#[He's Got His Gun He's Got His Suit On >> Main AU]

[ichorai]

sorry ; daryl dixon.

track three of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; daryl dixon x doctor!reader (gender neutral pronouns)

synopsis ; you were on your knees, and daryl was too. he wouldn’t look at you—he couldn’t—terrified that negan would bring that bat down on your head if he noticed.

words ; 7.9k

themes ; heavy angst, mild action, doctor au

warnings / includes ; death and violence, negan at his worst, vulgar language, guns/weapons, descriptions of injury/blood, mentions of maggie's pregnancy, negan goes on long ass monologues, poor rick is going Through it, the walking dead s6-7 spoilers (fic starts right at the season six finale), mild sexual dialogue from negan

main masterlist.

Maggie hummed with discontent when you pressed a cold, damp cloth to her forehead. There was a pallid color to her skin, and her temperature was beginning to rise, despite her violent shivers beneath the blanket. The inconsistent, rocking motions of the RV weren’t doing her any favors, either. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Hilltop real soon,” you said, feeling mildly guilty that you couldn’t help her more, despite being a doctor yourself. Alexandria was completely out of medical supplies and this was urgent—if Maggie didn’t get help soon… you’d never be able to forgive yourself if something bad were to happen to her or the baby. “Hang on for me, okay?”

The brunette slanted her lips in a tired smile, eyelids heavy. 

Rick knelt down beside you, speaking in a low, comforting tone. “We’re gonna get there. Once we get the medicine from Hilltop, Y/N will fix you right up.”

A small sigh fell from her pale, trembling lips. A thin film of tears warbled over her eyes. She was terrified. 

“Oh, Maggie,” you murmured, gently pulling away the short strands of hair sticking to her face. 

“How do you know?” muttered your friend, gaze trained on the ex-cop. 

“Everything we’ve done… we've done it together. We got here together and we’re still here. Things have happened, but it’s always worked out for us, ‘cause it’s always been all of us. That’s how I know. As long as it’s all of us helpin’ you, we can do it.”

A hot tear meandered down Maggie’s cheek. You nodded gratefully at Rick—he’d always had a way with words that you’d never really gotten a grasp of. 

The next hour passed by slowly. You switched between cooling her head, and helping her drink some water, sometimes just holding her hand and telling her that everything was going to be fine. To take her mind off the pain, she’d asked you to tell her about how you and Daryl met, all those years ago long before the dead began to walk. 

“I’m glad Daryl’s not here right now, because he always tells the story differently than I do. Well, how I remember it, he and his dick brother used to come to a small convenience store near their trailer park. That’s where I worked. I was around… nineteen at the time? Almost twenty. I was just working a couple jobs on the side to pay off my growing student debt. Daryl was twenty-three, almost twenty-four. Merle tried to cozy up to me—and I didn’t have any of that. I told him to fuck right off. And later that night, just as I was to close up, Daryl came by and apologized on his brother’s behalf. He was real sweet, so I—”

“What the bitch?” barked Abraham from the driver’s seat, effectively cutting your story short and rolling the RV to a grueling halt. 

“What?” asked Rick, standing up to look out the window. You followed suit, eyes widening upon the sight. 

More than half a dozen Saviors blocking the road with three of their cars—and all of them holding large guns. A lump formed in your throat, and you cast your worried gaze to Rick.

“We goin’ through?” asked Abraham, jaw set. 

Rick gnashed his jaw together in thought. “No,” he said. “We’ll talk to them. C’mon. Y/N, you stay here, watch over Maggie.”

Teeth worrying into your bottom lip, you nodded, stepping to the side to let the rest of them file out of the RV, their own loaded guns at the ready. 

From inside, you couldn’t hear what the Saviors were saying, but from the smug expression of the one in the center with a hideous pornstache, you knew it couldn’t be anything pleasant for your group. 

Three minutes later, they came back in, all looking a bit disgruntled. Rick, most of all.

“What’s going on?” you asked Carl, placing a hand on his forearm. 

The young man that you were so fond of grimaced, shaking his head and lowering his voice to a whisper so that Maggie couldn’t overhear. “They won’t let us through. Want half our stuff.”

Your breath hitched. At this rate, you didn’t know how long Maggie could last without the proper care and medicine. And Alexandria was running low on supplies as it is—taking away half of everything would put the community in a pretty dire situation.

“Alright, thanks kid,” you told him, trying your absolute best not to cry from frustration, your nose burning with the effort. 

The truck began to pull further away from the Saviors, until they were only but little dots against the horizon. 

“Logrun Road’s a straight shot,” said Eugene, repeatedly tapping his finger against the map spread out across the RV’s pull-out table. 

Next to you, Sasha shook her head. “We want visibility.”

You pursed your lips, craning your neck to scan the small, faded texts of the map. “Can we go down Shelton?”

Eugene hummed in agreement, drawling out in his thick Southern accent, “Golf course, country clubs, sloping terrain—no bum rush from the bogeymen. We’d see ‘em from a good piece. It is a longer trip by a third but we’d get the scenic safety of clear-cut dingles and glens.”

Both you and Sasha stared at him blankly. 

“You’re being serious, right?” asked Sasha.

“As coronary thrombosis,” replied the man across from you, stony-faced. Besides, Eugene was never one to joke around.

Sasha rounded her gaze to you expectantly, waiting for you to explain in normal terms. “He’s serious,” you said. “It’s a longer route, but it’ll be well-sheltered and hopefully keep us hidden from the Saviors. I’ll try to keep Maggie steady until then.”

The two nodded at you, and you pushed away from the table, heading further back into the RV where Maggie and Rick were. She was pale and clammy, but still had enough energy to talk to you, so you took that as a good sign. 

Not even ten minutes later, while you were taking measurements of her blood pressure and body temperature, the vehicle came to another rumbling halt. 

“Bitch nuts,” cursed Abraham, loudly for both you and Rick to hear. 

The Saviors were blocking the road. Again.

You could feel panic seize about your chest, constricting your lungs. The situation wasn’t looking good for Maggie, not one bit—but you couldn’t give up hope. Not now, when she needed you the most. You blew out a shaky breath, absentmindedly wishing Daryl was here with you to give you some comfort of mind.

“We making our stand?” asked Sasha, staring out of the window, where more than a dozen saviors were lined up. 

Carl, ever the fiery one, spat out, “Yeah. We end this.”

The blue of his father’s eyes flashed dangerously. “No. Not now. It’s too dangerous for Maggie. They’ve been waiting—they’re ready. We ain’t. With one of us behind the wheel, and Y/N with Maggie, that’d be five on sixteen. We’re gonna play it our way. How we want it.”

Reluctant, Carl nodded. 

Slowly, the RV started backing away. Three successive, warning gunshots were fired into the air. You could feel a sick, twisted rage curl up within your stomach. 

If Maggie died on your watch—her blood would be on the hands of the Saviors.

You fumbled for another map pinned up on the cork board, eyes roaming over the roads, desperate for another available route. Could they possibly have you surrounded? No—the woods were vast, and the roads were winding—there were so many paths left to take to Hilltop. The Saviors simply wouldn’t have the numbers to stop you.

Wouldn’t they?

The RV came to another stop. This time, there were no Saviors blocking the road, but instead, a line of chained-up walkers. Not wanting to risk damaging the RV by driving through them, the rest of the group filed out to check if the coast was clear. You told Maggie you’d be right back, before hopping out of the RV, lingering by the doorway to narrow your gaze at the restrained walkers.

“That’s Michonne’s,” breathed out Carl, his single eye widening. A lock of her hair was stapled against the center walker’s forehead. 

Horror, as black as tar itself, seeped into your chest when you glanced over to the next snarling form, just to see two of Daryl’s arrows embedded into its decaying stomach. Daryl always retrieved his arrows. Which meant… something had happened to him.

“That’s Daryl’s,” you said, loud enough for Rick to hear. “Oh, no, Rick… they did this on purpose. They knew we were coming this way—!”

Just as Rick was about to cleave his axe into the walker’s skull, ricocheting gunfire crackled into the ground, making the dried leaves flutter up with the sudden force, plumes of dust and smoke flying with each bullet. 

“Get back to the RV! Go!” yelled Rick. You scrambled up the steps and ran to a concerned Maggie, trembling as you carefully hovered over her, in case any bullets pierced through the walls and accidentally hit her. Carl and Sasha began shooting blindly into the woods, having not a clue where all the shots were coming from. Rick surged forward and thrust his axe down onto one of the walker’s rotting arms, effectively leaving a gap open for the RV to drive through. 

The rest of the group rushed inside, and Abraham practically threw himself into the driver’s seat to get the RV moving.

The shots died away after a few minutes. With shallow, inconsistent breaths, you slid off of Maggie, slumping down beside her. She croaked out a question, but it fell upon deaf ears, ringing with static and white noise. A warm tear fell from your burning eyes, and you quickly brushed it away with the back of your palm.

Something happened to Daryl. And it was killing you that you couldn’t help him. That you didn’t even know where he was. 

You looked out the window through a watery film of tears, watching the yellow-green fields pass by in a blur. A quick glance at the lowering sun told you that the group was going to lose daylight soon enough, as well. 

A strange, creaking noise was coming from below the RV. 

“What’s that sound?” said Sasha, worried. 

“Undercarriage could’ve caught a bullet,” replied Eugene. “Could be transmission. Could be nothing.”

Agitated, Rick growled out, “They were firing at our feet. They blocked the road, but they weren’t trying to stop us.”

“They want us in this direction,” you murmured, making his wild gaze swivel to you. You gestured to the map. “Rick, they know we’re coming. They know we wanna go North.”

“Meadows would take us East a piece,” said Eugene, “but we can get back on track on Mayhew.”

It would take too long, you thought. Maggie doesn’t have the strength to carry on anymore.

Shaking her head, Sasha said, “We’re down to a third of a tank—we could top off at the next stop, but it’s risky. We can’t have any refills after that.”

A low moan fell from Maggie’s pale lips as a wave of pain washed over her, moving in and out of a hazy unconsciousness. You were quick to check her temperature, blanching at the fact that she was nearly scalding to the touch. You quickly placed the damp cloth to her skin again, trying your best to keep her temperature down.

“Rick, she’s burning up,” you told him, voice thick with worry. 

It was then that the RV came to another stop. 

This time, there were more saviors—around three dozen, maybe even four.

“Go back,” said Rick, eyes wide and stress evidently painted across his strained features. 

Abraham squared his jaw. “We have nowhere to go back to.”

With a shaky breath, you stroked Maggie’s head, your heart shattering into millions of pieces. “I’m sorry, Maggie,” you said, a sob bubbling in your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry—I wish I could do something, I’m sorry.”

Disoriented and not having heard a word of your apologetic babbling, Maggie croaked out, “Are we there yet?”

More tears slipped down your cheeks. Rick was by your side, placing one hand on your shoulder and the other on Maggie’s arm. You stifled your sobs with your palm, and Rick replied in your stead.

“Yeah, Maggie. We’re—we’re getting there.”

The woman’s eyelids fluttered lethargically. “Were there… I heard shots.”

Rick’s expression softened. “Yeah, the Saviors—they’re gone now. We’re gonna get you there.”

A ghost of a smile tilted the corner of Maggie’s lips up. “I know.”

“You’ll be okay,” you told her, sniffling. “The baby’s going to be okay. This isn’t the end.”

“There’s more,” agreed Rick. “There’s gonna be more, I promise.”

A beat of silence. 

“I believe in you, Rick,” she hoarsely said. Maggie’s gaze slowly moved from Rick to you. “In both of you.”

Maggie was asleep again. You made sure to give her plenty of water and what was left of the antibiotics you had saved—but that was the very last bit of supply you had. There was little else you could do for her other than getting her to Hilltop for the proper medicine and treatment she needed.

“So what’s the play?” asked Abraham. “They’ve cut us off every turn we made.”

“She needs medicine,” said Rick, desperation lacing each word. “She’ll die without it.”

“We only have two plausible routes North from here. They’ve cornered us,” Sasha whispered, gaze trained on the map.

Hopelessness laid uneasy on all of your shoulders. 

“They’re probably waiting for us right now,” said Aaron.

Eugene gritted his teeth. “So, they’re ahead of us. Heck, probably even behind us. But they’re not waiting on us, per se—they’re waitin’ on this rust bucket. They don’t know the moment-to-moment occupancy of said rust bucket. And the sun sets soon.”

“We need to leave now if we want Maggie to make it to Hilltop,” you said, voice trembling with a myriad of guilt, anger, and frustration. “We carry Maggie, and we go on foot. Through the woods. They can’t block us there.”

Eugene took the RV in hopes of tricking the Saviors. Everybody else in the group set off into the woods, taking turns carrying Maggie on the makeshift stretcher, bundled under two layers of blankets. The sun had long set, and the whispering winds were cold this time of year. 

“Just let me walk it,” she rasped, voice scratchy and throat dry. 

“No,” you were quick to reply. “You’re in no condition to walk right now, Maggie. It’s only a few more miles. Just rest up a bit more, okay?”

Though she didn’t look happy, Maggie didn’t protest any further, letting her tired eyes slip shut once more. 

After a couple more minutes, Aaron stepped in to carry one end of the stretcher for you, telling you that you also needed to rest your arms for a second. With a grateful nod, you reluctantly let go, falling into stride with Carl.

“Are you okay?” the young man asked, his hand brushing yours, his nonverbal way of saying that he was here for you if you needed him. “I’m sure Daryl and Michonne are fine. They’re fighters. Maggie’s going to be fine, too.”

You sent him a fond, but tired smile. “Yeah, I hope so, kiddo,” you told him, cuffing his shoulder affectionately. The thought of Daryl out there, probably worried sick for you as well, made your stomach twist into knots. “I really hope so.”

It was at that moment, a shrill whistle sounded out from the darkness of the forest. The group halted in their tracks. One by one, more whistles were added to the ear-splitting melody. It sounded like there were dozens, if not a hundred voices surrounding you. 

“Go!” yelled Rick. “Go!” 

The rest of you broke out in a sprint, and you grabbed Carl’s hand, winding around tree trunks and hopping over overgrown roots, ignoring the stinging scrapes of twisting branches against your face. 

The whistling only continued, growing louder, louder, louder—

Until you came face to face with the source itself. 

Car lights suddenly flashed open, momentarily blinding you. You drew Carl closer to you, instinctively protecting him, but it was no use. They had your group surrounded. Saviors, hundreds of them, gathered around you with leering expressions. All of them were clutching guns.

Raw fear curled around your lungs when you saw Eugene on his knees not too far from you, tears dripping down his face. 

Rick looked destroyed. Devastated. 

You were shaking so hard that your knees began to buckle beneath you. 

Finally, the whistling began to dwindle away. 

From the crowd, stepped out a familiar face—the man with a hideous pornstache that stopped the RV on the initial route. 

“Good,” he called out. He swept his arms out in a faux inviting gesture. “You made it. Welcome to where you’re going—because you ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til we’re done with you. We’ll take your weapons.”

When he pointed a gun straight at Maggie, you immediately did as he said, pulling out the pistol wedged in your belt. There was a knife inside your boot, but you weren’t too keen on giving that up yet. You tossed your pistol on the ground just as Abraham threw down his rifle. The rest of the group followed suit.

Trembling, Rick spat out, “We can talk about this—”

“We’re done talking,” interrupted Pornstache. “Okay. Get her down, and let’s get you all on your knees. Lots to cover.”

“She can’t,” you snarled, stepping in front of Maggie protectively. “She’s sick, she can’t—”

“Oh, she’ll be far worse than just sick if you don’t get her on her knees,” the man easily rebutted, eyes roaming over your protective form. 

Lips trembling, you turned around, and with Abraham on her other side, you helped Maggie limp off the stretcher and gently set her down on her knees. Your eyes glistened and warbled with unshed tears. Maggie could only shake her head, as if telling you that it wasn’t your fault.

Terrified, Rick glanced around at the rest of the group. He’d failed you. All of you. 

“Gonna need you on your knees, sweetheart,” said Pornstache, slowly dragging the end of his gun up your cheek with a salacious grin.

With a withering glare, you sank down beside Maggie, Rick on your left side, breathing haggard and lips quaking. Sasha and Abraham followed suit. Carl was the last, fists clenched by his sides. 

“Dwight!” whistled Pornstache. “Chop chop! Bring out the others!”

A blonde man with half of his face horribly marred by what looked to be a severe burn injury, stepped forward, yanking open the back of a truck. 

And, to your horror, he dragged out your boyfriend, covered in blood—blood that you could only pray wasn’t his, even though you knew deep down that that was only wishful thinking. Following Daryl was Michonne, Rosita, and Glenn, equally distraught. 

Daryl caught your eye for a brief second, pure terror within his irises. He looked over you to make sure that you were alright, and you did the same with him, a tear slipping down your cheek.

I love you, you mouthed to him. He dipped his head once in understanding, before forcing his gaze away, not wanting to give the Saviors anymore reason to torture either of you. 

“Maggie…?” Glenn painfully rasped once he caught sight of his wife in such a state. He tried to make his way to her, but the Saviors grabbed his arms and forced him down, guns digging harshly into his back. 

“Alright!” exclaimed Pornstache. “We got a full boat! Let’s meet the man, eh?”

He knocked twice on the door to the RV you were in not even an hour ago. 

The door slowly swung open, squeaking on its hinges. 

And out strode a tall man clad in a leather jacket, a bat covered in barbed wire hanging off his shoulder. He took his sweet time making his way towards the group, feet languidly dragging along the gravelly dirt, and a smirk accentuating his smug expression. 

“Pissing our pants yet?” he drawled, voice tapering into a light chuckle as he stepped out into the light, smiling down at your group on your knees. “Boy, do I have a feeling we’re gettin’ close. Mm, yeah—it’s gonna be pee-pee pants city here real soon. Now which one of you pricks is the leader?”

Pornstache pointed at Rick. “It’s this one here.”

The man with the bat grinned wider, before stepping right in front of Rick, who craned his neck to glare up at him. “Hi there. You’re Rick, right? I’m Negan. And I do not appreciate you killin’ my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people… you killed more of my people. Not cool, man. Not cool. You have… no fuckin’ idea how not cool that shit is. But I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly. Mmh, yeah. You are so gonna regret crossin’ me in a few minutes. Yes, you are.” A dangerous, wolfish grin flashed across Negan’s face. “You see, Rick, whatever you do, no matter what—you don’t mess with the new world order. And the new world order is really very simple. So, even if you’re stupid, which you may very well be, you can understand it. You ready? Here goes—pay attention.”

He lowered his bat off his shoulder and slotted the barbed end right below Rick’s chin. You held in your breath, your entire body wracking with tremors. Though you knew you needed to stop, you couldn’t help but chance glances at Daryl every so often, your concern for him rapidly growing. Some of that was his blood, it had to be—his eyes were sunken with exhaust and his chest, the very chest you would fall asleep on every night, was rising and falling unevenly, making you believe he was hurt, but you just couldn’t see what was hurting him. 

“Give me your shit… or I will kill you. See? Simple as that.” Negan pulled the bat away from Rick, and began walking around the group as he spoke. “Today was career day. We invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. You work for me now. You have shit, you give it to me. That’s your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big, nasty pill to swallow. But swallow it, you most certainly will! You ruled the roost. You built something, Rick. You thought you were safe, I get it. But the word is out. You are not safe. Not even close. In fact, you are pegged—more pegged if you don’t do what I want. And what I want is half your shit. If that’s too much, you can make, find, or steal more, and it’ll even out sooner or later. This is your way of life now. The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, if someone knocks on your door… you let us in. We own that door. You try to stop us? And we will knock it down. You understand?”

Rick swallowed heavily. Narrowing his keen eyes, Negan cupped his ear and leaned down closer to the kneeling man. 

“What? No answer? You don’t really think that you were going to get through this without being punished, now, did you? I don’t want to kill you people. I just wanna make that clear from the get go. I want you to work for me—and you can’t do that if you’re dead, now, can you? I’m not growin’ a garden. But you killed my people—a whole damn lot of ‘em! More than I’m comfortable with, honestly. And for that… for that you’re gonna pay.”

Your hands curled into fists on your knees. You knew what was coming. And you’d be damned if you were going to let it happen.

“So, now… I’m gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you.” Negan inhaled sharply, as if he enjoyed prolonging the torture. He bent down once more, showing off the barbed bat. “This right here—this is Lucille. And she is awesome. All this… all this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor!”

Negan stopped in front of Abraham, who straightened and glared defiantly at the smirking man. In thought, Negan subconsciously rubbed his bearded jaw with one hand at the sight of Abraham’s own mustache. “Huh. I gotta shave this shit.”

On he strolled, before halting in front of Carl. “You had one of our guns. Hm. You got a lot of our guns.” Carl only scowled at the man. “Shit, kid. Lighten up. At least cry a little.”

Chuckling, Negan moved on. 

You could feel one of your eyes twitch when you saw his shoes stop right in front of you. His bat was beneath your chin in an instant, forcing you to look up. The sharp metal on the bat painfully scratched against your jaw, and fresh tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“My, my, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? What’s your name, darlin’?”

Hatred simmered within your chest, but you forced your expression to remain indifferent.

You quietly told him your name, wincing when his bat dug deeper into your neck and he ordered you to say it louder. You repeated yourself, voice cracking. A single tear meandered down your cheek and slid down your chin, dripping onto Lucille.

Negan hummed, nodding in satisfaction. “Now that’s what I want to see, folks! A little emotion around here—Y/N’s got the gist of it!”

“Kill me,” you gritted out, making the rest of the group’s eyes widen. You could feel Rick’s stare burning holes straight through you, but you refused to meet his gaze, staring straight up at Negan. “You can kill me. Just don’t hurt them. Let them go. Maggie, on my right, she’s real sick and she needs medicine—if she doesn’t get the proper treatment soon, she’ll… she’ll…”

The man in front of you barked out an amused laugh. “She’ll what?”

“She’ll die,” you snarled. “So kill me. Get it over with—and let them go.”

And for a split second, you let your eyes return to Daryl, one last time. He wouldn’t look at you—he couldn’t—terrified that Negan would bring that bat down on your head if he noticed.

But it was all futile. He noticed anyway. 

He followed your gaze over to Daryl, lowering his bat to gesture between the two of you. 

“Ah… you two are a thing, ain’t ya? Damn. And here I thought you were available for takin’, sugar.” Negan tossed his head back and chuckled with mild disappointment. “God, look at you bein’ all heroic, offering yourself up for the chopping block! No, no, darlin’, this ain’t a game of who gets to be a martyr and save their friends. You don’t decide what’s happening here. I do. You think I don’t know you’re the doctor of the group? My people have been reporting to me—they know you’ve been the one taking care of Little Miss Sickly over there. No… you’re far too valuable for me to kill. We need more people like you, darlin’. Plus, I wouldn’t want to bash in your pretty little face, now, would I?”

With a hum, Negan stepped away from you, fixing his gaze upon Maggie.

“Jesus. You look shitty. I should just put you out of your misery right now—!”

“NO!” screamed Glenn, scrambling onto his feet and lunging at Negan. Before he could even begin to make contact, Dwight grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, threateningly shoving Daryl’s crossbow into his face. 

Maggie cried out—both from a fresh wave of pain seeping through her bones, and from the sight of her husband being dragged back to his spot like a ragdoll. 

Huffing out a sigh, Negan grunted out, “Nope. Nope, nope, get him back in line.”

Glenn screamed, choking back a sob. “No… don’t. Don’t!”

Negan could only smile. “Alright, alright, listen. Don’t any of you do that again—I will shut that shit down, no exceptions! First one’s free—it’s an emotional moment. I get it. Mmh. Sucks, don’t it? The moment you realize you don’t know shit.”

Rick trembled violently beside you. Tilting his head, Negan glanced between him and Carl, realization dawning upon him when he noticed the physical similarities between the two.

“This is your kid, right? Ohoho, that is definitely your kid!” 

“JUST STOP THIS!” yelled Rick, so sudden that it made you flinch.

Equivalent in volume, Negan bellowed back, “HEY! Do not make me kill your little future serial killer! Don’t make it easy on me! I gotta pick somebody—everybody’s at the table waitin’ for me to order, hm?” 

The man whistled out a shrill tune, one that sent a shiver dance down your spine. 

“I simply cannot decide. But I got an idea.” With that, he pointed the bat at Rick. “Eenie.”

He moved to you, before narrowing his eyes, and skipped over to Maggie. “Meenie.”

Abraham. “Minie.”

Michonne. “Mo.”

Glenn. “Catch.”

Daryl. “A tiger.”

Rosita. “By.”

Eugene. “His toe.”

Sasha. “If.”

Aaron. “He hollers.”

Carl. “Let him go.”

And so on he went. 

My mother told me to pick the very best one. And you… are… it.

Your heart dropped when the end of his bat stopped in front of Abraham. 

No. No… no… no…

“Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy’s other eye out and feed it to his father, and then we’ll start! You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you’re all gonna be doin’ that!” 

And with that, he swung the bat back and brought it clean down on Abraham’s head.

Screams erupted from around you. You could feel your vision blur over with your tears, and you closed your eyes shut, not wanting to see such a gruesome sight, curling in on yourself as you listened to the repeated, sickening squelch of Negan’s bat repeatedly hitting your dear friend. Negan gloated and laughed and jeered. You cried and sobbed and flinched with every strike.

His blood—Abraham’s blood—splattered on your face. You could feel it. 

Warm, moist, and thick. Dripping down your cheek. 

“You guys… look at my dirty girl!” proclaimed Negan, jutting out the bloody bat for all to witness. The monster of a man tilted his head at Rosita, whose eyes were horrified and bloodshot, dripping with fat tears. “Sweetheart… lay your eyes on this!”

When Rosita began to cry harder, Negan hummed. “Oh, damn. Were you… were you guys together? That sucks. If you were, you should know—there was a reason for all this. Red—and damn if that isn’t a good name for him—he just took one, or six, or seven for the team! So take… a damn… look.”

Rosita refused to move her gaze from Abraham’s mutilated corpse.

And, much to your horror, Daryl growled out as he surged forward on his feet, landing a clean punch against Negan’s jaw. You screamed out his name when three Saviors grabbed him and beat him back onto the ground, pinning him tightly against the gravel. A sob wracked through your frame and you could feel your stomach twist into itself. Daryl was still struggling against them, clutching his side as he panted out.

“No!” yelled Negan, clearly furious. “Oh, no. That—is a big no-no. The whole thing—not one fucking bit of that shit flies here!”

Terror clutched at your palpitating heart when Negan shoved Lucille right up into Daryl’s face, smearing Abraham’s blood all over him. 

Dwight strode up and pointed Daryl’s own crossbow against the back of your boyfriend’s head. A sob fell from your lips. You couldn’t watch this—you just couldn’t.

“Daryl,” you cried out, hiccupping through your words. “Negan… no. No, please, don’t! I’ll do anything, please! Not him. Please, not him!”

Amused at your pleading, Negan casted a sidelong glance to you, before grabbing at Daryl’s hair and pulling him upright. “See what you did there, Buckaroo? You got your little partner all upset! Look, they’re crying their eyes out, worried for you.” Negan got back up on his feet. “Get him back in line,” he barked, though his eyes were trained on you.

And in two quick strides, he was back in front of you, gripping your face tightly between his gloved hand. “Look at you, darlin’, all covered in blood. Would it be weird if I say it makes my dick hard as fuck?” You scowled, trying your best to pull your face away from his uncomfortably rough grip. “Ah, ah, ah, sweetheart—your boyfriend here didn’t listen to me earlier. I said the first one was free, didn’t I? And what does that mean? Second one’s got a price, hm? I said I’d shut that shit down—no exceptions. I don’t know what kind of lyin’ assholes y’all have been dealing with… but I’m a man of my word. First impressions are important! I need you all to know me. Know that I’m not joking around with this shit. Now, if you weren’t a doctor and you weren’t so fuckin’ hot—I would’ve bashed your head to pieces without battin’ an eye! But, lookie here, I’m faced with another dilemma. I need to kill another one of you to get my point across.” 

A wail bubbled up in your throat and you began to claw at Negan’s fingers now painfully squeezing your jaw. “No… please, please… don’t, please—!”

“And I want you, darlin’, to pick which one of your little friends I kill.” 

“No!” you spat, breathing shallow and panicked. “Me—just kill me, Negan—you don’t have to hurt anyone else, please, please, let them go, you—”

Getting irritated with you, Negan shook your face until you stopped blubbering. “You’re not listenin’ to me. Pick. Someone. Not you, and not your little boyfriend. I want him to live with the fact that one of his friends died because of him. Pick someone. Anyone, sweetheart. You’ll be doin’ em a favor, honestly. They get to save the rest of you from a miserable death! Now, doesn’t that sound appealing?”

A beat of silence. Negan stared you down, and you glared right back.

“Eat my shit,” you snarled out.

Narrowing his eyes, Negan finally relinquished his hold on you. You gasped for breath, chest heaving, stabilizing yourself with your hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you’re feisty! Might have to keep you around after this—holy fuckin’ shit. Mmh, alright… fine, then. Since you won’t pick—I’ll just have to kill your precious patient’s boyfriend, hm?”

Before any of you could react, Negan spun on his heel and arced his bat through the air, right onto Glenn’s head. Again, and again, and again.

A piercing scream echoed across the forest. Maggie’s scream. 

Your mouth dropped open as a silent cry scratched down the sides of your throat. 

Glenn was still alive, somehow, after all those bashes. Blood caked his entire skull and part of his head was caved in—to your nauseating horror, one of his eyes had come out of its socket.

“Buddy, you still there?” exclaimed Negan in astonishment, bending down to inspect his handiwork. “I just don’t know… seems to me like you’re tryin’ to say something! But you just took a hell of a hit! I just cracked your skull so hard, your eyeball popped right out! And it is gross as shit!”

After all that, Glenn managed to slur out, “Maggie… I’ll find you.”

Sobs rang throughout the clearing. The rest of the group cried tears for Glenn—without him, all of you would’ve been dead three times over. 

“Awh, hell. I can see this is hard on you guys,” said Negan. “I’m sorry. I truly am. But I did say… no exceptions!” 

With that, he brought down his bat again. Over, and over, and over.

Maggie cried so hard her voice started to give out. 

Daryl, your beloved Daryl, flinched with every stroke of the bat, his eyes red and puffy with tears. You could see it already—the guilt behind his gaze. He thought it was his fault Glenn was killed.

You shut your eyes again. 

“Lucille is thirsty! She’s a vampire bat!” proudly declared Negan, as he swung one final hit on Glenn’s long-dead body. “What? Was the joke that bad? Tough crowd, huh?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” whispered Rick once Negan was done. Rick had blood splattered all over his face, as well. Abraham’s blood. Glenn’s blood. 

Negan squatted down beside him, tilting his head. His bat was dangerously close to you. “What? I didn’t quite catch that, Rick. You’re gonna have to speak up.”

Squaring his jaw, Rick drew in a sharp inhale. “Not today… not tomorrow… but I’m gonna kill you.”

Negan sucked at his teeth. “Jesus,” he softly said. “Simon. What did he have? A knife?”

Pornstache raised his brows. “He had a hatchet. An axe.”

Snorting, Negan shook his head. “Simon’s my right-hand man. Having one of those is important. I mean, what do you have left without ‘em? A whole lot of work. You have one? Maybe one of these fine people still breathing? Oh… or did I…”

The man waved the bloodied bat in front of Rick’s face, taunting him. 

“Sure, yeah. Give me his axe.” Pornstache handed Negan the small weapon and Negan smugly slid it into his belt. Suddenly, Negan grabbed the back of Rick’s jacket and yanked him up, practically dragging him by the scruff towards the RV. Your breath hitched, wanting to stop him, but all the guns trained on the backs of your friends made you freeze. All you could do was lower your head and stave away your raucous sobs. 

“I’ll be right back, folks! Maybe Rick will be with me! And if not… well, we can just turn these people inside out, won’t we? I mean… the ones that are left!”

They were gone for hours.

During those hours, part of you wanted to go to Maggie, comfort her, check if both she and the baby were alright. No doubt she was in a tremendous amount of both emotional and physical pain. The other part of you wanted to go to Daryl, curl up in the safety of his arms and cry into his chest. 

But you couldn’t do either. Not with the Saviors pointing the barrels of their rifles to the back of your skulls. 

The sun was already beginning to rise, tinting the sky a sweet, soft shade of blue. A stark juxtaposition to the dark red blood steadily drying on the rocky ground.

When Rick got back, Negan ruthlessly threw him down in front of the group. He looked exhausted. More than that—he looked dead inside. The light behind his eyes was gone.

“Do you know what that little trip was about?” asked Negan. 

Rick looked around wildly, as if making sure that everyone else was alright. 

“Speak when you’re spoken to,” Negan hissed.

Begrudgingly, Rick bowed his head. “Okay… okay.”

Negan wolfishly grinned, though there was a dark glimmer to his irises that you misliked. “That trip was about the way that you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand. But you’re still lookin’ at me the same damn way. Like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that’s not gonna work!” Once again, Negan squatted down beside Rick, that smug expression still plastered across the man’s coarse features. “So… do I give you another chance?”

After a moment’s pause, Rick hacked out, “Yeah. Yes.”

Satisfied, Negan clapped Rick on the back, before getting back up onto his feet. “Alright! Here it is, the grand-prize game. What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone’s last crap day… or just another crap day. Get some more guns to the back of their heads. Level with their noses, so if you have to fire… it’ll be a real fuckin’ mess.” 

You could feel cold metal graze the very top of your temple. 

“Kid, come here,” said Negan, making your heart plummet to your stomach. Rick’s expression shifted to one of pure dread.

Carl didn’t move. 

“Kid… now.” 

With cautious movements, Carl stood up in front of the taller man. 

“You a southpaw?” asked Negan while he unbuckled his belt, pulling it out of its loops.

“Am I a what?”

“A lefty,” clarified Negan. 

Carl scowled. “No.”

“Good,” retorted Negan, before grabbing Carl’s left arm and tying the belt around his bicep. “That hurt?”

Gritting his teeth, Carl bit out a negative. 

“It should. It’s supposed to.” Negan smirked, knocking Carl’s cowboy hat off his head. “Alright, get down on the ground next to daddy, kid. Spread them wings!”

