam.” Bucky had found something.

“What?” Sam turned his attention to Bucky and away from Zemo.

“Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.” Bucky showed you his phone screen so you could read.

“What? What’s the damage?” Sam’s concern grew quickly.

“Eleven injured, three dead.” You said after skimming over the article.

“They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren’t met.” Bucky added as Sam sighed.

“She’s getting worse.” Zemo spoke up. “I have the will to complete this mission. Do the three of you?”

“She’s just a kid.” Sam was right. She was only young, she reminded you of you when you first joined the avengers. Desperate to fight for a cause.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there.” Zemo disagreed. “You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.”

“You’re talking about our friends.” You felt the need to remind Zemo that you were actually apart of the Avengers as you placed your empty bowl in the sink.

“The Avengers, not the Nazis.” Bucky felt the need to clarify.

“So, Karli is radicalised, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her.” Sam was determined there wasn’t a need for a fight.

“The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her.” Zemo explained as he reached for the bowl you had originally offered Bucky. “Or she kills you.”

You swatted his hand away to which he frowned at.

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.” Bucky argued his point.

“Touché.” Zemo picked up a biscuit instead. Holding it on his finger as he spoke. “But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?”

“Well, maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now.” Bucky suggested to you and Sam as he moved over to the couch.

“And you’ll give up your tour guide?” Zemo asked as he opened the cupboards to look for some food.

“Yes.” Bucky didn’t hesitate.

“From my understanding, Donya is like a pillar of the community, right?” Sam interrupted with a new thought. “So, when I was a kid, my TT passed away.”

“Your TT?” Bucky asked, unsure of what Sam had meant.

“Yeah, my TT, yeah.” Sam nodded.

“Who is your TT?” Bucky asked as you sat down beside him.

“Fine. When I was a kid, my aunt passed away and the entire neighborhood got together for a ceremony. It was like a week long. Maybe they’re doing the same thing for Donya.” Sam proposed. He could be right.

“Worth a shot.” You proclaimed.

“Your TT would be proud of you.” Zemo sounded more awkward at the use of the phrase before he pulled out a fancy looking tin. “Turkish delight? Irresistible.”

Sam caught the small sweet that Zemo had thrown.

“I say Zemo put’s some clothes on and we head over to the refugee camp that Donya was staying. See if anyone knows anything about a funeral or ceremony for her.” You ignored Zemo as he looked down at the sweets.

“Sounds like a plan.” Sam stood from his seat at the island and looked over at Zemo.

Zemo nodded before disappearing into a bedroom to change.

It didn't take long to get to the camp from Zemo’s apartment.

“Shame what’s become of this place. When I was young, we used to come here for fabulous dinners and parties. I knew nothing of the politics of the time, of course, but I remember it being beautiful.” Zemo seemed saddened by the state of the buildings being used as the camp.

“I’m gonna take a look around upstairs. See what you can find out here. And keep an eye on him.” Sam told Bucky as he gestured to Zemo.

“I’ll stay out of your way.” Zemo promised.

“(Y/n), you look around through there. See if you can... You know.” Sam pointed down through one of the ground floor doors. You nodded and left the men.

Most of the adults fled when you entered the building but you noticed a young girl who looked too busy with what she was doing to notice. She had looked maybe 16 or 17 years old and she was embroidering an old silk scarf.

“That’s beautiful.” You knelt down beside her but as you spoke, her eyes shot up and widened with shock and fear.

“T-t-thank you.” She stuttered as her eyes flittered around the room for help.

“It’s okay. I was just wondering if I could have a look at it.” You smiled softly at the girl as you held your hand out.

She reluctantly gave it to you.

“This truly is beautiful. You are very talented. May I buy it from you?” You placed your hand in your pocket and pulled out a note that you had previously stolen from Zemo’s jacket.

“You c-c-can have it.” She whispered as she stood. You rose with her as you folded the scarf to place into your pocket.

“I insist.” You took her hand gently and cautiously and placed the money in her palm. She smiled but she still was nervous and full of worry. You figured she knew who you were.

You folded your hands over hers and that’s when you unplugged the cork on your powers.

You closed your eyes and within seconds all the girls memories flooded into your head.

You tried not to react as it happened.

You tried your best to filter through the memories quickly. When you reached the time after the blip, you slowed down. You saw the horrors of them being rejected, being abandoned and then you saw Mama Donya and Karli.

You focused on Karli.

You watched Karli smile and laugh with all the children, she’d play and look after them as Donya looked after Karli.

Closer memories brought what seemed like events that only just happened. Karli visiting with supplies.

You saw the mourning of Mama Donya from everyone and then you saw the arrangements for the funeral.

You opened your eyes and let go of the girls hand. She thanked you again and left. She would have never realised what you had seen as the memories are shown to you within a matter of seconds.

You leant against the table and inhaled deeply.

You felt weak again.

You pushed yourself off the table and headed back out to Bucky.

Zemo was surrounded by a bunch of small children.

“You okay?”Bucky asked. The second you reappeared he immediately noticed a change in you.

“I’m okay.” You lied. “I spoke to one of the teenagers inside. I looked inside her head. You were right, Sam. They are having a funeral but she only knew that she would be taken to it later this afternoon.” You explained as Sam joined you both.

“Good work.” Sam wrapped his arm around you and gave you a small squeeze of appreciation.

They both knew how hard it must've been for you to use your powers after the Nagel incident.

The toll of touching the dead had knocked you for six in the past and in a matter of forty eight hours you had touched the dead and looked into the memories of a live person.

You’ll need an energy boost before you can do this again.

Zemo turned back to you and you all returned to the apartment.

“Well, I got nothin’. No one’s talkin’ about Donya.” Bucky slouched down on the couch in defeat.

“Yeah, it’s because Karli is the only one fighting for them.” Sam joined him on the couch. “And she’s not wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked.

“For five years, people have been welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbwire. There were houses and jobs. Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild. It wasn’t just one community coming together, it was the entire world coming together. And then, boom. Just like that, it goes right back to the way it used to be. To them, at least Karli’s doin’ somethin’.” Sam explained himself.

“You really think her ends justify her means? Then, she’s no different than him or anybody else we’ve fought.” Bucky pointed over to Zemo.

“She’s different. She’s not motivated by the same things.” Sam argued with Bucky.

“Sam’s right.” You spoke up. “When I looked into that girls head I saw a lot of Karli. She means a lot to those people, she is their light, their Captain America. But she’s just a kid. From what I saw she has a whole lot of love in her heart and I'm not saying that hurting and killing people is right but she sees it as the only way to help her people.”

Zemo had walked over from the kitchen with a tray as you spoke.

“That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Bucky questioned him.

“The funeral is this afternoon.” Zemo only said what you already knew.

“We know that. Now you know the Dora’s coming for you any minute. In fact, they’re probably lurking outside right now. Keep talking.” Bucky demanded.

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli. Hmm. I prefer to keep my leverage.” Zemo sure knew how to push someone’s buttons.

Bucky shot up and threw Zemo’s cup against the wall. The crashing of the glass made both you and Sam jump to your feet.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky threatened Zemo.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.” Sam tried to de-elevate the situation. “Let me make a call.”

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offered Bucky as Sam walked away.

“No, you go ahead.” Bucky grumbled, scowling at the Baron.

“Come on.” You took Bucky’s hand and pulled him away from Zemo.

You headed into the bathroom and started to fill up the tub with some cold water.

“Will you get me some ice?” You asked Bucky to which he complied.

Once the tub was full of ice water, you stripped and climbed inside.

Bucky had taken a stool and faced the door to give you some privacy.

“You shouldn’t let him get to you.” You said as you settled into the water. Your body was screaming at you as the ice touched it but you knew it’d give you the wake up call you and your muscles needed.

“I don’t.” Bucky grimaced.

“You don’t? Oh, so the shattered cup in the other room was just a scare tactic?” You mused.

“Yep.” Bucky grumbled.

“Okay.” You sighed before going under.

The cold water hit your brain and you immediately sat back up.

“Feel better?” Bucky had heard the splashing of the water.

“Yeah.” You admitted, running your hands over your face and hair. “Can I have my towel?”

Bucky kept his back to you as he passed you the towel.

You wrapped it around you and stepped out.

“You can look.” You told him.

Bucky turned and his eyes went straight to the bruises that covered your legs and arms.

“I’m okay, Buck.” You assured him as you watched the cogs turning in his head.

“I forget you aren’t...” Bucky’s words dropped off as he stepped closer and lightly took your arm, examining the damage.

“That I’m not a super soldier?” You smirked. “I may bruise but I can hold a lot more than most, Buck.”

“Doesn’t stop me worrying.” Bucky admitted as he lowered your arm.

“I know.” You whispered, looking up at the man’s deep blue eyes.

“You better get dressed. You already know what Sam is thinking with us both being gone right now.” Bucky went to go towards the door when you stopped him.

“I had a dream about Wakanda on the plane ride here.” You confessed.

Bucky stopped and looked back at you.

“It was the day you finally beat the Winter Soldier.” You told him.

*Flashback*

“These are incredible, Shuri.” You smiled widely as you threw the new high tech Vibranium knives that Shuri had made for you.

“I know. I know.” Shuri was well aware of her awesome brain.

Shuri pressed the combat button on the wall which simulated attackers for intense weapon training.

You inhaled as you closed your eyes.

A footstep gave away your first attacker. You threw the knives to the holograms and the attackers were down. You ducked and dodged and jumped around the room as you practised with the knives.

Shuri cheered you when you finished. You smiled through your heavy breaths and Shuri jogged towards you to give you a fist bump.

“You are something else, my friend.” Shuri praised you.

The doors opening behind you made both you and Shuri turn to see who had entered.

It was Bucky.

He rushed towards you with a bright smile. His lips seemed to quiver and his eyes were glassy. Something had happened.

It had happened.

He embraced you tightly and you returned it. Your fingers gripped onto Bucky’s long hair as he buried his face in your neck.

You looked back at Ayo (who had followed Bucky) and Shuri and mouthed a ‘Thank you’.

Ayo bowed her head at you before leaving the hall.

Bucky had finally gotten over HYDRA’s programming after all these years of being held prisoner by a few words.

You and Bucky stayed like that for what felt like hours. The relief from Bucky washed over you and bound him to you until he was ready to part.

It was an incredible day.

*End of Flashback*

“Maybe you could sense that the Dora’s were close on our tails.” Bucky suggested.

“No, we all knew that they’d come for Zemo eventually.” You dismissed the idea. “I think it was after seeing Zemo treat you like him again.”

Bucky remained silent.

“I don’t think I ever told you how proud I was of you that day.” You folded your arms over your chest as you leant back on the tub.

“You didn't need to.” Bucky assured you. “I already knew.”

You watched Bucky leave the bathroom so you could change.

When you had returned to the main space again it was just about time to head out again.

You felt a little nervous as you didn’t really want a fight with Karli since you weren’t 100% but you figured you had felt a hell of a lot worse before.

As you left the apartment, a voice and face you didn’t particularly wanna see called out.

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.” John Walker and his little side kick were walking down some stairs towards you.

“Ah! How’d you find us now?” Bucky called back.

“Come on. You think three Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Lemar, Walker’s partner, scoffed.

“No more keeping us in the dark. You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” Walker pointed out Zemo.

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky corrected Walker.

“This better be an unbelievable explana––”

“––Hey, take it easy before it gets weird.” Sam interrupted Walker before things could get heated in front of civilians.

“I know where Karli is.” Zemo kept walking as the others stopped.

“Well, where?” Walker asked, stopping Zemo by stepping in his way.

“All we know is it’s a memorial. So, we’re gonna intercept her there.” Sam informed them.

“That means civilians. High risk of casualties.” Lemar relaid to his partner as you continued to walk.

“All right, good, we’ll move in fast. Take her by surprise.” Walker started to talk through his plan when Sam stopped him.

“No, I wanna talk to her alone.”

“I’m not losing her again.” Walker argued with Sam.

“Look, the person closest to her died, she’s vulnerable. Now is the best time to reason with her.” Sam was trying to defend his reasoning but Walker wasn’t having it.

“What? No. Wait, no! No! Stop. Hold on. Stop, okay?” Walker ran up ahead to stop everyone again. “I think we’re way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot that she blew up a building with people still in it.”

“Sam, you walk in there cold, she could kill you, man.”Lemar tried backing up his partner.

“If I go in hot and the op goes wrong, more people will die.” Sam handed over the other scenario.

“You’ll let him do this?” Walker looked between you and Bucky. “Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier alone?”

“He’s dealt with worse.” Bucky told him flatly. “And he’s not my partner.”

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is in my wheelhouse.” Sam walked past you and Bucky to face Walker.

“I know. And I know those soldiers, which is why I know this is a bad idea.” Walker still wasn't on board.

“Wait, John.” Lemar stopped Walker. “If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try.”

“Thank god Battle-scar here has some sense.” You declared.

“It’s Battle Star actually.”Lemar smiled at you but you ignored him.

“We’ll deal with you later.” Walker told Zemo as he caved in.

“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion. My associate is just up ahead.” Zemo lead you towards the young girl he had spoken to earlier that day.

“Hello, my friend. This is for your family. Can you show us the way?” Zemo handed her some money and the girl beckoned for you all to follow.

“What the hell?” Walker seemed a little confused by Zemo’s ‘associate’ being 12.

The girl lead you to the building where the funeral was being held and you all waited for a signal.

“Karli’s in there.” Zemo announced as the girl ran off.

Sam went in whilst Walker cuffed Zemo.

“You got 10 minutes. Then we are doing things my way.” Walker told Sam before he left.

“Aggressive.” Zemo mumbled after being handcuffed. “But I get it.”

You rolled your eyes subtly at both Walker and Zemo.

You took up a position by the door with Bucky.

You watched Walker sit down, his grip on the shield was tight as he slowly huffed in and out.

You frowned as you studied the man. Your eyes glanced over to Zemo who was also watching Walker.

You shared a look before you let your eyes fall back down to your feet.

“Uh-uh. No, no, no. This is a bad idea.” Walker started to pace as he let his impatience get the best of him.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.” Bucky sighed unimpressed by the young solder.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronise me.” Walker glared back at Bucky.

“Sam knows what he’s doing.” You backed Bucky up.

You all watched Walker stop as he thought. His heavy breathes causing his chest to rise up and down quickly.

“I’m goin’ in.” Walker didn’t want to listen anymore. He stormed towards the door but both you and Bucky stepped in his way.

“This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.” Walker didn’t even look at you as he squared up to Bucky.

That really bothered you.

You took hold of the man’s upper arm and yanked him to look at you.

“You may be Captain America right now but we don’t follow you. We said we’d give him 10 minutes. So, he’s getting 10 minutes.” You glowered at the man.

“Your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?” Walker leant towards you, trying to be intimidating but it wasn’t working.

“Just wait.” You looked the man in the eye with a subtle threat in your stare. His jaw clenched as he tugged his arm away from you.

Walker went back to look at the clock again.

After a couple more minutes, he tried once more.

“Time’s up! Our turn.” Walker didn’t hesitate to push past you as he charged ahead.

Bucky kept his tongue in his cheek as he watched it happen.

You and Bucky stayed behind Walker and his partner as they marched ahead.

“Karli Morgenthau, you’re under arrest.” Walker announced as he entered the room.

“This is what that was?” Betrayal flashed across Karli’s face as she looked at Sam.

“No, wait––” Sam didn’t have a chance now that Walker had intervened.

“––Tricking me until help came?” Karli started to back away.

“We had enough time to talk.” Walker exclaimed as he headed straight for Karli.

“Nazi! “ Karli wasn't going the easy way. She hit Walker back and he went straight into a table.

Lemar tried to keep you and Bucky back but you had easily managed to get round him to chase after Karli.

Bucky being what he was managed to get ahead of you but you were close on their trail.

Sam had found his own way but ultimately you all lost Karli.

“I lost her.” Bucky sighed.

“This place is a maze.” Sam looked around at the several doorways with a frown.

The sound of gunshots is what caught your attention next.

“Come on.” You rushed through the building trying to get to the source.

You didn’t manage to get there before Walker did.

Zemo was unconscious on the floor and vials of the serum were smashed around the concrete floor.

“What happened?” You asked as you looked down at the mess.

“He was shooting at Karli. I stopped him but she got away.” Walker lifted his shield a little to symbol how he had stopped Zemo.

“Let’s get him up.” Sam started down the stairs and you followed.

Zemo woke up after a little encouragement and some smelling salts. You had decided it was best if you split up on your way back to the apartment.

You and Sam were going to stay with Zemo and see if you can dig up anything on socials and the computer and Bucky was going to do a round and see if she had holed up anywhere familiar.

Sam sat at his computer, he was contacting Sharon whilst you stood with your phone searching Twitter to see if any Flag Smashers appearances or Karli were popping up in recent tweets.

Zemo laid down on the couch with a wet towel and a strong glass of scotch.

“You got anything?” Sam asked you.

“Nothing. I don’t think we’ll find her this time if she doesn’t want us too.” You put your phone down in defeat. It wasn't usual for people to give her Karli’s location anyway.

“I think you’re right.” Sam hated to agree but this was the first time you had come close to actually talking Karli down and it failed.

“And now with the serum’s gone. Who knows what her next move will be.” You knew that Karli didn’t have the option to create more super soldiers now and that gives her a disadvantage. The idea of an army is gone now and she would only have her current foot soldiers to help her.

Zemo moved for the first time in ten minutes as he lifted his cold compress.

“Were you ever offered it?" He asked aloud.

“What?” Sam furrowed his brow at the man.

“The serum.” Zemo replied.

“No.” Sam smirked at the idea.

“If you had been, hypothetically, that is, would you have taken it?” Zemo inquired.

“No.” Sam answered instantly, his smile dropping.

“No hesitation. That’s impressive.” Zemo nodded before removing his towel. “Sam. (Y/n). You can’t hold out hope for Karli. No matter what you saw in her, she’s gone. And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst real people. Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

“Isn’t that how gods talk?” Sam queried. “And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky?” There was a silence from Zemo. “Blood isn’t always the solution.”

Before the conversation could continue, the door opened and Bucky strode inside.

“Something’s not right about Walker.” Bucky stated as he removed his jacket.

“You don’t say.” Sam huffed with amusement. It was clear as day that Walker was at his wits end with the pressure on him.

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy.” Bucky poured himself a glass of whiskey. You rolled your eyes at his statement.

“Can’t argue with that.” Sam retorted.

“Shouldn’t have given him the shield.” Bucky was back on this topic again.

“I didn’t give him the shield.” Sam rose to his feet to face Bucky.

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.” Bucky sipped on his drink just as the doors flew open.

All right. That’s it. Let’s go. I’m now ordering you to turn him over.” Walker commanded, his face red and his ears steaming.

“Hey, slow your roll. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. We’ll need all hands on deck for whatever’s comin’ next.” Sam approached Walker to try and pump his breaks.

“How do you want the rest of this conversation to go, Sam, huh?” Walker chuckled softly as Sam remained silent. “Yeah. Should I put down the shield? Make it fair?”

Sam scoffed, shaking his head at the man’s antics.

Walker put down the shield but the only thing flying next was a spear that struck the pillar by Walker’s head.

It was the Dora Milaje.

They had come for Zemo.

From your time in Wakanda you understood the language as Ayo spoke to Bucky.

“Even if he is a means to an end. Your time is up.” Ayo reverted back to English. “Release him to us now.”

Walker introduced himself to Ayo, not that she cared for him.

“Well let’s, uh, put the pointy sticks down and we can talk this through, huh?” Walker suggested, only to be met, yet again, by silence from the Dora’s.

“Hey, John, take it easy. You might wanna fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje.” Sam tried to warn him but he wasn’t backing down.

“They don’t have jurisdiction here––”

“––The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.” Ayo cut Walker short.

“Okay.” John chuckled lightly. “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Walker made the mistake of putting his hand on Ayo’s shoulder.

Ayo responded with an attack.

The surrounding Dora’s fell into defence positions as Ayo and Walker fought. Lemar bounced into action, trying to help his partner out but it only warranted in more fighting. Or more asses getting kicked by the Dora Milaje.

“We should do something.” Sam said as you, him and Bucky stood together watching.

“Looking strong, John.” Bucky called out.

“Bucky!” You tried not to laugh as you scolded the man.

“Guys...” Sam nodded to Ayo about to strike John with her spear which made Bucky reluctantly intervene.

“Ayo, let’s talk about this.” Bucky only landed himself directly in the mess.

You realised how serious this was as Ayo didn’t hold back and went ahead to help Bucky. Sam went over to help Lemar but was met by more Dora's.

You grunted as one of the women attacked you. You had almost forgotten just how incredible they were at combat. Almost.

You were backed against a wall with the spear to your chest when the room fell silent.

You looked over at Bucky to see his arm was on the floor.

You wanted to move towards him but you were stuck until orders were given to release you.

“He is gone. Leave it.” Ayo had opened the bathroom doors to reveal the manhole had been opened. Zemo had escaped.

You were trying to slow your breathing when finally the Dora’s fell back.

She retracted her spear and left with Ayo and the others.

“Did you know they could do that?” Sam asked Bucky as he pushed himself off the floor.

Bucky reattached his arm. He groaned as he swung it round to adjust it.

“No.” He said but the shock on his face from before had already given away that answer.

You looked past Bucky to where Walker was still on the floor.

“You all right, man?” Lemar offered his hand to help him up.