Slowly, Carl lowered himself down beside Rick, his cheek pressed flat against the dusty gravel.

“Simon, you got a pen?” 

Pornstache nodded, brandishing a marker from his pocket and tossing it over to Negan. The man uncapped the black pen with his teeth, flashing you a wink and spitting out the cap somewhere to the side. He kneeled down by Carl to draw a straight line just below the junction of his elbow.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “This is gonna be as cold as a warlock’s dick, as if he were hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it right across your forearm! Gives you a little leverage, don’t it?” 

Stammering, Rick muttered out, “Please… please don’t. Please don’t.”

Negan tilted his head, lightly chuckling. “Me? Oh, I ain’t doin’ shit. Rick… I want you to take your axe and cut your son’s left arm off—right on that line! Now, I know you gotta process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though—I’m gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then your kid dies. Then the people back home die. Then you… eventually. I’d keep you breathing for a few years just so you could stew on it!”

“You… you don’t have to do this,” pleaded Michonne. It was the first time she’d spoken since she got out of the truck. Seeing Carl splayed out in front of her, practically her son, made something inside her snap. “We understand. We get it, we—”

“You might understand! I’m not so sure Rick here does. I’m gonna need a clean cut right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed-up thing to ask, but it’s gonna have to be like a salami slice. You remember those, right? Nothin’ messy. I want a clean, forty-five degree cut. Give us somethin’ to fold over. You got Y/N right there to fix him up nice and good. The kid’ll be just fine. Probably.”

Rick was just about losing his mind, rocking back and forth, murmuring incoherently beneath his breath. Sweat dripped down his bloodied face, his hair, mixing with the salty tears leaking from his crazed eyes. 

“Rick. This needs to happen now. Chop, chop. Before I crush the little fella’s skull myself.” 

Swallowing down his sobs, Rick choked, “It can—it can… it can be me. It can be me. Wh… you… you could do it to me. I c-can go with—with you.”

Negan smiled at his desperation. “No. This is the only way. Pick up the axe, Rick. Not making a decision is a big decision, let me tell you that. You really wanna see all these people die? Because you will—if you don’t PICK UP THE FUCKING AXE!”

Rick began sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh, my God,” said Negan, pulling at his face wearily. “You gonna make me count? Okay, Rick—you win. I’ll start counting. Three!”

“PLEASE!” screamed Rick. “IT CAN BE ME. PLEASE!”

“Two!” Negan kneeled down and slapped a sobbing Rick across the face, before grabbing his cheeks, not unlike he did with you hours before. “This is it, Rick. Make a decision. One!”

With a gut wrenching scream, Rick’s trembling fingers curled around the handle of his axe.

“Dad…” whispered Carl. A tear slipped down your cheek as the events unfolded in front of you. “Just do it.”

Rick cocked his arm back, seconds away from bringing it down to cleave Carl’s hand off. 

But Negan grabbed Rick’s wrist at the very last second, stopping him.

The man smirked, pleased with himself. “You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?”

Frantically, Rick nodded his head. 

“SPEAK WHEN YOU’RE SPOKEN TO! You answer to me. You provide for me!”

“I’ll provide for you!” cried Rick.

“You belong to me! Right?” hollered Negan.

Hiccuping a sob, Rick bobbed his head. “Right.”

“Now that… that is the look I wanted to see.” Negan grabbed Rick’s axe from him and stepped away. “We did it. All of us, together. Even the dead guys on the ground! Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure! Today was a productive damn day! Now, I hope for all your sake… that you get it now. That you understand how things work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you before… that is over now.”

Negan clapped his hands together, sighing out in relief. 

And strangely, you were slightly relieved, as well. Maybe he was done. He wasn’t going to kill any more of you. This was all over for now. 

Right?

“Dwight,” said Negan. “Load him up.”

To your shock, Negan pointed Lucille straight at Daryl.

“See, he’s got guts. Not a little bitch like someone I know,” Negan told Rick. “I like him. He’s mine now. You still wanna try something? Not today, not tomorrow? I will cut pieces off of… what’s his name?” 

“Daryl,” said Pornstache.

“Wow. That actually sounds just about right. I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep! Or, better yet, I will bring him to you and have you do it for me.”

“No…” you croaked out, when Dwight grabbed your boyfriend and dragged him back to the truck as if he were a wild animal, crossbow pointed at his chest. Maggie sobbed from beside you. “No, Daryl… please, no, don’t—please don’t take him from me!” you cried. “Please, I need him… Daryl!”

Negan smiled down at you. “Mmh. Alrighty, then. I’ll take you, too. Come on.” 

A gasp lodged in your throat when he suddenly grabbed your arm and yanked you upwards. 

“No, wait, I’m the only doctor they have, they need—Maggie needs m—!”

“I don’t give a rat’s flying blue ass,” growled Negan, shoving you in the direction of the truck, where Daryl watched you with wide, scared eyes. You craned your neck around to look at Rick and Maggie and the rest of the group—your family—one last time, unsure of when, if ever, you’d see them again. “You’re mine now. Got a whole lot of shit you can do for me, that’s for sure, darlin’. Load ‘em up!” 

One of the Saviors pushed you into the truck just as Negan yelled out, “Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry shits! I’ll leave you a truck. Keep it—use it to cart all the crap you’re gonna find me. We’ll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then… ta-fuckin’-ta.”

You collapsed straight into Daryl once you were inside, thundering sobs spilling from your lungs. He wrapped his burly arms around you, smelling of dirt and blood and motor oil. No words needed to be said. No words could be said.

The both of you had lost so much today. 

And now… you’d lost your freedom, as well.

Daryl began crying into your shoulder, and you could only hold him all the tighter. 

[dianesdiaries]

scorched earth| Homelander x Y/N

Synopsis/AU;Homelander becomes a madman after Vought decides they have the better facilities of taking care of Ryan, realizing the pain and abandonment he went through Ryan would believe his dad left him to face. In a fitted rage, he destroys the Vought building one by one, taking a life every minute it takes to return his boy. Y/N is assigned to the special forces team responsible for 'cleaning up his mess', and ensuring that nobody gets hurt. By the time special units have reached the building, Homeland's already taken a liking to toppling down dominoes.

TW: lots of violence in this one! I didn't really know what to write but I thought it would be a cool idea to see homelander go cray cray again lol

NOTE: this is short but I feel like would make a rlly good part 2 lmk!

I searched the premises top to bottom, looking for any signs of imperfections left behind in his massacre. God knows what he had in store for the rest of the world, and not one person has a single clue what could've led to this trajectory. I watched as bright stars peaked in the sky, cameras and vans swarming the building like bees to a nest. My gun slinged along my arm as I slowly watched the stars get closer, and closer..

It was bodies.

The sound of bones mushing into pavement made my stomach hurl. But when it rains, it pours. Dozens of civilians began falling from the sky, bouncing off the concrete in sync to the sounds of blood curling screams arising amongst viewers. I know, I was assigned to special forces for a reason. But he's lost his damn mind.

"All units, Move in! NOW! RIGHT FUCKING NOW! I SEE ONE MORE BODY DROPS ITS GONNA BE YOU!" The chief demanded, his coffee splattered across his long tattered coat in a fuel of rage. Hoisting into gear, I took one last look at the pain behind me. News vans scampered back and forth across the roads looking for a way out, avoiding the bloody trouble Homelander had flung into their direction. But something was wrong. I began to sweat, and it didn't stop. Drops of water began covering into my helmet vision, tactical gear cooking my body as the temperature increased. Metal scraping against brick made my ears squeal, quickly retreating into the building for safety. Red lasers danced across the city scape, quickly sawing whatever came into its way.

The building couldn't be any more worst than outside. Scarlet red painted the walls like an artists' touch, the main floor wiped of human life. I was assigned no other job but to simply talk to him, my guys in route watching closely as we made our way to the elevator. Quickly, I swiped my feet at the feeling of someone's touch, backing away in terror. There lay A-Train, who once was the world's fastest man quickly turned to nothing but broken bones. He crawled gently towards my ankle, pleading with his eyes as he winced in pain. "Send a paramedic team in, now. He's still got time" I demanded, the group of SWAT enforced men looked at me puzzled. "You're going up there, alone?..." one brave suit asked, I couldn't see his face but his tone ensured everyone was equally as terrified. I could see right through the supes facade, Homelander didn't scare me not one bit. I nodded my head in approval, the boys quickly sweeping to A-Train's rescue as they steadily carried the poor runner out of the building. I stared at the hopeless elevator entrance ding open, inhaling deeply as the doors closed behind me. Soft elevator music hummed in my ear, steadying my heart beat to a soft thump. I had to be prepared for the worst of it all, he could cut me into two pieces by the time the door opened and nobody would know until it was too late.

39,40...41.....42..........42.....

The elevator came to a holt, its bright led numbers flickering as the music came to a stop. My feet jolted below me, holding steadily to the railing as I waited in silence. He knew I was here. He knew someone was coming. My heart roared through my chest as I struggled to catch my breath, what the fuck was I thinking taking this job?

distress fled into my body, watching the doors pry open to the grip of ruby-red gloves. I fled to the ground, covering my head with my heads, watching the door opening wider. And wider. His cold distilled blue eyes emerged from the peak, analyzing me through the small crack. Homelander demanded, "Take off the helmet and let me see your face", watching my hands unravel from fetal position as my breath quivered. Slowly emerging from my helmet, I took the might of speaking up. "Homelander, I know your stressed... I'm not sure what happened, but.. we can work through this-". In the blink of an eye, the metal doors tore as gracefully as paper, falling into the ever abyss of the metropolitan below. My pupils constricted at the sight of him, his face was dim in expression and yet said so many things. His once "all American dream" blue suit covered in the blood of his coworker's, his hair a frilled mess, mania scampered in his eyes to the sound of his laughs. The dazed man grabbed my neck in a grip, and pulled me towards the gravel of the roof. I could feel my heart drop into my stomach, watching him edge closer and closer to the end of the building. "Homelander, wait.. Homelander please d-don't do this! Listen, okay? I'm Y/N, now you know me. Just tell me what happened, I'll listen!", pleading for my life as my gear scraped across the floor. The crazed supe held my head against the edge, a thousand feet of death kissing my eyes in return.

"They took my son. Away from me. My son is gone. you're going to tell me where he is. Or you can go say hi to your friends for me" he said, my hands pushed in denial as I screamed at the force of his body swinging me back and forth. "Where is Ryan! Goddamnit-where is he!" Homelander roared, his eyes holding threat in a bright neon red, I could feel my life draining from me in the moment. I had to think quick. I could keep my job, and do as I'm told. Or, I could save my life. I could do what I was good at. What Butcher taught me best. Rationalizing.

"Listen- look, okay? I can help you find Ryan, but you got to let me go! Without me, not a single fucking person at Vought would tell you his whereabouts. Besides, what they did to you.. Could be happening to him as we speak. Y-You want that?", my words could be playing with fire. But I had to give it a shot. Homelander laughed in mockery of my bravery, hastily letting go of me as he clapped and laughed in rejoice. The man's madness made me sick to my core. I could feel fresh acid forming like a lump in my throat, but I had to keep composure. I couldn't show I was scared. He would kill me without hesitation. He paced back and forth in thought of my offer, hands on his hips as I tried to catch my breath and pushed up against a corner of the roof. The screams from below echoed like the gates of hell, I could tell it was riling him up. "I have an idea, but.. We need to do it my way. You understand? No diverting, no nothing" I exclaimed, he looked across at me as blood dripped off his icy blonde tips stained a muck brown. "We leave. Now. Before they find out you were responsible for this, we can pinpoint it on another supe and you get Ryan back. Homelander- if this gets on the news...", I carefully stared back into his cold gaze, gulping at the words stuck in my throat. "You might not ever see Ryan again if Vought finds out you did this" I said.

The supe almost took that as a challenge, raising his eyebrow at my comment. "Really? And what makes you think I'll listen to you?" he chuckled, approaching slowly as I backed my heels into the ground. He towered carelessly over me, crouching low to meet my gaze. The smell of death reeked off his clothes, his teeth blinked brighter than the sky filled with mourning souls. Without thinking, the man lifted me carefully and began to back away from the building, I could feel our bodies lift off the ground and up towards the clouds. It calmed me, to know that I was able to do something perfectly for once. The one moment that could've possibly ruined my entire life, I saved myself. But I couldn't save the others

"Before we go.. You want to see something cool? I've been meaning to do this for a while" he chuckled, stopping in position as we levitated above the downtown metropolitan. The feeling of course hot beams almost burned through my suit, as I watched the Vought building explode into an array of flames. The building's base was untouched, Homelander squealed in laughter watching people rush onto the streets like ants. "They had what was fucking coming for them. And they knew it. Nobody to blame but themselves, right Y/N? I mean, you have to agree. We're friends now. And you!-You Are going to get me my boy back", his head shook vigorously as if he agreed with his own sentence, looking at me for the approval of his message. I understood that he was setting me up, but two can play that game. "We need to see Butcher. Now. He'll know what to do" I explained, my eyes refused to watch the city below. I had nowhere to look but right into his eyes. And I prayed that he could feel the hatred feeling through my body. Effortlessly, the dazed supe began to track throughout the clouds, elevating so the bare naked eye could barely see us through the cotton-field of clouds.

[t-lostinworlds]

I Spy, No Spy | Peter Parker

》 PAIRING: peter parker x avenger/secret agent female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: friends to lovers; fake dating-ish; fluff

》 SUMMARY: You're a trained spy, Peter was not. But you two ended up on a mission together where he was needed to be less of the chatty superhero in red & blue tights and more of a debonair undercover agent in a suit & tie. It shouldn't be too difficult, right? No mask, no web shooters. Just you and him pretending to be fiancés, hiding and making out in a closet to avoid getting caught—simple. Unless he included his overgrowing feelings for you, of course.

》 WARNINGS: peter being down bad & horny™️ for r (my fave genre of peter by the looks of it), slight self-deprecating peter, pet names (darling, my love, babe, angel), peter x suit x glasses (a dangerous combo), mediocre spy-ish stuff, canon typical violence (i.e. guns, knives, fighting, ass-kicking), slight jealousy/possessiveness (both parties), slight pettiness from r, closet make-out, little peter got excited (idk why i said it like that lmao it’s just a boner), cuddling w/ boob grab (not sexual lol).

》 WORD COUNT: 21.3k+ (is anyone still surprised)

✘ MOODBOARD

A/N: this idea has been in my drafts since sept or oct 2020? I think? basically i plotted this a decade ago a.k.a this happens after Endgame but before...anything else (NWH who? lol) this is more an alternate universe tho. i honestly have no idea how i feel about this but i did enjoy writing it. a pretty tame, fun lil spy au fic so nothing groundbreaking sksks anyways! i hope you enjoy!

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ PETER PARKER MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

The sun rays that leaked through Peter's bedroom window tickled his eyelids, making them flutter open as he yawned.

A tired smile curled on his lips as he buried his nose into his pillow. It was rather comforting, hearing the faint chirping of birds, the soft rustle of the tree just outside his room, and hell, even the chants in the far-off distance of people training.

It was a peaceful Saturday morning, and Peter really liked that.

To top it off, summer had just begun, so no college work to worry about in the meantime. He was finally having a much-needed break from obligation and responsibilities—well, not entirely since the superhero gig didn't really have actual breaks. But he was hopeful that today was a quiet day, at least.

There were plenty of activities that could take up his whole day. He could start with a morning run around the large stretch of land, maybe pack up some breakfast and eat it by the lake, located at the edge of the area. He didn't mean to sound like some guru, but he could really use being one with nature for a little bit. Maybe he could meet his friends for lunch if any of them were free, or maybe he could spend the afternoon relaxing by the compound's private pool—

"Good morning, Peter."

Peter jumped with a squeak, limbs tangling with his sheets, making him fall off the bed with a loud thud. Groaning, he slowly sat up on the floor, rubbing the back of his head to soothe it.

That was certainly one way to get the sleep out of your system.

"Emergency meeting in conference room A-One in ten minutes."

Well, so much for his plans to relax.

"Got it, FRIDAY."

It was still a bit odd hearing the A.I. as an alarm early in the morning most of the time. She was certainly very helpful though. From scheduling to reminders, simple google searches to more complicated equation-solving whenever he would need help.

FRIDAY was like the compound's own Alexa but much, much more advanced. Well, she certainly wasn't meant to be used as such but nobody could truly blame him for not taking the perks for granted.

And there were a lot of perks living in the place—the Avenger's compound, to be specific—and despite being here for almost a year now, Peter still hadn't gotten used to its extravagance, much less exhausted all its resources.

It was a drastic change from the little apartment where he and May used to live, and he wasn't talking about the size alone.

She was living with Happy now, Peter visiting over for dinner whenever he could. She was a bit reluctant to let him move out at first. It was expected when they'd practically been living together for a good chunk of his life. But he was grown now, so wanting to dabble into independence shouldn't come off as a surprise.

Sure, it was more him being available and closer to saving the world type of independence, but independence, nonetheless.

Plus, Peter simply wanted to give them as much privacy as he could.

Happy and May were like teenagers in love and the things he heard despite the thick walls thanks to his enhanced abilities…he'd rather not think about it. His super hearing definitely helped in making the decision.

He still hadn't stopped patrolling New York, of course. If it was a quiet day on earth—more so, the universe—he still swung about the city, stopping any petty crime he would come across. But when an Avenger's level threat would arise, Peter was now only a couple of doors down, equipped and ready to join the mission.

It was difficult to juggle: his normal life, attending college, being Spider-Man on top of being an official Avenger.

Nonetheless, Peter wouldn't have it any other way.

Maybe it was because he enjoyed the thrill of taking the superhero gig to the next level. Or maybe it was because he was granted the opportunity to live lavishly in the compound. Maybe it was the sheer feeling of accomplishment and pride to be able to save the world. 

Or maybe it was because he got to see you every day.

You, who Peter has an insanely huge crush—no, who he really, really liked.

He might even go as far as to say that he was falling for you.

The two of you had moved in at the same time.

He could still vividly remember how he'd just placed the last box on his bed when the building shook. He peered out his window to see what the commotion was about, just in time to catch the Quinjet landing on the well-kept grass. His brows had furrowed in curiosity when the door opened, watching Sam and Bucky come out first, then a third figure trailing right behind them.

Peter didn't really believe in love at first sight, but God did it feel like that when he first saw you.

Okay, maybe it wasn't exactly love—or maybe it was, who knows—but he really couldn't deny how intrigued he was of you, intimidated even. And that was when you walked into the common room in simple jeans and a pink hoodie.

He swooned the minute you smiled at him when you introduced yourself, his knees wobbling the minute you shook his hand.

It was later on that he found out that you were a former (more like forced) member of HYDRA, abducted at a young age, trained to be one of their elite spies, and brainwashed to do their bidding. Which was why it made so much sense how the one and only Bucky Barnes had a soft spot for you—quite surprising for someone who was known to be a huge grump.

You actually came from Wakanda that day, to erase whatever it was HYDRA planted into your brain. Now, you were a recruit on the team, willing to do good with the skills you now had.

You and Peter were around the same age—part of the young ones, as Bucky pointed out—so it didn't really take long for you to become friends.

Well, a friend he kept ridiculously fawning over, a friend who made his heart race whenever you were nearby, a friend who Peter didn't really want to remain as such.

He was thankful though, being your friend was better than being no one to you at all.

But still, it was difficult to suppress his feelings, especially when you were one of, if not, the sweetest and kindest person Peter had the pleasure of knowing.

Whenever he would stumble into the compound late at night, all badly beaten and bruised, somehow, you'd be the only one awake, helping him up to his own room where you'd then clean his wounds for him.

The first night it happened, you had said FRIDAY alerted you of his presence. You had rushed as fast as you could when the A.I. mentioned he was injured. After that, it simply became a routine for you both.

It was like an unspoken rule around the compound, how you were always the one who'd patch Peter up after missions—unless you weren't present, of course. There were even a handful of occasions where Peter would be the one patching you up, a rare instance where he'd be home from campus while you'd come back from an intense mission that rewarded you with fresh bruises and cuts.

He was convinced you were simply being nice to him, though. You did consider him as your friend and you were kind enough to help with an ailment or two. You were such a caring person overall. He was sure if it was any other person, you'd do the same. So, Peter wasn't exactly special in that regard.

But then you got assigned to help him train every weekend, which only made his overgrowing crush for you, well, grow some more.

It was a new requirement for recruits, learning how to fight without much use of technology.

From the wise words of the new captain: Gadgets and tech should be there as extra sets of tools, not as a replacement for your arms and limbs. If you rely on them too much, they're going to become crutches.

Bucky stared at Sam funnily at that—since his vibranium arm was both a tool and a replacement of his limb—but everyone got what he meant. Being able to take down bad guys with only your bare hands was definitely more helpful than not.

Peter didn't know if someone was secretly spying on him, or had overheard him gushing about you to Harley—or if said friend himself had ratted him out—that led to the two of you being paired together.

Bucky said that you were the best woman for the job to help improve hand-to-hand combat or overall fighting skills. You'd been training since you were young after all, and that was saying something. Peter was probably still learning his additions and subtractions while you had already mastered the art of jiu jitsu. Wanda added that the two of you were already close hence why you got paired together, simply to skip through that awkward phase of introductions.

Peter had a feeling the two were playing matchmaker. But he chose to ignore it.

Either way, it certainly didn't help his predicament.

Being so close to you in that regard, with you wearing those tight leggings and tank tops, grunting and sweating, your bodies getting tangled and just…yeah.

Training with you was enough to make his head—both heads, if being honest, but he'll keep the other one to himself—explode.

You were incredible.

So it didn't take much for him to get distracted by you during your sessions, either.

More often than not, Peter would find himself watching you in awe rather than trying to dodge your punches. You called him out on it a few times, and each time he'd turn pink, the tint on his skin turning darker when you'd order him to do push-ups as a means to discipline. You were strict at times, but he was still so lucky that you were also being patient with him when he couldn't get it quite right the first few times. Although, you being in command and in control only added to his endless list of things he was swooning over you for.

It was admirable the way you would have him so out of breath after a spar and he was the one with superpowers. You were being smart with it, tactical with the when, where and how to hit rather than just throwing a punch for the sake of it. You'd dance around him, gracefully, swiftly, strongly, each move precisely choreographed to outmatch him as if you'd already looked into the future to know what he was going to do next.

Peter was a goner the minute you pinned him down on the floor for the tenth time in that one session.

He didn't know if it was the smug smirk on your face, your knees on either side of his hips, the way you had his hands above his head, or everything all at once. But Peter's blood was definitely boiling with every touch, rushing up to his brain that quickly turned it to mush—or maybe it was rushing down. He really couldn't tell where the pulsing was coming from. If it was his heart or some other organ that gets filled with blood.

By then, he couldn't stop thinking about you, couldn't stop talking about you, head over heels like he was living and breathing for you.

Ned and Harley said it was an obsession at this point but in his defense, you were way out of his league.

And he hadn't even taken into account how you felt about him.

Sometimes, Peter would have an inkling that his feelings were reciprocated. With the way you'd smile at him, the way you'd say sweet things to him, and the lingering touches from time to time, how could he not?

But, what if that was his rose-colored glasses making them seem like something they're not? Was it truly acts of affection and adoration or was it Peter's brain just romanticizing the shit out of simple kind gestures done for a friend?

Then came the thought that you were sweet and kind to everyone. It was just who you are, a ray of sunshine through and through—a ray of sunshine that could kick your ass ten times over but still. He'd rather not give himself too much hope. It was safer to assume that you were only seeing and treating him as a friend and nothing more.

Besides, it was too far-fetched, someone like you feeling something for someone like him.

You'd walk down a hallway with your head held high, while Peter would keep his eyes trained on the tiles. You'd stare your enemy down with no hesitation, your presence commanding, threatening, both words and actions carrying that certain chill that would make anyone second guess crossing you. While Peter would dance around them to avoid proper confrontation, going for silly jokes and sarcastic quips to mask any nervousness he would sometimes feel.

You're one hell of a powerful, strong woman and that's without any enhancements or superpowers involved.

While Peter…well, he's just your dorky, other times clumsy, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

As he said, you were way, way, way out of his league.

So he really couldn't do much but admire you from afar—or up close, but discreetly—until he would grow the extra set of balls needed to actually do something about his feelings for you, especially with the possible outcome of rejection.

He'd like to believe he'd grown quite a bit of confidence after entering college. It was a slow progress but he did manage to break out of his shell. With the number of parties Harry Osborn had managed to drag him into, how could he not? He was quite glad that now, he was able to talk to pretty girls without much stuttering and blushing involved.

But somehow when it was you in front of him, he would suddenly revert to his old high school self again. His cheeks would either be red or pink, barely able to get his words out as he would sometimes stare at you for longer than he should, all awestruck and dazed with admiration.

Peter's point was painfully proven right once again when he saw you down the hallway.

You were wearing black leggings and a black tank top along with your favorite running shoes. It was your usual getup whenever you would train or workout. Yet no matter how many times Peter had seen you in them before, it never failed to make his heart skip a beat. It was nothing fancy at all, but God did it look stunning on you.

It was mostly unconscious, and well, his rational brain did sometimes take a backseat when it comes to you. But his eyes drifted over your body, from your exposed shoulders to your collarbones, flitting momentarily on your chest, before they went to your legs, your tight leggings leaving so little to his imagination as they hugged your thighs. He tried to move his gaze back up to look at you more appropriately but simply got stuck on your hips. There was a slight sway in them as you walked—in slow motion, he was sure of it—with such confidence, and the way you held yourself with power and poise was breathtaking.

Shit. Did the AC malfunction? Why is it suddenly so hot—

"Hi, Pete."

Your voice snapped him out of his stupor. But your bright, beautiful eyes and your so-goddamn-pretty smile all while you stood right in front of him was more than enough to have him swooning again.

"H-Hey," he squeaked, painfully aware of how hot his cheeks had gotten. Add the fact that he hadn't been out under the sun much, he was sure you could see how pink it was. That knowledge alone probably made it a shade darker. Then came the fleeting thought that you might've caught him practically eyeing you up—

He quickly cleared his throat, keeping his head down to hide his blush as he opened the door to the conference room.

"After you."

"Thank you," you hummed, reaching a hand out to squeeze his arm before you moved past him.

It took a lot for his knees not to wobble at the gesture, even more, when he caught a whiff of your shampoo…or was that your perfume? But if you had just gone on a morning run and taken a shower—no, that wasn't your body wash. You didn't look like you'd just got out of the shower, so maybe it was just your scent. God, you always smell so nice.

"Holy—get your shit together man," he grumbled to himself, hastily wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, fixing up his hair before entering the conference room.

It was relatively empty—well, the whole compound was given that the rest of the Avengers weren't at headquarters in the meantime, caught in other obligations whether personal or otherwise. The only other person in the room was Wanda, sitting across from you.

"Pete," you called, tapping the chair beside you before he could even choose a seat to take. There were plenty of vacant ones. Trying to calm his raging heart, he walked over to your side and sat down. But each beat only grew faster when you tilted your head at him with a smile. "Did you go on a run this morning?"

"Oh—uh, no, not yet," he said, trying his best to keep his eyes on yours rather than let them wander, like…down your lips. Shrugging to seem unbothered, he added, "FRIDAY announced the meeting just when I woke up."

"I haven't either," you hummed. So, it was just your scent earlier, the same one that was filling up his nostrils now as you leaned a little closer to him. "Maybe we can go—"

"Another day, another robbery," Sam cut you off as he and Bucky entered the room.

You moved away from him then, leaning back on your seat, attention now on the captain. An unconscious frown made its way onto his lips, because yes, he was slightly—greatly—annoyed at the interruption.

"Only this time, it calls for a national emergency," Bucky added, taking the seat next to Wanda.

"Global, if we don't stop it in time," Sam sighed, connecting a flash drive to one of the USB ports installed on the table.

"Oh no, did they steal the president's nudes?" Peter joked, immediately shrinking in his seat when the two men shot him a look. "Sorry, sorry, bad joke and definitely not the time—I'll shut up."

"That was funny," you whispered, flashing him a smile and Peter's face immediately burned. He wasn't given much time to respond when Sam cleared his throat.

"As much as that would be horrifying, it's something much worse." He pressed a button on the table that made the hologram come to life. There was only one item shown, a rectangular, gold-colored device, probably the size of a credit card but thicker by half an inch. Sam pointed at it and said, "The Gold Codes."

"The Gold Codes?" Peter muttered, brows furrowed in confusion.

"The president's nuclear launch codes," you answered, always willing to help him out on things he wasn't too well versed on.

"Oh." Peter nodded, smiling at you appreciatively before his face fell, eyes widening in realization. "Oh. That's definitely worse than his nudes."

You laughed, and it made Peter's heart do flips.

"And of course, its partner, the nuclear football. But instead of it being a whole briefcase, it's been reduced to this—" Sam flicked through the hologram, a black device coming up beside the gold codes. It looked like a plain external hard drive, roughly the same size as a pocketbook. It wasn't that big so it was definitely easy to carry around and, by the looks of it, easier to steal.

"Technology advancing sometimes isn't the best," Bucky grumbled.

You sat straighter in your seat, forearms resting on the table as you eyed the devices. There was a furrow between your brows, lips pursed as you tilted your head.

Peter couldn't stop his smile.

He always found your thinking face adorable.

You turned to Sam after a moment and asked, "Don't they change the codes every day?"

"Yes, but as our hundred-year-old resident said, technology is advancing so the card automatically syncs up to any changes made," Sam explained.

"That's the stupidest thing ever," Wanda scoffed.

Peter nodded in agreement. "Why did these even get stolen in the first place?"

"The one who was carrying the nuclear football was a double agent," Bucky said.

"Classic," you scoffed. "And have we found where it is?"

Sam nodded at Bucky, the super soldier rummaging around a bag that Peter just noticed he brought with them. He slid across a black envelope with gold detailing, your brows furrowing as you took it in your hand.

"Oh wow, an invitation to a charity gala tonight at The Aces," you gushed, scanning through the glossy, black paper before you turned to look at Peter. You probably saw the confused look he wore because you offered him a sweet smile before explaining, "It's one of the fanciest ballrooms in New York, most of the galas they hold are very exclusive for the rich and the rich-rich, like filthy 'I can end world hunger but I'm an asshole so I won't' rich."

"Thanks," Peter hummed, smiling.

"I got you." You bumped his shoulder with a wink, which quickly made him blush.

"But it's a smokescreen," Sam continued. "The real party happens later in the night."

"That's what she said," Bucky interrupted enthusiastically, earning a heavy eye roll from Sam and laughs from you and Wanda. The technically old man looked around the room. "What? Did I say the joke wrong?"

"You got the spirit," Peter chuckled.

"As I was saying, they're holding a black market auction later in the night in the small underground theater a floor beneath the building." Sam continued, swiping up the hologram until it showed a floorplan of a theater along with a couple of photos of high-tech armor, guns, and a whole bunch of things Peter couldn't exactly name. What stood out the most to him, though, was the logos: Stark Industries, Oscorp, Pym Technologies, Sable International, and the likes. "Stolen technology and weapons being sold to anyone who has the money to buy them."

"So, it's like the dark web, but fancier," Wanda quipped.

"Stealing items and then selling them to the highest bidder," Peter hummed. "Sounds like the British."

You snorted, quickly covering your mouth when everyone turned to you with raised brows.

"Sorry," you mumbled, kicking him under the table playfully, probably as a warning to stop making you laugh. Peter only grinned proudly in response. He always felt proud whenever he made you laugh.

"Anyway, the nuclear football is easier to find. It's locked in a room along with the other items they're planning on selling," Sam started, flicking through the hologram to show a floor plan of the whole building. He circled the large room in the middle before tracing a pathway leading up to another, much smaller room. "It's located on the east wing, right side of the main ballroom. It has double doors so you wouldn't miss it, especially with the armed guards."

"And the card?" Peter asked.

"Would be much more difficult to retrieve. It's going to be with the person who orchestrated this whole thing. The problem is—"

"You don't know who it is," you finished.

Sam nodded grimly. "Whoever is the mastermind of this grand scheme has been quite good at maintaining anonymity. The only time they're going to reveal themselves, along with the codes, is during the secret auction, which you can't get into unless you're chosen to be there."

"If you think the gala was exclusive, the auction is on a different scale," Bucky explained.

"We don't know what code or secret handshake will be needed to be able to attend the auction. Our best course of action is to attend the gala, scope the scene, and hopefully, get intel on how to join the auction without much breaking and entering involved," Sam said. "I had Harley tap into the security system of the building and guess what?"

"You found an even bigger problem," you and Peter said at the same time.

Sam nodded. "The whole building is now armed with sensors fit to detect every single Avenger's superpower, any Stark-grade weapons and also, vibranium. Bucky's metal arm, Wanda's magic, my wings, so on and so forth. Neither of us could simply swoop in because the second those silent sensors go off, or any commotion will start, poof goes the codes along with our criminal."

Bucky shifted in his seat. "Even if we discard all of that and try not to use it, going in there as, quote-on-quote civilians won't work either because—"

"Everyone would immediately recognize who we are," Wanda finished.

"Since there are only two people here whose faces aren't known publicly"—Sam looked between the two of you—"Peter and Y/N, you two are going to be the ones to retrieve the codes and the football."

"W-What?" Peter choked, eyes wide as he stared at the captain. "Don't they have my powers in the sensors?"

"They only have it for your web shooters and suit, and as far as I know, both are detachable."

"But that's me, that's how I operate," he stammered. Going out there as himself wasn't part of his skill set. He'd feel too exposed without his suit. Not to mention he was going with you. Which of course wasn't a bad thing at all but it only added this pressure to not mess things up. He couldn't live with himself if he'd fail this mission, fail you—or worse, have you get hurt because he wasn't capable enough. "How am I supposed to be Spider-Man without those?"

"You have to give yourself more credit, Pete," you said, placing your hand over his own, the one resting on his thigh. Peter's eyes followed your touch before he met your gaze again, his blush prominent, heart thumping so loud he was scared you might hear it. "You're more than just a suit. And you need to remember how you've managed to make your synthetic web in the first place. So I'm sure you'll do fine with your brain alone. Even then, you still have other abilities, and you have me."

Peter looked at you fondly, a smile curling on his lips as he turned his hand so your palm was over his, squeezing it to silently say thank you. He wasn't even aware of what he was doing, not until he saw your smile turn slightly shy. It was the quick glimmer in your eyes that made him realize he was absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

"Seconded." Wanda smiled at the two of you, chuckling when you and Peter jumped slightly away from each other. You pulled your hand away, Peter frowning at the loss of contact. But he shook his head, turning his focus back on the mission.

"Y/N here also said you'd gotten really good at your hand-to-hand combat skills," Bucky said, an all-knowing smile on his face as he glanced between you two. "So, I don't think you'd need your web shooters as much if ever it comes to a fight."

"Which we hope won't result in that," Sam quickly added with a reassuring nod. "The plan is simple: scope and mingle, assess the scene, try and get some information as to how to get into the auction. Once you've done that, sneak into the vault to retrieve the nuclear football. I've already assigned Harley to make a duplicate device to swap with the real one so it won't trigger the alarm.

"Then, you sit at the auction and wait until the codes come up. I'm sure it will be presented by the anonymous seller so by then, we will be able to put a face on the mastermind. Our agents should already be blocking every single exit of the building by that time so all you have to do is to retrieve the code calmly. Try and ease your way into the main stage, charm and persuade, or whichever way works. Any more questions?"

You and Peter looked at each other, before you both turned to Sam, shaking your heads.

"Good. We've already set your fake identities up, google searches running for miles, the last thing we need are photos, together, individually, candid and professional which would only take a few minutes. Your fake names are already on the guest list, your outfits and everything else you need will be waiting for you at the hotel you're getting ready at as part of the whole ruse," he instructed. "You two are the best and only shot we've got in this. Plan your moves wisely and rely on each other. We can't afford to lose those codes."

"Yes, Captain."

•••

The hotel suite was fancy.

Peter had never been in one this expensive-looking before.

It had its own living room, a minibar, a huge bathroom, a king-size bed, and then a massive window that overlooked New York City. He definitely indulged himself with their complimentary champagne, and given the fact that he couldn't get drunk, he mostly did it for the taste—which was flavored expensive, to those wondering. Hell, even the chocolate they had tasted expensive.

Then again, the two of you were undercover as a rich, engaged couple so it was part of the whole thing. You never know whose eyes and ears were for who in these types of missions.

But still, it was quite the treat and he'd be stupid not to make the most of it—without getting too distracted, of course.

Peter was now all suited up, not in spandex this time. It was a crisp, black, formal suit made with fabric he wouldn't dare guess the cost and a brand he couldn't even begin to pronounce. He had a white dress shirt underneath, paired with a black tie. The one he was currently having a hard time doing as he stood in front of the floor-length mirror in the living room.

He groaned in frustration when he once again messed it up. He didn't wear this kind of clothes often, so he really didn't have much of a reason to learn to master the art of…tying?

"Need help?"

Peter turned around, the breath knocked out of him once he saw you come out of the bedroom.

Wow.

Oh wow you looked gorgeous in red.

It was an off-shoulder, long-sleeved dress, your arms covered in lace as the fabric hugged your figure. The skirt was long as it fanned onto the floor with a really high slit on your right leg to show off the silver heels you were wearing. Your hair and make-up were done to marry the whole style, all while enhancing your natural features rather than covering them. Your red-painted lips though—

"Wow."

"Yeah," you laughed softly, your gaze falling over yourself as your hands smoothed the fabric of your dress. "I don't know who picked it but it's really pretty and it fits really nicely. Perks of having body scans for our suits, I suppose."

"You look beautiful," Peter breathed out, still frozen in his place as he stared at you in absolute awe.

"Thank you," you said, your sweet smile turning into a smirk as you eyed him up and down with a nod. "You clean up nice, too, Parker."

"Oh—uhm, t-thanks." He blushed, shaking his head before gesturing both hands at you. "But you, I—wow, you look, wow."

"Shut up," you laughed, your dress flowing as you moved closer to him. "Here, let me."

Peter wasn't even given much time to recompose himself when you once again took his breath away by simply standing so close to him. Every inhale was just filled with your scent, his heart skipping a few beats as he scanned your face, only a couple inches from his and God did you look even more beautiful up close.

His blush deepened when you reached for his tie, your brows furrowed in that adorable way he'd come to familiarize as you slowly did it for him.

Peter honestly didn't know what to do with his hands, yet there was some sort of pull that he couldn't resist, like an instinct as he gently rested them on your waist. He was distracted by how close you were, but not enough to miss the way your breath hitched at the contact. Testing the waters, he squeezed it gently, biting his cheek to stop his smile from growing when he saw your fingers falter.

But oh did the pride bubble in his chest.

You shook your head, finishing up his tie with a smile. It was Peter's breath that hitched this time when you smoothed it over his chest, your palms flat against the muscle, touch so sweet, skin so warm. You looked up, your smile faltering when your eyes met his.

He didn't know how long you stared at each other. He also didn't know who moved a little closer first, but he definitely wasn't complaining. Not when he was so close that he could count exactly how many eyelashes you had. And he gladly would've if your voice hadn't snapped him out of the trance that nobody could ever put him under but you.

"We should get going," you whispered, but you still lingered for a few more seconds, more than enough for his brain to run its course, thinking that maybe, his feelings for you weren't as unrequited as he thought.

It was the sound of a beeping alarm that broke you two apart.

"Come on, we can't be late," you said after a breath, flashing him a sweet smile before going to grab your things.

"Wait," he cleared his throat, patting around his pockets before finally retrieving a velvet box. You turned around just as he'd opened it, showing you the ring that resided inside.

Your eyes widened, lips opening and closing as you gawked at the sparkling diamond for a few seconds before you met his gaze. "Peter—"

"Oh shit! It's not what it looks like!" he panicked.

Peter did always find himself daydreaming about you often, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't already pictured something similar to this moment. But even he could recognize how many steps he'd basically jumped over by showing you a diamond ring. And as much as he would love to fast-forward to that part, he'd also like to take you out on a date first. Well, if he'd even get the courage to ask you that, anyway. 

"I-uh, you know, us, covering as an engaged couple? So, of course, uhm, you'll need an engagement ring?"

"O-Oh," you fumbled, nodding quickly before you offered him your left hand. "Yeah, of course."

Peter took it in his delicately, fingers running over your knuckles before he carefully slipped the ring on. Squeezing your hand, he reluctantly let go. 

"Did you pick this?" you asked, bringing your hand up to your face, fingers wiggling as you admired the ring.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I did—well, Bucky helped."

"It's beautiful."

"It looks even more beautiful on you."

Your eyes snapped up to look at him, your smile growing as you hummed, "Charmer."

"It's the expensive suit." He shrugged, a teasing grin with a blush to match.

You laughed that lovely laugh of yours, adoration and pride swelling in his chest.

"Oh, Harley asked me to give you this," you said after a moment, pulling out a familiar pair of glasses before handing it to him. "He said it's all you need to do your magic."

"Nah, it's just a little tool kit I put together, really, kinda like a small computer so nothing magical about it," he chuckled, waving the glasses before putting them on. "It's carbon-based nanotech, passable through metal detectors. I've managed to look up what security system they had installed in the safe and there's sort of a minicomputer inside so it should be easy to bypass the system. I already have the program in here that would run through all the probable security codes so all I need to do is activate the glasses and it would automatically unscrew everything and connect to a hopefully pre-existing female micro-USB slot with the male counterpart in this old thing and—" he paused, face heating up as you gazed at him with a twinkle in your eyes. "What?"

"Nothing, just—you're amazing," you sighed, smile widening before you nodded. "Let's go?"

Peter ignored that way his whole body tingled at your praise and offered you his arm.

Not like it was a new reaction whenever he was around you, anyway.

"Let's."

•••

"Mr. Reid, the car is already waiting for you."

That was the first sentence Peter heard when you reached the hotel lobby. He looked behind him before looking at the man in a suit, pointing at himself in confusion.

"I'm not—"

"Lucas, honey, come on," you cut him off, slipping your fingers in his. You flashed him a knowing smile, squeezing his hand before you tugged him along as you followed the guy.

Right. Fake identities.

"Woah." Peter gawked at the car in front of him, leaning closer to you as he whispered, "Is that a Rolls Royce? Like, the new one?"

"Sort of. It's the Phantom Extended." You nodded with an amused smile. "The best way to blend in with the rich, don't you think?"

Peter was about to open the door for you but then the butler—at least, he assumed that was who he was—beat him to it. So, he opted on helping you with your dress instead, making sure it didn't get caught on anything as you settled inside.

"Thank you, my love," you giggled.

My love.

Peter luckily didn't slip on the expensive lambswool floor mat as he got into his seat.

It's pretend. Get a grip.

Once the car started moving, you pressed a button on the center console, the clear glass that separated the front and back immediately turning into an opaque white, completely secluding the two of you from the driver. He looked at you curiously, nervous—okay, and maybe a bit excited—as to why you decided you suddenly needed privacy. Peter had heard a lot of stories about what goes on in the rear cabin of expensive cars, especially with the partition up, so could it be—

"Did you get to read about our fake identities? The one Sam sent?"

Thinking with the wrong head again, aren't we, Parker?

"I, uhm, no, got too preoccupied with the ring and getting dressed," he admitted, looking at you guiltily. The mission had barely started and he was already messing it up. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, it's okay," you reassured with a smile, hand on his thigh, squeezing for good measure. He wasn't able to relish in the warmth of your touch for long as you shifted in your seat, turning around to face him. "I mean, everything is very last minute. I'll just tell you about it.

"Lucas Reid, the young 26-year-old and dashing CEO of Reid Enterprises. You inherited the company at nineteen when your father died of illness," you started.

Peter scrunched his nose. "So, basically, I'm a trust fund baby?"

"Sort of, but you do prove that you did the work," you said. "Company sales skyrocketed when you took the seat."

"What about you?" Peter gestured at your ring, blushing. "Well, apart from being my fiancée."

"I run my own fashion company." You shrugged, winking at him as you added, "Can't be living in my future husband's shadow now, can we?"

Future husband.

God how Peter wished for that to be true.

He shook his head, hands rubbing on his thighs. "Do we have a backstory? Like, as a couple?"

"Not much. Five years ago, we met in Milan during fashion week—"

"Let me guess, sparks flew right off the bat?" he chuckled.

"Love at first sight, obviously," you scoffed, rolling your eyes teasingly.

Not too far off from reality.

"Besides that, it's all the basics from there. Dates, extravagant gifts, and then two months ago, you proposed."

"Right," he started, bumping your knee with his lightly. "So, when's the wedding?"

You laughed, "We're not sure yet. Too busy."

"Of course," Peter sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. "Can't get me out of my office, now can you?"

"I have my ways," you hummed, wiggling your brows at him.

Peter was so sure his face had gone so red.

"You always do," he chuckled shyly, shaking his head before smiling at you. "Can we go over the plan real quick?"

You smiled. "Of course."

Peter knew what to do, obviously. He'd already gone over the plan probably a hundred times in his head. But he simply wanted to make sure he wasn't missing anything, especially something that could potentially jeopardize the whole mission. He couldn't afford even one single misstep, not when you and your safety could be put at risk—and the millions around the world that would suffer if those weapons got into the wrong hand, of course.

"We're almost there," you said once you've gone over the plans twice, eyes scanning across the windows. "It's just on the next turn."

Peter's heart quickened.

He didn't even notice that his emotions had gone evident on his face. Not until you squeezed his arm.

"You okay?" you asked, brows furrowed in concern.

"Yeah! Yeah, of course," he said quite unconvincingly. It was when he heard the ticking of the turn signal did his nerves shift to overdrive, his eyes wide as they met yours. "Shit, I don't think I can do this. I mean, I'm not usually out there with my face showing, you know? And I'm so so so not James Bond, I'm the farthest from James Bond I'm like, Lame Bond. I'm not smooth o-or charming or suave enough to be a spy—oh no. No, no, no, what if they find me out right away? I'm going to mess everything up and this is going to go horribly wrong and—"

"Hey!" you interjected, hands cupping his face, squishing his cheeks slightly as you pulled him closer, eyes boring into his with determination. Peter didn't know if it was the proximity that shut him up, or if it was your scent that overpowered his senses—probably both. "You're going to be fine. You've got this."

He gulped, nodding before letting out a shaky breath.

You smiled reassuringly, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, his skin turning redder with each caress. "Be observant, you don't have to talk. With this kind of crowd, trust me, the quiet ones are the most intimidating. If there's anything you feel like it's a bit off, trust your gut, and let me know, okay?"

"Okay," he breathed out, nuzzling into your palm absentmindedly, finding a sense of comfort from your warm touch.

"And if it gets overwhelming, just follow my lead."

•••

Peter got out of the car, nodding curtly with a tightlipped smile at the driver who opened the door for him.

He decided at the last minute that Lucas Reid was going to be a stoic, passively quiet CEO with a resting 'serious' face that only means business.

Peter straightened up his suit before he offered you his hand, the huge rock on your finger glinting underneath the city lights as your palm met his.

He gently guided you out of the car, helping you fix up your dress before offering you his arm. Your fingers curled around his bicep as you kissed his cheek with a soft thanks. Peter smiled at you warmly, pulling you closer to his side as you made your way inside the building.

Stoic and passive except towards his lovely fiancée, of course.

He might or might not have stumbled upon a few Mobster Spider-Man fanfictions on some website not too long ago. And he might or might not have taken some inspiration from it.

"Please take a basket to put your phones and any other electronic devices in and step under the detectors one by one," one guard instructed.

Adjusting his glasses, he pulled out his newly upgraded phone. It was sponsored by the Avengers obviously since he couldn't exactly rock up with his old, cracked one, with him being rich and everything. He smiled at the lock screen photo—it was of you and him, your lips pressed against his cheek, taken just a couple of hours ago to have photos to make this engaged couple gimmick believable—before he placed it in the basket you were holding up for him.

You smiled reassuringly before you stepped under the metal detector first, Peter following just closely after.

He let out a nervous breath when he saw how heavily armed the guards were. A variation of M17s and a couple of AK-47s were in the hands of fully uniformed men from head to toe. They look like your typical SWAT team, but Peter knew they were more dangerous than that, especially when their morals were as corrupted as he'd presumed.

He was an enhanced superhero, yes, but he sure as hell wasn't bulletproof. And as much as he could probably dodge a few shots, he would rather not take the gamble of finding out exactly how many he could avoid.

That wasn't what he was worried about, though. Because as he felt your fingers slip back into his, he was reminded of how vulnerable and defenseless you were. No superpowers, no bulletproof vests, still an amazing badass who without a doubt could take on two guys in a fight and win, but still a human who could get badly hurt by a simple pull of a trigger.

There were only so many bullets he could jump in front of you for.

"We're going to be fine," you whispered, squeezing his hand as if you could sense his worry. "I got your six."

Peter squeezed back. "And I've got yours."

The two of you stayed close to each other, arms linked as you headed towards the ballroom. But once the huge archway came into sight, you leaned closer to him.

"You go ahead," you whispered in his ear, squeezing his bicep. "I need to go to the bathroom."

Peter nodded.

He knew that some agents had already hidden some of your equipment hours before. Well, he hoped they successfully did, anyway. If not, then, you both might have to compromise.

Peter didn't know what exactly he was expecting when he entered the ballroom but it definitely wasn't as fancy as this.

The ballroom was grandiose in itself with its ornate marble columns and crown moldings, complementing the beautifully impressive murals that covered the ceilings. Even the red curtains that draped along the walls seemed far too luxurious for the mere fact that they were curtains for crying out loud.

Peter had never seen so many chandeliers hanging all in one space, not to mention, ones that seemed to be decked out in gold and crystals…or were those diamonds?

Everything was decorated with a color scheme of cream, black, silver, and gold, from the round tables and accompanying chairs. To contrast were various glass structures illuminated by some kind of light as they glinted and shimmered even from the corner of his eye. There was an open bar in one corner, a long table of finger foods and various desserts, and live music coming from the string quartet on a rotating, circular stage right in the center of a—is that an indoor fountain?

"Wow," you gasped as you appeared beside him, your eyes twinkling underneath the chandeliers. "It's gorgeous."

"Yeah," Peter sighed, eyes trained on the way your face glowed in awe as you admired the space. "Gorgeous."

Your smile brightened as you tilted your head, gaze meeting his. Then, your brows furrowed, stepping in front of him and eyeing the top of his head. "Come here. I need to fix up your hair."

Peter ducked his head without question, hands around your waist as he let you settle the mess of his windswept curls. He found the furrow of your brows absolutely adorable, but the way your tongue slightly poked out of your red lips made him want to just pull you in and kiss you senseless.

You tucked a few short strands behind his ear, gently pressing your thumb into his concha, the earpiece fitting snugly before he heard a faint crackle and then a deep voice.

"Parker, can you hear me?"

"Aye, aye, Captain," he muttered.

He heard a few snickers in the background followed by Sam scoffing sarcastically.

"My, aren't you two cute."

Peter's brows furrowed, confused eyes meeting yours. "What does he mean?"

"I answered the same way," you giggled, shrugging as you smoothed over his tie and buttoned up his suit jacket.

Peter's heart fluttered at that.

"We'll be on the line listening. Be discreet. Only communicate what's necessary."

You and Peter shot each other a look, grins widening into a knowing smirk.

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Jesus Christ."

The line went quiet, presumably Sam muting their end until further notice.

Peter shook his head, chuckling before turning to you. "So, what now?"

"Scope," you said, waving back at a random woman who was making their way over to you both. You turned to him with a smile. "And mingle."

•••

Peter was so far out of his element.

He was already a terrible liar when under pressure, stuttering and blubbering until he would end up telling the truth. And that was around people he got along with.

Now how was he supposed to make small talk with the rich all while pretending to be rich himself when he clearly was not?

His best course of action? He didn't talk.

It fit well with the persona he'd created, anyway.

He was mostly following your advice—well, more like literally following you around. He was like your trophy fiancé in some way, and honestly, Peter wasn't opposed to it.

You were taking charge, and all he had to do was scope the scene, nod and smile whenever he was acknowledged while mostly speaking only to you.

From an outsider's point of view, he probably looked like such a puppy for his girl, only meeting your eyes, hovering by your side, his attention and touch always on you. A hand on the small of your back, an arm around your waist as he hung onto every word that slipped past your beautiful red-painted lips. For them, he was simply a man completely enamored by his soon-to-be wife. So it definitely sold this whole fiancé gimmick you two got going on.

Then again, it wasn't like he had to pretend that much, either. It wasn't hard to act all smitten with you because he already was. And, okay, he was playing it up a little. Peter would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy acting like you were his and he was yours, even if it was only for a mission.

Other than that, he also quite enjoyed indulging in the food and beverages that were paraded around by the waiters. It tasted so good, so obviously made with high-quality and expensive ingredients, but most importantly free. Could you blame him for taking advantage of it?

He was being an opportunist, he was well aware, which was why he didn't think much about downing the very tasty champagnes they offered, especially when he was free from any consequence that the drink brought—well, one of the consequences.

Because as much as he was immune to the buzz of the alcohol, he couldn't say the same for the effects it brought on his bladder.

It didn't really expand when his abilities got enhanced.

With how utterly gorgeous you looked tonight, it shouldn't have surprised him that the second he left your side, some men in this gala would take his absence as an opportunity to make a move.

He might've been acting like a guard dog, he admits, glaring at anyone who dared to glance at you wrongly. You were "his fiancée" after all, he was simply playing the part of your possessive protective husband-to-be.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

But still, when he came back after his little bathroom break, Peter wasn't too keen on what he saw.

You were talking to some dark-haired man wearing a bold, fully gold-colored suit and an even bolder beard. He didn't look old, but he didn't exactly look young, either. Or perhaps his facial hair played a part in that regard. He was—as much as he hated to say it—well-built and good-looking. If Peter was to guess, he was probably in his early 30s.

The interaction looked innocent enough, and Peter wouldn't have found it a big deal if this guy wasn't eyeing you up like you were a piece of meat.

"Amelia Devonché," the man greeted, his French accent thick, his flirtatious tone, even thicker.

So that's your fake name.

"The one and only," you said, smiling as you tilted your head. "Although I don't think we've been introduced."

"Halbert Auclair," he said, bowing as he held out an open palm.

Halbert? What kind of name is that?

"Pleasure to meet you," you hummed, slipping your hand into his.

"Pleasure's all mine. You look quite lovely tonight, mademoiselle," he crooned, bringing the back of your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

Peter's jaw clenched, an intensely heated emotion boiling his blood, only relaxing slightly when he heard your fake giggle.

He'd heard your real one enough to differentiate the two.

"Why, thank you, monsieur."

Clouded by his emotions, Peter took long strides towards you, swiftly wrapping a possessive arm around your waist and pulling you to his side, kissing your temple and then, without thought, near the corner of your mouth.

Your eyes snapped to meet his, a fleeting look of surprise on your features before you quickly masked it with a smile. "This is my fiancé—"

"Lucas Reid, one of the youngest yet richest CEOs here today," Halbert interjected, offering his hand out to shake.

"Hmm," Peter said with a curt nod, his grip a little tighter when he shook it.

"Man with few words, I see," Halbert chuckled dryly, flexing his fingers once they were free from his hold.

Peter bit his cheek to stop a smirk, pushing his glasses up before slipping his hand into his pocket, looking at you with a much more relaxed smile.

"My fiancé isn't great with crowds. Always stuck in his office, he is. The only thing in his mind is the business, and well, me," you gushed, resting your left hand on his chest, tilting your head to flash him a smile. "Am I right, handsome?"

"Very much so, darling," Peter said, unaware of how his voice sounded. He was still running on jealousy that he couldn't help but gently take your hand from his chest, bringing the back of it to his lips and then kissing the diamond ring on your finger. He smiled at you sweetly as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. "You still owe me a dance, my love."

You blinked a few times, lips parting before you shook your head with a soft laugh, "Oh, yes! How can I forget."

"Have a lovely night, madem—"

Peter didn't even wait for him to finish his sentence as he gently ushered you towards the dance floor, just in time for the string quartet to play their version of Quando, Quando, Quando.

So…he didn't quite think this through.

Peter had no idea how to dance.

His boiling jealousy was quickly replaced with nervousness and dread as you guided his hands, one on your waist, the other curled around yours.

You were so blatantly staring at him that his nerves could only grow tenfold. It was only a matter of time before you realized just how jealous he acted. Hell, he only just realized it after the emotion had left his system. And despite avoiding your eyes, he could still sense it, how you were trying to figure out why he'd done what he just did.

Peter cleared his throat, "Something wrong?"

"Are you okay?" you countered, placing your hand on his shoulder before moving to the music.

He didn't know if he should be thankful or slightly embarrassed that you were the one leading the dance. But then again, there probably would never be a time when Peter wouldn't follow your lead—dancing or otherwise.

He'd follow you to the ends of the earth if he could.

It was working, though, bodies synchronously swaying to the sound of strings as if you'd done this plenty of times before. It was either a testament to how good you were at basically everything—a quick learner, a leader, a teacher and hell, a dancer—or just how well you two complemented each other.

Peter believed it was both.

"Yeah," Peter chuckled timidly, eyes trained on the ground to avoid your eyes and to make sure he wouldn't step on your foot. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seemed…" you paused, hand squeezing his shoulder lightly. "Angry."

Peter blushed.

Jealous. Not angry.

"I'm not," he brushed off, shaking his head. "Got nothing to be angry about."

"Right," you hummed, and it sounded like you didn't believe him at all.

"Did I mess up?" Peter sighed, worried eyes finally meeting your curious ones.

"What? No. You just came off as quiet which isn't a big deal," you reassured, smile widening with amusement. "Where did that South London accent come from, though?"

"Wait." Peter blinked, frowning. "I did an accent?"

"Yeah, you did," you laughed. "Which I didn’t even know you could do."

"I guess I was too nervous to even realize," he admitted, chuckling. "I've been binge-watching The Great British Bake Off lately, maybe I just picked it up."

"So nervousness makes you do accents," you hummed, smiling. "Interesting."

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at you teasingly. "Don't tell me you like a British accent too, like, half the world apparently."

"It's cute," you admitted with a shrug. "But I like your accent more."

Peter blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah, I like the kid from Queens," you said nonchalantly.

Peter almost stepped on your foot. If you weren't a trained spy with quite good reflexes, you might've gone home with a bruised toe.

You shook your head, giggling as you pulled him back to the rhythm of the dance. "You're going to have to keep the charade if you speak to other people, now, though"

"Yeah, didn't really think about that." Peter scrunched up his face, clearing his throat before he looked at you shyly. "I really don't dance."

"Well, you're doing great so far," you hummed, pulling him closer as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Peter secured his on your waist then, both of you gliding across the dance floor to the symphony of the strings as you held each other's gaze. It was impressive, really, that this was the first time you both danced together, but danced like two spiders spinning their silks in a synchronized choreography to create a large heart-shaped web.

Then, he felt bold, confident.

He didn't know if it was from that same pull from earlier tonight, his senses being muddled by your overpowering presence, your warm body pressed so close against him, or the sweet lure of the music that added something to the air.

Perhaps it was everything all at once.

But Peter couldn't help but lean even closer, the tips of your noses just a hair's breadth away.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his gaze fluttering across your face before meeting your eyes.

Peter reveled in the way your smile got shy.

"You've said that already."

"Once will never be enough."

You shook your head with a giggle, eyes twinkling, "And you said you aren't smooth."

"Like I said," he started, lowering his voice, shrugging with a teasing grin, "It's the expensive suit."

Peter's heart warmed at your sweet laugh, that certain pull growing stronger at the lovely sound. He dipped his head, noses touching before he pressed his forehead against yours. He squeezed your waist when your breath hitched, warm and inviting as it tickled his lips, tempting, oh so close—

"Ahem."

You both jerked back, eyes wide with surprise.

"Sam! You've ruined it!" Peter heard Wanda hiss through the earpiece.

"He was finally getting somewhere!" And that was Harley.

Peter's whole face grew hot with embarrassment, squeezing your waist, still keeping you close as he looked away.

He completely forgot about the comms being live and open to everyone back at the compound.

Then again, all of them had been suspiciously quiet until now. 

"Well, damn, I'm sorry? But this is an important mission, not a radio drama?"

"You just had to cockblock—"

"I'm surprised you even know what that means, you white fossil—"

You cleared your throat, smiling at Peter shyly. "Any intel?"

"I think that French dude is our bad guy," he answered swiftly, ready to change the subject or else his knees might go out.

"Auclair?" You raised a brow at him with a smirk. "How so?"

Peter might sound like he had a vendetta against the guy who shamelessly flirted with you. But, he did have a few points to back his claim.

"It's kinda weird how quickly he knew about us. Unless he stole the guest list and researched every single one of the names or he's the host. Also, he really made a point in stating how rich I am. You only do that when you want money for the auction. And if that's not proof enough—" Peter pulled a black and silver playing card out of his pocket, the same one Halbert gave to him during the handshake. "Seven of hearts, well, kinda. It's more arrows than it is hearts. All of them are pointing downward no matter which way you turn it. Look—" He turned the card, an almost holographic effect as the arrows remained south. "That's not how normal playing cards are. So I assume it means downstairs to the secret auction. And we've got about an hour max until it's seven. And if that's not obvious enough—" Peter showed you the back, tilting it to the light to expose the words 'Big Toys, Bigger Guns' in the middle in gold lettering.

"Cheesy, but it works," he finished.

"That's a really good catch, wow," you praised, grinning proudly. "Someone's getting the hang of this already, huh?"

"Watching those James Bond movies finally paid off, I guess," he chuckled, nodding at you. "Plus, I got a good teacher."

You smiled. "Keep a careful eye on him," you instructed, snorting a little when he all but glared when he found the man. You squeezed his slightly tensed shoulders. "Subtlety."

"I don't think I need to be subtle because he keeps eyeing you like he stands a chance as if the rock on your finger isn't big enough. You're my fiancée. So me glaring at some guy with too much beard who looks at you far too long for comfort let alone appropriate isn't out of the ordinary," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Men are pigs I tell you."

"Someone's committed to the bit," you teased, smiling far too bright for it to be innocent. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous."

Peter quickly snatched a champagne flute from the tray when a waiter walked past, handing it to you with a small curtsy.

"You look parched, my darling."

You rolled your eyes but took the glass anyway, your grin telling him that maybe you like the accent more than you were letting on.

But she likes your accent more.

Peter couldn't stop his heart from melting at the thought.

He was also glad that his distraction worked, his jealousy hopefully forgotten as he guided you toward the bar once the song finished.

"Door's unguarded," you murmured against the glass, sipping gingerly before you handed it back to him. "Stay here and keep an eye out. I'll find us a key."

Peter nodded, sitting on one of the stools as he carefully and deliberately followed your movement. Not that he thought you couldn't handle yourself, but an extra pair of eyes will always be better than none. Also, he was being observant of his surroundings, his enhanced senses helping in making sure there wasn't anything suspicious going on, keeping him on high alert in case he needed to jump in.

He watched with pride as you slyly stole a keycard from a gullible enough guard who was too distracted by your flirting. It was an impressively swift sleight of hand that if he wasn't paying attention enough, he would've missed it.

Still, Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes at how stupid and easy these guards tend to be, any focus and rational thought out the window all because of an alluring smirk, a teasing touch and a glimpse of skin—the simplest seduction from one gorgeous woman.

But then again, he wasn't exactly one to talk. Because as innocent as a bright smile from you, Peter would literally do anything you ask him to.

He was far too focused on you that he didn't even realize that someone had replaced your seat, not until he heard his name—well, the fake one.

"Lucas Reid."

Peter turned, eyes landing on a woman wearing a gold dress, curled, long hair framing a somewhat familiar face. Peter wasn't blind, he could see she was objectively pretty. But she simply could never hold a candle next to his gorgeous fiancée—fake or otherwise.

"Greta Auclair," she said with a smile, holding out her hand.

Peter didn't miss the flirtatious undertone in her actions. How could he when she was so adamant on fluttering her eyelashes at him, or the way she wasn't subtle at pushing up her chest, the low-cut top doing so little to hide…it? Them?

Not that he was looking. It was simply in his line of sight.

"Auclair," he hummed, shaking her hand briefly as he tried to make sure his accent didn't sound so forced. He honestly didn't know why he decided to make things harder for himself. "Any relation to Halbert?"

"Twin sister," she waved off, flipping her hair to one side.

Peter nodded without another word, attention swiftly shifting to search for you in the crowd.

"I must say, I've heard a lot of things about you," she hummed as she leaned forward, fingers curling around his bicep, gold-colored, manicured nails glinting underneath the light as she squeezed the muscle. "Apart from being a quiet man, of course."

Peter's resolve faltered a little, the gesture completely catching him off guard.

What's up with this family and overstepping personal space?

"Good things, I hope." He smiled tightly, crossing his arms over his chest, subtly shaking her hand off.

"Oh yes, very good things," she giggled, hand on his thigh as she leaned forward with a smirk. Winking, she added, "Naughty ones, too."

Peter gulped as he leaned back.

"O-Oh, uh—"

"Lucas."

He quickly spun around on his stool to the sound of your voice, facing you fully. His eyes widened in surprise as you gently nudged his knees apart but he didn't even hesitate to make room for you to stand in between. He placed his hands on your hips when you pulled him closer, your arms snaking around his neck.

Peter didn't know exactly what was going on, but he certainly wasn't complaining. Besides, like he said before, he would always follow your lead.

Yet still, he looked up at you in both curiosity and confusion, trying to gauge what was going through your mind. But you certainly were better at reading people than he was. Or perhaps that was you simply being a master at masking your emotions. Because apart from the slight edge on your smile, he was coming up empty.

"You must be Amelia," Greta interrupted.

Your grip on Peter's shoulder tightened, eyes rolling with a scowl before you turned to Greta with a forced smile. "Yes, hi."

Peter's brows raised at your uninterested tone, even more when you didn't even bother prolonging the conversation as you turned back to him, body leaning closer.

Interesting…

"Can you help me find the bathroom?" you purred, tone seductively sweet to match the implication of your words. You pressed your chest against his, faces only inches apart as your fingers played with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

Peter short circuited.

He merely stared at you in awe, blood growing hot, heart pumping erratically as his grip on your waist tightened.

Peter would be lying if he said he wasn't at the least bit turned on.

"Please?" you added with a pout when he didn't manage to speak for a good few seconds.

It was the slight pinch on his skin that snapped him out of it.

"Of course, my love," he said, clearing the lump in his throat as he hastily stood up.

Peter wasn't even given the time to get his bearings straight when you immediately took his hand in yours, pulling him away from the bar and down the hallway. He squinted at the sudden brightness of the ceiling lights, greatly illuminating the cream wallpaper with intricate gold-colored patterns, similar crown molding from those in the ballroom, and various paintings hanging on the walls for guests to admire. The space was obviously still for public access, but it was relatively empty.

Once you two were alone, you didn't bother hiding your emotions. And Peter could clearly tell that you were angry.

It was making him slightly nervous.

"Is everything okay?"

You ignored him.

Peter frowned when pulled your hand from his and put some distance between you. He watched as you tensely opened a metal door, entering in haste without looking back. He ran after you to avoid getting locked out, the two of you entering another much smaller hallway that could only fit one person at a time. It was more of a tunnel, to be honest.

He never liked it when you were upset, especially during a high-risk mission. But most of all, he hated disappointing you, and with the way you were acting, he could only assume he'd done something wrong.

Peter was hot on your tail, carefully watching your every sharp turn, just to make sure he wasn't going to lose you. Though, it wasn't long until you two emerged into a hallway that was similar to before.

You were staring straight ahead, heels clicking angrily as the skirt of your dress rapidly swished with every harsh step.

Oh you were pissed.

"Did I do something?"

"You shouldn't be distracted on the job," you said, tone clipped.

"But I wasn't distracted," he defended, his frown deepening.

"Flirting, distracted, same thing," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "It's not the time to woo girls. This is not a frat party."

Flirting? Woo girls?

"But I wasn't flirt—wait," he paused, his smile breaking out as realization dawned on him.

He could be quite oblivious sometimes, but he was not dumb. This wasn't going over his head, not when the way you were acting looked far too familiar. He'd seen the same thing happen only a couple of minutes ago, after all.

Because you weren't angry. 

Much like how he wasn't angry moments before your dance.