“They weren’t even Super Soldiers.” You heard Walker mutter.

“Come on.” Lemar tugged him to his feet.

“I can’t believe he pulled an El Chapo.” Sam walked over to the bathroom and stared at the hole.

“I can.” Bucky wasn’t really that surprised and neither were you truthfully.

“Come on.” You beckoned the boys out of the apartment so you could talk.

You got down to the streets and away from Walker before you spoke again.

“Walker isn’t stable. He’s on the brink of cracking.” You kept your voice low as you spoke to the boys.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“We may not like him but he’s not stupid. He knows that he can’t be Steve, do the things Steve did and it’s killing him. He's so obviously trying to win this fight by himself and it’s going to drive him insane if he isn’t the one to beat Karli.”

“But he can’t beat Karli. You saw her kick him across the room like he was a cardboard box.” Sam reminded you of what happened earlier.

“We have to get to Karli before he does because he’s either gonna stop her or kill himself trying.” You weren't worried for the man but worried about what would happen if he finally snapped.

Suddenly, Sam’s phone started to ring. It was his sister.

“She said what? Right. Hold on, hold on. I know, I know. Listen, pack an overnight bag and take the boys...” Sam sounded worried.

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

“Karli called Sarah. She threatened my nephews.” Sam told you both. “Okay. Go somewhere safe. Only pay cash. All right? Tell me when you arrive. I know. Look, I love you. I’ll never let anything happen to you and the boys. Okay. Bye.” He hung up and then immediately texted an unknown number.

“What does she want?” You knew Karli was desperate but threatening kids was a different story.

“Karli wants to meet. She left a contact number.” Sam’s phone buzzed with a new text. “She said come alone.”

“We’re coming with you.” Bucky wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Alright but keep your distance.” Sam didn’t bother to fight you on it. “We better suit up.”

You suited up by adding a few more weapons to your body. You placed your favourite thigh holsters on that held your Vibranium knives out on display.

Sam got his wings and soon you were at the location.

“Karli!” Sam bellowed as you entered the building.

Karli leant over a balcony to make herself seen. You remained on the ground floor but looked up at the girl. Bucky followed Sam.

“You called my sister? That’s how we’re gonna play this?” Sam was upset and understandably so.

“Sam, I would never hurt her. I just wanted to understand you better.” Karli confessed.“I see you, um, didn’t come alone.”Karli peered down at you then up at Bucky.

“You have to end this now.” Sam told her.

“I don’t wanna hurt you. You’re a tool in the regimes I’m looking to destroy. You’re not hiding behind a shield. If I were to kill you, it’d be meaningless. I was gonna ask you to join me. Or do the world a favour and let me go.” Karli spoke pretty boldly for someone who seemed to be alone. Super Soldier or not.

“Hey, Sam, new Cap is moving, looks like he’s found them, or maybe they found him.” Sharon’s voice came through on Sam’s intercom.

“It’s Walker.” Sam looked down at you and then Bucky.

Karli jumped from the balcony at the realisation the jig was up but Bucky was quick to jump too.

Karli kicked Bucky back but you managed to weaken Karli as you flipped over and kicked her in the jaw.

Sam put her down momentarily as he flew down and kicked her also.

“I’ll send you the location. Go!” Sam ordered both you and Bucky before he took off.

You knew Bucky would be fast enough to run there but you didn’t have that luxury.

You crossed the street to a parked motorbike and opened up it’s wiring. Just as you managed to get it running, Sam’s coordinates came through.

You docked your phone and set off.

You dodged through the narrow streets and traffic to arrive at another large building. Karli must have a favour for buildings you could get lost in.

You drove through the doors and skidded to a stop.

Bucky had gotten there before you. You could hear his grunts from a flight or two up.

You raced up them only to be met by a super soldier fighting Bucky.

You sent a knife forward, it embedded itself into the man’s soldier, he cried out which gave Bucky some time to throw him down the stairs.

You tucked up, over the tumbling body, holding onto the railing and the wall.

Bucky jumped over the rails and with one final blow knocked the soldier unconscious.

“Stay there.” Bucky told him before climbing back up to you. He thanked you for the help, handing you back the knife that had been in the man’s shoulder.

You then both went ahead to find Sam and Walker.

They were fighting more super soldiers a floor up.

You didn’t hesitate to go in for the attack.

You pulled a knife and threw it to Bucky for help; he caught it midair.

You screamed with frustration as the soldier you were fighting, pulled your arm behind you and slammed you into the pillar. You managed to swivel around, taking out the soldiers legs as you freed your arm.

You threw a knife into both his biceps. You only intended to injure, not kill, them anyway.

He groaned as he pulled them and tried to use them against you.

All at once, the fighting stopped when you all witnessed Karli kick Lemar into one of the concrete pillars.

Lemar’s body slumped down with blood painted across his lips.

John broke free from his attacker and slowly made his way over to Lemar.

From the sight of the body, you already knew he wasn’t walking out of there.

Walker desperately tried to wake him up.

That’s when Karli took her chance to flee.

You and the boys took off after her but lost her again pretty quickly.

When you rounded the building, you saw a crowd gathering.

What you saw next made you feel psychically sick.

John Walker stood above Karli’s right hand man, blood splattered up Steve’s shield and across his uniform.

He had killed the man in front of all these civilians. He had killed a man as Captain America.

(PART 5 HERE)

Bucky Barnes Tag List

@florencxs @mystictimetravelcolor @yourphotographyteen16@shannon-posts@darkbluenovember @sexwithhiddlesbatch@thefandomimagines @mydarkness-itsnotmyfriend @sad-huffle-nerd @glitchingghosts @themaddies-obx @avenging-parker@delilahsdaydream @felicityofbakerstreet @purplewcrld @opheliaaaa @avisexe @lindseyrae20 @thanossexual @smolanxiousdeku @soccer-100000

#Bucky Barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes imagine #falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier imagines #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan imagines #Sebastian Stan x reader #Sam Wilson #Sam Wilson imagines #Zemo #baron Zemo #John walker #the winter soldier #imagines #series #part 4 #some sunny day

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

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Day four of the Horror on Cherry Lane Challenge! Today’s prompt was Sunglasses!

Steve has a lot of secrets. Too many probably.

Most teenagers’ secrets are things like sleeping with the wrong people, smoking the cheap shit the jocks pass out, broken curfews and failing grades. He’s got all of those too, but Steve's secret runs much deeper than that.

His is the kind of secret that’d have men in black suits coming to take him away, or at this point, more than a decade after letting him go in the first place, putting a bullet in the back of his skull and calling it a day before any trouble comes up.

He’s been stuck in Hawkins all his life. Been fed the knowledge about the world off a silver spoon he didn’t ask for. His first five years of life are well forgotten to shock therapy and to the lab, where they intended to use him and the rest of the kids like him as weapons. Pawns in their big game of life.

But Steve was different. He could turn his powers off, make them undetectable by the machines they hooked him up to. They thought he was just a failure, so after so long, they wiped his brain with their very own cocktail of drugs and just let him go. Adopted him out to a middle aged dink couple who wouldn’t run their mouths about where their little bundle of joy came from as long as their pockets were lined with enough hush money, and that was that.

It didn’t take long for them to realize though, that he wasn’t as normal as they had been convinced he was. Not even knowing he was doing anything wrong, little Stevie would have outbursts, or small tantrums as momma always tried to convince everyone who told her Steve was too much for her to handle.

These weren’t just normal crying fits though. Anyone who got near him would be just as sad or scared or frustrated as he was. A single sob from that boy had enough power to crack the foundations of the family home.

Most kids when they have a cranky morning will get on the nerves of their parents, but Steve could disrupt the whole neighborhood without even realizing it. And that was his power.

They didn’t have a name for it, really. The range of what he can do is too broad, too undefined by anything else. There was a telekinetic girl, a pyrokinetic he’s pretty sure is dead now. But Steve was just special. Part of what made it so easy to go under their radar was this, but it also made him a risk.

The only reason he wasn’t immediately reported and given back to the bad men was the power this frail boy carried. It scared Ruthie and John, and they decided that they’d rather face the men at that lab again than a seven year old who could accidentally destroy them with his emotions.

So they kept him, and certainly kept their distance. They forced him into a little mold of how to behave properly and made him take pills to weaken his powers. They send him to behavioral therapy and make him act like he’s not a failed government experiment. A fact which he only learned a couple of years ago after his pills worked a little too well at messing with his memory that he forgot to take them, and memories came flooding back.

For the same reasons, Steve’s bored of being careful. Bored of following all the rules and being passive, just pretending he’s like everyone else so mommy and daddy dearest are safe. He starts getting a little riskier, testing what he can do, since this is the first time he’s ever really had control over his ability. He finds a link with other people and their emotions, something of an empathy power, but he doesn’t get far in his research, because his plan very quickly goes to shit when Billy Hargrove rolls into town.

Where to begin with Billy. That boy makes him feel all sorts of things he never even considered. The very first day he showed his unimpressed (but very impressive) face at Hawkins high, Steve cracks his windshield. Oops.

He was able to tap into that control and tone it down, but that reserve dwindled the more he’s around Billy, and from there it just spirals. Bending the basketball hoop on accident, exploding light fixtures, giving everyone in the school headaches. It gets to the point where Steve has to come to terms with the fact that he had a crush on Billy, and that he has to do something to get it back under his control before somebody gets hurt.

That and he doesn’t want to get caught now. He just got back into the swing of using his powers before Billy interrupted his calm. Going back there, or whatever else might happen, is the last thing he wants for himself.

He settles for a pair of ray bans.

It’s stupid, but when Steve was still young and all but popping his mommas brains every single time he cried, she was desperate to find a way to get him to stop. She started to notice he’d concentrate hard on one thing and another would happen, staring at a lamp until it shattered, looking into her face until her ears started to ring and pop. So she does what she can to break that subconscious focus. Puts a barrier between him and all that he’s hurting. A plastic, race car themed barrier, but it does its job, and it worked every time until they got him on meds. So now that he’s old enough not to just tear the damn things right off his face, he figures it’s worth a shot.

Because nothing had made him this emotional, this out of control since the day he found out the truth about his past. Billy is special, and the very last thing he wants is to lose control and hurt him.

He still feels like a dope walking into the school with a pair of shades on. Everyone starts to stare in that way he tries not to let remind him of the lab and the doctors standing in circles around him, prodding and waiting for a reaction. Steve thinks wearing sunglass inside is the least weird thing to happen in the halls of a highschool if Tina can come in with a perm high enough to touch the ceiling, but whatever. He’ll get over it.

The fact that nothing’s exploded from how on edge he is, mostly from wondering if his momma’s trick will work and not because of their judgement, is a very good sign.

Boldly, he decides to put it to the ultimate test, and approaches Billy.

In his head, he’s so focused on just going to talk to Billy, he has nothing planned to say to him, but he thinks he would’ve forgotten anyways, what with the lazy smile Billy flashes him when he notices him approaching.

Steve’s gaze quickly darts past Billy to check for damage to anything, the racing in his chest from just a look like that typically enough to at least crack a window. Maybe he’s not as confident about this as he thought, or maybe Billy’s just really good at making him flustered.

Doesn’t matter, because he’s at the other boys locker before he has time to process what he’s doing, “Lookin’ for somethin’ Harrington?”

“Oh, yeah, I was just checking for uh, my fans. Yeah, they follow me around everywhere, you know?” It’s bullshit, and it sounds more than dumb coming out of Steve’s mouth, but it makes Billy laugh, real low and raspy and that’s a win in his book.

“That what the little disguise is for?” Billy hums and taps his temple, clearly referring to the sun glasses perched on Steve’s nose.

“Oh these? No, I uh, wear these ‘cause of the uh.. because I wanna sleep in class and down want the teachers to know?” His answer comes as more of a question than anything, so he’s grateful when Billy seems to be more interested in his excuse than the subject at hand.

“Pfft, yeah right. I’ve heard you sleepin’ on the basketball bus. Ain’t no way your snoring doesn’t get you caught before your eyes do.”

Steve just waves him off, laughs with Billy even if his heart isn’t in it.

Billy closes his locker door, switching the subject as the scenery switches. It’s all a distraction to Steve, but he forces himself to look Billy in the face as the other boy asks him, “Seriously though dude, you okay? It ain’t like you to switch up your look. You’re not hiding anythin’ under the shades are you?”

“Nah. Just been thinking, I’m not the King because I’m not cool anymore, right? So I’m tryin’ to look a little more.. interesting.” Steve’s not a very quick or good liar, despite the military guarded secret that is himself and the little black number seven carved into his arm, and he can tell Billy doesn’t buy it.

He’s a good sport though, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders and assuring him with a little jostle, “Aw, Stevie, you're cool in my book. At least as long as you quit comin’ up with reasons not to hang with me, yeah?”

“Yeah, I- alright. I can do that. Sorry for flaking so much though. Didn’t realize until you said something.”

“S’Cool. Just meet me at the quarry after dark and it’ll make up for it.” Billy offers, obviously trying to play up the coolness neither of them apparently actually have, and Steve can’t help but call him on it. “It gets dark at like, four-thirty, five o’clock anymore?”

“Fine. Meet me at nine, pretty boy.” Billy smirks, dropping his voice to add knowingly, “And lose the shades. I think you’re much more interesting without ‘em.”

#CherryLangeChallenge #harringrove #billy x steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #experiment! steve #ej writer #story by ej!#this is a mess but that’s okay #I have two midterms tomorrow and can’t be bothered with cleaning this up again

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

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⭐Yandere Joestars⭐

(Parts 1-7 + Bonus Charcter: Joseph and Johnny’s characterizations are based off @dear-yandere ‘s interperations) I tried to write this mostly in the Joestars' POV. Their respective darlings resemble lifelike dolls rather than human beings to further illustrate how out of touch with reality the Jojos have become.

Warnings: Gore, kidnapping, dehumanization.

Edited: By the amazing Peri!! (@tealyjade-libran )

⭐Jonathan Joestar is possessive. ⭐

It's only when you lose something, that you start to cherish it...

It's an old saying, one that Jonathan remembers from an antique storybook his mother use to read him. It didn't mean anything back then, when he was still an infant too young and new, to fully comprehend what "owning" and "losing" was. But as the years ticked by faster than any clock could keep track of, things started to change. What had once been a passing quote in a chivalrous story about knights and dragons, soon turned into the epitome of Jonathan Joestar's life.

Soon love wasn't about saving a princess or impressing the neighborhood girls with his boxing skills. No, all too soon love became about own and guarding.

There may have been a time -long before "Jojo" and Dio met- when Jonathan was just like any other gentleman. Tender and sweet, flirtish at gatherings and charming in ladies' companies...but that was a Jonathan from a could-be-past that had been demolished the minute Dio Brando stepped foot onto the Joestar estate. From then on things depleted all so quickly. Everything Jonathan had come to unconsciously cherished had been so easily stripped from him by his beloved new "brother".

Everything he loved had been killed, destroyed, or broken in some inhuman way. His friends had abandoned him, his lover had distorted him, his father didn't even notice him...

"It's only when you lose something, that you start to cherish it". The second time he hears that phrase, it freezes him to the pavement, his body star-struck like he just received a message from the heavens. Although it's rather peculiar, why "heaven" would convey a message to him in such an unholy place.

With Dio having practically kicked Jonathan out of the mansion and countryside. Jojo had no other place to go but the back allies of London. Sure he still tried to be home for supper and bedtime and any other time his father may get an inkling of his absence. But when there was no need to 'appear' Jonathan took to the London streets away from Dio and his lackeys.

In fate's bizarre game, it's in a backstreet that reeks of days old licker and rotting flesh of paupers that no one has bothered to bury. That Jojo hears that life-defining idiom once more. His dulling sapphire blue eyes follow the mist of those melodious words. Staring until they're practically itching to cut through his sockets and run after those little words. But they stop right before they can leave their eyelets, they stop and stare at the figure that strolls out of the shadows, in such a way, that would make Jojo's father slap him across the face for being "barbarous".

It's luck or fate or maybe even destiny that leads the heir of the Joestar legacy to meet his darling in the slums of England.

"How my heart resonates when I lay my weary eyes on your enchanting face..."

There's an odd sweetness about the naivety that surrounds his little friend. A sort of innocence that comes with not knowing about the hell that he's gone through. It's charming in a moderate way, his darling can't come to despise him if they haven't got a clue who he is. Keeping both his worlds as far apart as possible is really the only option left. Dio and his friends can't hurt his new friend? Lover? Companion? In actuality, Jonathan really doesn't know what you are to him. At first, you're merely a distraction from his crumbling, lonely shell of an existence. A sort of invisible pillar holding up London's bridge before it collapses into the River Thames. Sure he views you as another person, unlike the other noblemen Jonathan has no desire to treat you as anything less than a respectable young lady despite your social statutes.

Dio can have the noblemen and ladies, he can have all of George's affection and favor, Heck Dio can have the whole goddamn world for all Jonathan cares. So long as he has his darling, his sunflower, his only means for living, then he will be content.

Jojo lost everything he once loved, but he swears it to every star in the night sky that'll preserve his darling from the wickedness that runs this cruel world. He'll cherish her while she's still in his arms...

He'll protect her, just like the knights did in the old bedtime stories his mother would tell him.

"...I swear on my honor as a Joestar that I shall never lose you to the likes of anyone, I'll be a true gentleman, a true knight and I'll protect you from any who wishes cause you harm."

⭐Joseph Joestar is Protective and all so patronizing.⭐

Why must Love hurt so much?

It's solitude, pure utter solitude that attracts Joseph to his darling. Oh sure, he must have known them from an earlier time in his life, back when the words Hammon and Ripple just sounded like fancy dessert names. Back when he was still a naive kid wishing on every goddamn star that he could just meet one of his parents for a fraction of a second. Back when life was easy when everything made sense. That's when he first met his darling. Although all so many years ago he probably just thought of them as the little sister he never got a chance of having.

There's a numbness growing inside him now that his life has slipped off its axes, hurling into unknown darkness that plagues him in the form of Pillarmen and red gems.

Everywhere he looks there's a reminder that nothing's going back to the way it used to be. No waking up to Granny Erina's voice calling him down for breakfast, no running around chasing Old Man Speedwagon. Everything is gone, replaced by Lisa Lisa's brutal training and Ceaser's endless taunting.

Day by day nothing changes, but once he looks back every little thing is different. Ruptured and mangled into something unrecognizable.

But then there's his darling. Someone -or rather something- that's still the same. Just like before. Her smile is still the same as ever, bright and cheery as she runs up to him wrapping her arms around his abdomen muttering about how much she missed her "Dear Big Brother".

(Y/N) is a comfort, a familiarity in a strange new world. She's something so frail and vulnerable, not to mention naive. Thrusted into a world where horror writers don't dare venture into. It's so likely that she'd be captured by one of Kar's zombie vampire things or -even worse- charmed by Caesar’s silver tongue.

It's thoughts like these that haunt Joseph at night, keep him up and wandering into her room just to gaze at her sleeping form. He's lucid enough to know how it might look. Like he's the bad guy trying to take advantage of a defenseless little girl. But he can justify his actions, he's her big brother, he has to watch over especially when she's at her most vulnerable. If Ceaser ever tried anything or some vampire freak snatched her away in the dead of night, Joseph would never forgive himself!

But what does he get for all his efforts? What does he get for all his sleepless nights and hours upon hours of worrying? Just a small smile and a fleeting kiss on the cheek. No sincere, "Thank you big brother," or, "You're my hero Joseph!" Nothing, nothing worthwhile anyway.

Now it's a competition, a battle to the death if it has to be -funny how he takes this more seriously than his match against Wamuu.- He's competitive by nature and he's willing to do anything to earn his darling's affection once more. He doesn't care who he has to beat within an inch of their life so long as he can have his darling back in his arms.

There is an aftermath to all of these, once all the fighting has ended and the battle's won. Once Joseph has finally claimed his prize. There's a certain way his darling has to act. She’s got to smile and play the role of the dotting little sister once more. Just so Joseph can justify his actions...

"And your next line is, 'I love you more than anything else big brother Joseph!'...at least I wish it was."

⭐Jotaro Kujo is cold and sadistic.⭐

Never learned how to love...

A lover by Jotaro's book is nothing more than a walking, talking doll. Someone who cooks meals, irons clothes, and kisses him on the cheek before he leaves for the day. Sure they have other uses, in flares of passionate moments, they're something to hold onto, another pair of limbs to get tangled in. Something hot and solid, someone to push down, to weigh his force on.

That's it, that's all there is to it...

A lover and a convenient toy are one of the same.

He knows it's wrong to think about someone that way. To deprive a living thing of all their thoughts and feelings just so it's suitable for him. But at the end of the day who wants to hear idle chatter and gossip or go outside for walks in crowded areas. All too social, it's all so troublesome. All Jotaro wants is a closed-off life, away from the scums of the earth...away from people in general.

It's such an inconvenience to seek out a lover, to hassle through dates and meetups in hopes of finding someone that clicks. Jojo would even go so far as to call it wishful thinking. So it has to be a pure accident that he even meets his darling. They're just someone who gets tangled in with the crusaders. A perfect living perception of 'wrong place, wrong time'. Someone who's life gets blown to bits and shambles just because fate decided to play a cruel joke on them.

And that's what piqued Jotaro's interest. The desperate, depleted look of pain cemented over their face. The sparse dying gleam of determination that blazes within their eyes. Oh, what Jotaro wouldn't do to snuff that little ray of hope. To watch as what little purpose they have is ripped from their arms. What he wouldn't do to see them in pain...