Peter stopped, looking at you carefully with arms crossed over his chest, smirking as he quoted your words,

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous."

You halted in your tracks, shoulders straightening with a huff before you continued walking.

It told Peter everything he needed to know.

He couldn't wipe off his smirk, pride bubbling in his chest, confidence boosted that little bit more as he jogged after you.

"There's going to be two guards at the door," you instructed monotonously once he reached your side, eyes avoiding him. "I'll distract one. You take care of the other one."

Peter stood straighter with a salute, still grinning from ear to ear.

"Yes ma'am."

You rolled your eyes, but he didn't miss the way the corner of your lips quirked up.

•••

"Excuse me, ma'am, this area is restricted."

"Oh, dear! My apologies, is this not where the bathroom is?" you gasped, and Peter was impressed at how clueless you sounded. If he didn't know you beforehand, he never would've guessed that you'd be one of the most elite and smartest spies there ever was. "Would either of you fine gentlemen guide me to where it is?"

Peter heard the two guards grumble before one spoke up gruffly, "Go. I've got this covered,"

"Yay!" you giggled, clapping your hands excitedly. "Thank you so much!"

Peter couldn't stop his grin at how cute you were.

When you and the other guard were out of sight, Peter made a run for it. Guard Two only caught a split-second glimpse of him before his fist harshly connected with their jaw, wincing when he heard a faint crack.

"Sorry," Peter whispered with a grimace, standing straight and adjusting his glasses. "Didn't mean to hit that hard."

He quickly turned towards the sound of grunts and hisses, fists colliding against muscles and then a body falling onto the floor. He rushed towards where you disappeared, entering the hallway just in time to see you fixing up your dress. Your eyes met his when he walked over to you, your smile sweet yet proud.

"Need a lil help carrying this guy," you said, gesturing behind you.

He nodded with a chuckle, eyes trained on your face once he reached your side before his brows furrowed.

"You got a little—" Before he could think about it, he reached a hand up, thumb rubbing over the corner of your mouth, attempting to get rid of the smudged lipstick.

He couldn't help but stare, easily putting him in a trance as he smoothed his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it away slightly before letting it plop back, your warm breath tickling his skin when your lips parted.

Your little outburst of jealousy earlier might've boosted his confidence a lot more than he'd initially let on.

"Peter," you murmured. "The guard."

"Oh! Right," he cleared his throat, moving over to the unconscious guard, hauling them over his shoulder effortlessly as if they weighed nothing. He walked over to the second guard, doing the same over his other shoulder. When he turned around, he saw you standing there, brow raised. He shrugged, smirking. "Super strength."

You shook your head, rolling your eyes, "Show off."

Peter laughed.

After carrying both guards into the room—unlocked thanks to their keycards and fingerprints—you busied yourself with their weapons.

Peter was looking through the various crates and boxes, all labeled with familiar and not-so-familiar logos, some in different languages, while others were completely blank. Some items weren't hidden at all, from high-tech guns in glass displays to alien guns in wooden crates, various iterations of vibranium shields, and holy shit, is that a Wakandan spear?

"Where the hell did they get all of these? This is so much ammo in one room—"

Peter's words died in his throat when his eyes landed on you.

You were leaning over, one foot resting on one of the boxes on the floor, your fingers grazing your leg as you carefully pulled your skirt up inch by tempting inch until your thigh was exposed to him. Your gun holster later came into view, the straps squeezing the supple flesh tightly and fuck—

Peter had never wanted to be an inanimate object so badly ever in his life.

He quickly averted his gaze when you pulled your skirt back down. He pretended to read the labels on some crates as he cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt because Jesus it's getting really hot in here.

"Take this," you said, walking over to him with your hand extended, your fingers curled around the barrel of a gun.

Peter's eyes widened as he looked at the gun and then at you. "We haven't gotten to this part of my training yet."

"Come on, you've seen some movies."

"Since when did movies become tutorials?"

You stared at him for a moment, shaking your head with a chuckle before holding up the gun before him to demonstrate.

"Safety on when you don't want to shoot, safety off when you want to shoot," you said, flicking the pin on the side of the gun. "Cock it only once. It's semi-automatic so after that, all you need is to pull the trigger for continuous shots. Grip with two hands, dominant hand tight around it, other hand on top. Don't try to be arrogant by holding it with only one, especially when you've never fired a gun in your life. Point and shoot, simple. Make sure you aim at the bad guy, though."

You took his hand and placed the gun in his palm, smiling at him sweetly as if you hadn't just given him a loaded weapon.

"Got it?"

Peter stared at you dumbfounded, gulping as he held it to his chest, "That's definitely not all there is to it when using a gun."

"Hey, don't worry," you said reassuringly, squeezing his shoulder. "It's just for precaution. You might not even need to use it."

Peter nodded with a sigh, staring at the gun in his hand before he slipped into the hem of his pants, snuggly kept there by his belt.

Rookie mistake.

"Make sure the safety is on before you put it there, wouldn't want an accident to happen."

Peter froze before he quickly pulled it out, aiming the barrel as far away from him as possible.

He groaned in utter embarrassment when you laughed.

"Can you just carry it for me?" he asked, pouting for good measure. "Please?"

"You're fine," you giggled, gesturing at your leg. "And I only have one thigh holster."

Yeah. I saw.

"I really don't want to shoot myself in the balls," he said, physically shuddering as he screwed his eyes shut. "And I think you're aware of how clumsy I get sometimes."

You laughed out loud, shaking your head as you moved back toward one of the unconscious guards. Peter watched you curiously as you started checking their suits, a faint 'aha!' leaving your lips before you started taking one of their jackets off.

Peter's brows shot up. "What are you—"

"Jacket off," you interjected, showing him a shoulder holster. He did as told as you walked back to him. You helped him slip the harness on, clicking buckles and adjusting the straps before taking his gun and slotting it in soon after. You tilted your head as you smooth it over him. "Better?"

"Much," he breathed out, smiling at you gratefully as he slipped his jacket back on. "Thanks."

You returned his grin, patting his chest before you went and looked for the safe.

Which didn't take too long.

"They could've at least made it inconspicuous, shit's too easy," you scoffed, gesturing at the safe that had a huge American flag on it, stars and eagles, too, as if it wasn't obvious enough. You looked at him with a knowing smile. "Do your magic."

Peter squatted in front of it, taking his glasses off and twisting the nose bridge. There was a soft whirring sound before the glasses turned into a mini, android spider.

Carbon-based nanotech will always impress him. Imperceptible to metal detectors all while never losing its function and durability.

"Of course it's a tiny spider," you muttered, delight laced in your tone.

"What?" He looked at you over his shoulder with a teasing pout, holding up the spider in his palm. "You don't like him?"

You purse your lips, shaking your head before meeting his eyes. "He's cute."

"And hopefully he works, too," he said, turning back to the safe before carefully placing the little guy on the keypad. It took a few moments for the mechanical spider to do its thing. Peter let out the breath he was holding when the safe opened without a hitch. He looked at you with a grin, gesturing at the device inside. "Voilà."

You scrunched up your face. "And that proves that you can't be good at everything."

"Hey!" he gasped. "It wasn't that bad."

"Just leave the French accent alone," you teased, though your eyes were shining with admiration. "But that brain of yours is definitely something else."

Peter blushed, waving your compliment off, "Nah, it's just—"

"Shut up, Parker," you scoffed playfully, but your smile was genuine. "You're incredibly smart and annoyingly amazing. It's not up for discussion."

"Thanks," he chuckled shyly, cheeks turning redder. He gestured at the nuclear football, before looking up at you. "You have the decoy, right?"

"Oh, right." You nodded, reaching into the neckline of your dress before you pulled the rectangular device out, showing it to him with a proud grin.

Peter stared at you, mouth agape.

"What?" you snorted, shaking your head at his surprised face. "I don't have pockets!"

"You could've asked me to carry it."

"I can't exactly bring you with me into the ladies' restroom now, can I?" you said, shrugging. "And I couldn't just hand it to you in the middle of the ballroom with all those people."

"Touché," he hummed, taking the device from your hands. His brows furrowed as he turned it in his palm. "Is it supposed to be warm?"

"It's been with the girls in the past hour or so, of course it's going to be warm."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he tried not to let his curious thoughts wander.

He was failing, though. Miserably so.

Because holding the device when it's been in your boobs made him wonder exactly how warm your boobs would actually feel if it was direct contact, right in the palm of his—

"What?" you asked, none the wiser, briefly. Because then it was immediate, the realization crossing your face, probably noticing just how red his face had gotten. "Oh my god—Peter!"

"Sorry!" he squeaked, hurriedly turning his back on you, focusing on the task at hand.

"My boobs are clean, by the way."

"That wasn't the route my thoughts went to," he grumbled.

"Yeah, I figured," you giggled. "Just wanted to confirm."

He rolled his eyes even though you couldn't see him.

Focus. You got this.

But just as he was about to switch the devices, you moved closer to him, bending over until you were at eye level with the safe, your scent overpowering to the point of being distracting.

"Y/N," Peter sighed, head hanging low as his hand fell onto his sides. "You're making me really nervous when you're breathing down my neck."

"Sorry! Sorry," you laughed, heels clicking as you moved further behind him. "I'll just…step back."

With bated breath yet careful fingers, Peter swiftly switched the devices, blowing out his cheeks in relief when nothing happened.

"Great job, Pete."

He shot you a smile over his shoulder and closed the safe, letting his spider friend reverse its steps before taking him off the safe, pressing its tiny tummy for it to turn back into glasses.

Peter put it back on, running his fingers through his hair before turning to you.

You beamed and held out your palm.

But just as he was about to hand you the device, he quickly pulled it back with narrowed eyes.

"Are you putting this in your boobs again?"

You stared at him in amusement. "I didn't grow any pockets at the last minute, so yes."

"Don't you think it's dangerous?" he reasoned, carefully waving the device to get his point across. "I mean, this is the real thing."

"It's not radioactive," you chuckled. "It's not going to suddenly blow up."

"We don't know that—"

"Hey, don't worry," you hummed, your reassuring smile turning mischievous. "I'll still have my boobs at the end of this mission."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm concerned about you, like, as a whole person."

"Yeah, I know, and that includes my boobs."

He groaned, "Is this becoming a thing?"

You shook your head, laughing, "No, no, I just didn't think I'd find out that you're a boob guy, during a mission, no less."

"I'm not a boob guy," he scoffed.

Peter was a you guy, to be honest, as in you as a whole person—eyes, boobs, lips, butt, thighs, everything included.

And personality, obviously.

You laughed, leaning close to kiss him on the cheek, throwing him off-guard that you were able to take the device from him without breaking a sweat.

Peter sighed in defeat.

He really wasn't any better than any of the guards in this building.

"Come on," you called, hands now free, the device properly hidden with 'the girls' as you opened the door for him. "We need to get going."

•••

You both were navigating your way back into the ballroom when the hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood up.

"People incoming," he warned, grabbing your hand as you pulled you down a hallway. His enhanced hearing just about picked up the sound of guns being loaded. "Armed."

"How many?" you asked, your free hand picking up your skirt as you walked even faster.

He tried to listen closely, calculating the footsteps that echoed down the hall sans both of yours

"Four," he confirmed, brow raising. "Maybe Five."

"That's too many. The minute they'll see us, they're going to get suspicious. It's going to be too late for both of us to take all of them down without at least one sending a signal," you rushed, testing out every door down the halls in hopes that you'd get lucky. "We need to find a place to hide."

"Shit," Peter cursed, looking from left to right of the hall. "They're coming from both sides."

"In here!"

He wasn't given much to process your words when you all but grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pushed him inside a room. The space was quick to grow smaller when you followed suit, your dress knocking over a broom on your way in.

Of course it had to be a janitor's closet.

As if his life wasn't already filled with enough clichés.

Peter grabbed the handle to pull the door close, darkness swallowing you both as it clicked shut. He felt around the metal knob only for his fingers to fall on an entirely flat surface.

"There's no lock," he said, so deathly confused. "What kind of door has no lock?"

"Quiet!" you hissed, pressing your palm over his mouth.

Peter stared at you wide-eyed, his pupils slowly adjusting to the lack of light that he was only now able to gauge just how close you two were.

"Listen," you whispered.

He nodded, closing his eyes as he concentrated on distinguishing the voices.

"The guards have been knocked out."

"Nothing is missing in the room."

"Still, check everything. Be on high alert for anything out of the ordinary."

Peter's eyes snapped open, panic settling in as he heard the footsteps growing nearer.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, voice muffled by your palm. You removed your hand, eyes confused yet expectant. He explained in hurried whispers, "They're not suspicious of anything being stolen yet but they're coming this way. If we get caught, they're going to immediately find out what we're up to and we're doomed."

Peter watched as your face went through different types of emotions. First, it was worry, a flicker of panic crossing your eyes only to be replaced by something else entirely. The crease between your brows deepened, lips pursed as you tilted your head.

It was that all too familiar thinking face he'd grown to adore.

A second later, your brows shot up, eyes wide, and—if he didn't know any better—twinkling as if a light bulb lit up on top of your head.

"Not unless we make them believe we're just some couple needing a quick fix."

"What?" Peter asked, confused.

You only gave him a sheepish smile and a barely-there whisper of,

"I'm sorry."

Peter wasn't given the time to ask what you were apologizing for when you suddenly grabbed him by the nape of his neck and crashed your lips against his.

He stumbled, his back hitting the shelves. Although the way his head was spinning was definitely not because of the impact.

Peter groaned, kissing you back immediately and with fervor, his hands gripping your waist, head tilting as he pulled you closer.

He shivered when your hand moved down his chest before moving inside his jacket, only realizing that you were slipping the nuclear football between the holster, tugging the straps a little tighter to stop it from slipping out.

Then, you guided his hands, much like with your dance earlier. Yet this time, one landed on your exposed thigh as you hiked your leg against his waist, placing the other on top of your ass.

Peter felt like he was about to faint.

But with every bit of respect he had for you—which was a lot—he still hesitated. 

He was unsure as to how far he was allowed to go, deeply worried to cross the line of no return. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable by pushing your boundaries.

He also didn't want to ruin everything he had with you. Whether that was you being his friend or you being his teammate, he really didn't want to lose any of it.

Peter didn't want to lose you.

"It's okay," you whispered against his lips, probably sensing his inner turmoil. "Touch me, Peter."

That was the last thing that made any sliver of his self-control snap.

He growled, squeezing your ass and your thigh simultaneously, pulling your body flush against his as if you could go any closer.

Your gasp was met by a low groan, your hand fisting his jacket as the other took home in his styled hair.

The door swung open, a momentary stream of light illuminating the tiny room. There was a disgusted growl before the door slammed close, darkness covering you both again but neither of you stopped.

Peter gripped your hips, pushing you back slightly until you were the one pressed against the closed door. He cupped the back of your neck, arm curling your waist as he slotted his thigh in between yours in a desperate need to be inhumanly closer.

Your soft moan just about made his knees buckle.

It also made him feel daring enough to gently tease his tongue against your bottom lip. You let him in with his ease, both of you moaning as your tongues did their own dance inside your mouth.

It was intoxicating.

The faint taste of champagne mixing with the taste of you. 

It was something that Peter probably spent a great amount of time thinking about yet nothing in his imagination ever came close. No matter what his brain had conjured in the past, it could never do you justice.

It was addicting.

Your pretty little sighs in response to his soft groans, how you were everywhere, your scent, your taste, your overwhelming warmth engulfing his very being. Peter was drowning in all things you, the very thing that could make him breathe again.

It was too much, yet he needed more.

You were so close, but not close enough.

Peter's hands glided down your body until he was cupping your ass, their warmth settling on each of his palms. But just as he was about to tell you to jump up into his arms, you placed a firm hand on his chest.

Your lips detached with a soft pop, the back of your head softly thumping against the door. You gasped for air, hands fisting his jacket before you rested your forehead against his.

He really needed to remember the fact that he could hold his breath longer than any average human could.

Peter put his hands back on your waist, fingers squeezing as he nudged your nose.

"Y/N, I—"

"Like you, too."

Peter's eyes widened, head pulling back as he stared at you in shock. Whatever confession he had left his brain, a lump caught in his throat, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he failed to string any letter into words.

Oh boy he was flustered.

The thought of you, you, someone so confident, someone who is way out of his league liking him back, him, little nerdy, dorky, stumbly old Peter Parker, it made his heart soar.

"I'm a trained spy, Pete, I know how to read people," you giggled when he stayed silent for a few seconds. "It's written all over your face. You really haven't been subtle about it the whole night, either."

"I don't think subtlety is my specialty," he whispered, a shy smile growing on his lips as he pressed his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing in the sweetest of ways.

"It really isn't." You nodded in agreement with a wide smile of your own.

"So I don't think I need to be subtle about this," he started, gaze holding yours. He was nervous, but if he didn't say this out loud, he might just explode. "I'm falling for you."

"You're so cliché," you giggled, his cheeks growing hot, his whole body melting, his heart jumping out of his chest and landing straight into the palm of your hand when you added, "I'm falling for you, too."

"Really?" he asked, surprised yet his voice came out a little shy.

It was obvious enough. The words had been said. But he wanted to make sure because this just seemed like one big lucid dream and he'd actually die if he were to wake up any moment now.

"I mean, I haven't been subtle about it either," you giggled, kissing him briefly yet sweetly, brushing your nose with his as you breathed out, "But yeah, I do. I feel so strongly for you Peter that I just—I feel nervous, I feel giddy, I feel safe and appreciated and I just feel so, so happy whenever I'm around you and I just, whatever I did in the past didn't matter because you accept me for me and I trust that you've got the best intentions, I trust you with my life, and you're just the sweetest most thoughtful and I'm just glad to have known you and—" you paused, shaking your head with a soft laugh, "I'm such a sap."

God this felt like a dream come true.

"I like you being a sap," he chuckled shyly. "But I'm just…me, though."

"Exactly," you confirmed, smile genuinely laced with pride. "You're brilliant, Peter Parker. How can I not fall for you?"

Peter's cheeks were starting to hurt with how wide his smile was, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining.

"You're so way out of my league," he whispered, arms wrapping around your waist.

"I could say the exact same thing to you," you giggled, pecking his lips. "But let's debate about this another time, yeah? We still got some codes to find and a bad guy to catch," you said, turning around swiftly to face the door before he could even have a chance to stop you.

"Wait, don't—" Peter sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on your waist tightening as his face landed on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. Your back was against his chest, bodies pressed up far too close. "—move," he lowly groaned against your skin.

"Oh."

Peter felt his whole body heat up from embarrassment. Because he knew you could definitely feel it behind you. He could hear the fast pace of your heart, and if that wasn't a tell-tale sign, he didn't know what was. And no matter how much he tried to pull away, even just slightly, the small space of the closet wasn't letting him do so.

"I'm sorry, I am so, so, so sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen I—"

He tried to move away from you again, but clumsily elbowed the shelf on his right instead which made a few empty buckets topple over from the top. He quickly pulled you back to avoid you getting hit by the falling cleaning supplies, but in turn, it made your ass press against him a little harder.

"Fuck," he groaned, body going rigid when you gasped. You probably think he was a proper pervert now. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that either. And I tried to control it I swear but it's just—my senses are enhanced and you're so close and that kiss was really hot and you're even hotter and your ass really feels nice in my hands—shit! I shouldn't have said that, I should not have said that. I mean not! Not that it's untrue, it's very, very true. You've got a really pretty and nice ass and I should really shut up goddammit—"

You cut him off with a giggle, head tilting to the side as your fingers reached up, burying it in his now messy brown hair.

"I feel flattered that a kiss got you this excited," you teased, earning a soft whine from him.

"It's not just a kiss when I've been wanting to do it for so long," Peter confessed, kissing your shoulder softly before he mumbled, "And it's not my fault that you're out here looking like a goddess."

"Look at you," you giggled, squeezing his forearm that was wrapped around your waist. "That expensive suit is really doing wonders with your smoothness, huh?"

"It brings out the suave in me," he hummed, grinning. "Makes my eyes pop, too."

You let out a sweet, hearty laugh.

Peter chuckled, heart warming as he buried his face into your neck.

"How about you take this because I really don't want to accidentally drop it," he started, pulling the device out of his jacket and handing it over to you, kissing your shoulder with a deep breath, "And just give me a second to calm down."

You giggled.

But what you said next did anything but help.

"Yes, sir."

•••

It was quarter to seven when you both made your way down to the underground theater.

There were fewer people this time around. Peter supposed it was expected. What, with a secret auction selling dangerous weapons, you simply couldn't hand out invitations like it's free candy. It could land in the wrong hands—well, right hands, in this case.

He fiddled with the card inside his pocket, free fingers pushing up his glasses, eyes narrowed at the guards by the entrance.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, noticing how they were ushering people into the theater individually. "I think it's a card for each person and we only have one—"

Peter stopped when he found no sign of you.

"You're not supposed to disappear without letting me know," he said through his comms.

He heard you giggle in response, "I was supposed to be back before you even notice."

"Point still stands," he grumbled. "Where are you?"

Peter grinned when he felt a familiar warmth behind him, your arms wrapping around his waist as you rested your chin on his shoulder.

"Hi."

"Hi," he chuckled, taking your hand to pull you by his side. He circled his arm around your waist, brow raised. "Where'd you go?"

You smiled innocently, yet the proud glimmer in your eyes was unmistakable. You held a hand up, a black and silver card pinched between two fingertips.

Always ten steps ahead of him.

It made him want to push you against a nearby wall and kiss the living daylights out of you.

"Now, how'd you get that?"

You winked. "You know I have my ways."

Before Peter could respond, everyone suddenly turned around to the sound of a commotion.

"Sir, you're not allowed without an invitation," one guard said.

"But I had it!" a man with a stark white beard exclaimed, patting around his pockets, "It was here!"

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."

"Well, you just lost your highest bidder!"

Peter turned back to you, impressed. "You need to teach me how to do that."

"I can't teach you all my tricks—" your laugh died once you walked by a lamp, illuminating both your faces in this otherwise dimly lit entry hall. You pulled him back under the light, your eyes widening. "Oh shit."

"What?" he asked, worried. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just—" you snorted, gesturing to get him to come closer, hand cupping his cheek. "There's lipstick all over your mouth."

Peter blushed, chuckling, "Would it be so bad to just leave it?"

"You look like you just ate a can of tomato sauce."

Peter pouted.

You shook your head with a laugh, thumbs brushing as much lipstick stain as you could. Just when he thought you were done, you cupped his face, pulling him closer to kiss him firmly on the cheek.

"There," you hummed, giggling, "Since you want my lipstick on you so bad."

"It's hot," Peter shamelessly admitted with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes but grinned anyway, taking his hand and pulling towards the entrance.

"Come on. Let's go spend the millions we don't have."

•••

It took a few more minutes for everyone to settle in their seats. You and Peter choose the front-right corner. It was near the stage but not at the center of attention.

As the clock struck seven, the main stage lights lit up. There were a couple of marble statues littered across—for decoration he assumed—and vases filled with wildflowers he could never name. Right at the center was a white podium, a huge projector screen behind it.

Then, a flash of gold appeared on the stage.

Peter immediately knew who they were.

"Welcome, everyone," the Auclair twins said in sync.

"Why is it always evil twins?" he said.

Obviously, he knew about Halbert, he was the one who gave him the card. But he didn't expect his twin sister to be in on it, too. But then again, the guy seemed to be all beauty with no brains.

And no, he wasn't biased.

"I knew there was something off about her," you scoffed, arms crossed over your chest, pout prominent as you glared at the stage. You were starting to look like you were throwing a tantrum. But Peter decided not to say anything.

Yet.

"I think you all know why we've gathered here so I won't bother you with unnecessary semantics," Greta started, waving her hand at the projector, now showing a live feed of the room you broke into earlier. "Any or all of those high-grade toys could be yours tonight, if you're willing to empty out your pockets, of course. But, to lift everyone's spirits up," Greta paused, giggling wickedly as she dug her fingers into the neckline of her dress, procuring the star of the night, and the bane of yours and Peter's existence.

"The Gold Codes and the nuclear football, available for bidding at the end of the night," she purred, waving the card around as if it wasn't one the most dangerous items on the planet. "We have to save the best for last, of course."

"So hiding things in your boobs is a common thing then," Peter said, catching the sour look on your face from the corner of his eye. He was trying really hard to bite back his smirk.

"So you found the codes before anyone else did."

"What?" Peter looked at you confused. "But I didn't."

"You did," you said, jaw ticking. "You just didn't know you were already looking at it."

It took Peter a moment.

"I was not looking at her boobs."

"Sure you weren't," you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"Darling," he drawled teasingly, playing up the accent, the fire in your glare unmistakable as you met his eyes. He pinched your chin between his forefinger and thumb with a grin. "You've got nothing to be jealous of."

Huffing, you pulled your face off his grasp, "Shut up."

"You know," he started, daringly throwing his arm over your shoulder. You were never one to cross when you were angry. But Peter simply wanted to have some harmless fun. After all, this was the first time he'd ever seen you like this. "I still haven't decided if you're cute or hot when you're jealous."

"Don't tempt me to punch you."

He chuckled, leaning to press his lips against your temple. His smile widened when he felt your whole body relax beside him.

"So, what’s the plan?" he murmured against your skin.

You shifted in your seat, resting your head on his shoulder.

"We wait until the codes and the football are up for bidding," you mumbled. "Then, I'm going to be a show-off, placing a higher bet over anyone while moving closer to the stage. Once I'm in good proximity, cause a distraction and I'll swipe the codes."

"Got it," he confirmed, flinching in his seat when he heard the bang of a hammer.

"Your numbered paddles are under your seats. Now, let's begin."

Peter had only seen auctions in movies, and they always seemed to be the most boring thing ever.

He never expected them to be as anxiety-inducing as this one.

It was probably the fact that these were dangerous and deadly weapons, carelessly sold to anyone who had the money to buy them. 

His heart would sink every time he'd hear that fucking hammer.

Peter was fidgeting with the bridge of his glasses, eyes sharply trained on the stolen Chitauri gun being wheeled off the stage.

"Relax," you whispered, hand on his knee to stop it from bouncing. "We've got backup near the premises. Once we secure the codes, they'll immediately interfere. None of those weapons are getting out of this building."

"They're buying it like it's candy," Peter grumbled frustratingly. "As if lives won't be put at risk if it gets out there."

"Next up, Oscorp's drone satellite," Greta introduced excitedly. "Bigger, better, deadlier than the one by Stark Industries."

Peter's fist clenched. "Why do they always find the need to one-up each other?"

"Egomaniac billionaires," you supplied, hand curling around his fist, bringing his knuckles up to your lips before you intertwined your fingers together.

It helped him calm down a little.

"Things are starting to get boring, don't we think?" Greta laughed, waving around the controller. It was either she wasn't aware of how dangerous the device in her hand was, or she simply didn't care. Her wicked grin told Peter it was the latter. "So how about we do a little test run?"

"Shit," he cursed, sitting upright. "That's not part of the plan."

"You're the faster one," you said, tone calm as you tugged your skirt discreetly and pulled your gun out. "When I give the signal, immediately run towards her and secure codes."

"What signal?"

You stood up, gun raised.

Everyone froze as you shot at the wires that held the scaffolding that was hanging on top of the stage. It immediately gave way, dropping onto the wooden stage and blocking both exits on each side.

Chaos erupted then.

The people running towards the small entryway made it difficult for the guards to get in right away.

But Peter was still staring at you in shock.

"Go!"

He snapped out of it, taking long strides towards the stage, reaching the twins just in time before they could even manage to escape.

"Mr. Reid," Halbert chuckled darkly, pushing Greta right behind him before pulling out a revolver. "You should've bought a gun."

"Well, good thing I did," Peter quipped, reaching inside his holster only to find nothing. He looked up, eyes wide. "Shit. I dropped it."

"Oh my God—" Peter heard you groan in disappointment, and he could practically hear that eye roll.

He would've found the time to be embarrassed if Halbert hadn't started shooting at him. He dodged every bullet easily. His enhanced reflexes paired with how inaccurate this guy's aim was, it wasn't really much of a challenge.

And no, he wasn't showing off.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

Peter couldn't stop his chuckle when he heard the familiar clicking of an empty cylinder.

"Well, looks like I didn’t even need one," he bragged as he stalked towards Halbert, yanking the gun out of his hold before hitting him on the side of the head with the butt of his own gun, rendering him unconscious. He turned to Greta with a mocking tut, "Your twin isn't the wisest, isn't he?"

"No," she scoffed, smile widening as she glanced over his shoulder. "But he bought us time."

Peter saw the entryway clear of civilians, the armed guards swiftly invading the theater.

"Shit."

A flash of red caught his eye, your sharp heels clicking rapidly before you slid on the floor, picking up the gun Peter dropped. You knelt on one knee, gun in each hand, aiming it toward the guards and raining hell on them motherfuckers.

You didn't miss a shot.

He shook his head in awe, "And you said to hold it with two hands!"

"I've fired guns since I was twelve!" you said, tilting your head to throw him a smirk. "I think I can be an exception."

How could he argue with that?

Peter swerved to the right, heart thumping as the glint of a knife covered his periphery. He grabbed their wrist, pulling him forward in one swift motion and throwing the culprit towards the seats.

"Who brings a knife to a gunfight?" he huffed as he kicked away the knife that fell out of their hand.

Peter's attention got stolen by your growl.

His eyes landed on you just in time to see you grab a man's forearm from behind, using all your body weight and the right momentum to throw him over your shoulder, a pained scream when you undoubtedly dislodged his arm, the knife clinking onto the floor. You kicked the guy on the head, his eyes rolling back as he turned limp. You stepped on the knife's handle to fling it into the air, catching it with your left hand before flipping to your right, holding your skirt taught before cutting a new slit on your skirt. Then, you spun, red dress flowing with the motion as you kicked the guy running towards you on the side of his throat.

If Peter wasn't in love before, he sure as hell was now.

"What?" you panted when you caught his gaze, brows furrowed.

"That was so hot," Peter breathed out, your eyes rolling for the umpteenth time before they suddenly widened.

"Down!"

He ducked as you threw the knife, the blade soaring past him and landing into the guy's shoulder, the gun that was aimed at Peter's distracted ass dropping onto the floor.

He looked back at you in absolute wonder.

And did his pants grow a little tighter?

"Will you marry me?"

"Jesus—focus!"

"Is that a 'no'?!" he called out teasingly, elbowing one guy on the chin before hurling his unconscious body toward his allies. He called it the bowling move. Taking a gun from the floor, he turned to you with a pout. "Can't believe you'd reject me, babe!"

"Kinda in the middle of something here!" you yelled back, shooting a guy on the leg before knocking him out with the butt of your gun. You stood straight with a deep breath, tilting your head with your lips pursed before nodding behind him. "How about you help me get those codes first?"

Peter turned, seeing Greta dragging her twin towards the side exit.

"Oh yeah, right," he chuckled sheepishly before going after her. "My bad!"

Fully catching him off guard, Peter flew forward and landed on his chest when Greta swiped his legs. He rolled onto his back, narrowly avoiding the six-inch heel she dug into the floor where his head was supposed to be.

"So you can fight," he breathed out, doing a kip up to get back on his feet.

"I bite too," she hummed, winking. "And I've been wanting to sink my teeth into you, pretty boy."

"Uh, thanks?" he chuckled dryly, face scrunched up. He swerved the knife she threw at him, looking back only to see she got two more, one on each hand. He sighed, "Great. You throw knives."

"What?" she asked, tone mocking as she flipped one in the air, catching the blade in between her fingers with ease. "You don't like knife play?"

"That doesn't sound like fun," he grumbled, running towards her, swiftly ducking as she kicked her leg before grabbing her by the ankles.

Greta fell on the floor with a thud, yet she was quick to kick his knee with her other foot, Peter hissing as her sharp heel dug into his skin. She used this slim window to pull her leg forward, dragging Peter with it and making him land right on top of her.

"Quite a handsome face. Maybe we can go out for dinner sometime," she purred, running her tongue over her lip as she traced his jaw with a knife, sharp tip teasing his throat. "The real party happens later in the night, of course."

"Yeah, no thanks," he breathed out, pulling his head back and quickly grabbing her arms, flipping her onto her stomach in one swift motion. Peter pinned her down using his body weight as he knocked the knives out of her hands. He pulled her wrist towards her back, his knees tight on either side of her hips as he sat up. Holding her wrists with one hand, he undid his necktie with the other, tying her up securely before letting go.

"Kinky," she huffed out a giggle.

Peter rolled his eyes, pulling her up by the shoulders until she was seated on the floor. He walked around, dusting off his suit and adjusting his glasses—they got sticky tape on the sides to not let them fall off during fights. He thought about this ahead, thank you very much—as he stood in front of her.

"I guess it's true what they say about the quiet ones," she said, head tilted as she shamelessly ran her eyes down his body before meeting his eyes. "You're a different kind of man, Lucas Reid."

"The name's Parker," he said with a deep voice as he buttoned up his jacket with the utmost seriousness on his face. "Peter Parker."

You scoffed loudly.

Peter immediately spun, his landing eyes on your figure standing behind him, your jaw tight, arms crossed over your chest, a scowl on your pretty face with that fiery glare to match.

Oh you were pissed.

But Peter had a feeling it wasn't at him.

"You've been itching to do that the whole night, have you?"

"Maybe," he chuckled.

You rolled your eyes, nodding towards Greta.

"Just take the codes."

Peter stared at you like you'd grown a second head.

"What?" you asked, voice taut, so clearly getting annoyed.

"You take the codes."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I respect women?"

You blinked a few times before dropping your head with an exasperated groan.

"What? You know where it's hidden!" he exclaimed in defense, gesturing towards the bound woman. "I'm not just slipping my hand in there!"

"I have a feeling she won't mind," you muttered to yourself, but thanks to his enhanced hearing, he heard you loud and clear. "You've practically been humping each other."

Peter decided to keep quiet, scared that you'd actually punch him this time.

Though the glare you shot him was proof that you knew he heard you.

You shook your head, another eye roll before you walked over to Greta, bending at the waist until your face was level with hers.

"Let’s make this quick. Left or right?" you asked.

"Dégage, salope," she hissed.

You gasped, hand over your mouth in feigned shock. "Now, that's not nice."

"Wait, what did she say?" Peter asked as he stood by the sidelines, not too close but not too far. He was giving you the space to do your thing.

"She called me a bitch," you cooed, pouting condescendingly. "Fine. Since you don't want to make this easier for us—"

Before Peter could even question what you were about to do, you stomped on a knife, catching the handle mid-air and straight up slashing the blade in front of Greta.

"Woah!"

Peter downright expected you to have chopped her whole head off—okay, maybe slit her throat because the knife wasn't that big.

But nothing happened.

No chopping, no slicing, no blood, nothing.

Well, not until a split second later when Greta gasped, the top half of her—really expensive, he assumed—dress sliding down her body.

Peter looked away immediately, face hot as he screwed his eyes shut, turning his back on her for good measure.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," he muttered, taking his glasses off to rub his face with his palm.

But he couldn't wipe his smile off.

Peter knew you could take the codes without having to cut her dress. You were simply being petty. And it was safe to assume it had something to do with the way Greta had been shamelessly flirting with him for the whole night.

Your jealousy fed his ego a little bit.

"You can look now," you said, tone low. "She's covered."

"Are you sure?"

You scoffed, "It's not like you don't want to see it, anyway."

Peter swiftly turned, only catching a glimpse of Greta now wearing Halbert's jacket with the matching gold tie gagging her mouth.

He immediately turned to you who was standing to the side, looking anywhere else but at him. He walked over, rubbing up and down your arms until you uncrossed them. He pulled you closer by the waist, nudging your nose while mirroring your pout.

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad."

"Then why did you do that?"

"I had to get the codes."

"Yeah, but it didn't have to involve boobage exposure."

"Boobage exposure," you snorted, the corner of your lip twitching as you finally met his eyes. "I feel like that's something you enjoy."

"I didn't even look!" he defended, his smile widening when you tried your best to hide yours. "I promise. I didn't want to, either."

You shook your head, sighing, "You're such an annoying dork."

"Your annoying dork."

That made your smile appear.

"My dork, huh?" you hummed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Peter smiled, pulling you closer, tip of his nose brushing yours. "Well, if you'll have me, that is."

"Have you as what, exactly?"

"Your boyfriend," he said, slightly surprised by his own boldness. But then again, you two had already established what you felt for each other. The fear of rejection wasn't there anymore. Shaking his head with a smile, he added, "Wait, answer that on our date this Friday?"

"Love the newfound confidence, Agent Parker," you said, giggling. "And yes, to both questions,"

"I really like the sound of Agent Parker," he hummed, wiggling his eyebrows at you. "Am I a certified spy now?"

"Eh, if you don't drop your gun next time, then sure."

"Come on," he sighed, pouting. "I could use a name change, you know, like Spy-Dork-Man."

Peter burst out laughing when you physically cringed.

"Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't kick you because of that god awful pun."

"Because I'm your dork now, bad puns included, so you're going to have to get used to it from early doors."

"Touché," you laughed.

Peter looked at you adoringly, but just as he was about to kiss you, a sudden ruckus of applause made you both jump, stance on defense reflexively.

It was the team, right in front of the stage, clapping and wolf-whistling like a bunch of assholes.

Peter groaned, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he wrapped his arms around you.

"About time you two solved this…tension you have," Wanda said as she reached the stage, gesturing at the two of you before she held her hand out to Bucky. "Hand it over, Super Soldier. She technically kissed him first,"

"Maybe I shouldn't have held Sam back from unmuting the line in the closet," Bucky sighed, pulling out his wallet and handing over twenty dollars.

"You had a bet?" you gaped at the two of them.

Peter turned to Sam. "You tried to interrupt us again?"

"I wouldn't have to if you guys didn't constantly forget that your comms aren't reserved for the two of you only," the Captain chuckled.

"You guys were so cute, though," Wanda said with a smile.

"The smooching sounds were a bit much." Bucky grimaced.

"Don't forget the abundant talk about boobs and ass," Harley laughed, appearing from behind everyone with a bag in hand. "Good thing you finally grew those balls though, Parker. I've grown really tired of hearing you whine about your obsession—sorry, I mean, crush on her."

"Shut up, man," Peter groaned, burying his face back on your shoulder to hide.

"Leave him alone," you laughed, rubbing his back in comfort.

"I wished I could've hacked the cams earlier so it would've been like watching a James Bond movie meets rom-com live," Harley said. "But the audio was good, popcorns still definitely enjoyed."

"Lives were on the line and you guys enjoyed popcorn," you deadpanned.

Sam laughed as he patted both of your backs. "Nah, we just knew you two got it handled."

"What are you guys doing here then?" Peter countered, glaring at them.

"Clean up," Wanda said, cracking her fingers before adding, "I also need to erase your faces off of people's memories because blowing your covers wasn't exactly part of the plan."

"And this guy practically gave out his real name," Bucky chuckled, patting Peter's shoulder before moving over to the unconscious men lying on the floor.

"I couldn't let the opportunity slip!" Peter protested. "It's probably going to be my only James Bond moment, I had to take it."

"That was pretty stupid," you said, scrunching your face at him with a laugh.

"I know that now, thanks," he grumbled.

"Here." Harley tossed him his web shooters and mask, and Peter felt a sense of comfort as he snapped them onto his wrists.

"Pete, you think you can swing us home?" you asked, slipping your fingers into his.

"Yeah, of course," he chuckled, squeezing your hand. He could definitely get used to feeling your affectionate touch constantly.

"Right, we're going to leave this to you guys, now bye!" you called out before you all but dragged him towards the exit, Peter's groan and your laugh echoing down the hall when Sam yelled,

"Use protection!"

•••

You both were honestly too tired to even attempt and continue what started in the closet.

Well, you did try to.

When you landed back at the compound, you both decided to go to your separate rooms and take much-needed hot showers first. But getting to your quarters in itself probably took around ten minutes, all because Peter simply couldn't help but stop every couple of meters down the halls, pressing you against the nearest wall to kiss you senseless.

It took you shutting the door on his face for you both to finally wash off the sweat and grime of the day.

After he was all cleaned and clothed, he didn't waste any time making his way out of his room. But when he opened the door, you were already standing there, fist in the air, mid-knock.

Peter chuckled as he grabbed your waist and pulled you into his room, giggles and satisfied sighs bouncing off his walls as his lips covered your own. He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you with ease, a murmured comment from you about him showing off his super strength as he carried you to his bed.

But the second you both hit the mattress, it was simply far too comfy and soft that the intense heat of the kiss gradually simmered into a mellow warmth. His body was covering yours, fingers intertwined, lips moving slowly, lazily yet just as sweet. 

And after a few more moments of you two languidly kissing, you ended up settling with cuddles for the night.

Now, here you were, being the little spoon with your back pressed against his chest, limbs tangled, bodies warm and snug under the covers. He was drawing lazy circles on your stomach, his eyes growing heavier with each rise and fall of your chest, the steady beat of your heart lulling him.

Peter thought you were already fast asleep. And he was just about to follow suit until you spoke up,

"Are your hands cold?"

"Not really," he murmured, voice a little rough. "Why?"

"You can always use my boobs in case you need to warm them up."

He groaned, burying his face onto your shoulder. "Are you ever going to let this go?"

"What?" you giggled softly. "You just seemed so interested in their warmth earlier. I'm allowing you to quell your curiosity."

Peter lifted himself a little, just so he could get a clear view of your face.

"Is this a genuine invitation for me to cup your boobs?"

"Only if you wanna," you said, turning to him with a soft smile, eyes half-lidded. "No playing, though."

He nodded with a laugh, settling behind you and gently sneaking his hand under your shirt, no pressure or anything so that you'll be able to move away whenever you wanted to. Then again, you were skilled enough to break his wrist, anyway.

But you didn't do that, not at all.

Instead, you shifted in your place, providing more space for his arm to fully wrap around your torso until he was cupping a boob in his hand.

You sighed, body melting into the mattress even more, your back warmly pressed against his chest as you nosed his pillow.

"They are really warm," he hummed, his whole body relaxing as he let his hand just…be there, without any malice whatsoever. "This is oddly comforting."

"Yeah," you mumbled, a loud yawn following suit. "Like stress balls."

Peter chuckled, "That's one way of describing it."

You hummed, yawning out a soft, "Good night, Pete."

Peter smiled. "Good night, angel."

The next response he got was your soft snores as you finally drifted off to sleep,

Peter didn't expect his night to end with you sleeping in bed with him, all cuddled up in his arms, let alone, with him cupping your boob—which he surprisingly found comforting and adorable rather than anything else.

But he did expect to fall asleep with a huge smile on his face.

And then later in the morning, the thing that would wake him up wouldn't be the sunlight anymore, it'd be your warmth, tickling his skin as you cuddle closer to him. A tired, yet satisfied smile would curl on his lips as he would bury his nose into your hair, breathing in your sweet scent. It was much more comforting, hearing your little snores and sighs, or even your occasional mumbles about whatever it was you were dreaming about.

It was new, but definitely something he could get used to.

It was going to be a peaceful Sunday morning with you, and Peter really loved that.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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[titichan]

The Taste of Betrayal

Chapter- 1

A Sukuna x Yuuji x Gojo Fanfic...

Tags: Vampire!Au, Vampire-Hunter dynamics, Bottom!Yuuji, Top!Gojo, Top!Sukuna, Threesome, M/M/M, Sex toys, Bondage, Slight bdsm, Rough sex, A little bit of gore, porn with Plot, Slight mentions of Meimei and Nanami, Author is Sukuna's bitch ;], Other tags will be added as I commence

Note: Alright, so this was my veryyy first ff- which I had started 5 months ago (And still isn't complete lmao). Due to some problems, I was kick outta my prev Ao3 account, and really really wanted to continue this fic- so, while I wait for my Ao3 invitation, imma continue uploadin' here 😘

'The humans have been divided into three categories-

The Humans or, the prey

The Vampires or, the predator

And,

the Hunters, the protector of the prey'

Amidst the busy streets of Tokyo, a hunter was perched on a lone building- aiming at a vampire.

Clothed and masked in black, he was barely noticeable but- his pink hair stood out, shining under the dim moonlight.

He focused at the target and pulled the trigger.

'Bulls eye'

'A clear shot indeed. Yet another vamp' down.'

"Yujii-kun, did you get 'them'?"

A feminine voice echoed from his ear bud. Tapping on it, he spoke, " Yeah, but it isn't 'them' either. "

-

He was just going through the documents, when the same feminine voice was heard, "Yuuji-kun"

He looked up, and saw a dazzling woman standing beside him with two cups of coffee in her hands. As she placed the coffee cup on the table, her silver-like hair swayed- partly revealing her lavender eyes. "Meimei-san"

She smiled, "No need to worry dear, the mission was successful. But, I believe the 'main' mission is still pending?"

She sat down on the sofa in front him. "Yes, I'm very much aware of that."

He stood up. "Got what I asked for?" He said, eyeing the box beside her. The silver-haired smirked, her well-manicured nails clicking against the box. She opened it, and there was a fake ID card and a black hair wig.

He picked up the box. "Though it's my first time going undercover- I don't think I'll fail."

Meimei took a sip of the coffee and shrugged, "Says the best hunter who has nailed each and every mission. Still, I'm really lucky to be your guide, you know."

He responded with a nod. "I'm grateful to you too for getting hold of this mission..." He paused, touching the scar on his face, "...for it's the most probably the ardent clue that could be linked with that day."

Meimei sighed, "Now, now- sit down, will you? Let me show you how to wear the wig."

After she got him ready, she winked "Oh my- I guess we have a lady killer here~"

Totally unfazed by her words, he started packing up for tomorrow.

She caught hold of his arm, signifying him to stop.

"Don't worry about the materials, I've got them safely packed."

Before she went back to her room, she softly said, "Have a safe trip, Itadori Yujii"

-

It was early morning, when Yujii entered a grandiose office building. He was silently scanning the surroundings, when he heard someone from behind.

"Mr.Itadori,"

He turned to face the source of the voice.

A blonde man most probably in his late 20s- his cheek bones were prominent and his speaking, punctual.

"I'm general secretary Nanami Kentou. Nice to meet you."

As he followed the blonde man, Nanami continued, "You're quite early for the first day of your work."

Swiftly, The 'black-haired' answered, "...I just wanted to familiarize myself with the internal structures of the company before starting."

Nanami suddenly stopped at a particular and a humongous door. "You're diligent. But, I'm afraid I will have to intervene into your plans."

He motioned towards the door, "Shall we start by greeting the chairman?"

He knocked on the door, "Chairman, Mr.Itadori has arrived."

When the doors were to be opened, Yujii slowly and cautiously positioned his gun by the back pocket of his suit- just in case.

But, when the doors opened, he saw a tall man leaning against the desk.

"Welcome, " His vivid oceanic eyes gleamed under the morning sun rays.

"I'm Gojo Satoru."

Yujii was captivated by his beauty. Still, he somehow snapped back to reality and bowed, "...I'm Itadori Yujii."

The white-haired smiled and approached him. Suddenly, he offered his hand, "Shall we shake hands?"

Though he was already disgusted and had sworn not to respect a single vampire, he still shook hands with him.

"I'm looking forward to work with you."

He didn't let his guard down at that, his grip on Satoru's hand tightening. When he retracted, looking at him, the white-haired man's eyes were glinting with a hint of 'interest'.

Smiling to himself, Satoru went back to his seat. Signalling to the guest seats nearby, he softly spoke, "Please, have a seat over there."

After getting settled down, his superior demeanour resumed, as he prompted towards Yujii, "Now, shall we start the work which needs to be done right now?"

That did make the hunter flinch a little, but he was quick to compose himself and replied, "....Yes sir."

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Anyone but me interested in a Noir-esque The Bear AU

The Bear is a fancy bar ran by the mob, whom the Berzattos are part of or are associated with. The main story focuses on Sydney as she works there and realises that it's not just a job as a bar chef, but a cover for drug dealing and money laundering.

She observes everyone and gets the idea that most the staff, Tina, Ebra, Marcus, Gary etc, know it's a mob bar but don't know the details and don't want to, they just work the bar and cook the food. She knows that the Faks run security. Mikey's running the bar (trust me, it makes more sense if Mikey's alive but struggling in this plus, my AU, my rules) so she knows that he's aware and controlling what's going on. There's a gun under the counter, code words for the various drugs that people may want to order, and mysterious meetings that has his him shooting daggers. She gets the idea that this isn't what he wanted to do with his life, but he got stuck with it.

She's right. One of the Berzatto siblings had to inherit the Bear, and Mikey sure as shit wasn't going to let it be Carmy or Nat with how much potential they have.

The only person she can't place is Richie. She knows he works there but doesn't see him work the bar, he only takes the coats of certain people and spends most of his time smoozing customers. She guesses he must be a mob guy there to keep an eye on them, or some in house drug dealer.

She asks around and gets laughs. She's told using various euphemisms what his job is, he's a hustler, a gigolo, a rent boy, and when she doesn't get those, or doesn't want to believe them, Tina very blatantly says that he's a prostitute. He's told high profile clients are coming in, or picks up on various people in the bar, and works his charms, either disappearing to their car, their apartment, or if they don't have that kind of cash, to the inconspicuous room at the back that Sydney assumed was a storeroom.

When Gary's off sick, Mikey gets Syd to join him on the bar for a change. This is when she observes Richie more, sees the subtle exchange of money, how Richie turns on his charming attitude when he clocks a client, how someone's always touching him with no regard to consent or personal space or boundaries, like his body isn't actually his and is instead everyone's to do with as they wish.

She picks up on how he disappears almost without notice, how he always comes back looking as immaculate in his suit as he did beforehand. She also notes how Mikey watches him like a hawk, and how his eyes flick down to the gun and the light below the bar, she realises it's a kind of security measure.

It's only as the weeks turn to months that she finds out even more about how dark this place is. How Mikey's high most of the time, and how controlled he and Richie truly are, how much they go against what the mob want, and how desperately she needs to get out before it's too late.

[yellowocaballero]

New Wave: Jason Todd vs. Annoyingly Perfect Cheerleader Barbie Stephanie Brown

Tim stared at him for another long second, face blank, and a few seconds of hot panic hit Jason before he finally spoke again. “You really aren’t anything like Steph.”

Yeah. Jason fucking got that.

It was always a bad thing. They pretended it wasn’t a bad thing. Oh, nobody ever said it was bad Jason wasn’t Stephanie fucking Brown. But they didn’t need to say it. Jason was a master of tactics and strategy, and he knew he was without resources. 

Resources, in this context, being a goddamn fucking perfect blue eyed blonde haired hot white girl. Being peppy and happy and nice. Apparently being some kind of dumb genius who knew everything and everyone. Jason didn’t have any of that. Without any resources or allies, his idiot new life knocked him flat on his back every time. Jason wasn’t Stephanie Brown, and boy did they let him know it. 

In which the next generation of inferiority complexes rise.

Now that my magnum opus Stephanie Brown superiority manifesto is done, I can FINALLY post its follow-up! This one was very strange to write, but that just made it all the funner. There's a lot I could say here that I couldn't explicitly say in the main story - and, most importantly, four years later I can finally work in MY childhood nostalgia. FINALLY!

If you aren't familiar with the AU, the premise is just that Stephanie becomes the first Robin in 1997. Not much more complex than that.

Story under the cut.

Christmas brought the inevitable. 

Jason always approached the winter like an enemy combatant. He had a military biography phase six months ago, and it left him with a permanent sense he was General Custer in real life. December always left him feeling more like Napoleon embarking on a fool’s crusade against Russia in winter, but Jason knew how to learn from other people’s mistakes. He knew how to make the shelter rotations, whose couch to sleep on, which camps were a no-go and which were alright, and which abandoned buildings the fuzz hadn’t discovered yet. Jason knew how to live his own damn life. He always made it through into March’s other side, and that had always been good enough for him.

But not for Bruce Wayne. Because Stephanie Brown and Tim Drake were coming home, and Tim was losing ground to the colonizers. His worst enemies. The infractors.

(Objectively, Jason was the one moving into somebody else’s home. But he definitely wasn’t the colonizer here. He was gaining no resources but Legos and Nerf guns. The territory was up for grabs and he was going to defend it).

Tim Drake wasn’t so bad, if only because he was a known quantity. Known super obnoxious and ultra pretentious quantity. He had come home from MIT a few times (actual MIT!) to conduct mysterious business that seemed to involve a lot of disappearing into the Batcave and getting snippy with Bruce, and although he wasn’t particularly nice to Jason he wasn’t particularly mean either. Jason had bounced through enough group homes that he appreciated that. 

The second time Tim visited - the first time Jason worked up the guts to actually talk with him - was the time to make his move. The opening gambit would be a scouting mission. He decided to push his luck and slither down into the Batcave, even though Bruce discouraged going down there without him. Guy didn’t make a rule about it. If Jason got caught he could pretend he was looking for Bruce in pursuit of following the rules. It was a gamble but Jason knew the odds.

The Batcave had been empty of Batman. There was only Tim Drake, sitting at a work table, bent over the deflated suit and holding a soldering iron. A chunky laptop balanced on the limp knees, and when combined with Tim’s giant goggles it gave him a creepy Young Frankenstein air. Bent over the Batsuit like that, he looked like a mad scientist dissecting Batman’s corpse.

Jason had carefully sidled up to Tim, keeping a healthy distance from the torch. Tim had split the cowl’s casing open like snapping open a skull to fish out the brains with an oyster fork, and he was doing something mysterious to the wiring inside. Jason couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

Tim didn’t say anything until he finished. He pushed up the welding mask, shucking his gloves and shaking out his hair. “Can I help you?”

It wasn’t telling him to go away. Jason would press his luck until he was chased off. He sidled a little bit closer, gawking at the dissected Batsuit. “What’re you doing?”

“Installing some hardware to run a program I coded. Batsuit has facial recognition now. You’re welcome.” Tim took off the welding mask, carelessly dropping it on the floor. “You don’t need anything.”

Jason was baffled for a second before he realized Tim had meant the question literally - that he hadn’t been prompting Jason to talk, but asking if Tim needed to do anything for him. Practical guy who welded Star Trek tech into a superhero costume. But maybe he was right - Jason did need something from him. A measure of the situation.

Jason didn’t slide any closer, but he did tug a little at the hem of his fancy shirt. It was just red, but a fancy red. “Are we chill?”

Tim stared at him blankly. “Chill?”

“Uh. Cool.”

More stares. “Why wouldn’t we be cool?”

Was that a rhetorical question? Jason hadn’t met a normal person in months. “I’m kinda in your house,” Jason pointed out. “Eating your food. Being up in your space.” Being adopted by your legal guardian, but like in the weirdest way possible.

“I don’t really live here anymore,” Tim said slowly, “so…”

Great. Pure confusion. This guy didn’t have normal people emotions. Jason’s shoulders fell in relief. “Dope. I’ll just stay outta your hair. Won’t even know I’m here. Good talk.”

Tim stared at him for another long second, face blank, and a few seconds of hot panic hit Jason before he finally spoke again. “You really aren’t anything like Steph.”

Yeah. Jason fucking got that.

It was always a bad thing. They pretended it wasn’t a bad thing. Oh, nobody ever said it was bad Jason wasn’t Stephanie fucking Brown. But they didn’t need to say it. Jason was a master of tactics and strategy, and he knew he was without resources. 

Resources, in this context, being a goddamn fucking perfect blue eyed blonde haired hot white girl. Being peppy and happy and nice. Apparently being some kind of dumb genius who knew everything and everyone. Jason didn’t have any of that. Without any resources or allies, his idiot new life knocked him flat on his back every time. Jason wasn’t Stephanie Brown, and boy did they let him know it. 

To be fair, Jason was pretty sure Bruce wasn’t doing it on purpose. His emotional intelligence was somewhere between rock bottom and zero. It was tragic, inconvenient, and not his fault, like he was a three legged dog. Jason got that he missed Queen of the Universe, but he didn’t bring up Tim in the same way. Granted, Jason already got the vibes that Bruce knew Tim was not normal whatsoever. Stephanie Brown was the paragon of normality to Bruce. Which was too bad for Jason.

Oh? You live in the East End? What do you mean you don’t know everybody in the East End? Stephanie Brown knows everybody.

Here’s a map, memorize it in fifteen minutes. What do you mean you can’t do that? Stephanie Brown can do that.

Why are you upset over your crook dad and druggie mom? Stephanie has a crook dad and druggie mom, and it doesn’t bother her -

Whatever. So sue him. Jason sucked. He wasn’t a genius mad scientist or perfection incarnate. It didn’t matter. So long as he stayed over the ‘return Jason like a lost puppy’ bar everything was chill. 

They could throw him out if they wanted. Jason didn’t even care. He had blackmail material, he could squeeze them. He was pretty sure Selina would help him out, even if it was only to spite Bruce. That woman played cute and everything, but Jason had her number. Spite was the gas in her engine and she was moving a hundred and twelve miles per hour. 

Jason was a soldier of life, who approached the world with a strategist’s grim mindset. Goal: stay in the semi-heated mansion featuring hot food and a security system at least until March. Impediment: Stephanie Brown and Tim Drake were coming home, highlighting Jason’s innumerable faults and subpar everything. Potential casualties: Stephanie and Tim’s presence could…end up with Jason kicked out for some reason, that part was fuzzy, but it was definitely a danger. Plan of action: be super polite, hope, and pray.

Tim came home first, blown inside with the blustery wind and spears of delicate ice. Jason had been working on homework in the library when he walked through the door, and pretended he couldn’t hear the clumps and noises of suitcases and warm-ish greetings and thumps of feet on hardwood. He waited several hours until he was comfortably pushing the perceptible threshold of purposeful avoidance before emerging from the library. Make an appearance - not avoiding you, look at my chubby cheeks! - and beat it. Plan of action, commence. 

Tim and Bruce were sitting in the fancier family living room - not the one for guests or the more relaxed den, the one for family but in a slightly more formal way and Jason felt like a fucking idiot stringing these words together in this order - on the fancy couches, talking quietly with each other. Jason absently noted that Tim was sitting in an armchair perpendicular from Bruce on the couch. Sitting closer to each other, but not on the same piece of furniture.

They both looked up when Jason stopped at the doorway, absently clutching the doorjamb and wriggling a little. Bruce’s expression lightened, but Tim just blinked sleepily. Guy always looked half-asleep and a million miles away.

“Jason. You finish your homework?”

“He has you doing the Bat-homework?” Tim asked, blinking slowly. He was like a sloth at the zoo. “That’s a throwback. Stephanie did nothing but read those textbooks for months. They’re pretty tough. Frustrated the hell out of her.”

Bruce just smiled faintly - a big grin on anybody else. “I think the first textbook she read since sixth grade was a college textbook on forensic profiling. Finished it in a week and asked for the next one.”

Thirty seconds. It took thirty seconds. That had to be a new record.

“It’s just normal homework. And yeah, I finished for the week.” Jason swung from the doorjamb, gawking at Tim. He hoped it was subtle. Maybe not. It was still weird to see anybody else in here. Tim didn’t exactly come back a lot, and he always acted like they were work trips. Maybe they were? “Hi, Tim.”

“Yo. Settling in alright?” Jason nodded fastidiously. “Good. Tell Bruce if you need anything.” Tim turned back to Bruce, brushing Jason off. “It’s just too research focused. Everybody’s hung up on theoreticals and theorems. It’s not useful, Bruce. I could be five times as productive in industry right now.” Bruce ticked an eyebrow at him. “It’s not the classroom.”

“It’s just a change, Tim. It’s the change that’s bothering you, not the school. You picked MIT specifically for its resources and access. Those are worth suffering your peers.”

“Its resources aren’t being used properly. All they’re doing is diagnosing brain tumors and providing clean drinking water to Bialyans. Dr. Hagelstein just invented a clean superconductor without a turbine. Like, who cares.”

Jason perked up. “Clean drinking water? How are they doing it? Like, in a fancy new way?”

“Dunno. I skipped the grant acceptance speech. The Queen of Bialya was attending, so I used the window to install remote access software in her assistant’s laptop.”

“Uh,” Jason said.

Bruce didn’t even have the decency to be surprised. “Why would you do that?”

Tim gave Bruce an incredulous look, as if he had no idea Bruce could reach such depths of stupidity. “Nobody’s been able to make the human trafficking charges against Queen B stick. This is how I’m finally going to siphon her incriminating signed orders.”

“Do I need to give you the destabilizing foreign governments talk again, Tim -”

“What do I look like, the CIA? I mostly just wanted the link into the Light’s movements.” Bruce opened his mouth. “I swear to god they exist and I know for a fact Ra’s is a founding member. I need the conspiracy dirt so I can finally have some blackmail on that man. I don’t have anything and it’s pissing me off.”

“Don’t destroy the League of Assassins without clearance,” Bruce said absently. He scratched his chin, for all appearances deep in thought. “The signed orders could give the Justice League probable cause to legally assault her underground bunker system.”

“The one obviously filled with illegal Kryptonite? You just want the League to confiscate it before the US government does.”

“That was implied, yes.”

“I’m gonna go help Alfred in the kitchen,” Jason said.

The kitchen: where nobody committed international espionage. Anymore. 

Tim was cool. He didn’t look, talk, act, or behave like a superhero, but he totally was one. Jason wasn’t certain Tim knew what and wasn’t legal, but everything he did was really important in saving Gotham. And becoming a world power. He was larger than life, strong like steel and just as impenetrable. Jason did not feel obligated to understand or bond with him. It felt stupid to even try, like an intern trying to talk about their girl troubles with the CEO. Tim obviously felt the same way, so Jason was really glad they were on the same page. He was a little worried about what happened to people who were not on the same page as Tim. Were they ever seen again?

Despite the questionable supervillain stuff, Tim was navigable. Cassandra Kane was also navigable. Very navigable - apparently she wouldn’t be home this break at all. Jason had never even met the woman, despite her legal status as Bruce’s long lost orphaned cousin.

She went in and out of the manor as she pleased, going wherever she wanted and doing God knows what. Jason was only pretty sure that Cass was a Batman thing and not an actual, legitimate jet-setting foreign cousin. He couldn’t say for sure. He didn’t exactly want to walk up to Kate Kane at a party and ask if Cass was actually her half-sister or if she was a mysterious Bat-byproduct that Kate was in on. Too awkward if he was wrong. 

Apparently she used to stay home a little more often, but since Stephanie and Tim left for college she had left to go do…whatever it was that Cassandra Kane did…by herself. In…Hong Kong? Thailand? Indonesia? It was really unclear. Jason was fine with this. The woman was obviously no threat, even if absolutely nobody had ever explained what her deal was. Bruce and Alfred sounded really fond when they talked about her, and even Tim obviously cared about her. How this translated to ‘Cass is somewhere, doing wherever, she’ll be back who knows when, hope she’s having a blast’, Jason had no idea. Convenient for him, though. It meant he only had to worry about Stephanie Brown.

Apparently Stephanie Brown was coming back to Gotham tomorrow, but she was spending a day with her friends and family in the Bowery before moving into the manor. Jason heard about this at length - from Tim’s long-ass cell phone calls with her to Bruce excitedly talking with the equally excited Tim about their holiday plans together. Excitedly for the both of them looked a little like having a facial expression, but still - excitedly.

Jason’s name was coming up a lot during their plans. This worried him. It might put a crimp into his plans to avoid everybody. 

He could already tell it would be pretty easy to avoid Tim. It wasn’t even that hard to play it cool around him. Cassandra would obviously be a breeze - he wasn’t entirely sure she knew he existed. Cass was another randomly appearing Asian cousin, she’d get it. But he could make no promises around Stephanie. He would stay stone against the chaotic tides of blonde women. He would not be moved. Jason was going to be as polite as Alfred and as saltine cracker as everybody in the house. 

Jason and Bruce had a little ritual. They would hang out in the Batcave for a little while pre-patrol - just Jason spinning around in the chair in front of the Batcomputer as Bruce stretched and got ready for patrol. Then Batman would hop into the car, the revving of engines would scream into the air, and Jason would wave as Batman zoomed off into the night. Alfred would walk Jason back up afterwards - partly because it was his bedtime and partly because Jason still wasn’t allowed in the Batcave by himself. Alfred would get him settled into bed, making sure Jason brushed his teeth. He always forgot.

And when Jason woke up the next morning and brushed his teeth and walked downstairs, Bruce would be there. Every time. Always. 

But Tim sat at the computer that night, doing something extremely scary on five monitors and talking intermittently with Bruce as he prepped for patrol. Jason walked down into the Batcave, saw them, and turned on his heel to walk straight back up again.

“Jason!” Bruce called. Jason froze on the steps. “Why don’t you come down? This is a good time to pick up some of Tim’s programming.”

“Bruce, it’s not going to make any sense to him.”

“He’s a very bright kid,” Bruce told Tim, making Jason flush. “You could teach him a thing or two.”

“I’m terrible at explaining things,” Tim said plainly. “I tried explaining my work to Steph a hundred times and she always checked out two sentences in.”

“Steph has a great attention span.” Bruce paused a beat. “But only for things she cares about. I don’t believe Jason is nearly as ADHD as she is.”

“Jason’s twelve.”

“Can’t stay!” Jason cried. “Making soup with Alfred upstairs! Good night, Bruce!”

He thumped upstairs at lightning speed, taking them three at a time, and narrowly escaped into the dim lights of the study before any more questions could be asked.

Jason had touched a computer, like, twice. Come on, Bruce. Why was he always acting like Jason was capable of doing anything so long as he put his mind to it? What, ‘cause Stephanie Brown could do it?

Jason put himself to bed that night, attacking his teeth with a toothbrush and angrily tucking himself under the covers. By the time Alfred came by to check in on him, Jason was glaring at The Magician’s Nephew and flexing how great he was at going to bed. 

“I remember when that book was released. Created quite a stir among my cousins.” 

“Narnia’s for kids, but sometimes you have to go back to the basics,” Jason said grimly. “Night, Alfred.”

But Alfred didn’t wander away, butler duties satisfied. He just ducked inside instead, walking in to stand by Jason’s bed. Jason curled up tighter with the book.

“Master Bruce has instructed me to subtly discover what you want for Christmas. Truthfully, I understand you would prefer that I propose the question more straightforwardly.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t y’all Jewish?”

“Yes, but far as we understand, you are not. Master Bruce wishes to make you feel welcome.” Jason couldn’t repress the quiet little scoff, immediately embarrassing himself, but Alfred just looked lightly amused. He gestured to the bed. “May I sit?”

Jason nodded and mumbled an apology. “We don’t have to do a whole thing ‘cause of me. That’s totally awkward.” 

“It will be exactly as big of a thing as you want,” Alfred assured him. “Master Bruce is feeling celebratory regardless. This is Master Tim and Miss Stephanie’s first time coming home from college for winter break, and with our new family member I believe Master Bruce will want to make a to-do regardless.” Somewhat cannily, he added, “I also foresee Miss Stephanie forcing a celebratory event in the name of family bonding.”

There it was. “Does that woman control everything that happens in this house?”

Alfred smiled. “Between her and myself, I daresay so. But Miss Stephanie can often lose sight of other’s feelings in light of her enthusiasm, so I wanted to ask you directly what you wanted. All four of us will do our best to make it happen.”

What Jason wanted?

Jason wanted a lot of things. Jason wanted the whole damn world, frankly. Jason had never lost sight of what he wanted, not once - losing sight meant forgetting to work towards what you wanted. Even if Jason wanted a lot of things he’d never have - well, fire and dreams were the only thing that kept a kid warm in a Gotham winter. 

But he couldn’t vocalize any of that. He’d never put any of those desires on his tongue, and he knew they’d stay nestled in his ribcage as long as he lived. What he wanted was no good to anybody but himself, and he wouldn’t devalue them by breathing a word. 

Jason had only ever told one person what he really wanted. That had turned out alright. But it had been really scary too. Jason didn’t want to do it again. He didn’t know what he’d do if he heard ‘no’.

Still, everybody in this house was a dog with a bone, and Jason resolved to give a little just to get the man off his back. “A big dinner on the 25th would be nice,” Jason hesitantly volunteered. And he just knew he’d never shake Bruce from the presents thing, so… “If you want to do presents or whatever, we can do them then.”

Alfred beamed, and Jason gave himself a congratulatory handshake. Successful campaign, total victory, no casualties. Some ground lost, but that was a necessary sacrifice. “It is always nice to have an excuse for a large meal. A suitable celebration of our first year together. Splendid idea, Jason.”