Pain is submission, that's really all Jojo wants. A darling submits, not out of their own free will, but because every little thing they've ever loved has been slaughtered, all that they cherished has been stolen from them.

But it's not enough

It's never enough

Although Jotaro adores the looks of anguish that decorates his lover's face. There's something more satisfying about maltreating them. About leaving marks all over, about leaving bruises that never lose their violet glow. He's claiming his darling, physically and mentally. Not a single day goes that Jotaro doesn't remind his lover who they belong to. From verbal taunts that plague his darling's mind day and night, to punches that break bones leaving them paralyzed on the floor begging for help, to cuts that are just a little too deep to ever heal properly.

Even when his darling is behaving, even when the poor little thing does everything her lover tells her to do, there's still going to be some sort of violence directed at her. Some backhanded remark about how useless they are just because they couldn't follow his mother's recipe. Some sort of blow just for greeting him 'too late'. Trivial things morph into punishments, just for Jotaro's sick amusement.

At his core, Jotaro is an unresponsive man, one with no regard for how others feel. He's distant, it's a trait he can't change. He likes how he does things, how there's no room for slip-ups when it's only him. Even his darling isn't someone he'd consider opening up to. Their opinion of him doesn't matter and their feelings are irrelevant. Most days he's gone until the last possible moment, leaving his darling an endless amount of time to mull over every word and scar.

But here's the catch.

As the clock ticks by, as the nights and days begin to merge into an endless existence, as all hope burns in the pits of hell, darling's mind is also going to stray. Ever so slowly losing its perception of reality.

'Maybe' spiders begin to spin webs of doubt through darling's empty cranium. The isolation begins to bite at her skin like the razor-sharp fangs of frostbite. They start to crave Jotaro's harsh touches, they start to miss the venom-like words. Every insult and slap to the face is welcomed, all the misplaced anger and death threats start to feel like sweet kisses and flowery touches.

Poor darling no longer sees big scary Jotaro as a monster. They've lost the ability to see him for what he truly is.

And what happens when Jotaro does finally come home? Oh, how little (y/n) will ravish in the gut kicks and loathsome words. How she'll take every beating with a sweet sugar-coated smile.

Cause this is her life now. A meaningless existence that revolves around Jotaro and his bleak personality. A life that's only worth living when Jotaro is around.

Is it even a life?

"Yare yare daze you're such a hassle, be glad I keep you around...”

⭐Josuke is obsessive with delusional tendencies.⭐

Maybe I'm the one you'll fall in love with next...

Just like his "father" Joseph, Josuke is stuck in a perpetual state between diaphanous and phantasm.

There's something all too wrong with Morioh nowadays. The narrow streets and verbose buildings have started to feel like a transparent cage. The town has always been small, barely reaching a population of 3,000 despite all the new families that keep moving in.

Nevertheless, everything has dulled, faded, and withered into a monochrome collage. The layers of repetitiveness had finally begun to pick at Joskue's nerves...

And yet somehow, by some diabolical twist of fate. In the mists of the oceans of familiarity, Josuke’s eyes grab onto some shimmering pearl lounged into between the crowd of familiar faces.

Sure he's seen this girl before, but he's never actually seen her. Never stopped to look at the odd way their eyes twinkle like newborn stars or how their skin shimmers with the glow of a thousand suns.

One second is all it took, a fleeting compliment as you passed by Jojo in the peppermint flavored afternoon. Your hair flowing like a tapestry of the galaxy as you disappeared in the crowd of dead pulsars. Not a care in the world, not for him, not for anyone.

Destiny was definitely up to its old cruel tricks again.

He's not stalking. Josuke will swear on his grandfather's grave that he'd never "stalk" a harmless little girl, like some distorted maniac. He just happens to bump into you at the beauty parlor when he's picking up a new brand of hairspray. And it's totally an accident when he meets you out in the abandoned fields! Honest! It's not his fault fate wants the two of you to keep meeting, it's not his fault that you guys are meant to be!

It's not technically a friendship that you two start to build up, it's far from one. Friends don't dream about sugar-filled kisses behind school walls. Or about ice cream that tastes like scandalous touches and candy induced moans. No, Joskue isn't your friend, he NEVER wanted to be your friend. He knows that! He knows what he wants...but with each passing day, he's beginning to doubt that you know that.

He'd never realized he's been so sensitive on you. So entranced by your out of tune voice that muttered rather than spoke. He's seldom been so eager to throw a punch and crack his knuckles on someone's skull, just for saying you looked "lovely today".

Whenever his eyes don't land on you, a rage-filled volcano bubbles in the pit of his gut, uncontrollable anger that festers inside of him, like lava waiting to spill out and burn anyone that wanders too close. His palms itch with the need to hold you, to feel your soft skin rubbing against his.

The jealousy is always there, pricking at his skin like rose thrones. Until they inevitably cut through his flesh and make him lose his composure. He's ready to kick and punch and hurt and kill anyone that comes too close to you, anyone that saunters off their orbit and makes a beeline for you, disturbing the balance of solitude that Josuke so eagerly sets you into.

Sometimes in the dead of night, when the world has finally dozed off, Joskue's mind begins to wonder. He thinks the way he feels about you is the same way an addict feels about his drugs. Maybe to him, you're even more addicting than heroin and ecstasy...and yet he can't quit you, he just doesn't want to quit you. Nothing in this world could compare to your sweet voice that tickles his ear when you lean in, to whisper a secret, or the may your full lips move when you throw another honey-filled insult at him.

He prefers when you're alone when he's the only one you talk to.

Sure there are exceptions like everything in life, although in the end

there's a sort of backhanded irony.

It's those exceptions that are going to hurt him in the.

Josuke trusts his friends, he knows that Okuyasu and Koichi would never do anything to hurt him...

But you're not on that list and to be fair you're surely the only one who can truly hurt him.

You fall for a friend of his. Not him, not the boy that's been driving himself insane just to earn a smile from you, not the boy that let you get away with insulting his hair and poking insults at his look, not him never him, it just can't be him.

"You're like an older brother to me"...Did you wash your mouth with acid before you spat those words at him? Did you intend to lace your words with knives and blades and rubbing alcohol before you stabbed him? It's figurative, sure. But it might as well be literal. No pain, no cut, no punch from any stand would ever hurt so much! You really don't know what you do to him, do you?

"I'm happy for you," it's a lie, blank and simple. Automatic words that he's practiced in the mirror a thousand and one times. He'd rather watch you suffocate on your own blood than in the arms of another man. He'd rather break every bone in your body than watch you kiss one of his friends.

How on earth had he ever come to love you? Someone as cruel and cold. Were you even human? You resembled some ice stand more than a flesh and blood person. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM.

He really hadn't meant for it to become an addiction, he hadn't meant to get all so used to the crunch of bones beneath his foot, and the bloodied lips quivering, shuttering out apologizes for having the gall to utter your name in his presence. But there's only so much a teenage boy can take, only so much torture that he can bury inside with a moonlight smile.

Addictions really do funny things to semi-sane people, huh?

It's a split-second decision, done in the heat of an all so regular moment. It's just a simple half-hearted punch when you beat him at another videogame. Then another

And another

Then a crack, another and another, and before either of you knew it you're on the floor screaming out in pure agony.

Josuke vows he's not being cruel when he breaks your bones so delicately. He can justify every crack, every fracture. Although it's rather repetitive and in certain cases borderline petty.

Five broken bones on your left leg just for "kissing" your new boyfriend. Your right leg is bent at an angle you're sure it's not meant to be. All because you hugged said new lover before going to class.

Josuke's once liquidy blue eyes that held the softness of clouds have been dulled over by a sort of thick mania. His once soft touch is nothing but nails digging into already bruised tissue. His lips wobbling as stray tears flow past his eyes. Muttering apologies and stuttering curses at both you and himself.

It's not really like his darling can leave after that incident. Josuke is known around town as the boy with a diamond heart. There's no way in hell anyone will believe what he did to you. It's just better, safer, to stick close to him, to swallow the indignities and paint a loving smile over your face when you gaze into his depraved eyes.

It's better to pretend to love him, rather than have another limb broken...

"Come on (Y/N), it's just a little crack. If you promise to give me a tiny kiss I'll let Crazy Diamond fix you right up."

⭐Giorno Giovanna is sneaky and manipulative. ⭐

Sono pazzo di te. Sei la cosa più bella che mi sia mai capitata...

There's a sleekness to Giorno, a cunning that's hidden behind layers of charisma and charm mimicking that of his birth father's. It's so easy for him to fool his darling into believing that he's a charming prince from a storybook. He's the good guy trying all so damn hard to make his dream a reality. He's admirable, he's noble, he's Giorno Giovana, the golden boy.

It's not like he ever intends to hurt his darling. He'd never dream of laying a hand on them, he's all too familiar with the wounds that come from endless beatings. The bruises and phantom pains, that get worse as the days slip by. He knows real pain, and unlike all so many others on both sides of his family, Giorno doesn't want his lover to experience an uncia of it.

He'd never repeat what his stepfather and mother did to him. He's going to try and do everything he can to make sure that his darling is safe...

Because isn't that what's important? To make sure the one you love is safe. To make sure they don't get swept off their feet by some masquerading drunkard or taken advantage of by some fanciful sadist.

Giorno will do anything to keep his darling safe, even if it means tampering with their mind a little. Nothing too serious, he'd never even considered changing anything about them. Although isolating them isn't completely off the table and a few verbal threats are fine from time to time. Just for precaution...

Giorno is a rather determined boy, he'll go to any lengths to isolate his lover. Scaring away friends by letting Gold Experience give them a small out of body experience. If they're persistent then he can't guarantee that that out-of-body experience will simply remain an experience much longer. It's not out of malice, but it's what must be done for the sake of his darling, the only other thing he cares about.

There's a shift, a difference between the young naive Giorno Giovanna, the golden boy with starry eyes, and the new boss of Passione, the Mafioso who holds the whole country in the palm of his hand.

Oh sure, as a simple Soldato Giorno was dangerous in his own right. But Don Giorno? He's the sort of monster written about in the grimmest fairy tales. Wearing the appearance of a true king but underneath the luxury suits and priceless watches, he's just another greedy, fire-breathing dragon.

As the Don of Italy's most influential gang, Giorno's manipulation tactics have gotten rather ....hazardous. He doesn't have time to waste getting rid of every single person that poses a threat to his darling. If someone looks their way, he'll send some goons to take care of them.

Although it's so much easier to keep his lover locked away, he even has the perfect excuse now. He's the head of the mafia, he has all so many enemies who jump at the opportunity to hurt him in some way. So he has to keep his defenseless little lover locked away in some mansion that's all so far away.

He's also a bit more violent now. Giorno's more physical, ready to break a bone just for a wrong word or a cracked jaw from a punch for even asking to go outside. He blames it on the stress of running an organization...although it's more likely that all the power from passion has begun to rinse away Giorno's caring side.

"Cuore mio, Resta con me per sempre"

⭐Jolyne Kujo is clingy and obsessive and delusional.⭐

I can't stay away from you...

Jolyne is a rather condescending yandere. Her rough ragged exterior does little to hide the clingy neediness that writhes inside her shattered heart.

She's soft, dependent, desperate at best. Wanting her darling to approve of every tiny trifling thing she does. Needing their words of praise and approving smiles to have the courage to live another day.

At times it seems like the only thing keeping Jojo alive is the "good girl!" and "I'm proud of you!" her darling throws her way. Chanting the words of praise with closed eyes and fluttering smiles of anxiety.

It's difficult to make her sweetheart realize how virulent this relationship is, far too hard to call Jolyne a Yandere. The derogatory term applies to someone who ceases all control from their lover, who locks them in a basement, and throws away the key. It applies to murders and

stalkers and lunatics that roam the streets in the dead of full moon nights. It applies to those who were thrown into Green Dolphin for a reason.

Not to some girl whose life has been demolished over and over and over again.

Not to the girl with a star birthmark that follows her darling around like a lost puppy in the freezing rain.

But even Jolyn has her limits. She's been let down time and time again, abandoned and framed by those she thought she loved unconditionally. From friends to boyfriends to even her own father, everyone leaves, they take what they want, and then they leave.

Flesh like strings, stitched into a web of antithesis and distraught moods, act as a solid, interchangeable reminder of who really holds the power in this relationship. Of how Jolyne can go from needing her darling to controlling her darling in just a fraction of a heartbeat. She loves them, she swears she does...but they need to stay close to her, they need to only think about her.

Her addiction gets worse as the days tick by. It's less romantic, less loving. Morphing into a dependency, a compulsion. Rotting thoughts of her darling suddenly leaving, plague her every waking moment. The once semi pleasant conversations between her lover and her friends, get cut off like a severed limb.

Even Hermes and Foo Fighters aren't "good enough" to be around Jolyne’s lover. She's all so, scared they'll try to take them from her. Stealing the ONLY good thing in her life.

There's a certain degree of control that Jolyne's willing to give to her darling. A sort of freedom to make, revolting appalling choices, so long as they include her. A freedom to boss her around and make her submit. Her darling is free, so long as that freedom revolves around Jolyne.

"(Y/N)~ don't look at them! You should only focus on me! I'm supposed to be your world!"

⭐Johnny Joestar is sadistic and manipulative.⭐

Arrogance disguised as affection...

It's all degradation, all harsh words that sting worse than bullet wounds. Glares from dull wicked blue eyes that might as well kill, cause it's better than the alternative. Smirks that make being alive so damn distasteful. Kisses that engrave the lingering taste of rotting lead into your tongue.

Johnny isn't sweet, he doesn't smile at his little sweetheart. He doesn't pat their head and kiss their temples while uttering sweet nothings into their blushing ear. No, his lover doesn't deserve a honey-coated life. They don't deserve to have what was stolen from him by his so-called "loved ones". Instead, he uses them as a living dart board, for both his acid-laced words and bullet-like fingernails.

There's no love when it comes to Jojo. He doesn't want to waste time on something so frivolous as a "significant other". But he does like having someone -or rather something- to play with, a form of entertainment that bends at his will. Not a pushover, not someone who's too proud either. But a living doll that can take a few verbal spats and survive an armada of fingernail bullets through the stomach.

Oh, sure he wants to break them, having a toy that's so conflicted, that questions their own sanity is so much more fun. But it's the intervals that count. Johnny wants to be the one to break his darling. To engrave the helpless look of distress into his memory. He wants to preserve every scream, every tear. That's the whole purpose of even keeping a darling.

Johnny rarely lets his darling out of his sight. It's so much easier to play with their mind if he's the only one they ever talk to. They'll become so easily dependent on him if he's their only companion. Although sometimes Gyro can get a little too touchy and friendly. And there will be occasions when Hot Pants start to pry into the darling and Jojo's personal life. But the incidents are few and far between. Not like Johnny minds, if anything these minor secondary "meetups" are useful to the paraplegic jockey. They refill his darling with the most precious thing..." Hope". Just so Johnny can beat it out of them all over again.

There's a darkness that resides deep within Johnny. A toxicity that laces his actions. His life is miserable and he's damn well sure it'll always be that way.....

So why not take his lover down with him?

"Don't you love me darlin' ? Cause I certainly don't love ya."

⭐Jorge Joestar is delusional and obsessive.⭐

What if we lost our minds, together?

A love story better than his parents, that's all Jorge wants. Flower field dates, and quick lingering kisses before midnight. Something sweet, that doesn't have a macabre end. A romance without body-snatching vampires and zombies that shed their flesh. Something normal, gentle, lovable.

Although with the family he's been born into and the kind of things that keep finding him. Jorge doubts he's ever going to get such a hopeful love life. He's all so desperate to carve a life for himself outside of his family's shadow, but in the end, it's simply eager wishing.

He's not exactly sure what he's even looking for in a lover. Someone sweet but strong-willed, an average answer. Someone who bears a sort of resemblance to Lisa Lisa. Not physically but rather mentally, he's not a coward, he swears he's not, but he just wants someone who can protect him. A fair exchange in his eyes. His lover will guard him against the bullies and freaks of the island and in turn, he'll protect them from the grim ghouls that run amok through the world. Although when push comes to shove he isn't sure if he'll really be 'protecting' his lover or running away and hiding somewhere with them.

He just wants to fall in love and not go insane, a reasonable request, if he hadn't seen the worst that the world has to offer. It's just wishful thinking, sweet dreams for a boy designed to attract trouble.

He doesn't want to have conversations with his dead lover's head. He doesn't want to wear their skin and waltz around town. He doesn't want any of that creepy, supernatural stuff that destroyed his parent's love.

He just wants normal. But as the years slip by Jorge's grip on "normal" slowly begins to decay.

Normal is something, but what that something is has become a blur. Normal isn't vampires and zombies and ghost clowns that throw nooses around people's necks...Yet on the other hand maybe it is?

He's so far gone that he can't even differentiate between methodical and irregular. His brain's capacity to understand the difference has gotten so altered and broken.

Once he finds his darling he does try to act like the ordinary people of the Canary Islands or England, depending on where he's residing at the time. He tries to follow the mode, just to impress his lover. It's a façade, a bloody masquerade that's bound to deteriorate once he and his lover have settled down.

Although a poetic, domestic life had always been Jorge's dream, he soon comes to learn that it just doesn't suit him. Jorge's paranoia starts to increase. It's comical at first, the way his eyes dart to closed doors, half expecting a killer to emerge. Although the same paranoid tendencies can become rather smothering at times. He's all so certain something is going to jump out of the shadows, some creature with sharp fangs and knife-like claws is going to rip his lover's body to rags.

He's gotten rather umbrageous now that he's the one who's married and living in the Joestar estate. His tendency to run away from any form of conflict has morphed into a rogue-like sense, much similar to a rabid dog barking at anyone who gets too close to its territory. He keeps his darling locked away inside, triple-checking the locks to make sure no one or thing can get in. He avoids the probing disquieting neighbors who still speak ill of his widowed mother and murmurs about the "curses" bestowed on the Joestar bloodline. Sometimes even getting physical when the insults shift towards him and his new lover.

Punches are thrown.

Insults exchanged.

And then the door and windows are locked once more.

Leaving both Jorge and his darling in the chilling company of the semi alive shadows.

It's safer in the basement. It has to be safer down there. After all his mother kept his father's severed head down there for decades before anyone found it. So it's only sensible that his lover will also be safe, tucked away in the darkness of a brick room some few meters under the earth. He's not acting like his mother -and deep down he prays that this isn't something his late father would ever even consider doing- It's a thin line of justification, but he can reason with himself so long as he knows it's not something his other family members have ever done. He does try to keep his darling comfortable down there. Buying them the most luxurious furniture and comfortable bedding. Constantly bringing them new forms of entertainment.

Keeping them in this preserved state is what any reasonable person would do. Not just another insanity driven Joestar.

"It's for your own safety" he's repeated that phrase an umpteenth amount of times, although every time the sculpted words leave his tongue, Jorge becomes less sure of who he's really trying to convince.

Jorge is all so sure that he's doing all of this for both his lover's safety and to erase whatever misfortune follows around the Joestars, like an airy plague. Even his enrolling for the great war is done with this mindset...

Even though in the end it's also this mindset that gets him killed. Leaving his darling a wide window to freedom.

"Darling, what do you think when you look at me?"

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

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racheloveyunho · 3 years

Text

Till Death do us part - 1

Y/N grew up in a wealthy family, she always was seen as a beautiful and smart kid and was most likely to take her father’s place as the CEO of one of the most important companies in South Korea. However, after the death of her mother, Y/N’s family slowly started to break apart. Her father was always working to forget his uncalled pain while his kids were left alone at home.

She was 17 years old when her life took a sudden turn when she met him in a dark alley. He was a bloody mess, bruises everywhere but behind blood and dirt, she could see his beautiful features and his addictive gaze. Maybe she should have walked away, maybe she shouldn’t have helped him, but the moment his gaze locked with hers, she was already his.

Choi San was his name.

Genre: Mafia AU, angst, fluff, stranger to lovers

Words: 2486

TW: Y/N is described as an OC. Please be aware that this story will contain a lot of triggering content such as smut, blood, death, murder, drug, kidnapping, etc. Do not read if you are under a legal age!

Chapter 1

I still wonder what would have happened if I didn’t meet him during this gloomy night? We were young and I was way too brave for my own good. Maybe it was my faith or maybe it was a sheer coincidence but now, I know that I will love him till death do us part.

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5 years ago.

"Hey Y/N, wake up sleepyhead! It’s time to go to school and I will surely not wait for the princess to wake up" my brother yelled loudly from the first floor, waking me up in the process.

I groaned and shifted uncomfortably in my bed; it was too much noise at such an early time of the day. My long-browned hair was messy from the last night, as always. I was the type of girl to move a lot during my sleep and my morning head was always a funny one, swollen, with small eyes and with some of my lightly curled hair stuck in my mouth. After five minutes of rethinking my life decisions, I found enough motivation to get out of my bed and walked down the stairs.

"Why the hell did I agree to help other students during holidays, huh?” I asked my brother as I lazily rubbed my tummy.

“Maybe because you are too dumb to say no to your teachers?” he answered, his mouth full of food.

“Do you mind keeping your mouth shut while you are eating? It’s disgusting.” I shook my head disapprovingly.

I headed toward the kitchen to get a cup of fresh milk. Jin, my brother, childishly opened his mouth wide to show me the content of it. I let out a long “Ew!” before smashing his arm playfully.

“No, but seriously Y/N. There’s no use to be brilliant at school if that means you have to help your classmates with their studies during holidays” Jin said after taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, but the teacher who asked me this favor told me that he will write a recommendation for me if I agreed to help him” I answered.

“You don’t even need a recommendation, we’re from a rich family” Jin mumbled to himself but it was loud enough for me to hear it.

He wasn’t totally wrong and I knew it. We were born with a silver spoon in our mouth. We were “cake eater” as the other kids used to call us when we were younger, we never knew what it felt like to run out of money and everyone at school was jealous of me because of that.

But they didn’t know. No one knew how hard it actually was for me and my brother.

My mother passed away 2 years ago, and since then, my father didn’t stay at home with us longer than a week straight. He was always working, working, and working again, his job had literally become his life. He was one of the richest men in Korea and still, he was always eager for more and worked every day and night for it.

He wasn’t a good father for me and Jin. He never made any compliments to us, all he was able to do was to pressure us to be as perfect as possible or at least perfect enough to not ashamed him and his reputation. Unlike my brother, I wanted to hear my father say that he was proud of me, just for once. That’s why I was trying hard to be the perfect daughter, with good grades, good manners, and good appearance but even if I tried my best, it wasn’t enough for him.

“Do you know why I’m working so hard, Jin?” I asked him, voice as soft as a whisper, almost not daring to tell the truth.

“Why?” Jin put a hand on the top of mine, a sign of comfort since he already knew my upcoming answer.

“I don’t want to follow his rules forever. I’m still a minor so I had to stick at them but when I’ll turn 20, I will leave this house and will never come back” I sadly stated, “I want to marry a man I’m in love with, I want to do a job I like and most of all, I don’t want our father to commend my life.”

Jin tightened his grip on my hand. He understood me, he understood me too well. We were indeed rich but we were far from being happy. Jin was 6 years older than me which means he was already an adult. He wanted to leave this house as much as me but couldn’t bring himself to do so and leave me behind.

Unlike me, Jin has never been a good student, he always has been considered a failure to our father, and even if he finally was able to run away from here, he stayed there for me. I was really lucky to have a brother like him and I was well aware of that.

I took my breakfast and came back to my room to take a quick shower and get ready for this day I knew would be exhausting.

My brother was already waiting in his car. Jin took me to school as often as he could. He was working on a supermarket he owned and even if he was pretty busy, he wanted to spend his mornings with his “sweet baby sister” as he liked to call me.

I am indeed lucky to have a brother like him.

8 pm, it was already late when I heard the bell ring for the last time today. I was the last one to leave the class as I helped my teacher with the preparation of some material for the next day. It didn’t bother me too much, I wasn’t in a hurry to get home since I knew my dad was finally coming back home from his work.

In all honesty, I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t miss him at all, even after all this time. I wandered here and there even though the street was already pitch black.

“Oh! It’s been a while since I last went to the haunted alley!” I happily exclaimed to myself.

I knew every nook and cranny of Seoul, I grew up there after all. My favorite place was the haunted alley. As its name suggests and according to some beliefs, that path would be haunted.

It was an old story I heard with my friends when I was less than 10 years old. A grandma from our neighborhood scolded us and told us not to stay there because there was a woman who had been murdered in the walkway and that since then, one could hear her cry every night.

A simple way to scare naïve kids you may think, and you are more than right. However, this story is known by everyone, not just by kids. That’s the reason why I love this place, thanks to all of these rumors, no one uses this path except me. It was like my secret place.

I walked around the alley with heavy steps, thinking about my father and his upcoming lecture about how to be a good girl. My thoughts were suddenly stopped by the voice of two men who seemed to be fighting each other. I stayed still for a moment, trying to figure out where the noises were coming from.

“You piece of shit! And you claim yourself as the Boss” son?” One voice laughed.

I hid in the dark and saw what could have been mistaken with a scene from a horror movie. Between two old houses, a tall man was beating up a boy who seemed to be around my age.

I felt shivers down my spine but before I could even think straight, my body started to move with its own will.

“Hey! Let him go!” I shouted, my voice betraying me by showing how scared I really was.

I moved closer to the two men, I could now see them more clearly.

The young boy was sitting on the ground, badly bleeding, whereas the tall man was standing in front of him, blood on his hand and his nose broken.

They were watching me. The silence was heavy, the only thing I could hear was the beating of my racing heart and the shake of my knees that were begging me to run away from this place. The silence was soon replaced by an ominous laugh.

“Wow. What a beauty! Is she your girlfriend? Huh?” The tall man laughed and hit the youngest on his stomach before coming closer to me.

He came closer, until he was in front of me. I had a better view of his poor state. He wasn’t less bleeding than the other man, his blood was actually covering his whole face.

I don’t know what had taken into me at this exact moment, the adrenaline was rushing in my veins and even though my feet were stuck on the ground, unable to move, my hand reached the pepper spray I always carried in my bag. Before the man could react, I used my weapon against him.

When the chemical product had reached his eyes, he screamed and placed his hands on his face, trying desperately to soothe the pain. I took advantage of the situation and kicked him as hard as I could on his crotch before he fell loudly on the ground.

I quickly grabbed the boy by his arm and helped him stand up. He was badly injured but followed me without any complaint.

I was panting when I reached a lighted street. We stopped there, trying to catch our breath. I turned around to face the man I was still holding and my breath hitched in my throat, not from the run I previously had but because of how beautiful this man looked.

“Are you okay? What is your name?” I asked him but he simply stayed silent, staring at me with his piercing eyes.

I took a better look at his features, he was really handsome with a well-defined face. He wasn't older than me but he hadn't the body of a teenager either. His broad shoulders and his arms muscles could be seen without any effort from him. His dark hair was harmonizing with the dark of his eyes and his dimples were visible as the border of his lips turned upright in an inviting smirk.

How can someone like him be involved in such a fight?

“The sight is at your taste?” he giggled, his smile spreading wider.

I finally took notice of my staring when I heard him laugh. I must say it was the most beautiful laugh I ever heard, slightly high-pitched but almost bewitching.

“I wasn’t staring!” I shouted from embarrassment. Fortunately, the darkness of the night was covering the redness on my cheeks.

“Sure, you weren’t” He added, amused by my reaction “I’m San. Choi San. I didn’t need your help earlier but thank you, I’m glad you rescued me”

He came closer to me and gave me a sincere smile, showing even more his dimples.

My heart was going crazy in my chest. This boy seemed small earlier compared to the other man but he was way taller than me, maybe 7 inches taller.

“You’re welcome”

I was a bit intimidated by him but I dared not to look away. He had something special, an aura that seemed as dangerous as comforting. His gaze was intense and deep, it was like he was looking through me, memorizing every detail of my face.

He didn’t move and didn’t talk for at least 2 minutes and even if I was feeling uncomfortable, I did my best not to let him know.

“Where is your house?” he finally asked after what felt like an eternity.

He startled me with his sudden question, I didn’t expect him to talk this soon. Why did he want to know where I lived? He probably wanted to walk me home and I would have gladly let this handsome guy walk me home if I hadn’t met him in an odd situation.

‘But he is really handsome…’ I thought, sighing softly, making San arch an eyebrow.

“It’s okay, I live near here, no need to walk me home. You can go ahead…” I said “Go ahead to…the hospital, your house or…go murdering someone…whichever comes first” I added, lowering my voice at the end of my sentence.

His face changed into a surprised expression “I wasn’t going to walk you home, don’t worry”

I sighed in relief even if I felt a bit disappointed, maybe he wasn't that bad after all.

“I want to stalk you” he stared at me with his beautiful smile as if it was the most natural thing to say.

‘What the fuck?’

“Sure, stalking me haha, it was obvious, silly me!” I gently hit my head and laughed awkwardly, taking a step back from him.

He laughed sweetly and took my chin between his thumb and his index to lift my face up. His mouth came closer to my ear and he whispered a small “Just joking” before turning his heels back and leaving me, alone, in the dark street.

I was finally back home. Fortunately for me, my dad hadn’t noticed me since he was already sleeping on the couch.

I quickly went upstairs to my room and collapsed on my bed, my mind still processing what had happened earlier. It was scary to say the least but fascinating at the same time. I was still confused even after showering. This San had a deep effect on me, not only mentally but physically too.

“Choi San…” I muttered before closing my eyes and drifting into a deep sleep.

---------

This is my first story, it’s bad but I’ll try to improve myself!

This series will be uploaded slowly since I don't have a lot of time.

Thank you for reading!

#choi san #san ateez #san #mafia ateez #mafia au #ateez scenario #ateez au #kpop #kpop mafia #ateez angst #ateez fluff #strangers to lovers #ateez series

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deniigi · 3 years

Text

hi I have something for y’all called a disaster.

I wrote an Inimitable!Spiderman/Modern Star Wars AU because no one can stop me, not even myself. it is like 47 pages long. I am handing it tenderly to y’all.

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Title: impossible scenario

Summary: Peter runs into some drunk assholes arguing, calling each other Han and Luke. He lets it roll off him until he can’t anymore and eventually finds himself for the first time on the other side of someone more chaotic than himself.

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There was an argument happening under a fire escape. Peter knew about it because a concerned dude wearing a fuckin’ Yankees cap had flagged him down with waving arms and told him that someone needed saving, Spiderman. Some tall asshole was kidnapping a young blond dude, the guy and his too-cool-for-him girlfriend explained. They’d heard the two scuffling.

Peter maybe stared for a beat too long at them because the gal pointed two blocks behind him and said, “That way. I think the blond guy might be drugged. He’s slurrin’ something strong.”

Peter liked her shoes. They looked like Miles’s, but blue.

��Spidey?”

Miles told Peter all the time that he wasn’t cool enough to wear Jordans. MJ and Johnny had agreed. Such sad times.

“Spidey.”

“I got it,” Peter sighed.

The gal tsked.

“Man, you’re too young to be this jaded,” she said.

Peter sighed.

“You’re the third person to say that this week,” he said. “You think I should go back to therapy?”

There was a pause.

“You know that answer, dude,” cool-gal said. “Go save the twink.”

Twink. Got it. Thank you, citizen.

“There are websites for that shit, Spidey.”

Bye now.

“Apps, even.”

Bye, bye.

“BetterHelp or Headspace or somethin’—”

“Two blocks, you said?” Peter asked.

Two blocks away, there was indeed a man with dark hair trying to lift a violently intoxicated twink up onto the first steps of a fire escape. Peter examined his options. There were many ways to ruin a potential kidnapper’s day. His favorite involved coke and mentos, although he’d received feedback that that was a waste of perfectly good food. Down the list was also the option to walk over and scream bloody murder so that the kidnapper shat themselves and dropped their target.

That was good, but Peter was tired and the thought of mustering up the energy to scream at a noticeable volume made his thighs turn to Jell-o.

That left snark and violence.

Today, he would not choose violence. Only for today.

He strode out of his dark temporary residence between two dumpsters directly towards the tall dude and his mark. The mark was a messy one. Bless his heart, he was unwittingly making himself the most noncompliant victim to have ever victim-ed. Every time the tall guy got him almost vertical, he gave up his corporeal form to become drunk slime and ooze back to the ground with various moaning sound effects.

It would have been funny if not for the kidnapping context.

The fact that Peter had been standing there under the beams of two separate side-building security lights and neither of those two had noticed yet was also objectively funny—or would have been, if Peter had the capacity for processing humor at the moment.

Alas. This was what he got for telling Tony that he’d evolved beyond the need for sleep. He got caffeine-pilled. And there would be no true rest until that shit wore off, exhausted as Peter’s body yearned to be.

“Kid, work with me here,” the tall guy said.

“I can’t, I’ll die,” the shorter one moaned.

“Luke.”

“I’ve done my time—thirty years in AZKA—”

“Keep your voice down, oh my god.”

Peter was just standing here, fellas.

“Luke.”

“Why’s it always me? Why’s it always gotta be me? The hell did I do to piss off the whole galax-galaxy? HA. My bad, my bad. The whole universe?”

God, what a mood.

The tall guy dropped his grip on the smaller one and loomed over his puddle of ooze with poison in his gaze.

“People are going to die, Luke,” he said.

“So what? They’re always dyin’. Everywhere I go, people’re dyin’ and when it’s not them dyin’, you know who is?”

“Kid.”

“ME.”

“So you’re just gonna wallow there, feelin’ sorry for yourself?” the tall dude snapped.

“Sure am,” the puddle of ooze hummed.

This was not a kidnapping. This was a come-to-Jesus in the back alley of a bar. Peter was not needed here. He turned around on his heel and stopped when he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Is that?” someone whispered.

“Don’t mind me, pal, just your friendly neighborhood—” he started.

“Look what you did,” Tall and Handsome hissed at Ooze-Man. “Someone went and called Spiderman on us.”

Peter lifted a brow as Ooze-man ripped its chest up from the asphalt and composed itself back into a human shape with fluffy blonde hair and huge wide eyes.

“Omigod, it’s Spiderman,” the guy said. “Wait, no. Gimme a hand. No, not that one, fuck off, nevermind, I don’t need you.”

He drew himself up to standing, only leaning slightly on his buddy there and gave Peter as lopsided smile.

“Hi, there,” he said with a twang that Peter couldn’t place. “Were you lookin’ for someone, handsome?”

Ah, they had reached the time of night when all the drunks needed to tell Peter things he already knew about his ass. He loved this time.

Not to mention that this dude looked eerily like Johnny. Scarily like Johnny. So much like Johnny that Peter almost wanted to take a picture of him to send to Sue so that she could print up some lost and found posters.

“Just lookin’ at you, babe,” he said. “This guy botherin’ you?”

The tall guy blanched and then grabbed at his face in horror. Peter swallowed his laugh.

“He sure is, hon. You got time to rescue me?” Blondie crooned.

“Luke, please. Please.”

“Because I’m in real distress,” ‘Luke’ said with a pout mighty enough to fell Thor.

“You sure seem like it,” Peter said. “C’mere. I’ll walk you home. Leave that tool, he ain’t worth your breath.”

He held out an elbow like proper gentleman and was pleased at the hand that Luke laid over his heart in response.

Peter could imagine Johnny’s face in six different expression of jealous horror at a selfie taken with this look-alike. Each was beautiful in its own special way. As payment for being referred to counseling by the public, he at least deserved to receive at least two of those faces.

“You mean that?” Luke asked him.

“He doesn’t,” his tall companion said.

“I sure do, where do you live? I’ll walk you,” Peter said.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry, he’s gonna escort me,” Luke said, all choked up and fanning his eyes lightly.

This tall friend grabbed him before he could escape, though, and pulled him back behind his own body.

“Listen, Spidey, this is a misunderstanding,” he drawled. “I know this idiot—he is technically my idiot— and I’m the one escorting his ass home. Thanks, though. You’re a real menace. Beat it.”

MMMMMMM.

And here Peter had been planning on being jaded and miserable this fine night. How could he now when this dude was ticking every box that made him feel alive?

“What’s your name, dollface?” Peter asked across the short distance.

“None of your business,” Tall Guy answered abruptly.

“Luke,” Luke said around him. “Are you gonna save me?”

“In just a minute,” Peter said, striding forward with a hard roll in his shoulder and deep drop in his knees.

It was amazing how Tall Guy wanted to take some steps back all of the sudden. Peter couldn’t help but let a smirk widen his face as he advanced.

“Okay, hang on now,” Tall Guy said with both palms out in front of him. “You don’t know what this is about, Spidey. You don’t want to get involved with this, trust me. He’s just bein’ dramatic. No need to get testy.”

“You sure do a lot of talkin’ for your friend there,” Peter noted through his grin.

“Yeah, Han,” Luke said.

Ha.

Han. Han and Luke. Ned was gonna be enraptured when Peter told him about this later.

“Luke. Back me up.”

“Why should I?”

“Because,” ‘Han’ finally snapped. “I’m not doin’ this because I want you to suffer, alright? I don’t want nothin’ to do with it either, okay? No one does. But it’s this or—”

“Or everyone else,” Luke finished for him in a strangely toneless voice.

Han sighed.

“It’s always everyone else,” Luke said.

“Not here.”

“Why’s it always everyone el—No, no, here. Why not? We’ve got fucking Spiderman in our midst, how much more surreal can this moment get? No. You listen to me, Han—”

“I’ve been listening to you all damn evening and you know what I’m hearing?”

“—I lost my life for this. I lost my home, my aunt, my uncle, my hand—”

“I’m hearing you making this about you.”

“—everything I ever knew, and I tried to make it right, didn’t I? I made the school. I gathered the kids—”

“And it’s not just about you this time, kid. It’s not about you, it’s not about me, or Leia, or Chewie or—”

“—I lost my kid and the love of my life, and I finally get a second chance at finding them and giving them the goddamn happy ending they deserve, and the next thing I know—”

“Luke, you’re the only one,” Han said.

“I WAS NEVER. THE ONLY. ONE, HAN,” Luke roared out of absolutely nowhere, sober as a saint. “I was never the only one. EVER. Ahsoka. Go find her. She’s everything that I’m not and more. She’s the real—”

“Luke.”

“Stop saying that name. I HATE that name. I would do anything for twenty goddamn seconds where I didn’t have to be him.”

“You don’t mean that,” Han said quietly. His shoulders had rounded out and become black and heavy under the weight of their shadow. Luke’s eyes, however, looked like topaz.

“I mean it,” Luke said.

Oho.

So shit had gotten real tense, real fast, so Peter about to make a decision that was gonna make Shelley so proud of him she would weep when he finally slunk back in through her office door.

He was leaving. He was turning around and taking a wee jog. Maybe turning a corner, having a little jump over a fence, up a wall, to a place as far away from this one as superhumanly possible.

Bye, bye.

“This galaxy needs you, Luke.”

Peter stopped five paces away.

“They need you,” Han repeated. “And I need you.”

Peter slowly looked back to see that Luke’s face had twisted sharply out of the light, towards the alley wall.

“I’m sorry that we met again like this,” Han said quietly. “I’m sorry it’s always you. You don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”

“Shut up,” Luke said.

“But if you don’t do something, then it won’t be just me and you and all these random others sliding back into that cesspit we all barely crawled out of.”

“Stop.”

“You’ll never find him if things go back the way they were.”

“You—you don’t know that. There—maybe—”

“Luke. Listen to me. Please.”

“Maybe there’s a chance—”

“Luke,” Han said reaching out and putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder and clenching it hard enough that Peter should see the bunched fabric, “Do you want Din to live through this shitshow a second time? Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

Peter shivered. The pressure at the base of his neck was building. The Spidey Sense wanted to hiss in his ears like white noise. It pinned him where he was, staring over his shoulder at those two solid shapes, one digging a hand into the flesh of the other.

His stomach turned.

Luke said something that Peter couldn’t hear. Han pulled him toward his own body by the grip he had on his shoulder. At first, Luke seemed to stagger, like he was walking on black ice. He stopped a single step away from Han’s body, still with his face angled severely away. Han said something to him.

There was a long pause, then Luke seemed to fall forward. Han caught him and crushed his head into his shoulder, lowering his own until it was almost touching Luke’s ear. They clung to each other.

Luke was crying.

The Spidey Sense started to crackle and pop in Peter’s ears.

“I gotchu, kid,” Han said in a rasp. “I gotchu. We’re gonna get through it.”

Peter blinked once and finally unlocked the muscles in his neck. He wasn’t meant to witness this. He held out a wrist and fired a line.

It was weird.

It was just weird.

Something wasn’t right. And Peter couldn’t make his stomach not writhe about it.

Luke.

Han.

An offhand mention of like, characters. Character names. They were character names. Leia, Chewie.

Peter had heard of people who lived their lives honestly believing that they had been other people—fake people—in past lives, but like, damn man. Why would you put yourself in a position like that were you were moved to actual tears for some elaborate street-drama?

Maybe it had been a joke? That was the only thing he could think it could be. Maybe the universe had gazed upon his hubris at work and gone ‘ah yes, I know what this young man needs: emotional confusion at midnight on a Thursday. That’ll fix him.’

If that was the case, then yeah. Good job, universe. Good job, larpers. Y’all are equally sick.

But if not—and Peter no longer lived in a world where he could rule out any possibilities—then he had just witnessed—Dude, he’d just witnessed—

He couldn’t even think it. It was beyond him. It was so far beyond him that like he might have a real stroke taking the thought seriously.

There was only one person who could hold that kind of information unscathed.

Only one.

PP: Ned. I need you to listen to me and tell me I’m not crazy.

NL: no promises but go on

PP: I think? I just saw? Luke Skywalker? And Han Solo? In an alley behind Kitty’s?????

NL: fascinating

JS: Say more

PP: who let you in here?

JS: you?

PP: SECURITY

NL: Peter say more

PP: I can’t there’s a nerd in here and it’s vibrating at the wrong decibel. SECURITY???

MJ: yeah?

PP: I’m trying to have a breakdown. Can you remove Matchstick please?

MJ: what kind of breakdown

JS: he thinks he met Luke Skywalker

PP: Security has failed me. God?

NL: Peter can you name three things you can see.

PP: I am not manic. I am in touch with reality. I’m just having anxiety because I just fucking saw two people calling each other Luke and Han fighting behind Kitty’s. Like real fighting.

JS: nicknames?