A rousing success! “Oh, no hassle at all.”

But Alfred’s expression just softened, and he carefully smoothed the bedspread near Jason. Jason prepared himself for evasive tactics. “Is there anything you’d like to do with Master Tim and Miss Stephanie?” Jason’s poker face must have said it all, because Alfred gave him another steady look. “Would you be interested in spending any quality time with them while they are home?”

“Uh,” Jason said, internally sweating. “If they…want…?”

“Miss Stephanie will likely insist on it. But you should say no to anything that makes you uncomfortable, Master Jason. She’ll back off if you ask.” Alfred gave Jason a steady eye, making him sweat. “If space and quiet is what you need, Master Jason, you need only ask.”

The prospect was appealing, but Jason was far from lowering the fortifications. Those questions were traps. The last thing Jason wanted to be was trouble. “I’m chill, Alfred! It’s no big deal. Just kinda awkward, ya know? Not used to hearing people in the house.”

“That, I can understand. Adopting Master Tim changed a great deal in this manor. Hearing the sound of young footsteps running down the halls. Music blasting from the den. Messes everywhere. It had been a long time. A very welcome change, I believe.”

“Let me guess,” Jason said flatly. “Tim was super quiet and Stephanie was super loud.”

“Naturally.” Alfred stood up, fixing his slacks a little. “I am excited to see what sort of child you will be, Master Jason. I anticipate meeting the true you. When he is ready to meet me. Have a very good night, Master Jason.”

Alfred turned out the lights and closed the door securely behind him. Jason only rose to lock the door with his personal key that he kept under his mattress, like he did every night, and buried himself under the comforters. 

The enemy hadn’t penetrated his territory. They’d fired a few potshots, but Jason’s fortifications had held strong. Jason was big, tough, impenetrable. Jason couldn’t be seen or touched. You couldn’t even tell if Jason was there or not - he never emerged from his stronghold, and he planned his strategies and tactics from the safety of his base camp. He was not the sort of general who fought on the front lines. 

Jason had thought their goal was to break down his fortifications and overpower his territory. He had assumed them colonizers, trying to take over every inch of Jason’s new life and old heart. He hadn’t known their goal was the general himself. Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

*

Today was the day. Huzzah!

Alfred was out picking up Stephanie - apparently her car was still in Jump, so the chauffeur it was - and Jason was left to gawk at Tim thumping away at a laptop in the dining room. He desperately wanted to know if Tim was doing super secret superhero spy stuff, but he couldn’t just ask. Tim never ignored him, but he never paid much attention to him either. The way they both liked it. 

Tim routinely spent most of his time in his study (which Jason had never been inside and would never go inside if he could help it - there were probably lasers). The guy never just sat out in the dining room like this and worked his arcane cybermagic. Jason, sitting at the breakfast bar and steadily decimating an apple, felt trapped. How many times could he flee any room Tim walked into before the guy noticed? It was a toss-up - guy either had Bat-eyes and saw everything, or he only gave a shit about his mysterious computer stuff and didn’t notice anything. Jason was willing to put his non-existent money on Tim pretending the latter when it was really the former. He wouldn’t fall for the tricks.

But maybe he did, because when Tim spoke he was so startled that he almost fell off the chair. 

“I should warn you about Steph.” Tim didn’t look away from his computer, and his typing didn’t slow. “She’s really a lot. Super pushy. Feel free to tell her to fuck off if you want.” Tim paused a beat, undercut by the keyboard rattling. “Am I supposed to curse in front of middle schoolers?”

“I won’t tell Bruce you cursed in front of a twelve year old,” Jason said, faux-loyally. Truthfully, he had the feeling Bruce would ask the same question, but it was good to cultivate a sense of camaraderie. “And yeah, sure. No problem. Super…excited to…meet. Her.” 

“I’m glad it took you two so long to meet. She gave Bruce a really hard time about adopting you. ‘Specially since it was only three months after she left and two months after I did. She said he jumped the gun.” Tim’s fingers froze. “Wait. Did she say it was a good idea or bad idea…?”

That was an important difference, Timothy!

But Jason had no time to interrogate further. The sound of the front doors bursting open resounded through the lobby into the dining room, and Tim bolted to his feet. 

“I’m home!” The voice was impressively loud, and Jason was momentarily taken aback by the thick-ass Bowery accent. That was not a Little Miss Perfect accent. “Wow, Alfie, you put the Ming back out!”

“It was finally safe from you,” Alfred said. “Let me take your bags, Miss -”

“Dope, thanks a million -”

“Steph!” Tim called, moving around the table, and Jason saw to his shock that he was smiling. Actually smiling. Like a normal person. “In here!”

And just like that, Stephanie Brown appeared at the doorway. She grinned brightly, and Tim grinned back, and she wasted no time in tackling Tim in a giant bear hug. Jason - regardless of what he wanted, despite how he felt - was struck dumb.

It was Robin. Robin, in the flesh. He hadn’t really put that together before. He knew obviously but it hadn’t really clicked until he saw her. Jason had seen the pictures and videos of her just like everybody else - seen the graffiti and street art and paintings - listened to every story and heard every tale - but apparently he hadn’t processed that Robin meant Stephanie Brown.  

Seeing her in person hit differently then seeing Bruce in person. Bruce was an idea given a face - Stephanie Brown was a face larger than life, and the idea of Robin in the body of a woman felt like capturing lightning in a bottle. She was wearing low-rise jeans and a purple crop top stamped with a sparkly butterfly that showed off how insanely muscular she was, hair teased into her iconic Robin mane, and she was really super pretty. How could Robin just look like an undergrad? Why did Robin talk like a valley girl?!

Jason had lost before he accepted the challenge. He had lost from day one. He had lost the day Stephanie Brown became a super-smart, super-tough, blue eyed blonde haired hot white girl. And Jason had lost the day he was born. A homeless, go-nowhere kid who would only leave the Narrows when he inevitably went to jail. A brown kid with curly and thick black hair, skinny with an unpleasant and mean face, fucked up forever.

Why did Jason ever think Bruce might let him…

Stephanie Brown hugged Tim so tightly she picked him off the ground, making him wheeze and slap her shoulder. She only dumped him when footsteps came from another hallway on the other side of the dining room, revealing a smiling Bruce. Smiling. Like a guy.

“Stephanie,” Bruce greeted, somehow stiff as ever. “You look…tanned.”

“Six months and that’s what I get?” Stephanie asked loudly. Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. Bruce abruptly looked panicked. “Tanned? I live in California, Bruce, of course I’m tanned! Like, hello! What, no ‘happy to see you’? No ‘welcome home?’”

“Ah,” Bruce said.

“I bulked up! You don’t even care that I totally bulked up!”

Bruce’s panic deepened. “You said it was rude to comment on a woman’s muscles.”

“Muscles are totally in right now, B, keep up.” But Stephanie grinned, smile big and bright. “I can’t believe I missed you so much.”

Jason could only stare in horror as she hugged Bruce, tight and full, and he gently hugged her back. Defcon 5 event. Bruce didn’t hug. Bruce didn’t hug Jason. Well - Jason had told Bruce that he wasn’t allowed to touch him, ever, or he’d cut his hands off with a butter knife. Bruce had stuck to that rule religiously. Jason didn’t really know how to loosen the rule. He had no idea how to ask. 

“He missed you a lot,” Tim snitched, because obviously Bruce wouldn’t. “He missed you so much. It was so embarrassing. I was embarrassed just witnessing it.”

“Say a little less, Timothy.” 

Stephanie separated, unabashedly laughing at the embarrassed Batman, when she finally stopped to see Jason. Jason halted, halfway through eating the core of the apple. They locked eye contact, light blue eyes meeting dark ones, and Jason slowly readied the canons.

His throat was dry. His heart was hammering. The apple core was going down all wrong. Jason…

“Stephanie, I can finally introduce Jason.” Suddenly Bruce was there at his side, smiling encouragingly down at the frozen Jason. “Jason, this is Stephanie Brown. She’s a highly valued partner of mine. Stephanie, don’t overwhelm him.”

“Overwhelming? Me? Never heard of her.” Steph smiled at Tim, warm and happy. This woman did not stop smiling. She had a deadass California valley girl accent and she did not stop smiling. She extended a hand to Jason, who silently thanked God that she didn’t go in for a hug. Did they hug people in California? Californians probably did nothing but hug. “Jason Todd, right? I’ve, like, heard so much about you! I’m super sorry it took so long for us to meet.”

Jason quickly wiped his sticky hand on his jeans before shaking her hand, feeling the rough calluses. “It’s Jason Wayne.” They changed his name with his adoption, on Bruce’s hesitant offer and Jason’s instant acceptance. It was a strategic ploy on Jason’s part - a shared last name would subliminally influence Bruce into thinking of their arrangement as a more long-term, legal one. “Uh - nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“A Wayne with manners! I never thought I’d see the day.” Steph propped her hands on her hips, smile never fading. “Bruce and Tim could stand to learn a thing or two from you. But don’t get formal on me, okay? We’re, like, totes family.”

“Cool,” Jason said. “Thanks.”

Casualties: none. Damage to fortress: negligible. Outcome of first skirmish: rousing success. Jason gave himself a fervent pack on the back. Now he’d stay for five more minutes exactly before running back to the library to work on his workbooks. This family was awesome at forgetting Jason was in the room, if he could just flex that invisibility a bit more -

Steph clapped her hands, drawing the attention of the room. As if it wasn’t already entirely on her. Ugh. “You promised pesto sandwiches for lunch, Alfred! I haven’t had your cooking in six whole months and I’m going insane. Let’s eat as Jason tells me all about himself! Oh, and he’ll totally have to tell us what he wants to do over the break. We have so much family bonding in order. Tim, Bruce, are youse still trying to bite each other’s heads off?”

“Uh,” Bruce said.

“We’re over it?” Tim asked, as if Stephanie needed to tell him.

“Good enough. Holiday planning - go! Oh, but I have the craziest Titans story to tell you guys!”

Wow. They weren’t kidding about the forced bonding. 

Alfred really went all out with lunch, and from Stephanie’s delighted squeals Jason could see that it was all her favorites. They had done Tim’s favorites when he came home too. Jason wondered when they’d do his favorites. Maybe when he went to college? 

College. Hold out for college, Jason. You can make it ‘til college. Maybe Bruce would like him more than Tim by then - Jason wouldn’t try to drop out of Yale.

Jason received the annotated, fast-paced edition of Steph’s life over the next whirlwind twenty minutes. She had something to share about everything - from Jump City weather to how big of a pain it was to do her UC Jump premed college work and lead a superhero team at the same time. She had a mysterious autoimmune illness that let her miss as many classes as she wanted. Very convenient. She and Tim had absolutely no shame in disclosing their rampant lies. Superheroes had no morals. 

Apparently Cyborg was super funky - a jock that could work a computer like magic. Beast Boy was a crazy time and a ton of fun to hang out with, even if he was totally immature. Raven was no fun to hang out with but she was, like, so wild. And Starfire - ha ha, she was super cool, anyway! Her college friends were totally nice too, but the Titans just took up so much of her time. Listen to me recount this entire fight with Mad Mod. Who’s Mad Mod, you ask? I am going to tell you all about it!

The whole table was enthralled. Despite himself, Jason was a little enthralled too. He tried imagining living in a big retooled ex-high rise complex that Tim bought on the cheap with Apple money - whatever that meant - with your four friends as you all fought the weirdest crime with no adult supervision. When your friends were half-demons and half-computers and sometimes-animals and always-aliens. He just couldn’t imagine it - it was a lifestyle too alien from his own. Complete with aliens! No wonder she’d been too busy to visit.

“But the Titans can do without me for one month. Vic needs the practice as a leader. I told them that I haven’t seen my boyfriend in six months and not to comm me for anything short of Raven’s dad picking her up for custody weekend. This month is one hundred percent for my friends, the week my old man is gonna make me spend in Louisiana, and you guys.” Stephanie clapped her hands, smiling broadly. “So! Jason, what do you wanna do? Bruce doesn’t know what money is, we can totally do whatever you want. The world is so your oyster. What are you thinking?”

Jason delicately nibbled at his turkey and cheese sandwich. It had no crusts. His life had gotten so dumb. “I dunno. Whatever youse are down for.”

“Come on, there has to be something. When I was your age I would have sold my left foot to go to Disney World. Bruce would be down for anything anywhere in the world. Or we could go shopping!”

“I have clothes?”

“Do you have clothes from the Disney store? Damn, maybe I was just really into Disney when I was your age. What do you like, Jason, what are you into?”

Jason slowly shredded the sandwich with his teeth. “Um…not much.”

“Jason likes to read,” Bruce volunteered, the traitor. “His reading level is amazing. He’s working on 100 Years of Solitude in Spanish.” Jason had finished that a week ago. He was on a Pablo Neruda collection right now. “But I’m not sure how that translates into an activity.”

“What about sports?” Stephanie asked encouragingly. “You play soccer, Jason?”

Jason mumbled a negative into a tea biscuit. The barrage of cannonballs did not stop.

“What about watching any sports? Bruce could get you tickets to anything.”

“I hate sports,” Tim said.

“This isn’t about you, Timmy.”

‘ “Jason obviously doesn’t care about sports either.”

“Jason cares about something. He’s a twelve year old boy, they’re all brainwashed by commercials and jingles.”

“Not Jason. I’ve never seen him express an opinion on anything.”

“Really?” Bruce asked, surprised. A cannon punctured the outer walls. A watchman pulled the alarm bell. All hands on deck. “Jason’s as opinionated as you, Stephanie.”

Jason’s teeth clenched. Man down. His arm had been blown off by a cannonball. He was bleeding everywhere and screaming bloody murder. The poor man had a daughter. Only five years old. Tragic.

“ ‘Course he is, he’s an East Ender! We’re all grit. I couldn’t believe it when you said you made friends with another kid from my neighborhood. After all that complaining about my accent, too! I’m even going kinda Cali in my civvie ID, it’s super fun. ”

“The Mad Hatter asks you to repeat yourself ‘cause he has no idea what you’re saying,” Tim said, bored. 

“The Mad Hatter’s a punk bitch. The accent’s part of the Robin brand, it’s my whole hometown hero thing. I’m repping me and Jason’s hoods.”

The outer defenses fell, and the enemy streamed in. Screaming, crying, blood. Alarm bells pounded through Jason’s head. His soldiers were dropping like flies, cannonballs blowing their jaws off, and Jason felt the blood build up inside of him. 

That was all Jason had inside of him. Just blood and war. Jason was a brave general who never gave up against the enemy forces, but Jason’s army had been eroded by a long and hard winter that froze most of his men away. The cold had worn parts of Jason down for years, and even when springtime thawed the frost he never saw those parts again. He just couldn’t find them. He was trying so hard to protect himself and Bruce from the blood, but he couldn’t help losing every battle.

“We aren’t from the same hood,” Jason said lowly. A war drum beat in his ears.

Stephanie looked back at him, all wide eyed and innocent and blonde. “Aren’t you an East Ender? I ain’t splitting streets here.”

“You’re from the Bowery,” Jason bit out. “Do I look like I’m from the Bowery? I’m from the Narrows. If I stepped foot in your hood I’d get hate crimed.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Stephanie sombered, putting her sandwich down. “Sorry, kid, I know it’s not the same. Like to think we’re not as bad as we used to be, though.”

“Cool. Awesome. I’ll give your racist-ass Ukranians the ‘not as hate crimey as you could have been’ award.” Jason pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, probably skidding the nice hardwood. “Maybe it’ll finally make up for me not being Doctor fucking Barbie over there.”

Jason ran away from the carved oak dining table sagging with teas and cakes and ices at top speed. Catastrophic defeat. Blame the general’s tactical mistakes. It was all his fault.

He preemptively grounded himself, locking the door to his room and burying himself underneath the covers with a defensive Narnia. When he started hyperventilating he ignored it, and when he cried a little he ignored that too. Jason was super good at ignoring things. He ignored just about everything.

Jason noticed everything. He just ignored it. He’d go crazy if he didn’t. All the shit in the world, all the evils he saw again and again and again. Every woman ever hit and every Mami sliding a needle into her arm.  All the bad guys hurting the guys who ain’t never hurt nobody, just ‘cause they were there…

Jason did want something. He wanted something so damn bad, and he knew he would never ask for it. He wasn’t in the same galaxy as good enough, and there was no point in asking for something you’d never get. Bruce would probably laugh at him if he ever did ask. It didn’t matter that Jason couldn’t ignore bad things happening for one more second, for one more time - it didn’t matter that Jason wanted to do something about it more than anybody in the Narrows had ever wanted it in their whole lives. Jason was the whole damn problem.

He was so embarrassed. His war of attrition hadn’t lasted five seconds. His good streak had been ruined and Bruce was gonna get so pissed at him for being awful. And Bruce and Tim would get mad at him for being rude to Stephanie, and Stephanie probably didn’t feel anger ‘cause she was a saint but Alfred would look so disappointed in him and…

Maybe he should just dip. No, that was stupid. It was literally December. Bruce would give him a hard time but he’d deal with that. Guy wasn’t about to hit him. He was Batman. Batman didn’t do that. End sentence, end of story. 

Batman didn’t hurt kids and Robin always made kids feel safe. Everybody knew that. Even though Stephanie Brown wasn’t making Jason feel too safe right now. But he knew that was his fault - a fault inherent in his own character, in his own heart - and not hers. Jason couldn’t remember what feeling safe felt like. He probably wasn’t sure how anymore.

Nobody came to fetch him or try to talk to him. Jason didn’t know if he was disappointed or not. He just aggressively read and read and read, until the first hints of winter dusk began to fall and he fell asleep much earlier than usual.

*

Bruce liked to tell the story.

He didn’t get a ton of opportunities, since he had to limit himself to people who knew his secret identity. In practicality, this meant that Bruce liked telling the story to his six friends in the Justice League and nobody else. Barry Allen said that Bruce had smiled while telling the story, which had given him a split second heart attack. 

It wasn’t the full story. Jason couldn’t imagine that being the full story - plucky street rat tries to steal the Batman’s tires, the Batman takes pity on him and takes him home forever to live in his house and eat his organic cucumbers, happy ending for everybody. What kind of story was that? Jason would have yelled pedophile in two seconds. Stephanie would have berated Bruce for three hours instead of one. 

 Bruce didn’t mention this part of the story, but the minute Jason’s retaliatory attack with the lead pipe utterly failed he had dropped his weapon and booked it. Jason hadn’t exactly been terrified, but he knew getting caught would mean serious juvie. Worst case scenario, besides all the others. But he had worried his hair out for nothing - Jason ran ten blocks before realizing that Batman wasn’t chasing him at all. A clean escape.

Batman showed up at Jason’s squat the next night. Go fig.

That was the first time they really talked. Batman wasn’t exactly a talkative guy, but Jason had a unique skill for riling Bruce up into an actual argument, and they spent ten pointless minutes going around at each other about how Jason totally had people he was staying with - they’re on vacations, that’s why I’m not staying with them - fine, their pimp had come back and kicked him out - but I stayed with Mrs. Jiminez for three weeks! - well, her son got whooping cough, and I sure as hell couldn’t stick around to catch it - I’ll go back once he’s better, that’s all - yes, obviously I hit up the Church food banks, but you’re more likely to get mugged for food than actually walk away with food, and they prioritize the moms anyway - I don’t need goddamn foster care -

“You can’t keep couch surfing forever,” Batman had said. “You’re spending weeks on the street in-between shelters and friends. It’s not stable.”

“But it’s fine,” Jason had said. He knew it wasn’t great, but things didn’t need to be great when they could be fine. “The Narrows looks out for each other. I’ll just keep like this ‘til I’m old enough for a decent job, that’s all.”

Completely neutrally, Batman had said, “You could drug run.”

“This is entrapment.”

“You could have. You’re the right age for it. Why aren’t you doing that for money?”

“Because I’m not an idiot! That shit shortens your lifespan and lands you in juvie. And I don’t wanna help assholes sell meth to my friends, anyway. Bad enough they’re doing it. I don’t wanna be responsible for that, even a little. Life’s too bad for me to make it worse just for some extra cash.”

Batman had stared at him for a long time. Jason had decided he had won the argument, and thereby had obtained bragging rights forever that he had won an argument with Batman.

Then Batman put him in a foster home. Go fig.

Everybody knew social services was insanely evil and terrible, but Batman had spun half a dozen promises about how he’d personally assure that Jason found a good placement. Apparently he even put in a word with his contact at social services and everything. It landed Jason in a super awesome combo group home/boarding school (See, Jason, an education! Yipee!) under the benevolent hand of a sweet old lady called Ma Gunn. Look, Jason, if you’re so worried, the Batman will take time out of his busy schedule Being Batman to check up on you. Alright? Eat some cookies.

The first day had been fine. Nice, even. That was what he told Batman. He really had come to check up on him, knocking on his window in the middle of the night and helping hoist Jason to the roof so they could sit and talk. He had kept his promise. 

“This doesn’t make you right,” Jason had grumbled. 

Batman’s lip had twitched upwards. “I have it on good authority that I’m not right nearly as often as I think I am.”

“Atticus Finch you are not,” Jason agreed. “More like Odysseus.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because you know how to beat up mooks, but you obviously like winning your fights through tricking people instead. You’re both, like, theatrical.” Jason had thought about this. Extensively. He’d also gotten into arguments about it, but they were really arguments nobody else wanted to have. “And taking on crime in Gotham’s like taking on the gods. Equal amounts of impossible.”

Batman’s lip twitched up again, a little higher. “Would you call pride my fatal flaw, then?”

“Probably,” Jason said promptly. “You need a lot of pride to take on the gods. But that’s probably the only reason you started doing this at all, so I guess it’s a pretty good thing you have that fatal flaw in the first place. The best fatal flaws are the character’s greatest strengths. That’s when a story is really good.” 

Batman slowly sat down next to Jason. It was pretty weird seeing him like that - sitting down like a guy, cape carefully tucked to his side like any theater performer would do it. Jason could see his jawline. He needed a shave. Batman, shaving! Jason wished he could shave. Maybe he’d be more like Batman if he could.

“What’s your fatal flaw, Jason?”

“Mami always told me I was too angry.” It was one of his clearest memories of her - the disappointment on her face. The way she looked at him. Jason never wanted Mami to look at him like that again. “Too much like my dad. She said I’m gonna lose my temper at the wrong person and get myself hurt one day.” Jason scuffed a battered shoe on the wobbly shingle, making it creak. “But I dunno. The only times in my life I’ve ever really helped people was when I got too angry to see straight. I’m always throwing logic out the door and deciding to do what’s right even if it’s a bad idea. If the trouble I’m always getting into helps other people out, then that’s trouble I’m okay with. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do.”

Jason had the feeling he would.

They talked for hours, long after Jason’s bedtime and probably long into Batman’s own work schedule beating up mooks. They only stopped when Jason couldn’t repress the yawns anymore, and Batman ended up carrying Jason back to bed. Jason had insisted he wasn’t tired, mostly because he wanted to keep talking about Emma and how Jason’s life dream was to be rich and set up all his friends with boyfriends who deserved them, but he fell asleep the minute his head hit the pillow anyway

When he woke up the next morning he thought it might have been a dream. What a weird dream that would be. What a weird and magical dream - one where Batman listened to everything Jason had to say and more, and one where Batman only left him because they couldn’t stay up talking any more. Jason hated himself a little for falling asleep at all. He wanted that night to go on forever. Now that he was in a nice little boarding school he would never see Batman again. For such an obvious sentence it was a little disappointing. 

Two weeks later Jason stood in front of a burning brick building, flanked by a mob of rabid children, tying up an evil old lady and cracking open crate after crate of evil child brainwashing drug and dumping it on the cement sidewalk. 

The police found him very quickly. They didn’t listen to a word he said, no matter how much proof Jason waved in their faces. He had been super careful to dig up a ton of proof, even taking pictures of the secret basement and the kid’s bruises and an audio recorded confession. Nobody wanted to hear it. Jason had to bite his way through a police station and dump his evidence on the Commissioner's desk just to get anything done around here. 

The Commissioner had pinched the bridge of his nose. The bridge of his nose had thumbnail creases. “Kid, you just committed five different felonies.”

“She was brainwashing children!”

“I believe you, kid, I believe you.” Commissioner Gordon grabbed the first sheaf of pictures, flipping through them quickly and squinting at each one. Under his breath, he muttered, “Never thought I’d miss Robin. She’d know what the hell to do with you.”

“Is Robin dead?” Jason asked, freaked. He loved Robin. She was literally Robin!

“What? No, she’s off doing…Batman never said. Either ninja training or college, it’s a toss-up. I think she cried when she hugged me goodbye, I couldn’t believe -”

The landline on the desk rang, and the Commissioner obviously intended to ignore it until he saw the flashing ‘Priority’ button. He picked up the headset, bushy mustache wagging. “Andrea, what - Jesus Christ! How the hell did you - dumb question, never mind.”

Jason perked up. Something told him… “Is that Batman? Is Batman calling you on your phone?”

“Do you see a Gordon signal?” The Commissioner asked him. Jason shrugged, and the Commissioner turned his attention back to the phone. His eyebrows furrowed closer and closer at Batman talked. “Already? What do you - I can drop the charges, but that black mark on his file isn’t going away.” He grimaced apologetically at Jason. Jason, who had no intention of returning to Social Services ever again, shrugged. “He’ll probably have to spend the night in the cells until we drop the charges and find him an emergency placement, but - you can’t be serious.” He was silent for a long moment before exclaiming, “What kind of favor does he owe you - how big is that favor? You can’t be - it’s three in the morning, I - Batman! Batman! Dammit!”

The Commissioner dropped the headset back on the cradle and groaned, falling back into his seat. Jason cautiously sidled backwards from the desk. He was prepared to do a runner. He’d bitten his way into this office and he’d bite his way out. 

“Kid, you sit right down in that chair. You are not moving until your emergency foster placement comes to get you.” The Commissioner kneaded his forehead, groaning. “Out of all the favors for all the Gothamites, why did it have to be this one…”

“Eh?” Jason said.

“You’re a very lucky kid, Jason Todd. And I’m praying for you.”

“Eh?”

It was the only appropriate response. Jason found out an hour later that the emergency placement was Bruce fucking Wayne. Bruce Wayne, who practically crashed into Gordon’s (he had been downgraded - Jason and Gordon were homies in Christ now) office, tie half-done and suit jacket limp over his shoulders. Jason wondered who the hell put on a suit at three am. He also wondered who the hell looked that panicked to be dealing with Jason, of all people. Had he heard about the biting?

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I’ve been having a heart attack for the past hour - you ever get woken up by Batman, Jim? That ever happen to you? How’d he even get my number?” Gordon opened his mouth. “Stupid question, sorry. Is that the kid? Hey, kid!”

Then Bruce Wayne grinned, big and anxious, and held out his hand. Jason shook it. Bruce sat down in the chair next to him, slouching and tucking himself into the chair a bit. It was pretty slick - Jason almost hadn’t noticed how freaking huge the guy was. 

“Uh,” Jason said. “It’s Jason Todd.”

“Well, Batman could have stood to mention that!” Bruce Wayne exclaimed, offended beyond belief. “You know what he told me? He called me up and was all like - you remember the Rose Bowl? Yes, I remember the Rose Bowl, hard to forget - and then he’s like, I’m calling that in. He’s all like, you’re still registered as a foster parent, right? And of course I am, after that whole thing with Tim - Tim’s doing great, Jim, by the way, I would say that he says hello but we kinda aren’t talking right now, but he would say hello if we were talking - which Batman knows about, because he was the one who called me up about Tim in the first place - why me, Jim! Why is it always me!”

“I cannot possibly say,” Gordon said.

Bruce barrelled through, ignoring him. “So he tells me to get here pronto, there’s a kid who needs a roof over their head and apparently I’m the only one he trusts to provide that roof right now. Me! Can you believe it! He said the same thing about Tim! The kid could have had the mob after him - actually, it’s kind of common knowledge I don’t touch the mob, that’s probably why - none of that’s important right now. Oh, and then he hung up on me. Go figure, right? Have you eaten, Jason? I brought you lunch. And some hygiene stuff and a change of clothes. The butler fusses.”

Jason stared at Bruce. Bruce smiled anxiously at Jason.

“No hablo inglés,” Jason decided. 

Without changing his facial expression at all, Bruce repeated the last few sentences in Spanish.

“Hindi ako nagsasalita ng ingles,” Jason rapidly made up. 

Bruce repeated the last few sentences in Tagalog, poker faced. 

“What the fuck,” Jason said.

“Rúguǒ nǐ yuànyì dehuà, wǒ yě huì shuō zhōngwén,” Bruce said, still smiling. “Dàn wǒ hěn quèdìng nǐ de yīngyǔ hěn hǎo, suǒyǐ rúguǒ nǐ yuànyì, wǒmen kěyǐ jìxù shuō yīngyǔ.”

Jason felt his psychological control over the situation slipping away. He had to maintain the upper hand. Establish dominance over rich people. “I’m a gutter child, my English is terrible,” Jason lied in Spanish, completely unapologetic. “If you make me speak English I’m gonna rack up more arson charges.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable, Jason!” Bruce said in Spanish. He turned to Gordon, switching to English. “There’s a lot of papers to sign, right? Just give them to me right now. Actually, can I duck out and grab Jason’s food first? Faking monolingualism takes a lot out of a kid.”

The food was good. It was super fancy rich people sandwiches. Bruce said that one of them had pesto before explaining what pesto was before Jason had to ask. Thoughtful of him?

That was roughly how Jason ended up in the passenger seat of a Porsche, nibbling his third sandwich and staring at the man in the driver’s seat. Gordon had muttered something about how Bruce was “as neurotic and awkward as ever” before giving Jason his business card and telling him to call before set another building on fire. Jason could definitely see the neuroticism: he went over the emergency foster placement papers once, twice, three times. He had detailed to Jason in completely fluent Spanish what exactly was going to happen the next few days and what he could expect, that he was going to get a key for his room and nobody would go inside if he didn’t want them inside, do you have any rules for me and Alfred (the butler - what was this, the Prohibition?) that you’d like us to follow? We can talk about my own later. Understood about touching you, thanks for telling me.

Jason watched Bruce drop the papers in his lap and slowly thunk his forehead on the steering wheel. His index finger was tapping the leather cover repeatedly in a steady staccato, a silent nervous tic. 

Eventually Jason felt too bad for him to bear the silence any longer. In Spanish, he said, “Chill, man. It’s just for a few days, right?”

Bruce raised his head, glaring intently at the steering wheel. He still seemed a little half-manic. “Right. Just a few days. Then we’ll find you a good placement. I know people. It’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I am totally booking it,” Jason said sympathetically. “Nice try, though.”

“Jason, please stop trying to sleep on the sidewalk.”

“Why not?” Jason demanded. “It’s better than foster care. How am I supposed to believe that you’d find decent people, huh? Batman said he’d find decent people and he dumped me in an evil crime boarding school!”

Weirdly enough, that made Bruce outright wince. “Batman fu - Batman messed up. He really, really messed up. There is no excuse for how badly he messed up. Alright? But that’s not happening again. We’ll -”

“Who the hell would take me?” Jason asked, and Bruce quieted. “Who would want me, dude? Nobody in this goddamn city wants me around. I had to do something about that crazy old lady before she started baking kids into pies or something, and now I’m legally an arsonist. And if I meet any more evil people messing with kids then I’d do an arson on them too. I’d do a thousand arsons if I had to! Why the hell would anybody want me in their house?”

“Who wouldn’t!” Bruce cried, and Jason fell silent in bizarre shock. “You - you’re smart and passionate and kind. You took down an entire drug smuggling ring by yourself, Jason, that’s incredible. You’re a good kid. You’re a really good kid. Any parent would be lucky to have you.”

Jason’s eyes were burning, and his stomach was churning in thick knots. He was tired and confused and far away from home - far away from everything he had once considered home, and from everything he knew. He was in unprecedented territory. In a Porsche. As some rich guy told him he was a good kid.

“How would you know, huh?” Jason asked, voice thick. “I’ve never met you before in my life. How would you know something like that?”

“It’s obvious, Jason,” Bruce said quietly. “It’s obvious just looking at you.”

Jason stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and refused to say anything more. 

An emergency placement. Bruce Wayne said the phrase frequently, almost as a shield - against a very unimpressed butler, during a very heated phone call which left him wincing repeatedly. It’s an emergency placement, I’m not - this has nothing to do with - not everything is about you, you know - it’s not about Tim either! - it’s an emergency placement -

When he hung up he looked haunted. Jason gave him a sympathy banana. 

“That your girlfriend?”

Bruce took the banana, dead eyed. “It’s somebody who you do not want to get on the bad side of.”

“You on her bad side?”

“I might be in the dog house.”

“Ouch.” Jason started unwrapping his own banana, carefully peeling off the strings and dangling them into his mouth. “Hey, you ever read The Fellowship of the Ring? I heard they’re making a live action movie.”

“How on Earth are you supposed to capture the scale of Lord of the Rings in a live action movie?” Bruce asked, appalled. “It’ll be worse than that cartoon I saw as a kid.”

“There was a cartoon? Can we watch it?”

“Sure,” Bruce said. “I don’t have anything else to do right now.”

Even back then Jason knew it was a lie. He didn’t say anything about it. When Bruce took his big stack of scary CEO papers and sat next to Jason in the library, signing papers with a ballpoint pen silently as Jason read East of Eden, Jason didn’t say anything about that either. It always ended up with Bruce getting distracted and asking him about what was happening in the book, and then they would both get distracted as Jason explained the Biblical allegories, and the work would go forgotten. 

He should do his work on time. Guy was always super tired every morning. Jason got in the habit of secretly making him extra-strength coffee and slipping him a big mug when Alfred turned his back. Bruce almost cried the first time he did it. Jason leveraged the gratitude to score free reign in the attic and upper floors. 

That made for an incredible day of digging through heaps and heaps of boxes shoved away in dusty corners, digging his hands into antique World War II memorabilia and 19th century pocketwatches. Every box held the fragments of a dozen stories, and Jason eagerly took notes whenever a new object sparked a new idea. 