PP: I—

PP: oh my god nicknames

PP: Johnny I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. never leave my side

JS: 😊

MJ: wow that’s cringe. Imagine naming yourself after SW characters

NL: does kitty do a cosplay night now????

PP: idk it was wild. People thought that ‘Han’ was trying to kidnap ‘Luke’ but when I got over there, Luke started flirting with me and then shit got real and they started arguing over like him hating his name and not wanting to do something and losing everything or some shit

NL: that’s a lot. I’m sure it was nothing, though, peter.

PP: yeah it was. My SS has been going nuts ever since I left. You think they bugged me?

JS: yes I will come search your body imminently

MJ: my job storm, back off

JS: after MJ has finished prelim checks, I will then search your body for you out of the kindness of my heart ❤

NL: that’s weird, the SS doesn’t usually freak out about cosplayers

PP: ikr?

NL: lol imagine if they were serious

MJ: don’t say that

JS: well now we have to lean in. thanks ned

JS: they were definitely real. God they were so real. You hear that Fate? You got us. They’re definitely real.

PP: BUT WHAT IF THEY WERE?

MJ: cue breakdown

NL: that would be so fucking funny. Luke Skywalker and Han Solo trying to save the world from the hellscape of nyc. The rats alone would thwart them.

PP: ned I’m freaking out

NL: oh you mean you’re actually freaking out?

PP: deeply

NL: oh shit sorry. I’ll be over, have you slept yet?

PP: NO

MJ: on it

JS: can I join?

NL: no johnny

MJ: no johnny

PP: 😭

JS: one day our love will build a bridge, peter. In the meantime I am stroking your ear comfortingly from midtown

Need and MJ’s weight pinning him to a mattress brought sleep but not necessarily comfort. They both thought that this was a sick joke someone had played on him that was now destroying his psyche. They thought that the couple pointing him back towards the cosplayers had been in on the joke.

Peter would have agreed with them if it wasn’t for the Spidey Sense. Everything else lined up perfectly.

Ned sighed in the morning and told Peter to go talk to Wade.

Wade’s hallucinations were, by far, more auditory than visual, but he stayed quiet while Peter talked his ear off over the phone in his locked office. He waited until Peter had run out of words to describe the feeling of impending doom and then huffed a bit of a laugh into the receiver.

“Them Star Wars people are unreal, Pete, you know this,” he said. “Look at Ned.”

Ned was perfect.

“Take off those rosy shades, hon. Now, look again.”

Ned had perhaps memorized the entire scripts of the first three movie and 90% of the spaceship names and the jedi lineages.

“Uh-huh. Keep going.”

Peter didn’t want to.

“We all gotta do shit we don’t want do.”

Fine.

Ned’s goal in life was to go to his wedding in a stormtrooper suit.

“Keep going.”

Every Lego project they’d built together since 13 years-old had been a Star Wars-related one. When Ned had decided to move out of his parents’ place, he’d shed actual tears over MJ and Peter mutually suggesting that he sell some of his memorabilia.

“Will this delightful buffet before our very eyes, what is the likelihood of your two pals being drunk larpers in too deep to quit?” Wade asked.

73%.

“Uh-huh.”

“Thanks, Wade.”

“No problem. Although, now I gotta see this. You said they were behind Kitty’s? You think I can get a stormtrooper costume in 8 hours?”

“They’re not still gonna be there, Wade,” Peter huffed. “It’s 10 am.”

“You ain’t know that. What if Luke Skywalker’s a useless drunk, huh? You ever think of that?”

No.

“What’d he look like?”

Peter groaned.

“He looked like Luke Skywalker,” he said. “Blond hair, blue eyes—sort of like a chipmunk that forgot its stripes.”

“I’m onto you, Skywalker.”

Peter hung up to Wade’s cackle. He slouched low and tapped his pen against his desk. Then against his fingers.

He stared at the edge of his keyboard.

“What’s the weirdest thing you could imagine, Pete?” he asked himself.

PP: sam

SC: yeah?

PP: do you like star wars?

SC: nah

PP: you’re perfect

PP: do you believe in past lives?

SC: like spiritually or culturally? I know I was a cult-kid for a min there but before that we were Buddhists and like, past lives are part of the package

PP: that’s cool. What do you think of people being reborn as themselves again like, 500000000 years later? From a galaxy far far away?

SC: I don’t think about those people

PP: okay well, hypothetically. Let’s say that you were going to imagine someone who embodied that whole spirit. Who would it be?

SC: Buddha

PP: not buddha

SC: is this a riddle? Is it Jesus?

PP: THOR. Thank you this has been helpful ily bye

Mr. Stark asked him over a cup of viciously black coffee why Peter was seeking out the demigod of his present nightmares.

That usually meant that he and Thor had disagreed on basic physics principles again. Peter took that also to mean that the demigod was still in the building. Possibly loose.

“He’s with Banner,” Mr. Stark said scathingly.

“Thanks, you’re amazing,” Peter said as he sailed out of the room.

Thor was sitting on Dr. Banner’s lab table, despite Dr. Banner telling him to get off no fewer than two times in the five minutes that Peter was in there, schmoozing and making pleasantries. He warmed Thor up to the home-run hit by asking him all about past lives and present lives and what the soul was on Asgard. Thor was only too happy to explain a load of nonsense that made Banner roll his eyes and poke at his muscles with a thermometer.

“So, hypothetically speaking,” Peter drawled in a very casual lean, “With the infinite galaxies and universes, etcetera, there could be one where Star Wars people exist. And so hypothetically, they could get reborn into a universe like ours.”

Thor blinked at him.

“You remember the laser swords?” Dr. Banner deadpanned.

Thor lit up.

“I suppose it’s possible,” he told Peter indulgently. “But if that was the case then it would be a long tragedy, no?”

…yes…

Say more, Thor-man.

“Well,” Thor said with a big, happy smile, “The series of events that unfolded in that story seemed to me to be one of triumph and tragedy. With one would come the other—that’s how these stories work, yes?”

…yes.

“So if Master Luke Skywalker and his companions arrived into our space here, then they must experience the same in order to be themselves,” Thor said, bobbing his head in pity. “Perhaps what would look like a new start for such people would result only in terror and disappointment until the same conclusion was reached.”

Peter felt his own grin twitch.

“So it’s not impossible?” he asked.

Both Thor and Banner looked at him quizzically at the same time.

“Peter?” Dr. Banner asked. “Is this coming from somewhere?”

Peter’s grin twitched so violently, it turned into a grimace that even superstrength would not let him maintain.

“Can I borrow one of you?” he asked.

Wade was not happy to be met outside of Kitty’s in the middle of the day, especially because his stormtrooper outfit, in his words, ‘did no justice for the size of his balls.’

Peter was ignoring that. He dragged Thor past Wade’s righteous anger until he was standing on the place where the other two had stood the night before. Thor stood there gamely.

“There,” Peter said. “Any like, energy signatures?”

Thor glanced around and shrugged.

Wade scowled at him and hounded him off the spot so that he could stand there instead.

“I feel nothing,” he said, devoid of emotion.

“Same,” Thor said.

Damnit.

“Perhaps you are—”

The Spidey Sense smashed through all of Peter’s sense and screamed at him to get to the street.

Get to the street. Get to the street. Get to the—

There.

Across the way. Chipmunk, no stripes.

That was the guy from the day before. He was on the opposite sidewalk smashed in with the crowd, dragging a hand through his hair and laden with a backpack and two separate totes. He was wearing a strange set of clothes—a mash of casual and formal—and seemed to be in a hurry, the type of hurry that involved pushing past folks at a half-jog and not stopping at streetlights.

“Got ‘im,” Peter hissed.

“No shit?” Wade asked over his shoulder.

Thor made a sound of interest.

“I see him, too,” he said. “What incredible energy, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Wh—

Peter whirled on him.

“Don’t you fucking say that,” he warned. “I’m gonna go distract. You two, on my six.”

Peter broke four traffic laws on his way around the block. He swung himself around a corner and fucked up the collar on his labcoat and counted to four before stepping out right into ‘Luke’s path.

They collided. Luke stumbled back and dropped one of his totes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Peter blustered. “Are you okay?”

Luke swore and dropped down without answering, collecting the odd ends of metal that had clattered out from his bag and now rolled loose over the pavement. Peter stooped to join, gathering rings and pipes of all sorts of sizes in his hands. Oncoming folks gave them a wide berth.

It took a moment for Luke to realize what Peter was doing, but when he did, his shoulders went stiff as a board.

“DON’T TOUCH THOSE,” he snapped, just as Peter made to pick up a little plastic bag with a wad of tissue inside it.

Peter froze.

“Oh. Sorry,” he said.

This time, Luke finally met his eye.

“Oh, Jesus. No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Luke blustered, “Thank you. I’ll—I’ve got them. Thank you, though. It’s okay.”

He took the metal out of Peter’s hands and stuffed them back into his bag. He snatched the plastic bag before Peter could touch it and put that on top.

“Excuse me,” he said as he stood. “Thanks again.”

And just like that, he hurried off past Peter down the pavement.

Peter watched him go.

“Catch?” Wade asked softly from the corner.

“Negative,” Peter said, reaching into his sleeve and holding up the thin aluminum tube he’d hidden up there by the edge of his shirt-sleeve.

It was shiny and longer than he’d expect for any plumbing project. The inside appeared to be coated with some sort of heavy, non-reactive material, and half of the outside had grooved bands carved into it.

“Someone’s building something,” he said.

“Mid-century sink?” Wade asked, taking the tube.

“Nope,” Peter said.

NL: That is a lightsaber hilt

NL: where did you get that? It’s like mega accurate. Was it etsy?

PP: I stole it

NL: give it back

PP: I can’t I stole it from Luke Skywalker.

NL: Peter.

NL: we talked about this.

PP: He’s Luke Skywalker. I swear on the grave of my mother

MJ: this is a problem. This is now an intervention.

PP: I will prove it. If he’s Luke Skywalker, then he will do ANYTHING to get this thing back.

NL: and if not?

PP: then I will wait two days before politely tracking down his home address and then I will return it via wall crawling

JS: UM

JS: SORRY

JS: PETER CAN YOU CALL ME?

PP: no

NL: no

MJ: no

JS: are

JS: are you sure??? Because there’s a guy in Reed’s lab right now talking to him and Sue, asking SUPER politely for access to—I shit you not—the crystals we picked up from that space trip the other day???

NL: …

PP: …

MJ: …

PP: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

MJ: fake

NL: no way

PP: WHAT’S HIS NAME, JOHNNY BOY????

JS: I can’t

PP: nope you gotta

JS: I can’t I’m gonna cry I didn’t ask for this

MJ: out with it

NL: please say it’s obi-wan

JS: HHHHHHHHHHH

JS: nope

JS: just a guy named Ben 🙃

PP: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

PP: I told you motherfuckers

JS: right. So like. Awkward. But you uh, know that hilt thing you have?

PP: …is Obi-Wan Kenobi about to beat my ass, Johnny?

There was something about putting the hilt into the palm of someone more famous than Captain America that made Peter’s knees weak.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker had flirted with him the other night.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker didn’t recognize him as Spiderman.

Nothing helped, really, especially when those big topaz eyes lifted and Peter could see that their rims were red and raw.

“Thanks,” Luke Skywalker—the embodiment of hope itself—said in a soft, defeated rasp.

Every alarm in Peter’s head said to save him. Save him from what? How? Who knew.

Ned and MJ seemed to feel the same way, if the pressure on each of his arms was anything to go by.

“Well, that’s all cleared up, then. Thank you so much for your help; it is deeply appreciated,” a stupidly pleasant gentleman with a perfectly combed beard and lovingly coifed light hair said to the room at large.

Obi-Wan Kenobi—pardon, Ben Kennedi—was far more handsome than any movie could ever dream to make him. What they’d done to him in the 1970s, Peter saw now, was a fucking crime. He watched as this beautiful human being set a warm hand on Luke Skywalker’s—pardon, Luke Naberry’s—shoulder and used it to steer him towards the Baxter Building’s front entrance.

He watched as the two of them, like true Master and Padawan, stepped out onto the landing and opted for the stairs. For one fleeting, unbelievable second, Luke looked back over his shoulder at all of them before taking the next step after his Master.

He was right the other night.

He wasn’t the only jedi. Not anymore.

“So that just happened,” Sue acknowledged for everyone after the door had clicked closed and the sound of footsteps had faded off to nothing.

“I’m going to cry,” Reed announced.

“This is single-handedly the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Ned said.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi walked into our kitchen,” Reed told Sue like she hadn’t been there right next to him.

“The empire is trying to establish itself under our very feet,” Sue said back a little viciously.

“The real empire,” Reed whimpered.

Wait.

No, go back.

“For real?” Peter asked.

Sue and Reed looked back at the rest of them and then exchanged a look.

Peter was sad now. Depressed and laid out on his side staring back at Valeria’s huge eyes on the floor while Ned and MJ and Johnny asked Reed and Sue two hundred clarifying questions.

Peter didn’t need the specifics. He was thinking back on the conversation that he’d witnessed between Luke and Han Solo—Han Solo who was tall with dark hair and dark eyes and an accent straight out of New Jersey. Solo who had probably been charged with forcing Luke to face the facts in front of all of them because he was the one who Luke trusted most.

But it had shattered them—both of them.

The New Hope had given up everything. He was tired. His heart was torn. He was jaded just like Peter had been that same night. He’d been avoiding the tightrope that Peter had already started crossing, though, probably looking for every possible way to not have to set the first foot on that wobbly line.

He’d walked it before.

Valeria reached out with a chubby, round hand and touched the side of Peter’s face.

“Spiderman,” she said with terrifying understanding, “Someone needs help.”

He wriggled in close enough to bonk heads with her.

“Baby Storm,” he whispered, “I think you’re right.”

MJ thought that Peter needed to leave things alone. She pointed out that he had plenty of problems without getting involved in universe-saving. She gestured to Johnny and volunteered him for the job.

Johnny refused on account of needing to be the prettiest blond in any room. He claimed that if he wasn’t, he had to fight for dominance.

Ned was on the other end of the spectrum. He had 43 reasons why Peter should get involved with things, and 40 of them ended up in the same place which was ‘it would be cool.’

One of Ned’s better reasons, however, involved pointing out that Peter had already stolen half of a lightsaber. He was good and involved now, whether he wanted to be or not. And that was enough for Peter to decide to go on a hunt to give a formal apology.

He recruited Ned to help him locate Luke Skywalker.

That didn’t work.

They tried Luke Naberry.

That didn’t work either.

They ended up going through every possible iteration of every Star Wars name they knew and then filtered out the people who’d been named by exuberant parents and then filtered out anyone who didn’t live in New York and they ended up with fat lot of still nothing.

It was like Luke Skywalker didn’t truly exist in this world.

Until MJ found his Instagram by typing in ‘guys who look weirdly like Luke Skywalker.’

She held the phone aloft in triumph and they all gathered round to gape in awe at her intelligence and research skills.

Luke’s Instagram was nothing but pictures of coffee.

He had one selfie and this selfie was enough to have gotten him onto a BuzzFeed article. In it he was holding—you guessed it—coffee. Iced coffee. One in each hand.

He was shaking them, and one had been labeled with his name—hence the public connection made.

“Someone needs to tell him that coffee is not a food group,” Johnny observed.

“Maybe he works nights,” MJ said.

Ned lifted an eyebrow.

“Maybe this is his job,” he said.

There was a pause.

Some snooping revealed that Luke was an honest to god food website editor. He was a cameraman.

Repeat. Luke Skywalker, cameraman. He filmed all the food hosts for his company’s Youtube channel. He edited videos. He more or less blended into the background of everything, while having his finger prints on damn near everything.

This was a man after Peter’s own soul. They were kindred spirits in hidden identities, content creation, and suffering under a boulder of responsibility too great to cope with.

He had to find him now.

And after they had his Instagram it wasn’t too hard. He seemed to hang out in various parts of the Bronx and Peter just so happened to know some folks out that way.

Louis told Peter that he would never speak to him again if he found, befriended, and then didn’t share Luke Skywalker (the man, the real man, I’m not fucking with you, Louis). But he also recognized a place on Luke’s instagram that he seemed to be working his way through the menu of. He sent along an address and told Peter not to forget his promises.

Angel asked why he was looking for Johnny Storm in the Bronx.

Peter left Louis to rattle sense into her.

He took a walk on Saturday morning. A long walk. A long train ride, then a walk, then a half hour of squinting, and then, lo and behold, he found a blond guy banging his head into the center of an out door metal table across from a woman with heavy braids trailing down the sides of her neck. She was much older than him and drummed white-painted fingernails across her cheek as she thought.

Peter hid and called Ned and MJ for an ID. He peeked the phone’s camera out enough for them to see the other two and then snatched it back.

Ned was about to flip a table.

“That’s clearly Ahsoka Tano,” he said. “She—the braids, dude. Dead give-away. And she put ribbons in them, like what even is discretion?”

Peter didn’t know that person. He continued not to know this person, even as Ned dragged him through a trainwreck of Star Wars lore.

“So she’s a friend,” he said.

“She’s like a jedi, but not like a jedi, she was a jedi, but then she said ‘fuck the order’ and—”

Great. Peter was approaching.

Ned held his face in his hands. MJ told Peter to report back on his findings. Peter ended the call and inched closer, weaving through the crowd and slipping into the coffee joint to see what nonsense they were selling.

It was nonsense with lots of syrup. He could never say no to syrup.

He watched the two outside while waiting for his order. Luke gesticulated to his friend and she spoke, giving reasonable gestures back. He stopped her and dug out his phone and that little plastic baggy full of fluffy material. He answered his phone. His friend took the little bag and held it up to the light.

She frowned at it.

Luke pushed away from the table and walked away to take his call. Peter’s order was called. He grabbed it and swerved out towards the patio.

“Hello,” he said at the edge of Luke and his friend’s table. “Is this seat taken?”

Luke’s friend stared at him.

“It is,” she said. “Move along, hon, you’re ten years too young.”

Wow.

“For your friend?” Peter tried. “Could I leave my number?”

He had this lady’s attention now. She was looking him up and down, appraising. Peter tried not to flex. He stayed cool. Matt-levels of cool. He smiled winningly.

“Alright, why not?” she said, digging through her bag for a receipt and a pen. Peter beamed as he leaned down to scrawl his number down on the back. He got halfway through before he heard a step stop nearby.

“Look alive, kid,” Luke’s friend said. “Hey, Luke, this guy was just—”

“You again?” Luke said.

Peter lifted his head and brows.

“Hi,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

There was a long silence.

Luke’s friend looked between them and then gave Luke a long, judgmental stare.

“You don’t have to,” Luke said. “Thanks, though. How did you find me here?”

Mmm. Beginner’s luck.

“Here,” Peter said, offering his number on the receipt. “If you ever need someone to talk to who gets it.”

Luke’s friend bit her lip and looked away in secondhand embarrassment. Peter ignored her for now.

“Thanks,” Luke said. “You don’t and you won’t. But you’re very pretty.”

Nice.

“You’d be surprised,” Peter told him. “Gimme a text. I’ll leave y’all alone now. Enjoy your coffee.”

He left. But not before hearing, “but that ass, Luke.”

Ned told him that there was no way that Luke was ever going to text him and he was disappointed in Peter’s hostage-taking skills.

But he was proved wrong two hours later and, for his crimes, had to admit Peter’s brilliance publicly.

LS: hi sorry. This is Luke. This morning when you stopped by our table, did you happen to see a little plastic bag on it?

Why yes. The one in Peter’s pocket right now? That bag?

PP: hi!! I did, actually. You guys aren’t very subtle 😏

LS: it’s not coke

PP: I’m not judging

LS: no, it’s not coke, I swear. It’s something INFINITELY more important. Did you happen to see if it had fallen on the ground?

PP: ah, no, sorry. I didn’t see it

PP: OH NO

PP: oh my god I’m so sorry, I think I took it with me when I accidentally took your friend’s pen.

LS: I

LS: what’s your name?

PP: Peter ❤

LS: Peter, you have a fucking problem

LS: I’m starting to think that you want something from me. And listen, you’re a handsome guy, but I’m not available and my type isn’t kleptomaniac. What do you want for it?

PP: well you got me

PP: to talk

LS: about what?

PP: mostly about why you look like you’re a wet phonebook in a bad gutter

LS: a phonebook???? What era are you even from????

PP: I could say the same to you, sir.

LS: I

LS: wh

LS: alright touche. The point is that I’m not going to talk to you. I just need that bag back. It’s a life and death situation.

PP: what are they? They aren’t coke crystals.

LS: how would you know?

PP: what are you, a cop?

LS: NO. This is going nowhere. What. Do. You. Want?

PP: To. Talk.

LS: I’m not going to talk to you.

PP: then why did you ask me to rescue you?

He held his breath.

LS: I didn’t

PP: you did

LS: I didn’t ask you for shit. This is it. What’s your last name.

PP: Man 😊

LS: Man what

PP: That’s my last name.

LS: Peter Man.

PP: oop, nope, sorry. That’s someone else.

LS: …so I’m calling the police, now. That’s what we’re saying?

PP: depends. Do you still need to be rescued?

Come on, Skywalker. Come on, remember.

LS: I never asked you to rescue me.

PP: You did. Think back.

LS: I didn’t

LS: I just made a joke to

LS: WHAT AFAJSDFA DTTH E FUCK

Peter cackled and let himself fall onto his back.

PP: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ❤

LS: YOU’RE

PP: Just your friendly neighborhood guy ❤

LS: YOU

LS: you

PP: me

LS: THAT’s how the storms knew you

PP: yep 💋

LS: I don’t even know what to say

PP: it’s okay, you don’t have to say shit. The main thing I wanted you to know was that I hear you. And if you need it, I’ve got you.

LS: You’re literally trying to rescue me??

PP: it’s my job

LS: IT ISN’T. How have you never been arrested? how did you find me? Did you track my phone? Is it some kind of spider thing???

PP: yes

LS: I am legally obligated to kill you with the force now

PP: harder daddy

LS: ADaaSDASFSDFSdd

LS: oh my god Han is going to lose his gourd

LS: I’m sorry I just I can’t believe you of all people stole my damn hilt

PP: I’ve got……………………..sticky fingers

LS: go die

LS: no I didn’t mean that sorry that’s a thing with me and my sister. I mean, okay. You got me. Hero of NYC.

Peter’s cheeks were starting to hurt.

PP: I’ll bring them back to you.

LS: Please do, Ben’s about to have a stroke.

PP: you mean obi-wan?

LS: he’s convinced his cat ate them. There’s a staring contest happening. No one has blinked in two minutes and I don’t want to be here for the internal investigation.

PP: where do you live?

Luke sent an address. Peter held his phone high and walked it into the living room where Ned was bitchily composing an Instagram post. He and MJ looked up at the same time.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Peter said. “Luke Skywalker and Co. live in a cemetery.”

It wasn’t a cemetery. It was a funeral home, but close enough.

Luke was waiting outside on the stoop in a cardigan about four sizes too big for him. It was there probably to protect him from the equally large ragdoll cat in his arms.

Peter smiled. Luke stared at him and then shook his head and went through the screen door. Ned gave Peter a biting look.

“Made friends, I see,” he said.

“We’re doin’ great,” Peter told him, hopping up the stairs. “Look at us, totally—”

“Insidious.”

Peter stopped and turned nervously to see through the screen door where Obi-Wan Kenobi had seized both of the cat’s cheeks. Luke continued to hold it with maximum doneness levels.

“Where have you been?” Obi-Wan asked the cat seriously.

“We have guests,” Luke said. “Take your beast.”

Obi-Wan snatched the cat out of Luke’s arms with contempt all over his face.

“You are a villain of the highest order,” he told it.

“Ben. Guests. Please evacuate. I am hosting negotiations,” Luke said.

“We should have named you ‘Sith.’”

“Ben.”

Peter was not going to laugh at Obi-Wan Kenobi. That was too surreal.

“Come in,” Luke said, returning to hold open the screen. “I hope you’re not allergic. There are two of them.”

T-two?

“The other one is Junior.”

Peter stepped over the threshold and found himself in a room that looked like a human birdhouse. It was full of surfaces that were almost completely empty, as though an enrichment object had once lived there but had been removed as punishment. Luke waved Ned and MJ in and accepted their apologies on Peter’s behalf.

Peter ignored them to lock eyes with a creature more stunning than any he had ever encountered. It sat on the kitchen counter by a single clear jar labelled ‘Not Spice.’ It blinked grumpy green eyes.

“Oh, it’s these people again?”

They all looked behind them to see Obi-Wan peering around a doorframe with the first cat draped over his shoulders.

“Kleptomaniac,” Luke said, pointing at Peter. Peter waved.

“Huh,” Obi-Wan said simply. “I will distract Ahsoka.”

He vanished. Luke grimaced after him.

“Let’s go talk in the back,” he said. “There are no bodies, I promise.”

The funeral home had a little deck and a yard small even for this far out in Queens. It was crammed full of plants that appeared to be in a competition to bloom. Luke invited them to sit and then left to make coffee.

Coffee, yes, how had Peter forgotten.

He peeked over the side of the deck down where there was a large stone set in the center of the garden.

“A seeing stone,” Ned whispered to him.

“Oh, how did you know?”

They all jumped.

Peter swore that Obi-Wan hadn’t opened that sliding door. How had—what—

Ned was at a loss for words in the face of one of his greatest heroes.

“I—uh. M-movie? I mean, sorry. It was in The Mandalorian, second season, with the—”

“Yet more television,” Obi-Wan said derisively.

They all stared.

“Can you teleport?” MJ asked him.

“I thought you were bothering Ahsoka?” Luke asked, from inside. He squeezed past the man and his cat with three glass mugs in hand. He set them down on the little square table off to the side of the desk railing.

“I was, but then I got curious,” Obi-Wan said. “And I lost Junior.”

Luke stared at him.

“I’m going to lock you in the basement,” he said.

“Try, try, and try again,” Obi-Wan told him, petting his beloved cat’s head.

“Do you even know who Spiderman is, old man?”

“More television.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Peter had to keep a conscious watch on his jaw, lest it fall open in the face of the most handsome, clueless man on the planet. He watched as Obi-Wan, disgusted with all this ‘television’ nonsense skulked back off into the guts of the home. Luke shut the door behind him.

“So,” he said, holding out his hand. “We’re talking. Fork ‘em.”

Ah.

Fair was fair.

Peter produced the plastic bag from his pocket and handed it over. There was a shout somewhere inside followed by someone going ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

“Ben keeps our home ghost free. He terrifies all the wannabee haunters,” Luke said simply. “Thank you for these. I imagine it’s somewhat of a shock to learn that it’s all real.”

It was, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing Peter had encountered by far.

“How long have you lived in New York?” he asked conversationally.

Luke gave him a weird brow.

He seemed smaller than before in that enormous cardigan. Certainly smaller than the movies made him seem. His face was a little thinner too, and his lips seemed to slope into an almost permanent pout.

“About twenty years,” he said. “We were born in California, but Anakin moved us here when we were eight.”

Anakin? Like, Darth Vader, Anakin?

“’Luke, I am your father’—yeah, that guy,” Luke said with a scoff. “Except, you know, he ain’t dead. And he’s the only one who can make Ben remember that tea isn’t a meal, so we keep him around for that and to scream back at Leia.”

Peter was already completely lost to the dynamics of this household. It wasn’t like the books and movies—Ned’s twitching for his phone to take notes was proof enough of that.

“That’s awkward,” MJ said. “So did y’all do like, collective counselling for the past life shit?”

Luke deflated and moaned into his hands.

“It’s not past life shit if your damn name is the same,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

It sounded like it.

Imagine growing up with your apparently-Star War-obsessed father and uncle who’d built a home and a business (presumably) around that shit, only to find out later that they’d done it because it was literally their religion.

What a trip.

“When did you find out?” Peter asked gently.

“Oh, you know. Last week,” Luke said with a bitter grin. “Quit my fulltime job. Dumped my ex. Broke my lease and now here I am. Once again. Back at this place.”

“Do you want a hug?” Ned asked into the awkward silence.

“You’re very sweet,” Luke said. “If I touch another human, I will start crying and never stop.”

Yikes.

Barely holdin’ on by a thread there, buddy? How’s the hyperawareness going?

“Why does it matter, is my question. For you, I mean,” Luke said with a suspicious squint. “You fought a goblin guy, didn’t you? With a hover board?”

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh, yeah.

Yeah, Peter sure had done that.

“And like, the bird dude? Didn’t you down a plane?”

Perhaps.

But Luke had blown up the Deathstar, no?

“These things are not equivalent,” Luke said flatly. “I joined a rebel alliance. There were loads of us.”

Mmm. Perhaps so.

“God, how old are you even? You look 22.”

Peter gawked.

“I’m 27,” he said.

Luke did a double-take.

“That’s a lie,” he accused. “Tell the truth or be compelled.”

“By the Force?” Ned asked hopefully.

Luke blinked at him. He pointed at the glass sliding door which revealed Obi-Wan holding Junior the cat above his head by the kitchen sink.

“The Force,” he said.

Ned’s face fell.

“Do we not have the Force, here?” he asked.

Luke flinched.

“Listen,” he said abruptly, “We’re workin’ on it. This isn’t our original galaxy. The rules are all different. The only one who’s managed to make even a spark happen is Obi-Wan so far, but as soon as we find Master Yoda, it’s over. We’ll already have won.”

“You lost Yoda,” MJ mused.

Luke stammered and caught himself.

“We lost a lot of people,” he snapped. “It happens when you shift galaxies. Anyways, that’s what the stone is for.”

MJ glanced back at the stone and then leaned her forearms onto the small table.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “You jedi folks all popped up over here by some cosmic accident. You don’t have the Force. Most of you don’t even remember who you are. You lost your most experienced Master, and you’re going to fight the Sith?”

Peter stirred his coffee nervously.

Luke’s eye twitched.

“We don’t need the others,” he said. “We only need the Force. To fight the Sith. Yes.”

MJ frowned deep and held her chin with both hands.

“So you need the thing you for sure don’t have the most,” she said.

Luke opened his mouth, but not before the window by the door snapped open and Obi-Wan leaned out to say, “We always have the Force.”

Luke covered his face in despair.

“I was listening from the kitchen window,” Obi-Wan told him lovingly.

“GO FIND CODY ALREADY,” Luke roared at him.

“I did, he’s right here,” Obi-Wan said soothingly, stroking his angry cat.

“The other Cody.”

“Oh, I am trying, don’t you worry.”

“Ben, so help me God—”

“Force.”

“SO HELP ME FORCE—”

Star Wars had really left out the part about Luke’s explosive temper. Peter winced, but Ned laughed and the sound seemed to have a calming effect on Jedi-on-Jedi crime about to take place in the kitchen. Obi-Wan appeared pleased with this development and emboldened. He wove past Luke out onto the desk and came over, cat and all, to point down to the seeing stone in the middle of the garden.

“Others who feel the Force’s energy will be drawn to it,” he told Ned fondly. “It’s how we got Luke back home.”

“It’s not,” Luke said. “You called me.”

“And so others will also come,” Obi-Wan said with confidence. “The most important thing is that we believe in the Force. And from that, we will find guidance and power and—”

“He means Yoda,” Luke translated. “He’s been putting frogs on it as an offering, even though me, Ahsoka, and Anakin told him that this is a human’s world. A human’s world, Ben. Even if he did eat them, he’s not eating them raw.”

“Don’t be discouraged by Luke’s attitude, he is very stressed,” Obi-Wan told Ned and Ned only affectionately. “I told him not to be, you see there are four of us here already, and the Chosen One is among us.”

“Anakin told you to stop calling him that,” Luke moaned, massaging his temples.

“He was the first to be aware of our present situation,” Obi-Wan said.

“He took a hallucinogen and had a paranoid breakdown,” Luke pleaded. “Ben, please. Go inside. Think of your blood pressure.”

“Perhaps, but it was a useful breakdown, was it not?”

“I am so sorry for him, he’s getting senile,” Luke said to the rest of them.

“Your energy is different,” Obi-Wan informed Peter out of absolutely nowhere. “Are you also Force-sensitive? Were you drawn to the stone?”

Er.

No.

Sorry?

“He’s Spiderman,” Luke said, gesturing pointedly. “Remember Spiderman?”

Obi-Wan did not. Peter suspected, actually, that Obi-Wan still used phonebooks, if he used phones at all, that was.

Luke took a deep breath and let it out.

“Okay, let me just lay it out,” he said. “We’re doing the best we can with what we have. You don’t have to get involved with this. We appreciate your help, but what would help us even more is if you stay out of it, alright?”

Yeah, okay. Sure. Peter could respect that.

“Amazing. And don’t tell other people.”

Understood.

“Unless they’re Force-sensitive,” Obi-Wan said. “In which case, ask them how they feel about rocks.”

Luke just stared at him coldly this time.

“You didn’t used to be like this,” he said dangerously.

“No, I used to be stressed,” Obi-Wan told him. “But you and Ani are doing that for me, so I have resolved to be a free spirit. Nice to meet all of you. Have more coffee. I don’t like this one; I will have it out of the house by sundown.”

He left, and possibly for good this time. No one knew what to say in his absence.

“So,” Peter tried, desperate for something to break up the tension. “You said a few days ago that you were looking for someone?”

Luke finally stopped making growling faces towards the sliding door. He lit up like a bulb.

“I am, actually,” he said.

Luke was looking for a very particular person named ‘Din.’ He described him as ‘six feet tall and covered in armor.’ He asked if they knew of such a person.

Peter had to shove a hand against his mouth in case he made an unwanted connection between this description and Obi-Wan behavior.

“Haven’t,” MJ said. “Who is he?”

“My husband,” Luke said.

Ned choked.

Peter choked.

MJ tilted her head.

“You have a husband?” she asked. “I would have remembered a husband in that series.”

Luke leaned his chin on his palm and gazed sideways over the city. He seemed to sigh.

“I don’t know why he isn’t connected to me in the media created here,” he said. “It’s probably because he’s always been very shy.”

Oh, aw. Peter loved that. The contrast between them was heart-warming.

“We had a son together,” Luke said. “His child. He brought him to me. One of my students, at first.”

Hang on a minute here.

Peter exchanged a glance with Ned. Ned tried very hard to pick a way to approach this sensitively. He landed on asking, “What was his name again?”

“Din,” Luke said. “Din Djarin.”

Ned cringed.

“He was a Mandalorian,” Luke explained. “Very, very, very shy. Like, he would rather chew off his own leg than make small talk with a stranger. I think, before I knew all this, I was still subconsciously looking for him. All my exes are the same type.”

That—

Okay, so like.

Did these people own a TV?

“Do we look like we own a TV?” Luke deadpanned. “No. If Ben senses anything bigger than a datapad happening in this place, he’s driven to madness and breaks it.”

UH?

“He doesn’t actually break it,” Luke sighed. “He just finds a way to make it unusable—putting clothes on it, disconnecting the monitor, that kind of thing. He thinks they waste electricity.”

What a guy. Peter wanted to put him and May in a room and see what conspiracies they could spin together.

“Why do you ask?” Luke asked.

Ned cleared his throat.

“Do you have a, uh, datapad, then?” he asked.

“DIN. That’s DIN. He’s got his own show. Oh my god, that’s—stay right there. Don’t move.”

Bless this man. Peter wanted to hug him so bad. They’d lost him to the staircase leading up from the second floor to the attic. Peter wondered who he was showing the tablet to.

Maybe Obi-Wan?

“I told you this already,” a voice up there said.

“LOOK AT HIM.”

“You’re killin’ me, smalls. We had this exact conversation last week. Did you forget?”

“You knew where he was.”

“Alright, alright. Downward march.”

Anakin fucking Skywalker came down the stairs with a handful of Luke’s shirt in one hand and the tablet shoved under his other arm. He paused and frowned at the three of them in the kitchen frozen in shock, and then apparently decided that that didn’t matter. He carried on dragging Luke with him towards the kitchen counter. He dropped the tablet onto it and Peter realized that the lower half of his sleeve on that side was empty.

He watched as the guy let go of Luke and chased the not-angry cat off the counter, cursing.

“Alright, this?” he said, tapping on the tablet. “Is the link I put here.” He rapped the same finger on what Peter now saw was a whiteboard covered in rows upon rows of symbols that he’d never seen before.

“Din here? Din here. You see?” Vader told Luke with untold patience.

“I can’t read that,” Luke moaned. “You lied to me.”

“It’s up in the kitchen, Luke.”

“You’re a liar and a cad. Do it in Basic.”

“This is Basic.”

Oh, dear. All that fanfic about Luke meeting Darth Vader and having a breakdown was looking real embarrassed now, wasn’t it?

“If it’s Basic, why can’t I read it?” Luke demanded.

“Because, like I told you last night, the night before, and the night before that,” Vader said painstakingly, “It doesn’t all come back at once. It’s going to take time.”

“We don’t have time,” Luke snapped.

Vader leaned his head back with half-lidded eyes. Luke didn’t look even remotely like his kid, even with him looking all pre-quels-like now.

“We talked about this, too, remember?” Vader asked.

Obviously not. Luke was distressed. He had eyes only for the tablet now.

“No, of course not, silly me,” Vader said. “Why are humans here?”

“Ahsoka went home,” Luke said.

“Thank you, that was not my question.”

“What was your question?”

“Why are non-order humans here?”

“I told you, Ahsoka went—”

“Son, I will kill you if you continue to act like Obi-Wan,” Vader said without missing a beat.

“You can try,” Luke said offhandedly. “But only one of us has two handed grip.”

There was a long stare.

“It’s Obi-Wan,” Vader told him. “Why do we have living guests?”

He gestured back to Peter, Ned, and MJ like they were flies on a set of blinds.

“Oh, because that’s Spiderman and he stole your kyber crystals,” Luke said.

Vader rounded on Peter, and Peter actually felt fear.

Vader blinked once.

“This may as well happen,” he decided somehow placidly. “I’m going back upstairs. Where did your grand-master go?”

“Into the mist,” Luke said. “Can you feel Din?”

“Negative, ghostrider.”

“When the Force chooses you first out of favoritism, can you feel for Din?”

“Ah yes, can I feel for your Force-repellant life partner with all of the Force energy that I do not have? Yes, I sure can.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, primary monstrosity of my loins.”

UM?

This felt a little hostile for Peter’s tastes. Not that it wasn’t earned. Clearly it was earned. It was just horrifying.

“Guests, you are dismissed,” Vader said in their direction. “Unless you’re drawn to the rock outside, in which case, you may stay. Otherwise, do not darken this doorstep again, or else we will leave you with the other dead in the morgue.”

“Thanks for bringing the crystals,” Luke said from behind him. “And for talking. I do feel better, actually.”

They left the funeral home. Obi-Wan was outside by the mailbox as though waiting for them. Peter wasn’t sure he had any emotional energy left to approach him with.

“Thank you for speaking to Luke,” he said as the three of them attempted to pass unnoticed. “It’s good for him to talk to others his own age.”

Uh-huh. Good night, sir?

“Good night, Peter, Ned, and Michelle.”

They hadn’t given their names.

They definitely hadn’t given their names.

Ned wasn’t sleeping for two years. He made this clear with a lot of clapping gestures and then rolled around on the floor, talking about all kinds of shit that Peter couldn’t decipher. MJ watched him and flicked her eyes up to Peter with concern on her forehead.

“That family is cinematically dysfunctional,” she said.

Correct.

“They’re barely their own characters.”

Correct.

“What now?”

Peter wasn’t sure. The best he could think of was to just keep an eye on the situation. Maybe check in every couple of weeks?

“If you say so,” MJ said. “I think you made Ned’s life, by the way. Good job.”

Peter tried checking in every two weeks. It started because he happened to hear of a tunnel collapsing in Queens nearby the funeral home. He texted Luke to ask if he needed a save and all he got back was a ‘well, not anymore.’

After that, Peter kept a close eye on happenstances occurring around the city. There were more than he bargained for. And when he glanced at Luke’s Instagram after the first week after the tunnel collapse, he noted that two of the nails on the hand Luke held his coffee to the camera with had gone completely black.

That was worrying.

Peter was used to be the danger-prone asshole in his friendgroup. He did not like this role-reversal. MJ asked him sarcastically what the problem was.

He texted Luke again.

PP: how many nails do you have left bro?

LS: we put a hole in one to release the pressure

PP: that don’t sound great bro.

LS: it’s fine. Oh, but good news

PP: oh?

LS: the most predictable thing ever has happened. The Vader has regained force power

PP: that’s worrying

LS: ? why?

PP: won’t he go dark?

LS: ah, no. He fucked up and raised me and Leia with Ben this time after our mom died. He had his chance to go dark and traded it for 8 consecutive hours of sleep instead.

PP: I truly don’t know what to say

LS: It’s fine we did 12 years of family therapy after the accident so we are no longer on the DSS watchlist

PP: I know less what to say

LS: he won’t find din :/

PP: is that your priority right now?

LS: aren’t you supposed to be spiderman or something? Don’t you have chaotic things to say?

PP: you know normally I do, this is literally out of character for me. but I think you also might be absorbing my chaos.

LS: that’s fair. I have that effect on people. Hey, is your buddy Ned available to chat? He knows more than I can remember about my old life. Can I borrow him?

That sounded like a horrendous decision.

PP: yeah let me get you his number.

LS: thanksssss

Ned reported a few days later that his services were needed at the funeral home. He was leaving them all now to befriend Luke Skywalker as was his true destiny.

He came back a few hours later and reported that his services had been helpful and he was pleased to say that Darth Vader was now the official herder of ‘wans’ in the house. This included all Obi-Wans and padawans.

He seemed to be the only guy there who could like, retain information given to him for some reason. He accepted this as his lot in life and went around repeating the same things to the others ad nauseum until they finally stuck for them.

Peter wondered if that was his personal hell.

Ned didn’t think so. He thought the guy was pretty chill about it and had probably been doing it for a while now. He did it more for Ahsoka Tano and Luke than he did for Obi-Wan. Although that was probably because Obi-Wan appeared to be on a hunt that made all non-relevant information given to him slip off his back like water.

Another two weeks. Another text.

PP: hey luke, I saw you drowning on the news. You okay?

LS: GOD my ex-workplace keeps calling welfare checks on our house. We’ve had more cops here then flies these last few days.

PP: ex-workplace is one way to refer to your old job. Sounds like they cared about you. What did you do?

LS: preschool teacher.

Peter was going to lose his shit right here on this bed.

PP: was that your calling?

LS: that was Luke Naberry’s calling. Luke Skywalker’s calling is to make the lightsaber go vrrrrrrm

PP: you honestly terrify me

LS: thanks han says the same thing. OH. HE FOUND CHEWIE.