This Vietnam soldier’s helmet obviously belonged to a brave soldier who died trying to save innocents during the My Lai massacre…some say that his ghost haunted the perpetrators until their dying breaths and cursed their family lines for a hundred generations. That cuckoo clock was obviously a gift from a baron to a baroness, aching for her love - but she had promised her hand to the baron’s brother, a humble watchmaker born out of wedlock. He made that antique gold pocketwatch stuffed in the bottom of the box, obviously.

He only got a little embarrassed about the whole thing when Bruce asked at dinner where he had gotten the inspiration pocketwatch stuffed in his jeans. He had no idea how to explain how important it was for literary purposes. But Bruce just listened seriously to the story of the baron, the baroness, and the peasant watchmaker. Then he asked if the enamel birds in the watchface had some sort of symbolic meaning between the watchmaker and the baroness, and of course they did, and Bruce listened to everything he had to say for hours on hours.

Jason meant to book it his second night there. But he got distracted staying up reading, and he slept past his escape window. The night after that he didn’t feel like it, and the night after that it was raining way too hard. The night after that Jason didn’t think about it at all.

On the seventh night in Bruce’s house, Jason heard a tapping on the window. His heart leapt, and he eagerly threw off the covers. There was a dark shadow shrouded over his window, and he eagerly unlatched it and worked the creaky wood open until he could shove it all the way to the top and see Batman hanging out on the windowsill, cool as you please. 

“I thought you weren’t coming!” Jason cried, backing up a little in an attempt to give Batman space to swoop inside. He didn’t - he just stayed at the window, expression unreadable in the black night. “After everything that happened you aren’t bothering to check in on me again?”

“I trust Wayne. And I’ve been occupied.” Batman withdrew a file folder from his cape - what, did it have a kangaroo pouch or something? - and passed it to Jason. He flipped it open, squinting at the small text in the darkness. “Dossier of potential foster parents. Most of them are same-sex couples who are being stonewalled for regular adoption. Normal, middle class couples. One couple are both Mexican, and another couple is a Black woman and a South Asian woman. If you’d prefer…same race.” Batman paused, suddenly a bit awkward. “Are any of those the same race as you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

 Jason did not know. Mami spoke Spanish and that was all he knew. He didn’t look anything like her. Jason was a bit lighter than Dad and had different hair, and Dad had Indian reservation stories from his dad. Scary ones. That was all he knew about that too. The de la Cruces down the hall, who had half-raised him, were certain he was mostly Filipino. They were the first ones to blame for the rampant Taglish, and the Mendezes on the second floor who also half-raised him were to blame for the Spanglish. The foul mouth was all Todd.

Sometimes it left him kind of confused about himself - like he was a lot of things that he wasn’t and some things that he was. That there were a few things that he should be but was not. That there were some things he could never be even if he wanted to. He had a lot missing that everybody else he knew just took for granted - but you could say that about a lot of things in Jason’s life. 

Every family in the dossier looked good. A lot of them were lesbian couples. That was really appealing. Not a single man but Jason in the house. No need to worry about anybody. Nobody to protect anybody from.

Somehow, Jason found himself saying, “Are these emergency placements too?”

“They’d be permanent. If you find no cause to burn down the house.”

“And what if I run away?”

“We’ll find something else,” Batman said. “We’ll keep trying.”

Middle class lesbians in the suburbs. People who’d speak Spanish or Tagalog with him. People who’d stay. It was a nice thought. 

When Jason spoke his throat was dry. He didn’t really know why. Maybe he just didn’t want to know. “Bruce said he’d see Fellowship with me when it came out.”

“You can still do that,” Batman said instantly. “Wayne would keep up contact with you. If that’s what you want.” Batman halted hard before saying, “Is Wayne - satisfactory? As a guardian?”

“He’s not exactly an option,” Jason said, ticked off.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Why did you ask it?”

“Call it curiosity.” 

“What good does curiosity do?” Jason asked. Man, Batman could be so frustrating. New sentences. “He’s an emergency placement. He’s said it, like, ten times. Nobody’s going to let me stay with the top bajillionaire of Gotham. He only adopted that other kid ‘cause they were neighbors and family friends already. Bruce and I aren’t in the same universe.”

“If you could.” Batman was still perched on his windowsill, a long streak of night in the already absolute darkness. Nothing like the city. Night descended in the suburbs. The city never slept, and Batman never seemed so far away. “If anything was possible. And if you could have anything you wanted. What would you choose, Jason?”

Jason was silent for a long second, but in the end it wasn’t so hard to say. Moments with Batman never felt quite real, and Jason always found himself letting his guard down. He could tell Batman his heart’s desire - something he could barely even admit to himself.

Finally, Jason had to say, “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever said in my life. But he’s kind of like me, you know? I’ve never met anybody else like me before. Especially not in a mansion in Bristol. Isn’t that weird?” Jason paused, weird and uncertain. He felt new. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. “I don’t care about the money. I don’t want any of it. I’ve just never met anybody who thought the same way I do. It’s kinda dumb that we’re so similar…I dunno if I’m ever gonna find that again. I don’t want to ditch it, you know…isn’t that dumb? It’s dumb of me, right?”

Batman was silent for a long second, just long enough to embarrass Jason. Way to go off about how you’re BFFs with a billionaire, Jase. He definitely sounded like he just wanted the money. Like, hello! The money was what made things weird! He would rather they all live in a normal house that still had a butler for some reason. Less walking and better heating. Definitely less ghosts. What would Jason do with a mansion, anyway?

Batman didn’t say anything. He just gestured for Jason to move back a little, and once Jason scrambled back a few steps he effortlessly slid through the window into Jason’s guest bedroom. Jason had never really stood in the same room as Batman - all of their rendezvous were always outside - and it gave him a subtly different air. Less like a byproduct of natural and mystical forces and more like a guy. It fit better. 

“He doesn’t fit the profile of your ideal placement.”

Weird fucking sentences from Batman today. “People aren’t profiles,” Jason said, baffled. “What am I, Robocop?”

“He’s almost completely inexperienced with actual parenting. You’d probably need somebody better suited to helping you process your life so far.”

“I’m pretty inexperienced with being parented, so we’d be even.” Jason was growing more and more confused. But something else was rising in him too - the exact opposite of confusion, small and strange and persistent. He didn’t want to look too closely at it, but he couldn’t turn away. “And I dunno who’d be perfect at dealing with a fuck-up like me. You know ‘em?”

“There has to be somebody.”

“I don’t want to live with somebody,” Jason cried, “I want to live with Bruce! I’m not saying he’d be perfect, but I want to give him a shot. He’s a good guy!”

“You don’t know him well.”

“I can tell just by looking at him,” Jason said. “I dunno what he wants, Batman. Or if he wants me here or not. But I can tell he’s a good person. Can’t you?”

Batman was silent. He was hard to see in the dark, nothing but an outline and smear of black amidst the empty bookshelf and creaky window, and impossible to read. But Jason could feel something in the darkness, something clearer and clearer, and he didn’t need to see it to believe it. 

“Can you turn on the light, Jason?”

Jason silently turned around and walked across the room to the door, flipping the lightswitch and blinking hard as bright white light chased away the shadows. He turned around slowly, heart thumping a hard rhythm in his chest, breath catching.

But there had been no reason to be scared. He saw exactly what he had expected.

Bruce Wayne stood in his bedroom, cowl pulled down. His eyes were rimmed with thick purple bags, and even though his face was implacable stone there was something tight and fragile about the way he stood, like a glass ornament spinning on a Christmas tree. 

“If Bruce Wayne could have anything he wanted,” Bruce rasped, “he would want you to stay. He would like that very much.”

Hot tears pricked at Jason’s eyes, and he knew his heart was burning. He knew Bruce was searching for something in his own face - shock, betrayal, confusion - but he knew Bruce couldn’t find it. Jason mostly just felt kind of overwhelmed. His life had gotten super dumb.

“Bruce Wayne’s a rich asshole who always gets everything he wants. What the hell do I care about that!”

“I’ve never met anybody else like me either,” Bruce said, and for the first time he was calm and sure - as if he’d come to a resolution in the last few seconds, at some invisible tipping point, and there was no turning back now. “Kids like you are one in a million, Jason. I’d hate to let that go.”

Ugh. Ugh! This sucked! This was so embarrassing! Jason wasn’t going to cry! He rubbed hard at his nose, reiterating his point that he was not gonna cry. Teenage boys didn’t do stupid shit like that. 

“I’ll burn down your house if I have to,” Jason warned.

“I would probably deserve it.”

“You’ll have to get your act together.”

“I’ve been meaning to get around to it,” Bruce said, straight faced.

“We aren’t that similar,” Jason insisted, feeling the need to save face for some reason. Batman saying that you were like a mini Batman should have put any kid over the moon. But Bruce Wayne was kind of embarrassing. Miss Jason with that rich boy shit. “Your teeth are too good and you’re super neurotic.”

“Just around children,” the Dark Knight said seriously. “It’s a weakness.”

“I am your second foster placement.”

“If your first exposure to children as an adult were Tim and Stephanie as middle schoolers you would also be frightened of children.”

“Are you calling the Narrows orphan the least scary child you’ve dragged in here?” Jason paused a beat. “Wait. Who’s Stephanie?”

The beginning of the end, mostly. But Jason had no way of knowing that at the time.

*

Jason did not take evasive action. 

That would imply he was avoiding anybody. A retreat. But that was far from the situation. The terrain (Wayne manor, for those following along at home) was an ideal site to take cover from the enemy, and that was exactly what he was doing. If they found Jason in the library then obviously he wasn’t hiding from everybody else. 

That would imply he was scared of anybody. Jason was not scared of anything. He didn’t even know the meaning of the word, despite all of the other words he knew the meanings of. An enemy thinking you were scared (erroneously!) was a weapon in their hands. 

Man, Jason really couldn’t wait until Stephanie and Tim left. He missed Bruce. Jason-and-Bruce, specifically - when Bruce let him read old Batman case reports and they talked for ages about the mistakes made by the bad guy, the cops or the city, Bruce, and Stephanie, and how to avoid making them next time. It was kind of fascinating watching the sheer quantity of mistakes Stephanie made in her first and second years as Robin before they quickly began to taper off into the stupidly competent vigilante everybody knew she was. It was downright funny how many mistakes Batman made. Less than Stephanie by far but still super noticeable in hindsight. Jason knew that the Batman-and-Robin perfection had been a bluff. 

 Bruce hadn’t taken him to the Zen garden in the museum district for ages. Yeah, it was winter, but Jason wanted to feed the koi. He hadn’t exactly asked to go, but what if Bruce was too busy and said no? It’d be super embarrassing. 

Max embarrassment would be Bruce thinking he was scared. He might think Jason was a coward. Imagine Batman thinking you’re a coward. Other kids didn’t have this problem. If their parents thought they were lame then they were probably lame parents. If Batman thought you were lame then that said something about your character. 

Jason set up camp in the library, but he couldn’t really focus on his books. He even lowered himself to check out the shelf of comics and manga (did Bruce buy Stephanie Sailor Moon? All of Sailor Moon!?), but after four volumes of Sailor Moon he was too restless to keep reading. 

A sticky note was used as a bookmark halfway through volume three. It read: GEOMETRY PROBLEMS 1-10; PIAGET BOOK; PARTY DRESS - LAVENDER; MAKE TIM GO OUTSIDE (DATE?)(BRUCE →?)

Ugh. He was reading her Sailor Moon. Whatever, it was Wayne Sailor Moon now. Jason didn’t know what Stephanie was doing with the foundations of child psychology, but he didn’t want to find out. 

The only times Jason outright asked Bruce if they could go outside and have fun was when he noticed Bruce hadn’t really gone outside and had fun in a while. He did not like sharing this trait. But that was mostly because Jason got kind of shy about asking for things, and he could only really summon up the grit if it was for the other person’s own good. Who spent so much time and energy on other people’s Vitamin D? She was obviously busy enough. Had she done all the emotional labor? No wonder everybody acted like she was in charge - they couldn’t really be bothered to do her ‘job’ themselves.

Jason was not Stephanie Brown. He quietly resolved not to go above and beyond doing emotional labor for Bruce. It wasn’t the kid’s job to take care of the parent. Stephanie was his partner, she could do that all she wanted. Jason wondered if she was a partner before she was a kid. 

The library had a computer, a stocky PC with a chunky mouse and keyboard attached. A big tower sat next to it, and there was a little binder leaning against the side. Jason had always avoided the computer out of obscure fear and confusion, but he found himself reassessing now. He used to hang out in internet cafes. He’d seen people use computers, even if he’d barely touched one himself. He could figure it out, right?

Turned out the hardest part was looking for the letters on the keyboard. It took a few minutes, but figuring out the mouse and the menus were pretty easy. He wiggled his mouse around the Windows XP, pressing on a little picture of a spiky ball and opening up a game called Minesweeper. He messed around with it for a while, but he couldn’t really figure out the rules, so he quickly closed it out. 

He considered clicking on the ‘N’ picture and using the internet. The last time he’d used a computer was to check the internet - he had asked Bruce to search the news to see what people were saying about his adoption. He quickly regretted it. Jason didn’t really want to go on the internet again. 

On impulse, Jason grabbed the binder leaning on the computer tower and opened it. He was surprised to see that it was full of CDs, tucked neatly inside sleeve after sleeve. He flipped through the binder, the sheer quantity of CDs shocking him. He had no idea rich people loved computer games so much! 

Jason picked out the first CD he saw with people on it - The Sims - and fed it into the computer. He wiggled the mouse impatiently as the screen froze for a few seconds before it went dark. Just when he thought he’d broken it the screen lit up again, showing a menu and blasting a jazzy tune through the speakers.

You could make your own people? You could build them a house and make them get married? You could make them cheat on each other? This was like writing a story, but if the characters could move themselves around and start beating each other up. This was great. Jason wished he’d had a computer way earlier. 

The weak winter sunlight shining through the windows dimmed, and eventually extinguished itself completely. Jason, wrapped up in discovering the easiest ways to murder your own Sims to facilitate a Hamlet-esque plotline (the key was a swimming pool and a deleted ladder), didn’t notice until he heard the echo of footsteps down the aisle. He frantically tried to close his book before remembering he was using a computer, and he wasted precious moments trying to figure out how to do the computer equivalent of closing your book before realizing it was too late. 

“Alfred says it’s time to wash up for dinner.” Unsaid: you did not skip dinner. Jason ‘Malnourishment’ Wayne did not skip anything, under literal doctor orders.

Jason startled, looking around the library for the first time and realizing that hours had passed. He hadn’t even noticed. Tim walked forward, moving to stand a few feet behind Jason. Bruce had given him the personal space talk. Saved Jason the effort.

“Sorry,” Jason said, half-defensively. “Lost track of time.”

“Yeah, Bruce said you normally weren’t in here for so long.” Tim squinted at the computer monitor, watching Bella Goth cry at her abandoned wedding altar as her ex-fiance ran away with his mistress. “Is that my old copy of the Sims?”

“What, do you want it back?” Jason snapped.

“I only really played Sim City and Civ. Do you hate me?”

Jason choked on his spit, the sheer whiplash sending his head spinning. Tim just blinked at him, expression neutral and posture loose with his arms folded against his chest. He said it like he was asking if Jason preferred cheese or pepperoni. As if he didn’t give two shits about the answer. 

“Of course I don’t hate you!” Jason cried, solely on reflex. Tim squinted dubiously, silently asking if he had said that solely on reflex. “I mean - look, man, we ain’t beefing! We’re cool!”

“You refuse to be in the same room as me.” Tim didn’t seem particularly offended by this. “It’s fine if you do. I just think Bruce wants to know.”

“I don’t! Jeez, who just asks that! Who’s gonna say ‘yeah, I hate you!’. Just take a hint or something!”

“Sorry,” Tim said, not sounding altogether that apologetic. “I don’t like beating around the bush on things. Steph says I’m straightforward. You aren’t. If there’s a miscommunication we ought to clear it up.”

God. He was worse than Bruce. Jason didn’t know that was possible. He rolled his eyes, going back to his game and refusing to look at Tim. It made the whole conversation a lot easier. He made Bella go flirt with the neighbor, just to help her feel something. “There’s no miscommunication. We talked about this ages ago. Remember? I asked if it was cool that I was playing your video games, you said you didn’t live here so it was whatever? There was an understanding, dude.”

Judging by Tim’s face he didn’t remember that at all, and he may in fact not actually understand, but that wasn’t Jason’s problem. Tim’s terrible memory was his own fault. “Sure. But that doesn’t answer my question.” 

Bella Goth was rejected. Her snotty tears grossed out the other Sim. The realism in this game was off the chain.“I answered your question. I don’t hate you. Can you drop this? I know you’re only bugging me ‘cause Steph told you to.”

“She told me to leave you be, actually. I honestly have no idea where she is right now.” So he had gone rogue. Great. “She told me months ago that you were probably avoiding me because you were worried that I would make Bruce kick you out or something. I thought you wanted some space to figure out the reality of the situation on your own, but I guess you didn’t. Maybe I should have said something.”

Frankly, Jason couldn’t believe that Tim had strung five thoughts together regarding Jason at all. “And what would you have said, huh?” Jason asked. He couldn’t muster the energy to be polite or diffuse or distract anymore. He was just kind of tired. Life couldn’t be a war on all fronts. It wore you down too far. “You’re such a big fat genius. What would you have said to make me feel better and convince me that you aren’t a threat?”

“I used to blow up buildings.”

Jason stared at Tim. Tim stared at him. 

“Uh,” Jason said.

“Can I sit down?”

Jason dumbly nodded. Tim shrugged and sat down next to him, keeping the careful foot of distance between them. Sitting closer like this, Jason could see the bags under his eyes and tired lines around his mouth clearly. A guy that young shouldn’t have frown lines. 

“I won’t go into it,” Tim continued, even and easy. “It’s not really a time in my life I like to remember. It was only a few months after the mob gunned down my parents and I came to live with Bruce.” Jason’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help sucking in a breath. Tim looked distantly amused. “You don’t remember? It was big news five years ago.”

“I was, like, seven. I wasn’t really watching the news.” But it did sound pretty familiar. Tim had to have been Jason’s age. The thought made Jason’s stomach churn uncomfortably. “Sorry that happened. Must have sucked.”

“It happens to a lot of kids in this city. I’m probably the luckiest.” That was one way to look at it, but kind of a weird one. “I was angry. So angry I couldn’t see or think straight. I wanted to hurt them back. I started out doing smaller stuff, hacking into accounts and setting the IRS on people and everything. But it wasn’t violent enough. What had happened to me was violent, and I wanted to be violent too. Started blowing up warehouses. Fucking miracle I didn’t kill anybody. I almost killed a lot of people. Almost killed Steph.”

If Jason had been scared of this guy before, he was pants-shittingly terrified now. Holy shit. He didn’t know Tim could get scarier. Or more criminal. 

He knew Tim was ashamed of it. It was obvious just from the look on his face. But it was really only when he mentioned hurting Stephanie that he actually seemed pained. 

“All that to say, Jason,” Tim said, “Bruce still adopted me. The adoption hadn’t even gone through. He could still back out. But he barely even punished me. Steph was unconscious, I was sitting at her bedside - and he told me I’d already learned my lesson. I had.” He paused a beat. “He also said that Steph herself was punishment enough. Which was also true.”

Wow. Batman and Robin were family members with a domestic terrorist. And they just, like, kinda gave him a hard time about it. It was incredible. It’s like being superheroes made their standards lower somehow. It definitely explained why Bruce saw a homeless asshole like Jason and randomly decided he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Tim Drake-Wayne had put the bar on the ground. 

He could be the good kid. 

“Bruce is the most stubborn person you’ll ever meet. He’s Steph with a rich white man’s confidence. He’s implacable and I’ve never seen him change his mind on anything. If he makes a decision, he does it. There is literally nothing you can do that would jeopardize your place in the house, up to and including domestic terrorism.” Tim paused a beat. “And he’s already way more attached to you than he was to me at that point. I can’t think of a reason to worry.”

Jason mumbled something vague and incoherent about how Steph could probably change Bruce’s mind.

“Why would she do that?”

Jason made garbled noises about how he had been a jerk at dinner, so…

“When you think of an actual reason why Steph or I would want you gone let me know so I can refute it.” Tim paused, pointedly waiting for Jason to summon up an actual halfway decent logical reason why Stephanie Brown or Tim Drake-Wayne would somehow want him dead, gone, and onto the street. He completely failed. Tim didn’t seem surprised. “Cool. Stop flipping over nothing. Bruce likes you ten times as much as he likes me. You’re fine.”

Tim didn’t sound resentful or upset about it, but he was hard to read. The words struck Jason oddly - that even as Jason sat there stressing over being the expendable one, Tim was already writing Jason off as the favorite. Were any of them on the same page? Did Stephanie secretly think that Tim was the golden kid? Did anybody in this family actually understand it, or were they all blindly stumbling around, desperately trying to find the right way to love each other?

It didn’t cohere with Jason’s militaristic viewpoint. There was an enemy. There had to be. Otherwise nobody knew what was going on. It felt like a worst case scenario.

Jason found himself shifting uncomfortably on the very comfortable chair. He stared hard at the screen, aimlessly clicking his Sims around and watching them set food on fire. He pretended hard that he wasn’t talking to Tim. He was just doing what he always did and speaking to himself, playing with the figures in his head and keeping them neatly tucked inside his own mind, where nobody had to see and nobody had to know.

“What’s you and Bruce’s relationship anyway?” Jason hoped to god the question sounded casual. He was aware it probably didn’t. “He never refers to you as his kid.”

“I’m not,” Tim said shortly. Jason wondered how often he’d had to say it. Maybe people were typically too polite to ask? “I had a father. When I came to live with him I wasn’t exactly in the market for a new one, and I never decided I needed one.”

“So what are you, then?”

Tim hesitated.

Jason knew more about how Bruce’s guardianship of Tim ended than how it began. Alfred had really only shared two things about it: that Tim and Bruce loved each other but didn’t always get along, and that they had a gigantic blow-out fight that ended up in Tim packing his bags and leaving for Boston two months early, the week he turned eighteen. The subject of the fight was uncertain. It was either about everything or nothing, or maybe a lot of little things blown up in everyone’s face. They never really stopped working together on Batman stuff, but Bruce and Tim stopped talking as much.

They had chilled out. They still argued a bit, but it had never really felt like father-son arguing. They always sounded exasperated with each other, as if they were mutually shocked that they were telling each other what to do. From the sounds of it they always thought the other person was trying to make them do the stupidest thing on Earth. 

“I don’t know if I can describe it in a word,” Tim said finally. Jason didn’t fight the weird satisfaction that Tim had taken the question seriously enough to stop and think about it. “Definitely not a dad. More like a much older brother, I guess, but not really that either. Not a teacher and responsibility like he is for Steph. A friend on some level, maybe. Batman and Red Robin are teammates, so there’s that element. I don’t know. I guess we never put a name to it. Do we need to?”

“I guess not.” 

Jason had a lot of people in his life who he couldn’t dredge up the right names for. ‘Neighbor’ or ‘babysitter’ or ‘friend’ rarely cut it when the neighbor fed you when Mom was too high to put together a meal or grocery shop, and friends didn’t let you couch surf when you were turned out on the street. Sometimes people are more important than words.

But Jason found himself hesitating anyway. Despite that - despite all of that, despite everything he knew and everything he had convinced himself he didn’t care about - he couldn’t help but ask. It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did, at least to Jason. 

“What are you and me, then?” Jason asked. He hoped it sounded casual. He knew that it didn’t.

He couldn’t see Tim’s face, which was very much on purpose. He didn’t know what Tim was thinking, and he couldn’t tell the look on his face. Maybe he looked like Jason had dropped a dead rat on his table and asked him to love it. Not that Jason had asked him to love it. Jason wouldn’t do that. That would be a really weird thing to ask someone who destabilized foreign dictatorships. He just…he just…

Sometimes you asked a question you didn’t want to know the answer to. You had to ask the question anyway. You just couldn’t stand not knowing - you couldn’t stand living in a world where you hadn’t even asked, where you hadn’t even tried. 

Jason was always scared. But he always waged the war anyway. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t. 

“What do you want us to be?”

Why did Jason always choose to wage the war? Why did he always take up arms? Why did he always fight for it?

“Whatever you want, I guess,” Jason said. “But it’s kind of a pain in the ass stressing out about you all the time.”

Tim was silent again. Whatever. Jason played in silence next to him, heroically attempting to drown as many Sims as possible. It was a hard world out there. Sometimes you drowned in swimming pools. That was life.

“So,” Tim said, somewhat awkwardly and very much on purpose, “you made a house yet?”

Jason glanced over at Tim for the first time. He was leaning forward a little, arms folded on the table as he watched Jason play. Had he been watching the whole time? “Yeah, duh. I’m doing a practice house right now with five bathrooms and a room that’s just windows.” Jason halted, considering everything before tossing it out the window. “The library has a ton of architecture books. I'm going to borrow the ancient Rome one and make an exact replica of a Roman senator’s villa.”

“That’s…incredibly cool.” Tim looked a little surprised to say it, as if he hadn’t expected to say the words and mean them. “You’ll have problems finding Sims with enough money to live in it, though. Do you know about the cheat codes?”

“The what?!”

“Here, click over to the Goths. I’ll show you. Can I see your five bathroom house?”

“Yeah! Look, I made a statue garden!”

Jason scooted his chair to the right, beckoning Tim in to bring his own chair closer so they were sitting next to each other. It was necessary for a better view of the screen and mouse access. 

“I like the way you placed the statues. Lots of feng shui.” Tim took the mouse as Jason nodded ardently. He had worked hard on it. “Here, let me show you how to access the debug menu. We can put your Sims in funny NPC costumes too.”

“Seriously?! How do you do that?”

“Look,” Tim said, “I’ll show you.”

Jason looked, and saw…

Jason saw…

*

They missed dinner, but somehow they got away with it. Tim was clearly kind of embarrassed about it, and kept on muttering to himself about bad influences, but Jason figured that Tim should probably focus on dealing with his more important character flaws that he shouldn’t pass onto children, e.g. domestic terrorism. 

Domestic terrorism. 

God, he was cool. 

Alfred barely twitched an eyebrow when he saw them again, settling for telling them that dinner itself had been postponed. Tim looked shocked, so Jason guessed that this wasn’t a very common occurrence. Come to think of it, if Bruce refused to come up from the Cave for dinner Jason usually just made himself a plate and went downstairs to sit at the desk next to the Batcomputer and munch potatoes as Bruce worked. He tried to munch quietly, but other times he couldn’t stop himself from asking questions about the case. He liked to think it helped - sometimes asking Bruce to explain the case helped him take a step back and catch things he would have otherwise missed. Bruce always told him ‘good job’, as if Jason had really done anything. Bruce had done all the work. But Bruce always acted like he had single handedly cracked the case anyway. What a dork. 

“Master Bruce is concerning himself with a case downstairs,” Alfred said, confirming one suspicion. “You two were otherwise occupied and we couldn’t find Miss Stephanie, so we agreed to postpone the meal for a few hours. Master Timothy, I believe Master Bruce would like your help tracking some financial statements for this case.”

“You couldn’t find Steph?” Tim said, surprised. “You tried calling her?”

“The call was declined.” Alfred raised an eyebrow and silently interrogated Tim and Jason in tandem. “Would you two know anything about that?”

Tim just shrugged. “Last I saw her, she was working out while I was installing the software updates for the Batcomputer. I went upstairs for lunch and didn’t come with me. And Jason’s been in the library all day. She seriously didn’t even come out for dinner?”

“It’s unlike her,” Alfred agreed. “Master Tim, would you -”

“I’ll go find her!” Jason piped up. He remembered too late that it was rude to interrupt Alfred, but he was forced to ignore the skyrocketing eyebrow and dazed blink anyway. “I’ll go grab her so we can eat dinner. Be right back!”

With that heroic proclamation, Paul Revere accepted his sacred duty and set his horse off at a sprint, galloping through dangerous territory mired in darkness so he could share his life saving rhetoric with the village. With words themselves - ‘The British are coming!’ - and a fast horse, the tides of war could be turned.

Or maybe he was more like Pheidippides? A simple messenger’s twenty five mile sprint carrying news of a vital victory towards Athens, a hero from Herodotus given recognition in -

Jason tripped over the stair runner.

“Master Jason, please do not run in the halls!”

Every Greek hero had his tragedy.

Stephanie wasn’t in her room, which Jason definitely had never peeked inside and which for sure wasn’t painted a garish shade of purple. That was no surprise - it was definitely the first place Alfred would have looked. Similarly, she wasn’t in any of the common areas. The door to Tim’s study was locked too. She wasn’t in the library, and Bruce was already in the Batcave. It was weird. Had she wanted to be alone or something? 

For a brief red-hot irrational second, Jason wondered if he had hurt her feelings. Nope. No way. Stephanie Brown didn’t a) sulk, and b) get her feelings hurt by rude gutter children. Adults who let kids hurt their feelings were super embarrassing, and everybody knew Stephanie Brown wasn’t embarrassing. 

Well, if she was sulking, she could get over it. The minute Jason got up from the computer he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and his stomach was seriously rumbling. All these regular meals and big portions were turning his body seriously whiny, but Jason liked to view it as the opposite of storing fat for the winter. If Stephanie was actually a fellow gutter child then she knew the hustle.

Jason aimlessly poked his head inside rooms and wandered into random hallways for a few minutes, but it wasn’t until he stumbled inside an actual small dance studio that he realized he had to be methodical about this. The Manor could probably eat an unsuspecting gutter child who let his guard down. He was already working on a short story with that premise - it was a metaphor for capitalism - but he really didn’t feel like making it a reality. The world was weird enough already. He didn’t want to accidentally speak anything into existence. 

Maybe he should check his own favorite hiding spots? Jason wasn’t dumb - he always saw little initials or doodles carved into the wooden frames in his hiding spots left by generations of delinquent children. Some D.W. really wanted you to know that A.W. was ugly. A.W. was four feet two inches tall - or so a post proudly proclaimed. R.W., U.W., and T.W. were, indeed, there. 

Jason secretly loved it a little. He had started keeping a log of every little piece of switchblade graffiti he found, marking its contents and location. Maybe he could sit down and match them all up with the ridiculous genealogies he found. 

He always wondered how Abraham to Uriah Wayne would feel about him sitting in their hidey holes, tracing his fingers over their initials. He knew they had not been writing to him. People like him only went inside Wayne Manor to clean. Whatever future generations of Waynes they had been writing to, Jason had never been in that picture.

So Jason wrote it large. He had grabbed an awl from the Batcave and found the most popular graffiti spots, the ones crowded with generations of names. He wrote his own, big and blocky and loud, right at the top.

J.W. ESTUVO AQUI. It was the first thing anybody would see when looking at it. He wrote it again and again, wherever he saw everybody else leaving their mark. J.W. ESTUVO AQUI. Jason Wayne was here. 

Even if he left - even if he was kicked out - Jason had been there. For those strange few months, Jason had been there. You’d have to chop down the house to tear him away from it.

Bruce hadn’t kicked out Tim. Tim was a domestic terrorist who wanted to drop out of MIT. They hated each other half the time and Tim couldn’t even name their relationship. 

Bruce had told Jason that he wanted him to stay. What had he meant? It had seemed so complicated at the time - that there was a secret message in those words that Jason had to divine, that it couldn’t possibly be that simple. And obviously the reality of the situation was hideously complex. But what Bruce said - Bruce’s feelings, somehow just the same as Jason's - Jason couldn’t figure out a way to complicate it.  

No matter how hard Jason looked, he could only find one recent-ish B.W. - tucked high in the eaves of the popular hide-away attic, the initials gashed into the wood before the graffiti artist surrendered all pretense and started gouging the wood with a switchblade in long, straight lines. The marks were made over and over again, so methodical that parts of the post were almost carved out. Nothing to say. Just anger. Nothing to tell the world - just a desire to gouge it all out.

Jason didn’t know at what point Bruce decided to become a superhero, but the world probably dodged a bullet on a pretty insane supervillain when he did.

Jason thought about those marks as he climbed up his favorite hidden stairwell to the favorite hideaway attic, clutching his Power Ranges flashlight in one clammy hand as he crept into its heights. There were easily three different attics (maybe the house had eaten two smaller houses?), but the smallest one had the best spot - a view straight out of the round window at the front of the house, tucked under the highest eave, giving you an unmatched vantage point over the grounds. Somebody had set up a large armchair underneath that window a long time ago, complete with battery powered lantern, and the windowsill was covered in initials and graffiti. Even Jason had left his own. But Stephanie Brown was the only one sitting on the armchair, curled up with her chin on her knees as she stared at a Polaroid picture.

The battery powered lamp was turned on, casting a soft circle of light around Jason and Steph, and Jason cautiously flicked off his own flashlight and stuffed it in his pocket. Stephanie had undoubtedly noticed him approaching, but she didn’t really pay him any mind. She just stared at the picture, mane of blonde hair wild around her face, eyes far away.

Jason opened his mouth to tell her that dinner was ready. 

“What are you looking at?”

Stephanie glanced at him for the first time, smiling faintly. She bent a finger inwards, and Jason trotted over to look. “Just a picture we took at our post-mission pizza place. See?”

The polaroid was small, but Stephanie tilted it slightly so he could get a better look. There was a blue blur at the corner of the frame, as if someone had leaned back very quickly so they would be out of the shot. Jason could see most of a tall Black guy, skin half-covered by glowing blue metal, holding up a piece of pizza threateningly and shaking a finger at the photographer. There was a big bite taken out of the pizza. Environmental storytelling.

But most of the picture was taken up by two figures talking to each other. Robin, sitting tall and happy, mouth open as she said something probably very funny to the giggling girl next to her. The girl was nuts - giant hair, half a foot taller than Robin sitting, with burnt orange skin and glowing green eyes creased in laughter. Their bodies were angled towards each other, a private moment between two women frozen onto film. 

“Wow,” Jason said.

“I know, right? That’s everyone’s reaction to Kory. She thinks it’s funny. Apparently nobody on Tamaran really thought she was anything special. Crazy planet.” Steph smiled softly. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the photograph. “We were so excited to introduce her to pizza. First time she has it, she loves it - eats a whole pie. Then an hour later she’s in the bathroom yelling about how we poisoned her. Turns out she’s lactose intolerant. Now we’re practically the mascots of the weird yuppie California vegan pizza places. Gar’s, like, so smug about it.”