PP: no shit??

LS: yeah I told Ned, not you. But yeah. He found him lugging boxes for a bodega. And now they both work at the same bodega. Which like, objectively, is a bad thing because Han was a UN translator.

PP: I’m

PP: sorry

PP: what?

LS: I know he was all respectable and shit. It was awful. I can look at him again without feeling like I’ve failed in every part of my life.

PP: dare I ask what your sister does?

LS: lawyer

PP: not senator?

LS: we’re not old enough to be senators.

PP: every moment becomes more concerning than the next. You fascinate me. This is why they put you in like, all the films.

LS: because I’m sexy yeah

PP: that too

LS: not to you. I’m off-limits bub. I’m married.

PP: how’s that going for you?

LS: Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

PP: I see. So no Din yet?

LS: I will find him if it kills me

PP: that’s so romantic. Hey you should watch that series. They gave him a little green yoda in it. Really cute.

LS: that’s my son you piece of shit

There was no winning here.

MJ asked him a few weeks later if he was still keeping up with the Jedi drama since the whole city had recently decided that Peter was a snack.

Obviously he hadn’t.

She told him not to worry, Ned had. She told him to talk to Ned, so he went and talked to Ned with a heatpad in one hand and a coldpack in the other.

Ned patted at him sympathetically and informed him that Luke had reunited with the Force. It was going poorly for him, mostly because the Force wasn’t used to people being in touch with it in these parts of the universe. It kept telling each of the jedi that there was a disturbance and then luring them to each other to fight to the death.

Luke described it as the Force-equivalent of an auto-immune disease.

They’d taken to gathering in the living room of the funeral home to meditate in a circle, as though to calm the Force’s anxiety while scenting each other for protection.

It had a 40% success rate. Everyone was sleeping in locked rooms for the time being, just in case someone got compelled to do something rash.

Peter asked Ned if he’d finally lost his crown as King Chaos of NYC.

Ned patted him on the knee more firmly than before and said that he could regain his crown by introducing a calming element into the jedi household.

Peter had his pride to defend, so he asked what that element ought to be.

Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, the leader of all Mandalorians, was bound to have a name that looked nothing like the one they had for him. Luke nearly exploded when Peter approached him to asked him (and his taped fingers) more about who Din Djarin was outside the name.

They proceeded with caution, however. So far, Peter and Ned had discovered only dissonance between Luke’s account of his life partner (his ‘heart, stars, sun, and sand’) and the guy on the screen for the tv show. That was to be expected, given that they had met Luke now and learned of his somewhat explosive personality.

But even still, Luke’s description of Din Djarin as ‘kind, compassionate, tender, shy, emotionally stable, dependable, sweet, caring, and hunky’ seemed slightly biased.

Peter just wanted to know how tall this guy was. Hair color. Eye color. Skin color. Blood type. That kind of shit.

Luke said that Din had brown hair, brown eyes, Type Who Knows What blood, and was about six feet tall. He had no idea how much he weighed. He’d never had need for that information. He knew that Din was human, which was probably helpful in a galaxy far, far away. He knew that he spoke Mando’a as his first language, then Basic, then a whopping fifteen others. And he knew that Din was probably looking after their son.

Vader asked Peter over a mug of coffee (also labeled in the funeral home’s cabinet as ‘not spice.’) if Spidersenses could overcome a dearth of information. It took Peter a few moments to realize that he was sympathizing with him.

“You’re not going to find Din,” Vader told Luke. “You need to look for the kid. You’ll find the kid first, you always have.”

Luke took his coffee and poured it down the drain.

Peter decided that he didn’t want to get in between that burgeoning battle. He told Luke to text him if he remembered anything else.

Wade was pissed that Peter had been meeting and ‘cavorting’ with Luke Skywalker without him. He claimed ownership of the Din Djarin mystery in order to cram himself into Luke’s good graces. But quickly, he ran into the same stumbling blocks as Peter.

Din Djarin was six feet tall with brown eyes and brown hair.

That was what they currently had to go on.

Wade would have torn out his hair if he had any, but he stopped himself and accepted the challenge. Peter watched over his shoulder as he chicken-pecked his way into a list of social security numbers held by the NYC State ID issuing department and started methodically filtering names that did not sound like ‘Din.’

He started broad with all ‘D’s and then narrowed it down further and further and further until he was left with a shitload of Daniels.

He stared at the screen before him and vibrated.

Peter massaged his shoulders before he cracked.

It helped. Wade started filtering by height, then by eye color. Then by hair, and only ended up with several hundred people.

He vibrated again, but this time, Peter couldn’t help him.

He sighed. Wade said that there had to be a better way to do this. He got up.

Wade made about four thousand missing posters with the name Din Djarin on them which he recruited the whole team to plaster up around NYC. This was not a request.

Miles asked him why they were doing this for a tv character and had to be let in on the gig.

He lost his shit.

Louis tried to retain his shit.

Angel still didn’t know how the whole jedi thing worked.

Dave hummed and haw’ed and took his time in calling bullshit. Wade asked him to look deep into his eyes and ask if he was entertaining bullshit that fine evening.

Dave changed his opinion and took a stack.

There was no way that shit was supposed to work. There was just no way. A) because Wade had the worst ideas of all mankind and B) because Peter had the worst luck of all mankind. So the two of them together should have destroyed all the prospects of success for that job.

But instead, while they were hatching a new plot involving setting up a sham sociological study for people who responded to Star Wars names, Wade’s phone went off.

He grabbed it and opened the message and lo and behold right there was a note that read,

“I hope you are not a reporting body because this is going to sound certifiably insane, but I think I might be the guy you’re looking for?”

Wade screamed.

Peter scolded him not to get too excited too soon. They had to see the man first.

Wade texted furiously, asking for a picture and got a message back that said, “please do not dox me.”

They got no answer until Wade promised not to dox the guy.

And then they got an image of a man with brown hair and brown eyes with olive skin. His face was remarkably square. The picture wasn’t just him, though, he had in his arms a little boy with a head covered in tight ringlets. His eyes were so dark they were nearly black and he was maybe two years old.

The caption said, “apologies, my son needed to be in the picture.”

Wade cooed and entered Dad Mode to ask how old the baby was and what he liked to do and Peter lost the fathers to that small talk for a while before Wade oh-so-casually asked, “So you feel like you’re from outer space?”

“It sounds strange,” the guy on the other said wrote back, “But I do. Like every day I wake up and look in the mirror and something is wrong. I feel like I’m always forgetting something when I leave the house. I watched the tv show of the guy who’s name was on your fliers and the kid in it reminds me so much of my son. It’s eerie. They make the same sounds. He made the same sounds before we even watched that show.”

Wade whistled.

“I think this is him, Pete,” he said. “He called Baby Yoda a ‘kid’ not a yoda.”

Peter stared. He hadn’t even caught that. That was smart as hell.

“So what now?” he asked.

Wade sniffed.

“Get Skywalker to send you a selfie,” he said.

PP: Luke are you pretty right now?

LS: My face is intact

PP: take a selfie and send it to me

LS: cannot do that. Face is intact is a baseline situation. Let me find an old one. Oh, they all have my ex in them. This is awkward.

PP: it doesn’t matter I can crop it.

LS: no I have to be cute or I’ll perish hold on

PP: are you sure you’re not Johnny Storm?

LS: yes, he’s got loads of muscles. Sent.

Selfie acquired.

Luke looked very smiley in it. His eyes were blown out from the lighting, but it showed his sloping smile and his low, back-set dimples. Peter sent it to Wade. Wade sent it to his new friend.

They waited.

They waited five minutes.

Then ten.

Then half an hour.

Then nearly two.

And finally, Wade’s phone rang. He picked it up and set it on speaker so that Peter could hear.

“Hello?” Wade said.

There was a long pause.

“Where did you get that picture?” a low, almost smoky voice demanded on the other side.

“A friend,” Wade said sleazily. “You know him? He’s a cute little thing, ain’t he?”

It took the dude on the other side of the line worryingly long to respond.

“What do you want?” he finally asked.

Wade brought his head down in interest.

“What’re you willing do to?” he asked.

They waited. Peter didn’t know what was taking this guy so long to—

“Anything.”

Ah.

Okay. That.

That sounded about right.

Wade cackled.

“You know his name?” he asked.

“I do,” the man said.

“What’s his name then, pal?” Wade asked.

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Peter clutched the back of the couch. Wade was grinning so hard, Peter could see it through his mask.

“You want him, you need to show me that you know who he is,” Wade said. “I ain’t got ‘im here, but I know where he is. Come on, big boy. Who is he?”

Peter could hear the man take in a deep, shaky breath.

“His name is Luke,” Din fucking Djarin, the Mandalorian himself, said.

Din fucking Djarin’s name at the moment was Danny Jabaran. He stood six feet tall with a medium build and that baby of his in his arms.

He was not afraid of Wade.

He was not afraid of Peter.

The suits didn’t scare him; this man was a space warrior. The leader of the space warriors. Peter was humbled to stand in his presence, old jeans and tattoos and all.

“Vigilantes,” he acknowledged.

“Deadpool,” Wade said, offering a hand. “And this is?”

“Grogu,” Djarin said.

Baby Yoda lifted his big liquid eyes up to Wade and blinked twice. Then he wriggled around and hid in Djarin’s neck. Djarin put a hand on his back and didn’t drop eye contact.

“Tell me everything,” Djarin said.

Ned screamed. Michelle screamed. Peter reminded them that he had neighbors and invited Mr. Mand’alor to sit on the couch for a bit while he called Luke.

Michelle claimed the spot next to Djarin and asked Baby Yoda Grogu for his little hand. He studied her and hid again, making a prolonged sound of distress that Djarin cut off by saying, “Hey. Manners.”

This somehow made baby Grogu turn back to Michelle to stare at her offered hand.

He took it. She shook with him and then took hers away.

Grogu perked up and reached for it again.

“You’re the Mandalorian,” Ned said.

Djarin looked right at him.

“A Mandalorian,” he corrected.

Ned blinked back tears.

“You’re so cool,” he creaked.

Djarin frowned.

“You...are too?” he tried.

Ned wept into a fist.

Peter left them to call Luke in his bedroom. Luke picked up on the third ring with the start of an ingrained greeting that sounded a whole lot like a customer service recording. He caught himself, though.

“I have someone I’d like you to talk to,” Peter said. “I think you might want to sit down.”

Luke’s unusual quiet on the other side made Peter grin.

“Are you sitting?” he asked.

“I’m sitting.”

“Alright, one moment,” Peter said, walking out into the living room. Djarin had edged far, far away from Ned, as far as he possibly could without being rude. He looked up when Peter came over and sat down on the arm next to him.

“Say hi,” Peter said.

Djarin frowned at him and then the phone.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Peter waited. Djarin lifted his head over to see the phone’s screen.

“Hello?” he tried.

“Din?”

The Spidey Sense crashed through Peter like a tidal wave.

Djarin had gone completely still.

“Din? Is that you? Can you hear me?”

“Shit,” Djarin said, lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “Goddamnit. Jesus.”

“DIN.”

“Dank Fucking Farrik.”

“Oh my god.”

Baby Grogu’s face snapped toward the phone with huge eyes. He grabbed at Djarin’s collar, then his jaw and started bouncing a little in his arms.

“Bu?” he asked.

Djarin couldn’t make himself move.

“Grogu?” Luke asked. “Hey, baby, is that you, bubba?”

Grogu grabbed Djarin’s face urgently, so that he couldn’t hide his raw eyes anymore.

He pointed at the phone.

“Yeah, I hear ‘im, kid,” Djarin said.

“MMMMM. Gib.”

“Ah. That’s not ours. We don’t grab. We ask,” Djarin reminded as Grogu pleaded for the phone. Peter snickered and gave it to him. He just held it, staring.

“Do you wanna see him?” Peter asked. “Luke, can we maybe video chat?”

“Y-yeah,” Luke said. “Hold on. Oh god, my face. Uh, hey Din are you still near-sighted, hon?”

Djarin huffed a laugh that turned into a whole-body tremor.

“I got contacts,” he said a little hysterically.

“You got WHAT?” Luke yipped, “Okay, no. No, I gotta. Be still, this heart. Okay let me just take off the butterflies. On moment, Grogu, Daddy’s just gotta dunk his face in the damn sink.”

MJ bounced her eyebrows at Peter as he gently took the phone back from Grogu and tapped on the camera. He offered it back the kid and received a deep gaze of wonder in return. Djarin turned the screen right-side up in his hands.

Luke finally turned his camera on and revealed himself to be very swollen in the jaw with damp hair and a cut very close to the rim of his left eye.

Grogu screeched.

Luke laughed.

“Look at you,” he said, “I’m gonna cry. Oh my god. Where’re your ears, pal?”

Grogu analyzed this reaction for 2 full seconds and then shoved the camera right into his dad’s forehead. Djarin took it from him and liberated himself so that he could see Luke who was clutching at his face, absolutely already sobbing, bless him.

He looked up to see Grogu and instead got Djarin and finally just broke right in half.

Peter swallowed back the growing lump in his throat. His eyes were starting to warm a little.

Djarin found a watery smile in himself.

“I know you’re not cryin’ because of me,” he said gently.

“Where’s your helmet?” Luke sobbed, wiping viciously at his eyes. “People are watching, you harlot.”

“I know,” Djarin said. “I lost it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Luke.”

“This is all my fault. I should’ve—I should’ve—”

“Luke,” Djarin said again, full of warmth, “You died for us.”

Luke shook harder than ever.

“There is no greater sacrifice a warrior can make,” Djarin told him. “I was honored for you to have made it for me and our son. This has always been the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Luke stammered.

“I missed you,” Djarin said. “Where in God’s name have you been?”

“I was a preschool teacher in the Bronx, man, I dunno what happened,” Luke said tipping his face up to force the tears back in.

“In the Bronx? Where?”

“Uh, off Allerton and Lurting?”

Djarin started shaking with laugher.

“I work off Laconia and Mace,” he said.

“You what?”

“We’ve been blocks apart this whole time.”

Awwwwww.

“I’m going to stab myself,” Luke moaned. “I’m going to stab myself in the arm. I was right there and I sold out for my part-time gig barely weeks ago. Oh my god. I’m going to—move, old man, I’m suffering—Wait. Din, did you find your parents?”

Djarin stood up and held the phone out straight.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

Look at all these people hugging each other.

Look at them crying all over. There was a baby in there, wailing because he was so happy to be back in the arms of his other dad.

Aww. AWWWW. Peter was getting emotional again, he was going to see himself out.

“Wait. Peter.”

He looked up to find Luke holding a hand to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “You really are a superhero, you know that?”

Yeah.

Sometimes, he did.

The city had plenty of problems as it was, yeah, more now with a bunch of jedi running around, linking up with each other and spreading memory like mushroom spores. But it didn’t feel that much different.

What it felt like now was Ned showing Grogu how to hold his hand at the seeing stone in the funeral home’s back yard to make the Force happen while Obi-Wan reported cheerfully that the cat perched on it was still not levitating.

It also felt like watching Luke freak out over text to Ned and Michelle about his ex losing their mind at him dumping them after two years to marry this random mechanic within a week of getting together.

Peter got to see this from new angles, too, one of which was the bottom of the funeral home’s attic stairs, which Anakin Skywalker liked to sit on while his grandkids—both Grogu and Han Solo and Leia Organa (pardon, Leia Naberry)’s son—came over to show him things that he was very well aware of. These were stolen from him by Auntie Ahsoka and her friends who Ned knew and Peter did not.

And there was something warming about how even these folks—people from a galaxy far, far away, occasionally needed a Spiderman.

#spiderman #starwars #dinluke #inimitable verse #ficlet #this is the niche of the niche but I know like 5 of you read both my mando and spiderman fics #so this is for you doll #and also the fact that I have a fucking PROBLEM

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

it will come back [pt. 1] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 2] [Part 3]

A/N: Low budget yandere for my greasy king. This concept has definitely been done before, but I couldn’t resist. This is my first non-smut on this acct and I’ll be so sad if it bombs 😭

Title from the Hozier song: “don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: light yandere, minor injury, angst, Shiggy likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep. [In later parts but not in this one: violence, sex, more yandere, 18+]

You’ve always had a soft spot for strays. Maybe that’s why you became an ER nurse—from the first abandoned puppy you brought home as a kid to the patients you refuse to give up on even when it looks hopeless, you’ve never been able to turn a blind eye when something needs your help. Sometimes (times like this) you wish you knew better. It’s hard enough to take care of yourself these days.

Today’s shift was…what, 16 hours? 17? The 20-minute walk from the bus stop to your apartment building feels like it takes twice that long in the rain. God, you need a shower. And a decent night’s sleep, preferably for at least 12 hours. Tomorrow’s your day off, and you’re ready to take advantage of it the best way you know how: Netflix, soju, and your favorite vibrator. But tonight? As soon as you’re clean, you’re going to pig out on leftovers and collapse into the bed that’s the only halfway nice piece of furniture in your shithole apartment. You really do deserve a break; you’ve earned it.

Unfortunately, as usual, the universe has other plans.

You hear him before you see him: wheezing, choked breaths, like someone’s trying to breathe with an anvil on their chest. You’re not quite out of nurse mode so your mind starts trying to diagnose the issue before you even register what you’re hearing. Fluid in the lungs, possibly blood. That hacking isn’t good. Broken ribs? Definitely bruised. But probably not a puncture…

The breathing is coming from down an alley next to your building. It’s dark enough that you can’t see from the street what’s making the noise. And you’re not a fool, you know it’s a bad idea to walk down pitch-black alleys late at night, especially in this area—a neighborhood you’re living in by necessity, because it’s the only place cheap enough for you to get by. But the coughing…it just sounds so awful. It sounds like it hurts.

Your phone’s already in your hand with 119 dialed and ready to call (standard practice when you’re walking home by yourself), but you turn the flashlight on and shine it down the alleyway. “Hello? Anyone there?”

Nothing responds, but you can still hear the breathing. You step in a little deeper, swinging your light from side to side and looking over the heaps of trash bags overflowing from the dumpster. The raindrops make clicking sounds as they hit the plastic, and you can hear gurgling from a rain spout down the side of the building, but the wheezing doesn’t stop.

One more step. And then one more. You wish there was something you could do to make the splash of your rain boots in the puddles a little less loud. Something about this situation—the rain, the dark, the flat grey light from your cellphone, and that horrible hacking breath—it makes you feel like you’re walking into a horror movie. But you don’t stop walking.

The hacking is coming from a man propped up on the wall between a few XL bags of trash. The black outfit he’s wearing almost blends into the bags, but a mop of grey-blue hair gives him away. His head is slumped onto his chest, and if he’s conscious he doesn’t show it. “Hello?” you ask again, even less confident that you’re going to get a response.

No answer.

The smell of garbage is…ugh…hard to ignore, but on top of it is an oppressive stench of copper coming from the man passed out in the trash. You kneel down to get a better look and yep, he’s covered in blood. It’s hard to make out in the low light, but there’s a trio of long gashes in the man’s abdomen, cutting apart the skin and flesh so deep you can see traces of a slim layer of yellow fat between all the inky clotted blood. It looks like he was attacked by an animal. Or someone with an animal quirk. There are a lot of villains in this neighborhood.

And the coughing...definitely internal injuries. Whoever this guy is, he needs treatment. You hold up your phone to hit the call button on your pre-dialed 119—

“Don’t.” The voice is a growl, low and surprisingly firm despite the scratchiness. You jerk back and clutch your phone to your chest, caught off guard not just by the interruption but by the intensity of the face glaring up at yours.

His eyes are red. “You need an ambulance,” you tell him in your calmest nurse voice.

“If you try to call the police, I’ll—kill you,” the man says, but the threat is a little less threatening when he has to stop in the middle to retch blood onto his own chin.

You glare back at him but don’t call the emergency number. There are a lot of of reasons why he wouldn’t want to go to the hospital, but the most obvious one is probably true. “You’re a criminal. A villain?”

He doesn’t respond, choosing instead to keep glaring at you like you’ve committed some mortal sin against his ancestors by having the nerve to check on him and try to help him. Somehow it pisses you off. When you were getting your ADN, you once took a temp job doing health screenings at a local middle school and you would always get so annoyed at the kids. Didn’t they see you were just doing your job? Why is it so hard to understand that what you’re doing is for their own good?

Stupid kids. Stupid villain. “You’d rather bleed out and die?”

The man bares his teeth at you, and it’s a pretty disturbing scene considering how they’re covered in scarlet. “You think they’re going to save me? Think I’ll go to the hospital and get all my HP restored?”

He’s mocking you now. You only have a second to move out of the way before he spits off to the side. “I mean…that’s how a hospital works.”

“If you think I would—make it out of that ambulance alive, you’re—dumber than you look.” His voice is interspersed with coughs.

“Well, you’re not going to live if I leave you here.” You hold up your phone, ready to call the ambulance, but in a shocking display of agility the man lunges forward and grabs it out of your hand. “Hey, wait! Give that…back…”

Your voice trails off as your phone crumbles—literally crumbles to dust in the man’s fingers. Once he’s satisfied that there’s no way for you to call the cops, he slumps back onto the trash bags and closes his eyes, apparently exhausted from the effort.

Goddamnit…! For a second, you can only stare blankly at the pile of dust that used to be your $300 smartphone. And then you’re seized by something, maybe not hatred but an annoyance so strong you can feel it in your throat, and you decide right then and there that this villain is not going to die. You’re going to save him. Out of spite.

You’re not sure how you manage to half-carry him from the alley to your apartment, but you do. You’re lucky it’s ass-o-clock at night and no one’s in the lobby or the elevator, or you’d definitely be getting some looks trying to lug a maimed body around. What would you say if someone did call the cops? Don’t worry, don’t worry about it officer, it’s just my friend drank a little too much, oh those wounds? We were at a costume party, haha…

But no one sees you, and no one calls the cops. The man is unconscious the whole time you’re carrying him, and by the time you have him laid out on a shower curtain on your living room floor his breathing is a little bit shallower than it was before. You’ve got your tools—nothing fancy, just some gauze and closures and antiseptic from your personal first aid kit. It’s not much, but it’ll have to be enough.

“Let’s get to work, asshole,” you tell the unconscious body in front of you, and you crack your knuckles.

///

The day after you pick the villain out of the garbage, your body decides that it’s not going to let you sleep in no matter how much you need it. You can tell because the huge windows in your bedroom—the only saving grace of this apartment, honestly—are depositing golden-pink sunrise light over everything you see when you open your eyes, including the villain’s face. Which is about six inches away from yours.

“You smell like death,” you tell him sleepily. He doesn’t move.

He’s…probably in his early twenties, you think, but it’s hard to tell because of all the wrinkles. His hair is on the longer side, and it’s striped with rusty brown smears from his blood. Again, you notice how red his irises are. Have you ever seen someone with eyes that color before? You’re pretty sure you haven’t.

“You slept for a long time,” the villain says, finally moving back so he’s not breathing into your mouth.

“Yeah, I was tired. From saving your life.” You sit up and rub your temples. “I’m thirsty…”

Before you can finish your complaint, the villain is holding a glass of water out to you in an awkward 4-fingered grip.

“Um, thanks, I guess.” You suck down the water and immediately feel better, enough that you realize how wrong it is that he’s up and moving around and probably undoing all your hard work. “You should be lying down.”

“The floor hurt, and I was bored.”

“Lie on the couch then. You can watch TV. But first—“ He’s sitting on the edge of your bed next to you, and you make him lie down flat so you can look at the injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as they looked last night—no walk in the park, but at least you won’t have a corpse in your apartment in a few hours.

When you’re done inspecting him, he sits up and asks you for a shirt. You had to cut his off, not that it was any great loss. The thing was shredded. Him pointing it out is the only thing that makes you really realize he’s shirtless, so you give him an oversized pajama shirt of yours. It has the name and motto of your old high school on it, and the villain reads it out in a half-mocking tone when you hand it to him.

“Beggars shouldn’t be choosers,” you snap. “You should be grateful.”

“I am grateful,” he says, putting the shirt on. “But I don’t understand.”

“I mean, you need a shirt, right? It’s cold—“

“No. Not that.” He’s staring at you again, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact. “Why you didn’t leave me where you found me last night.”

There’s a lot you could tell him, all of it a little bit true. You were curious. You believed him when he said he wouldn’t make it out of the hospital alive. You couldn’t leave him alone the same way you can’t leave abandoned puppies alone. You wanted to prove to him that you were right, and that being stubborn wouldn’t get him what he wanted. But you don’t say that. “You killed my phone, so you owe me a new one. And I can’t get that back if you bleed out.”

He’s looking at you like he doesn’t believe you, and you fidget under his gaze until he sighs and says, “Whatever.”

You have to let him lean on your shoulder when he walks back to the living room to lie down on your couch. How the hell did he even get to your bedroom by himself? You really didn’t think this through—what are you supposed to do with an infirm possible villain who can barely walk unsupported without opening his injuries back up?

But that’s a problem for tomorrow you to deal with. Today, you’re content to set your laptop up on the coffee table so the two of you can watch TV in…oddly companionable (if you’re not imagining it) silence. It’s almost the lazy day off you were daydreaming about before you got yourself into this mess, and the atmosphere is so relaxed that before you can really decide whether to force the man to go to the hospital or turn him out on the street (or…?) you’re dozing off on your couch like there isn’t a potentially dangerous stranger lying beside you with his head just a few inches from your lap.

When you wake up, your problem is solved for you. He’s gone, and it’s like he was never there—except you’re down a cellphone and a pajama shirt, and your shower curtain is drenched with blood. You wrap it up with the rest of the soiled medical supplies and toss all of it in a dumpster a mile away from your building without knowing exactly why.

///

It’s not the last you see of him, but somehow you had a feeling that was going to be the case.

He scares the shit out of you the first time he visits (over time, that’s how you’ll start to think of his little unannounced drop-ins: visits. Like you’re being visited by a ghost or something). You’re coming back from another grueling shift in the ER, so tired you think you might be sleepwalking, and what do you find when you come in your apartment but a strange white-haired man sitting on your couch eating dry cereal out of the box and flipping through one of your books?

You nearly piss yourself.

He doesn’t seem surprised, which makes sense, considering he’s a villain and he’s probably used to pulling this dramatic entrance thing on people. He certainly doesn’t seem the least bit threatened when you brandish the mini canister of pepper spray on your keychain and demand that he tell you how he got in if he wants to retain the power of eyesight.

“It was unlocked,” he says.

“It was not unlocked,” you reply, rolling your eyes. You may be sleep deprived, but you’re not careless. Never careless.

“Whatever. Calm down. You’re not going to use that on me.”

He’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. If he wanted to do something to hurt you, he could’ve done it that first night. And you’re too tired to really put up a fight, so you just put the cap back on the pepper spray and flop down next to him on the couch. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He looks at you curiously from between his shaggy bangs, like you’re the one intruding in his home and not the other way around, then reaches out to hand something to you. “Here, payback.”

It’s a cell phone—not a smartphone like the one he destroyed, but a flip phone circa the 2000s, the kind that forces you to press “9” four times to get the letter “F”. You stare at it for a second, then look back at the villain. “Are you kidding? Did you get this from a museum?”

“Take it or leave it.” His feet are propped up on your coffee table, but you can’t make yourself care. Actually, it looks nice…him stretched out with an odd look of comfort on his lanky form.

You lean back on the couch and kick up your feet next to his. “Fine. Thanks, I guess.”

He shrugs.

“How are your wounds healing?” Why are you trying to make conversation with this guy? He’s…a villain, right? Not that you’ve ever received affirmative confirmation of that fact, but the hesitance to call the police and the breaking and entering are pretty good tells. But…it might be weird, but since you picked him up that day, you’ve felt a kind of kinship with him.

Alone. Abandoned. No place to go. No one to save him. It’s not a pretty comparison, but you can’t deny it rings true.

Maybe that’s why you pick up strays.

“They’re fine,” he tells you after so long a pause that you’ve almost forgotten your question. “Doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

You take a long look at him, at his posture—he’s relaxed, but his abdomen is crunched a little bit, curled in on himself so subtly that even you wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t looking. It’s not your problem. He’s an adult, and you’re sure he could be seeking real medical attention if he really needed it. You’re in no way obligated to perform some kind of checkup on this arrogant dick who literally broke into your apartment to give you a shitty phone and eat your cereal. The sensible thing to do is to tell him to forget that you live here and hopefully never see him again.

His head tips back to rest on the top of the couch, and he holds your book up to read. At this angle his long hair is out of the way of his face, and you notice among the deep-set creases in his skin a pair of wide scars across his right eye and on the corner of his lips. They’re pale and faded—old, then—but they look off to you, and after a while of snatching glances at his face you realize it’s because they’re healed badly, extraordinarily badly, the kind of healing that you don’t see very often because it only occurs when a stubborn patient tries to let a particularly nasty injury heal on its own. The part of you that isn’t sensible wonders how old he was when he got those scars.

Has he learned his lesson?

You doubt it.

“Lie down,” you sigh. “Let me see the cuts.”

Which is how you find yourself examining this annoying villain again, checking on his injuries and giving him recommendations for care like you’re his personal nurse or something. It’s not a role you enjoy playing, but at least he takes it without complaint, and you start to wonder if maybe this is why he broke into your apartment in the first place. If anything, he looks calmer when you’ve flipped up his shirt and prodded at his wounds, his eyes closing slowly and freeing you of that scarlet-red gaze.

He’s like a cat, you think, and then you shake your head and remind yourself that it’s a terrible idea to think of this man—this grown man who is probably a great danger to you and others—as a wild animal you’re trying to domesticate.

When he finally leaves (only after you drop a couple dozen unsubtle hints about how long you’ve been at work and how exhausted you are), you take a moment before you sink into bed to look at the flip phone. It’s no nicer than your original impression, but as you scroll through the screens you notice that it’s factory-new, except for one thing: there’s a contact programmed in, a phone number with an area code you don’t recognize listed under “T”. And you don’t want to be curious…

…but you are. Shocking.

Down the rabbit hole it is, you decide. So you text him.

///

[You: 12:03 AM] > Hey it’s (Y/N) > (the girl whose apartment you broke into) > What does T stand for? [T: 12:07 AM] > What do u think [You: 12:09 AM] > ?? [T: 12:09 AM] > My name > Dont you know who i am [You: 12:10 AM] > Are you famous? [T: 12:10 AM] > You dont watch the news do u [You: 12:11 AM] > Not really > What’s your name then [T: 12:12 AM] > … > Didnt u say u had to sleep [You: 12:15 AM] > Oh yeah > Whatever I guess > Good night

[T: 2:34 AM] > Its Tomura > Dont look it up

[You: 8:02 AM] > Ok > I won’t > Tomura

➠ [Part 2]

#Shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura #yandere bnha #yandere shigaraki tomura x reader #bnha imagines #feeling real shy posting this 👉👈#bnha #yandere shigaraki tomura #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia imagines #mha #my hero academia #mha imagines #my hero academia imagines #shigaraki tomura/reader #yandere shigaraki tomura/reader #yandere

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peachyteez · 4 years

Text

SPECIAL REQUEST: when they find a child hybrid

HEAVEN SERIES SPECIAL STORY

✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @jaeminpeachy, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @alienmashup, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @pirate-of-the-dark-seas, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle, @arohabyeol, @rainbowmagicpixecorn, @soverystupid, @ayetothezee, @kingalls00, @sanstreasure0305, @sparklingmallow, @kpopnightingale, @rosesarethebest, @bonbonhwa, @its-sarah-stark, @woopetals, @sanismybb, @frankenstein852, @peachseok

✧ note: just imagine the toddler to be kotaro from gakuen babysitters 🥺

✧ WARNING: just an unhealthy amount of fluff hehe

“noona!”

feeling a little tug on her pant leg, jiyu looked down and found the most adorable little mouse hybrid staring up at her. the boy looked to be about four years old, and he had the squishiest–looking cheeks and big emerald–green eyes.

but what was the little one doing out when it was night time? where were his parents? maybe it was a good thing she decided to walk to the station for work today rather than drive.

the toddler put his arms out and up towards her as his eyes sparkled. “noona...” he called out again.

she hesitantly picked him up and his arms instantly wrapped around her neck. “hey little guy,” she cooed, using her index finder to gently rub his cheek. “where’d you come from?” she asked.

the child didn’t respond, but opted to nuzzle his head into the crook of her neck before falling asleep. she slightly panicked. “ohmygod, what do i do? can i even take him with me? is that considered kidnapping—what kind of question is that jiyu? of course it is!” she frantically whisper–shouted to herself as she scanned the neighborhood for anyone who seemed to be looking for a child.

but no one was around.

she sighed before starting to walk back towards home. i guess i’ll take him with me and we can look for his parents tomorrow. but i hope the others don’t mind a little mouse hybrid.

turns out, she had nothing to worry about; the eight hybrids absolutely adored the little one in her arms when she arrived home. even san, a cat hybrid.

“he’s so cute!” san and wooyoung squealed.

“he’s so tiny,” mingi commented when he saw how snug the child fit in jiyu’s arms.

“shhh! you’re all going to wake him up,” seonghwa quickly shushed the squealing hybrids.

jiyu quietly chuckled. “i hope you guys don’t mind him staying over. i found him on the way home and he just kind of clung onto me,” she explained, although she figured the boys didn’t really need any persuading.

“look at his little hands!” yunho quietly squealed, entranced with the tiny mouse. his squeal caught jongho’s attention as he, too adoringly stared at the child’s little hands wrapped around jiyu’s neck.

hongjoong snorted. “i pretty sure we’re all okay with it,” he said, internally chuckling at how the younger ones were all cooing at the sleeping child. “besides, we all know how stubborn you are when it comes to hybrid care, so you’d still keep the little one here even if we had the mind to object.”

“you’re not wrong,” she chuckled. “now, move so i can put this little one to bed,” she teasingly jabbed wooyoung’s ribs, who squeaked at the ticklish feeling.

leaving the whining boys behind, she climbed up the stairs to her bedroom before gently laying the toddler onto her bed. he instantly cuddled into the mattress, instinctively hugging his tail as he continued to sleep. it took everything in jiyu’s willpower to not squeal at how adorable he was. she gently tucked him in, making sure her comforter was keeping him warm. once she washed up and changed into her pajamas, jiyu quietly left the room to join the others downstairs in the living room.

“he was just out by himself?” jongho asked, surprised that a child would be out by himself.

“maybe his parents didn’t realize he was gone?” wooyoung suggested, sprawling himself over seonghwa’s and her lap on the couch.

“but wouldn’t that be a bit weird? to not know your own kid went missing?” yeosang commented from the floor.

“can’t we have yuta’s help ?” mingi wondered.

jiyu slightly shook her head. “he’s currently out of the country with my father on some business.”

hongjoong pursed his lips in thought. “alright, i guess we’ll have to—”

suddenly, crying was heard from the top of the staircase. whipping their heads up to the sound, they saw the toddler mouse hybrid crying as he frantically searched for them. “noona!” he called out, seemingly looking for jiyu.

jiyu immediately ran to the top and picked him up before bouncing him softly on her hip. “shhh, it’s okay, i’m here,” she cooed as she brought him back to the couch. seeing eight other hybrids around them, the child let out a startled squeak before burying his face in the crook of her neck.

jiyu had to stifle her laughter seeing their deflated figures. they surely weren’t that scary, were they?

“it’s okay, they’re my friends,” she reassured.

the mouse peered up at her. “hyungs are noona’s friends?” he repeated, eyes sparkling with curiosity. however, upon meeting san’s eyes, his face morphed into one of child-like horror before once again, burying his face into jiyu’s neck.

wooyoung burst out into dolphin laughter. “he—he’s scared of san!” he roared with laughter, causing san to sulk.

while jiyu was softly scolding wooyoung, seonghwa slowly brought his face towards the mouse in her arms. “what’s your name, little one?” he gently asked.

the mouse slowly lifted his head from jiyu’s shoulder to face seonghwa. “m-minseok.”

“how come he’s not scared of hongjoong-hyung or seonghwa-hyung?” san pouted. “it’s just me...”

“i mean, you are a cat hybrid, san,” yeosang pointed out. “and minseok is a mouse hybrid...”

jiyu quietly chuckled before looking down at minseok in her lap. “do you want this hyung to hold you?” she asked, referring to seonghwa. seonghwa’s eyes sparkled when he saw minseok nodding in approval.

minseok curiously climbed up to seonghwa’s shoulders and sat with each leg over a shoulder. seonghwa slightly groaned at the sudden weight, but he didn’t want to deny the child of his curious adventures. “hyung’s ears. fluffy,” he mindlessly mused as he played with them.

yunho childishly squealed at how adorable minseok was before leaning over towards him. minseok looked over and reached out towards yunho’s ears, too. “this hyung, too.” yunho giggled and leaned in closer so minseok could touch his ears.

“ah...bunny!”

mingi squeaked when he realized minseok was pointing at him with an expression of awe. the mouse climbed down from seonghwa’s shoulders (seonghwa held onto him, of course), and waddled over to mingi with his arms outstretched. mingi took minseok into his lap and let him play with his ears.

jiyu and the other couldn’t help but feel their hearts burst over how cute the scene was. she fell back into the couch with a grin. “please, my heart can’t take so much cuteness in one day.”

and slowly, minseok started to warm up to them. he would waddle over to one of them and reach up to play their soft ears, before waddling over to someone else. although when it came to wooyoung, minseok tilted his head in confusion.

“h-hyung...no ears,” minseok pointed to the top of wooyoung’s head. wooyoung giggled. “i’m a dolphin hybrid,” he said, giggling louder when minseok just stared back with a blank, unknowing expression. “do you know what a dolphin looks like, minseok?”

minseok shook his head as he stared back up at wooyoung. his blank expression changed to one of happiness and eye-sparkling fascination when wooyoung presented him a dolphin plushie. “they look like this! and they swim in the ocean.”

minseok took the plushie into his arms and hugged it. “hyung...fishy!” he happily squealed, seeming so proud that he made the connection. jongho snorted, having a new nickname for his hyung.

“i-uh-yes, fishy,” wooyoung relented after seeing minseok’s excitement.

“minseok-ah,” jongho called out to him. “mr. cat is getting a little sad and lonely over here,” he said, gesturing to the sulking black cat next to him. “do you want to come say hi?”

minseok froze as he stared at san, who looked back with a small pout. it was an interesting scene, a cat hybrid wanting a mouse hybrid’s approval. minseok grabbed onto the hem of jiyu’s pants and looked up to her, as if asking for her permission.

jiyu chuckled and ruffled his hair. “he won’t bite, little one. it’s okay,” she gently nudged him towards san who was looking at minseok hopefully. with bated breath, the others watched as minseok slowly approached san with the plushie tightly held in his arms.

once he was an arm’s length away from san, minseok slowly extended his hand and tapped on san’s leg before quickly retracting it. minseok stood there for a second, anticipating san’s moves, but all san did was tilt his head as he stared down at him. minseok repeated the action again, and this time, san giggled.

deeming san as safe, minseok grinned before climbing into his lap and cuddling into san’s chest with the plushie. the others quietly celebrated, chuckling when they saw how san’s expression lit up like a christmas tree.

a few hours passed and minseok had fully warmed up to everyone. as he played hide-and-seek with jongho and yunho, their door bell sounded. opening the door, jiyu saw a boy bent over with his hands on his knees. from his state, she figured he must have ran either up the stairs or sprinted here from the elevator.

but once she took a closer look, she saw a pair of familiar ears. mouse ears. her eyes widened in recognition. “are you—”

“i’m really sorry to bother you this late at night,” the boy said as he tried standing up straight again. the boy seemed young enough to be a high school student. “but i was told by the lady at the front desk that she saw you carrying a toddler mouse hybrid...?”

“ah, are you related to minseok?” she asked.

the boy frantically nodded. “yes, that’s my little brother! i guess he accidentally wandered off from our front yard when my mom looked away to talk to our neighbor...” he sheepishly explained.

jiyu chuckled. “it’s quite alright. he’s really adorable and even managed to charm my own hybrids. come on in, i’ll go get him for you.”

the boy bowed to her out of gratitude. “thank you so much!”

“minseok-ah!” jiyu called out for the child mouse hybrid. “your brother is here!”

hearing that, the eight boys slightly deflated and pouted. minseok really did crawl into their hearts and made himself a home. minseok came running out of his hiding spot, which was under the blanket on the couch. “huh? hyunseok-hyung!”

running to his older brother, minseok jumped into his lap and snuggled himself deeper. hyunseok couldn’t even be angry at his little brother. instead, he gently flicked the younger’s forehead. “minseok, do you know how much you scared us?” he lightly scolded.

minseok pouted. “sorry, hyung...” he fiddled with the plushie in his arms. for some odd reason, he never once let go of the dolphin plushie from wooyoung.

with a small smile, hyunseok picked up his little brother and bowed to them again. “i’m really sorry, again...”

“it’s alright! he’s really fun to play with,” yunho giggled. the other seven nodded in agreement.

minseok grinned. “hyungs and i...played hide-and-seek!” he excitedly told his brother all about his little adventure. “and...their ears are so fluffy!”

hyunseok chuckled. “i see you had a fun adventure. but it’s time to go home now, so let’s say bye bye to these nice hyungs and noona.”

minseok’s face slightly fell, realization dawning on him that he had to say bye to them. jiyu noticed and she softly smiled. “you know, if you want, you can come over anytime if little minseok here wants to play again with them,” she offered.

“i-i can’t trouble with that—”

“it’ll be no trouble, trust me!” jiyu reassured. “and it seems like minseok likes that idea along with these eight goofballs,” she chuckled, seeing all of their sparkly eyes.

hyunseok smiled. “thank you, then!” he agreed before looking at the time. “ah, we really have to go now. my mom’s actually waiting downstairs,” he said. “say bye bye, minseok.”

minseok waved his little hand. “byebye!” he cutely babbled out.

jiyu smiled. “bye! be safe on the way home!”

after seeing them off, wooyoung slightly pouted at the absence of minseok. suddenly, his eyes widened. “wait my plushie—actually it’s okay, he can have it.”

“you’re all really good with children,” jiyu complimented.

seonghwa quietly chuckled. “well, we did learn from the best.”

“he—he just indirectly called us children!” mingi pouted once he realized the underlying meaning in seonghwa’s words.

“he’s not really wrong,” jiyu teased, laughing when the younger hybrids whined.

“yeah, children.” hongjoong snorted.

#9th member of ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #hybrid au #kpop hybrid au #ateez hybrid #hybrid!ateez

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missinghan · 4 years

Text

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.”

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