“Vegan food? Like for hippies?” Jason was appalled. “There’s restaurants that just sell vegan food? Who goes there?”

“Californians, I guess! Those people are insane. It’s like another world over there. It’s, like, sunny and shit. Vic says I’m a bigger baby about different cultures than the actual aliens and extradimensional witches.”

“Right.” Jason hesitated, stomach boiling awkwardly. “Um. I’m sorry for…”

“You’re fine. I deserved that one. It made me think, anyway. And I don’t do that nearly enough.” Stephanie didn’t look up from the picture. Jason was worried that she couldn’t. “Hey, squirt. You’re smart, right? What do you do when…when you aren’t the person you thought you were?”

 Since when was Jason the smart one? Why was an adult asking him for advice? Jason didn’t know. But he thought about it anyway, hopping on the carved oak back leg of the armchair and hanging off the winged back. “Uh…I don’t know. You change your opinion about yourself, I guess.”

But Stephanie just shook her head. “Who you are is, like, a thing. It’s always been a thing to me. Steph or Robin or…whatever. But what if you - you do something, or you think things, and they aren’t something Steph or Robin would ever do or think? Are you something else now?”

Jason really didn’t understand this woman’s psychology. “You’re Steph. You’re thinking it. So it’s a thing Steph would think. I’m not following you.”

“Steph’s always been this. She can’t start being that.” Jason began experimentally climbing up the chair, digging his feet onto the arms and scrambling up to the top. “Robin’s always been Robin. She’s always been the girl I wanted to be. Robin can’t be…that isn’t really what I anticipated for her.” Quickly she added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being…that. Some of my best friends are that. But Robin’s not that. She’s not an alien or a mute assassin or anything. Robin’s a normal person, not a - more interesting person. Her relationships aren’t really where she always thought they would be. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“I’m not really where I thought I’d be six months ago either,” Jason said philosophically. He hoisted himself up until he was gripping the back of the chair, elbows locked straight as he swung his feet. He could see straight down onto the top of Stephanie’s head from this vantage point. He could see from the very top of the window - from the very top of the world, with everything spread out underneath his feet in harmony. Undisturbed and eternal. Simple, if only when viewed from high above. “Things change. That’s not bad. Maybe who you wanted to be when you were my age isn’t who you want to be when you’re an adult. Shocker.”

Stephanie was quiet. Jason experimentally tilted himself forward, leaning over the back of the chair until his legs were high in the air too.

“You’re going to fall off.”

“I’m not gonna fall off,” Jason lied. “Look, I got balance.”

“I’m a gymnast. You’re going to fall off.”

“How can you tell? You ain’t even looking up.”

Stephanie sighed. She waited three seconds before getting off the armchair, almost at the precise moment that Jason over-balanced and fell ass over teakettle onto the overstuffed cushion. He bounced, blinking hard to clear his spinning vision, and when his eyes finally rightened themselves he saw Stephanie Brown standing in front of him, arms crossed and amused. 

“Right,” Jason muttered, world spinning. “Big damn superhero.”

“I think the proper term is ‘Wonder Girl’, thank you very much.” Stephanie crouched in front of him, expression softening. “Jason. Is there something you want to tell me?” Her tone was kind and gentle, and it abruptly panicked Jason. He shook his head. “Are you sure? There’s nothing you want to talk to me about? It can be anything.”

“I’m fine!” Jason did not break under torture. “I just came up about dinner, honest!”

“Is that what Alfred said?” What did that mean? But Stephanie just sighed, looking at Jason intently. Her gaze could be surprisingly intense - as if she was really looking at you, ready to crack you open and read the future from your entrails. “The boys warned me about overwhelming you about five different times, you know. I think they were worried I’d try to force you into family togetherness before you were cool with that.”

Jason mumbled something about how Steph obviously, like, didn’t even want Bruce to adopt him, so…

“Seriously? Who told you that?”

“You yelled at him for, like, an hour,” Jason said, desperately uncomfortable. “Look, it’s fine. I don’t care. Water under the bridge. Everything’s cool. I don’t want to make it into a thing.”

“A thing? I don’t - oh, man.” Stephanie sighed again, putting her elbow on her knees and propping her hand on her chin. Jason squirmed uncomfortably. But she didn’t seem upset or frustrated - just a little exasperated, as if her day was long enough without dealing with this too. “Jason, Bruce is…I dunno if you’ve noticed, but he’s kinda fragile.”

“He’s actually Batman?!”

“I’ve been watching Batman’s back and taking care of Bruce for ages. I was so worried about leaving him. I needed to get out of Gotham, I knew the guys needed me out in Jump, but…I was so worried I was ditching the people that needed me here. And then he and Tim had that blow up a month after I moved out, which totally felt like my fault, and…” Stephanie sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “I was stressing out over him constantly. And then he’s calling me in a panic over emergency placements and I’m sitting here like - he needs me to help take care of him, what makes him think he can take care of a special needs kid! He’s already called me for parenting advice three times in the first week, again, before I told him he was on his own with this one and - ugh. It was seriously like - I turn my back for two seconds…I was just worried about him, Jason. That’s all.”

Jason couldn’t believe this. Well, he could - he had kinda gotten a picture of this just from listening around - but it was still ridiculous. “Bro. He’s, like, thirty. He’s on the Justice League. He has a company. And I’m the houseplant of adoptees. It’s chill.”

“It would have been fine if I had just been here,” Stephanie sighed. Jason couldn’t believe that this was the woman’s beef with him. Did this even count as beef? Was it more like tofu? Had Californian soy byproducts rotted her mind? “But I just had to run off to lead an undergrad superhero team. I hadn’t meant to start A League of Her Own or anything. They just needed me, that’s all. I wouldn’t have left if I thought Bruce would randomly start adopting children…I’m sorry, Jason. It really has nothing to do with you.”

With a slow and creeping horror, Jason realized that his new older sister was stupid.

He had to set this record straight. What the hell. He couldn’t let things continue like this. This was the most ridiculous thing Jason had seen in his entire life, and he once saw a homeless guy climb a gargoyle to try and eat a pigeon. 

Jason took a deep breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Stephanie stared at him, somewhat incredulously. Finally, like a teacher delivering the lesson of their short life, Jason said, “You are not Queen of the Universe. You are an actual teenager. You can’t control everything that happens in Gotham, and it’s dumb to try and control everything that happens in Bruce’s life. Why don’t you trust him? Why do you think he’s not good enough?”

Steph looked away, somewhat awkwardly, and muttered something about how he had literally been calling for parenting advice again, so…

“And you stopped helping him, and he did just fine! You’re an adult. Adults are supposed to leave him and go to college and start superhero teams.” Or they did in his books and Fresh Prince, which Jason had to assume was what the world was ‘meant’ to be like. Jason firmly believed that his life wasn’t the way lives should be. He had to believe that really, really badly. “It’s stupid as hell to try and give that up so you could keep babysitting a guy who doesn’t need it. It’s not your job to take care of him.” 

“It totally is, though,” Steph complained weakly. She was powerless in the face of Jason’s rhetoric and she knew it. “I’m Robin, of ‘Batman and’. We’re partners, we cover each other’s bases. Even if Steph doesn’t have to take care of Bruce, Batman needs Robin.”

“You live in California. You can’t exactly do that anymore. If Steph’s thinking things that Steph doesn’t think, then maybe Steph isn’t who she thought she was. And if Batman’s partner is doing her own thing with her own friends now, then maybe she’s gotta take Robin back to the drawing board. And, like, stop mothering Batman.” Jason shrugged, crossing his arms and scooting back into the armchair until he could fold his legs up. “But what do I know, right?”

Steph stared at him for a little while, just enough to make Jason feel awkward. And enough for him to start kicking himself. What was he on about? This wasn’t a parking lot fight with the other street kids over if Robin could beat up Green Lantern (“She hasn’t tried, but she took down Oliver in two minutes. I have footage. Why do you ask, Jason?”). He couldn’t exactly sit here and tell the actual Robin who and what Robin was. What did he know about it?

What did he know about Bruce? What did he know about this family? He knew where Steph was coming from. Jason had heard more than enough stories to grok that Steph had kept Bruce on the straight and narrow for a long time. She was the one who had taken Batman from a monster into a hero. Apparently she was the one who defused what probably would have been a super messy first meeting between Batman and Superman. Batman said that it was only because of Robin that he understood the importance of the Justice League in the first place. 

And that was just Batman. Bruce himself could be kind of a disaster sometimes. Jason could already tell that she always mediated Tim and Bruce. And Bruce got sad sometimes, and other times he obviously couldn’t find it within himself to talk to people or to take off Batman and go back to being Bruce Wayne. Jason didn’t know how to handle all that. If he did know, if he could do something - then wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t he do whatever he can, to help the guy who helped him out the most?

But it still wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Bruce, who believe it or not hadn’t actually adopted Jason on impulse. And it wasn’t fair to Steph. Just because you were the only girl in the house didn’t mean you had to do your job and take care of all the guys too. She hadn’t been much older than Jason when she took up vigilantism. Other people should have been taking care of her. She hadn’t looked out for Steph first for a really long time - had she ever? 

“Can I sit?”

Jason startled, and he quickly scooched to the side to make room for Steph. He was still pretty small and the armchair was obviously super big, so they fit together just fine. Her bare arm brushed against Jason’s chunky red sweater, but she didn’t act awkward about it. She just settled in with him, pulling her own legs underneath her. She smelled like strawberries. Jason tried extremely hard not to notice.

It was hard to read her. Her expression was blank and controlled. It made Jason sweat a bit. Was she mad at him? Was this when the prophesied Stephanie Brown hatred campaign against Jason began? Why was she sitting next to him? Should he make a run for it?

“If you could decide who Robin was,” Steph said quietly, and Jason stiffened. “If you were in complete control of that. Who would you want Robin to be?”

What a weird question. What a weird question for Robin herself to ask him. Maybe she was having a bit of an identity crisis. Jason probably wasn’t helping there. The least he could do was give her an answer. Maybe he should pretend to think about it first. He really didn’t have to think about it at all, obviously, but maybe he should pretend. But he ended up saying it immediately anyway.

“He’s like Robin now,” Jason confessed. “I mean - he or she or whatever. Gender doesn’t matter. Uh, they’re a kid, though. Not that there’s anything wrong with being an adult. I mean - I have a really good imagination, Bruce says so, so -”

“You can just go for it, squirt.”

“Oh. Okay.” Why was Jason on fire? Why did even thinking of this set something deep in Jason aflame? “He’s like Robin now, ‘cause when he saves people he always makes them feel safe. People trust him. But he’s really different too. Because he’s really strong and powerful, and everybody’s scared of how powerful he is. When people look at him, they see…they see that he’ll save them no matter what. That he’ll never stop until everybody in the Narrows is safe. If he dies, that wouldn’t stop him - he’d just get back up again, ready for round two. He’s the most stubborn son of a gun in all’a Gotham.”

Jason took a deep, shuddering breath. The oxygen stoked the fire in him, but he couldn’t stop for the life of him. 

“He’s not really who you think of when you think of a hero. He doesn’t care about glory or fairy tale endings. But people - people who have nothing, they have him. People who have nothing in their pockets have Robin. Kids, the babies on the street - they’d have a big brother in Robin. He saves the unsaveable kids.” Jason’s breath hitched, hot tears pricking at his eyes. “Robin would have saved me. He wouldn’t have stopped until he saved me.”

The image was clear in his mind. He’d imagined it a thousand times. He had a good imagination, and Jason never had anything fun to do but read and think. He knew what Robin’s costume looked like - he couldn’t have the same costume as a girl, come on - and he knew the shape of his domino mask. He had the skin of anybody in the Narrows, so the people who needed him most knew that he was always on their side. 

When people had nothing, they would have Robin. They would know that they hadn’t been abandoned by God. That they could be saved. That any of them, any one, could save themselves. They could save each other.

A warm weight fell around his shoulders, and he realized Steph had slung her arm around him. She was soft and warm, and for a crushing moment Jason could almost feel his own mother’s hugs. 

She’d never hug him again. Not ever. Jason didn’t know how many more hugs he’d receive over the course of his life, but none of them would ever feel like Mami. There was no getting that back. There was no going backwards. 

Where could he go from here?

“Jason,” Steph said softly, “what do you want?”

What did he want? He wanted Mami, obviously. He wanted to stay in Wayne Manor forever. He wanted to read every book and go to that fancy prep school and he wanted Tim to play the Sims with him again just like he promised.

Jason could admit all of that. He’d been pretty insistent about the Gotham Academy thing, despite Bruce’s reservations. The one thing he couldn’t admit -

How could he admit it? How could he begin? He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell her that the figure in his beautiful picture holding out his hand to Jason, the figure so tall and strong and smiling with bright teeth, who wore her own costume and wore it proudly, only ever looked like himself. That Jason never once daydreamed of Batman and Robin saving him - not once in all those long and lonely years. That he had only ever imagined himself, wearing a coat of many colors, holding a hand out to a boy with nothing. That he had saved himself. He couldn’t imagine anybody else doing it. 

“I dunno,” Jason lied. “I dunno…”

“That’s fine.” Steph squeezed his shoulder a little, and despite himself Jason leaned against her side. It was nice. When Steph spoke again her voice was tight and hoarse, and Jason couldn’t figure out why for the life of him. “Jason…who you are is who you’re meant to be. Okay? There’s nobody else in the world like you. There’s nobody else as thoughtful and heroic and insightful as you are. Jason Todd or Jason Wayne - you’re amazing. You’re wonderful. Just as you are.”

“Shut up!” Jason said, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes hard. “You don’t even know me!”

  “I’m a pretty good judge of people, you know. And I know there’s people in this world who need someone like you. Someone who keeps people safe.” Jason’s chest hitched a little, making him hate God and all of his creation. Crying. In front of Stephanie Brown. Dante never visited this circle of hell. “I want you to have whatever you want, Jason. Whatever that is. I want you to have what you want.”

Jason wanted to push her away. He wanted to stop crying. He meant to. But somehow he could only lean against Steph and cry, and could only let her hug him, and he thought maybe he didn’t really know what he wanted at all.

*

Bruce stayed with Jason that night, foregoing their usual goodbyes in the Batcave so he could see him to bed instead. Jason knew it had been his own idea  - he thought Jason might have been avoiding him that day. Jason had solemnly told Bruce that it was a military maneuver, and that he didn’t understand the rules of engagement. Bruce had agreed, if only out of confusion.  

He reminded Jason to brush his teeth and helped him clean up his scattered room. Jason carefully placed a tin Green Army Man he found at the bottom of a dusty box at his headboard right behind him, so he could read over Jason’s shoulder. He pulled up an armchair next to Jason’s bed, and Jason settled in at the corner with a copy of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology. He had spent ten minutes recapping his favorite chapters from the book, sprinkled with some creative zest. Bruce was very interested in the story of the Golden Fleece and Jason and the Argonauts, but Jason thought maybe he might be making fun of him.

Batman was a formidable foe, and Jason was forced to surrender eventually. Jason dropped the book, throwing his hands up. “Fine! I was named after the movie! Happy? You finished interrogating me, officer?”

“What interrogation? I never asked.” The man’s poker face was impressive, but Jason couldn’t be fooled. “I didn’t even imply it.”

“There were no ulterior motives,” Jason hissed, jabbing a finger at the faux-innocent Bruce. “She liked the zombie skeletons. She thought they were cool and creepy, and she liked the name Jason, and that was it. Don’t read into it!”

“So your namesake has nothing to do with why you have that book memorized?”

Jason threw his book at Bruce. He caught it effortlessly. Damn him.

Dinner had been nice. Everybody finally sat around a table and talked like real people, even if Jason was flip-flopping at lightspeed between feeling extremely awkward and silently threatening to kill Steph if she ever let on that she saw him crying. She had mimed zipping her lips shut, but Jason didn’t trust like that. It was no good for siblings to have blackmail on you so quickly. 

At least they were chill now. They had shook on it and everything. Steph said that Jason had given her a lot to think about. Jason really didn’t know what that meant. He was a little worried he might find out. 

She had promised to teach him how to backflip before she left. And Tim had promised to play the Sims with him tomorrow. Jason interpreted the promises as white flags. He wasn’t sure if he was victorious or not. 

Jason quietly took the Green Army Man off his headboard. He rubbed his thumb over it, feeling the worn tin and letting the shard of rifle poke into his thumb, before carefully putting it back in his nightstand drawer. Bruce noticed, but he didn’t comment on it. 

The clock chimed eventually, and Jason’s eyelids were growing heavy. Bruce stood up from the armchair, carefully pulling it back to the side, and told Jason goodnight. He turned off Jason’s nightstand lamp, and his hand half-raised before he let it fall. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Jason,” Bruce said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight…”

Jason hadn’t really meant to say it. But he didn’t want to leave it on his tongue anymore - unspoken and unknown. He opened his mouth, trying to say it, but the words stuck in his throat. But Bruce turned his back to him and opened the door, light tumbling into the room, and the rise of a deep well of courage in Jason’s heart punctured the intangible barrier between them.

“Bruce?” Jason piped up quietly. Bruce stopped at the door, turning around. The dim yellow glow of the hallway cast light over Bruce and crept into Jason’s bedroom. Jason found himself wishing it would stay away just a little bit longer - that Bruce would remain in the darkness for just a little while. “...can you stay?”

Bruce halted, looking at him with a shadowed expression for only a second, before he closed the door again. “I have to prepare for patrol soon. And you do have a bedtime.”

“Steph’s home. Can Robin patrol by herself? Just for a little bit?”

Jason felt his courage dwindle. He felt like a spoiled, selfish idiot for asking. But he didn’t feel like an idiot for wanting Bruce to stay. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But Bruce just shrugged and turned around, as if the ask was nothing at all. “You’re right. She’s more than capable.” Bruce walked back to Jason’s bed, and Jason daringly patted the space next to him. Bruce stopped, surprised. “You’re sure?”

“Steph’s a hugger. The dam’s been broken.” It was different with a girl than with a man - much, much different - but it was easier to blame it on her. Bruce cautiously sat down next to him on the bed, motions careful and precise as only Batman could make them. Something in Jason loved that - that Batman helped Bruce care about him. “You know, in Percy Jackson I’d be a son of Nike.”

“For victory? Wouldn’t you rather be the child of an Olympian?” Bruce settled in next to him, and Jason was suddenly acutely aware of the heat of Bruce’s body. He was tall and strong, but he wasn’t so strange. 

“Nah. I wouldn’t want anybody going around saying I only won fights ‘cause my parent’s a powerhouse. I’d win fights for my parent. And it would psych everybody out. Like - oh, we’ll lose against Jason, he’s victory himself! That kind of thing. I got it all planned out. So Nike would be my secret Mom, except she would have had me with Mami, because she’s a god and gods can do that.”

“Congratulations on your mother’s bisexuality.”

“Nike would have turned into a guy. Or something. She can be gay if she wants. Jeez, Bruce.” Jason shifted a little until he was pressed against Bruce, warm and strong. “There’d be this whole secret love affair thing. They met because the Louvre put the Nike statue on tour, and Mami went to go see it at the Gotham Museum of Fine Arts - they had a free museum day. And she saw the statue and she fell in love with it instantly. 

“And Nike saw her looking, and fell in love with her too. So Nike uses her power and makes the statue move right in front of Mami. Mami sees its headless body turning to look at her, and she knows that it can see her clearly even with no eyes and no face. But it’s still beautiful to her. The statue steps off the pedestal, wings beating, and walks towards Mami. Nike’s thinking that Mami can’t love an old statue with no head, so she tries to turn the statue into something beautiful that Mami could love. A really attractive man or a cute woman if Mami’s bisexual or something. But Mami tells Nike that nothing’s as beautiful as the ancient statue. It’s the most beautiful statue in the world. She doesn’t need to see Nike’s face to love her. Then they fall in love together.”

“That’s a beautiful story,” Bruce said gravely. “How does it end?”

“With me, obviously,” Jason said. “Mom and Nike never met again. But Mami gave me magic, and that means I’ll always be okay. This is where I’m going to start my own memoir. I’m working on that, by the way. It’s more of a diary now, but it’s pretty good. You aren’t reading it.”

“Wouldn’t dare,” Bruce said. “But why start it here? Not during your life in the Narrows? I know it’s important to you.”

“That’s in flashbacks,” Jason said condescendingly. “It’s a literary device. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Clearly I do not.”

Obviously. Jason settled back in bed, leaning against Bruce just a little more. Little by little. “It starts here because here is where it starts. This is when it begins.”

“Here?” Bruce asked. He sounded a little surprised. Jason didn’t know why. It was obvious. “Right now?”

“Sure,” Jason said. “Right here.”

Jason fell asleep like that, warm and safe with somebody who loved him, and for a brief moment as he slid from consciousness to sleep he thought that he might have something he wanted.

He would get the one other thing he wanted soon. Stephanie was changing, and Jason was fulfilling his potential. Batman needed a Robin. They’d see.

Jason would show them. 

[flames-unicorns-and-sentryguns]

Larping AU

or: everyone is just playing pretend. The Administrator is someone just kinda watching from the property next door.

Everyone's real life deal

Scout: community college student in his first/ second year. Works part time at subway, working on/ wants to be a voice actor and artist. Not related to Spy here.

Spy: an actual Actor, befriends Scout and males their characters have the Father son relationship. Wears lots of costume pieces and clothes to hide himself.

Demoman: a Scotsman who owns a bar and has a special interest in explosives.

Solider: a history teacher at the college scout goes to. Knows his stuff and will throw in some factual historical/ casual knowledge into his pretend nonsensical yelling.

heavy: a literature teacher at the same college. Befriends Solider, got introduced to Demoman via Solider. Zhanna hangs out with him and ends up as part of the Lore of their game. Met Scout outside of work because he happens to visit the same shop scout works at.

Engineer: is a civil/ electrical engineer. Has wrist and hand problems and wears a brace. Can't actually play the guitar ( partially due to his wrist pain). So he brings around a guitar hero guitar to pretend to play it. Accidentally said yeah I'm playing an engineer because he did not realize they were picking their roles. All his machines are made of cardboard boxes. The dispenser is a cooler people can come by and grab snacks/ drinks and take a break.

Medic: an actual medic, dating heavy still. When he activates ' Uber' he makes the medic theme song with his mouth for 8 seconds.

Sniper: a park ranger at the local wildlife preservation park. Im not taking away the Bushman thing.

pyro: worked or works with some sort of painting/ spray paint and needs the suit/ mask. Friends with engineer still.

They all kinda know each other/ end up visiting the same bar. They got to talking and made a goofy story/ wouldn't it be funny if - situation and started making up a whole lore behind it..

Spy's cloak: he is throwing a blanket of some sort and everyone pretending not to see him. Doesn't smoke, but likes to chew on things. His knives? A Popsicle stick. His disguises? Still the paper masks

Engineer pretends his wrist brace is the Gunslinger and he gets to slap people.

the guns and bats? Nerf guns and the like. Heavys boxing gloves? Socker boppers.

The bombs? Glitter bombs.

Rocket jumping? A pogo stick/ trampoline.

Saxton Hale is a gym bro that comes by sometimes.

pyros flamethrower ? A broken vacuum cleaner/ hair dryer.

Medic carries around a toy medic bag. His medigun? A flash light/ a vacuum hose.

the classic mercs are some old people/ people from the old folks home they invited over for some of the main comic plot.

Merasmus is Soliders room mate and insists on trying to Play regular DND in this larp.

[thorougly-melted-brains]

SoapGhost superhero/vigilante AU where Ghost is a vigilante whose front is a dry cleaning place and Soap is a hero who cannot keep his suit intact to save his life.

Ghost is the city’s masked menace. He’ll bring down stores, banks, companies, even empires just to keep the city balanced. His main task is hunting down predators and abusers, especially ones in positions of power. He is a one-man army, nobody knows his face or even his voice really, he seeps in and out of the darker corners of the city like his namesake.

Simon Riley is the quiet owner of a dry cleaner downtown, whose known for taking… unusual costumers, he’s discreet.

Soap is a newer vigilante who moved into the city a year or so ago. He’s peppy and bright, and noticeably only covers the top half of his face. He doesn’t kill, not without absolute necessity, and spends most his time with corruption and petty crime.

John Mactavish is the odd but friendly artist who moved into a studio apartment and spends most his days holed up in there, on the roof, or in some coffee shop sketching.

Soaps first interaction with Ghost is… distinct. Ghost pounces on a man Soap was trailing (literally, he drops from the fucking sky) and only acknowledges Soap after the gun is literally grabbed from his hands. Ghost pulls out a knife and Soap swipes that too. At this point, both pause and decide to actually talk. Or, at least Soap does.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t just let you kill someone.”

Ghost tilts his head at him, a silent, challenging ‘why?’

“Listen, you just let me take him in, and I’ll stay out of your hair, mask, whatever - just please don’t pull out another weapon.”

And Ghost nods because he’s nothing if not tactical, and also because who the fuck is the new guy grabbing weapons out The Ghost's hands.

Soap meanwhile has to very awkwardly wrestle with the fact he got between 6’4 brick wall’s gun for some random, assuredly shitty man who is now babbling and thanking him for saving his life. It also does not help that the aforementioned brick wall is much too close to Soap’s type. Tall, fit, judgy, and also a serial murderer who is almost assuredly willing and able to hunt him for sport- Soap needs to rethink his career path, and whatever life choices lead to his unfortunate taste.

Ghost has been trailing Soap during his free nights for a few weeks when a roughly shaved man covered in paint with a smile like a floodlight stumbles into his business at 8:00 am. He learns quickly that his name is John, that he’s new in the city, and that he really needs this stain out of a pair of very un-civilian looking pants.

Simon doesn’t comment on how the stain is most definitely blood, or how the fresh stitching on it really looks like a repair for a knife wound, only shoots a glance at Soap's paint spattered clothes when he asks if he needs anything else cleaned. He’s more preoccupied by the fact this man has the exact same shitty haircut, build, and jawline as the peppy hero he’s been following.

Soap doesn’t recognize him because, really how could he, and rushes back out sporting the same grin he came in with. If Ghost follows him extra closely the next few days, it’s only to assure he doesn’t know his identity, and nothing to do with the major stab wound the other man is assuredly dealing with.

Soap meanwhile is panicking doubly because he made a fucking fool out of himself in the form of the obnoxiously hot dry cleaner down the street from him and because Ghost has started following him. It takes him a few days to notice, but he’s there, always just out of sight. He never approaches, never does or says anything, just follows and watches. Soaps content for the time being, just happy the other vigilante has less time to murder people.

Soap visits Simon more frequently, for both work and work related cleanings. Simon starts looking forward to his visits, against his better sense. The other man is quick, smart, and has the same sense of humor as him (as much as he might groan at Simon’s terrible jokes).

Simon also worries, because the more work related items he receives from Soap, the more injuries he knows the man has. Ghost's schedule starts including more and more time following the other man, just for security reasons, of course.

Soap is in a similar, if more serious, predicament. Because Simon is fucking gorgeous and smarmy yet charming but every bit just right. Soaps started getting into more fights, taking more hits he would usually dodge, just to see the other man. Hell, he even takes in some of the fancier clothes he’s long since ruined by getting bored waiting for events.

He’s going mad romantically and in the sense his ever present “friend” has turned bolder. He’s following him nearly every night and has even dropped into the alleys Soap has just cleared a few times, standing in the dark and just staring at him.

[maskedinfinate]

hehe um ok ! since you asked so politely

this is um. corrin. an oc for that undertale post-neutral run au i posted about a few days back. They're a captain of a place called the Riverbed, my own fanmade area which is sorta above waterfall. It's the highest point of the underground and is basically where all the water FALLS from. into. waterfall. wow. amazing. Corrin wants to act intimidating he wants to act like a bigger "threat" than he already kind of is, because hes had to experience a lot of people treating him like he didnt know a thing about what he was talking about when he was CLEARLY experienced, but wasnt listened to because he looked the youngest, and young = stupid apparently. So he tends to hide his face, because he really just. hates that. Corrin is also a type of water monster that can mainly only survive in waterfall, in places like hotland (or i dunno the DUNES) he is at risk of evapporating very quickly and straight up DYING. btw :3 i'll add kind of a lighting round of facts abt them that arent really mega important but if you want more to chew on then like ok here (THIS IS "do you like the colour of the sky?" LEVEL LONG READ MORE AT YOUR OWN RISK)

I'll start from when he was a babey up until like present time in my au i guess

Corrin was born in the riverbed area, while its not very populated due to having more water than land, he and his family thrived. His mother used to be a captain too, but she quit sailing to raise him. He got incredibly attached to all the stories she told about her experiences with sailing, and wanted to do just that when he grew up.

When he was a teen he needed to earn enough money to be a personal student for a well trained sailor, because there arent many schools in the underground to begin with so education regarding specific things like sailing, art, etc, have to be exercised by a personal trainer.

To get that money for about a year he worked at a daycare in snowdin, which was far from home but worth it. Working with vastly different kids who were learning all about their enviornment taught Corrin how to properly handle a large group of people all at once in a calm and content manner.

Once he had enough money he got to study. woohoo! then he got to sail! yippee! he got himself a crew, a good boat, and everything.

Corrin and his crew's main goal for sailing is to help other monsters. Sometimes monsters can get stuck in waterfall, or even get lost, maybe even be trapped under the riverbeds waves, and thats where they swoop in to help. They actually managed to help a few royal guards who were in danger at some point, which garnered them a bit more attention. Corrin was gifted a harpoon by undyne as thanks for he and his crews effort into helping the royal guard, and he uses said harpoon to fire at shit with a harpoon gun :3 ok so. this is the part where corrin meets star ok. get ready ig.

Sometimes, monsters from that little home area of waterfall get lost and need a ride back with the boat. But sailing there is of course safer, but takes a long time due to a bunch of twists and turns needing to be taken. So corrin and their crew thought of a plan. They'd scope out a sort of shortcut to get to that home area faster so monsters wouldnt have to wait so long. As they were testing their theory the waters were extremely uncooperative, but Corrin got reckless. He took a wrong turn and they ended up crashing and he went overboard. Corrin sorta. floated away. half drowning, half not, just kinda out of it. Since the riverbed is the highest point of the underground, he ended up falling! many times! and much like a certain lil human guy ended up crashing into one of the mines in the dunes. The dunes, being a very hot area, is NOT suited at all for corrin. He can die there if going without water for at most 3 days. So corrin seeked refuge and for help to get back to waterfall or for someone to just. idk. give him water. Unfortunately he was attacked ! uh oh! From his looks alone corrin does NOT at ALL look like hes from the dunes and is an easy target, yknow. Corrin fought back though as he does have a weapon, a fucking harpoon gun, but as he did so he was caught in the act at the worst second. in rolls the fuckin feisty five, despite knowing how serious the situation is they were like "nah lets keep this up for the roleplay" "we might die" "no" sooooo corrin got locked up in jail! He was able to explain his situation about how hes a water monster and will die within days if hes kept in that cell, so they come up with a compromise. If corrin helps them out around the wild east, THEY can help him get back to waterfall AND give him water ! And yea. then he and star get mega gay and homosexual. wow. corrin actually forms a bit of a rivalry between the five because he doesnt enjoy being bossed around, but he kind of has to or he might die yknow. dont feel like giving all the juicy details but eventually he and star get a bit close and yeeeaaaaaa but then they help corrin back to waterfall, but he and star stay in touch. through letters ! Corrin keeps every letter he gets from star btw in a special little box. because he likes stars awful handwriting

Eventually though when frisk rolls around, and kills asgore (canon to my au) Corrin is fucking. Furious. He has lost all hope. He as well as entire monsterkind has lost their freedom to a CHILD. Blinded by rage he begins taking out all his anger out on humanity, which, to Star, who KNEW clover and LOVED them like family because of how incredibly kind they were, takes great offense to that. Corrin and Star have to temporarily take a break from eachother so that Corrin can work on his issues regarding humanity, having to realize frisk didnt have much of a choice. It was either them or asgore. And they're a child. Who might not be able to process or understand the weight they carried on their shoulders.

Once Corrin comes to terms with that, and calms down, he and Star are back together and are happy :3

Though, then Palila enters !!! (another oc for the au, the player char) and. Corrin is hesitant. Palila sneaked onto their ship to be able to go from one place to another much quicker, but in turn, Corrin has no idea how to handle them. Corrin doesnt know what to do, all hes ever learnt was to fight or get someone off of the ship immediately if possible. But Palila is a child. A HUMAN child. He doesnt want to fight them, not after all the time he spent collecting himself and trying to berid of all his hatred for humanity and what they've done to monsters, but he's forced into a situation where he HAS to fight because someone is TRESSPASSING on their property. He first sends Palila to Time-out (those daycare instincts kicking in) but once they escape he cant really do anything but fight.

Once hes spared though, he makes a compromise with Palila too. They can stay on his ship whenever they need to and wherever they want to go (like sorta the riverperson) but they must ask or inform someone on deck before doing so. and now hes a dad :3 So yeah thats basically all of it in like a very bitcrushed summary i didnt want this to get too long but whoops. If you're reading this, you're cool. If you read EVERYTHING? you're insane, love that for you. thank you.

[eatmekaneki]

Paradise Fallen

Chapter 3: The Safehouse

Chapter Summary: Gojo drops you off with Nanami at the safe house. You try and get to know the man meant to be your guardian angel. (Insert some joke about his emotions also being guarded as well)

Warnings/Tags(*for entire series): Graphic Violence, Smut, Angels and Demons au, Vampire!Getou, Angel!Gojo, Angel!Nanami, Demon!Toji, Fallen Angel!Choso, FMM threesomes, Poly relationships, dubcon, knifeplay, gun play,

“Solitude sometimes is best society.”- Paradise Lost

Nanami pulled the car into a long wooded drive that followed at least a half mile of nothingness until it hit the safe house. It was a small home trailer that seemed to be trying to pose as a cabin nestled back in the woods.

Paint chipped on the outside of its bluish gray coloring, painted too thin and leaving streaks.

It was mid day but it looked like evening with how dense the trees hung overhead here.

You hadn’t really pictured the safehouse being an actually little home. They’d told you it’d be an apartment in a different part of the city, and this was something entirely different.

You pulled out your cell phone to check for signal, not surprised to find yourself getting none.

You sighed and got out of the car after Nanami and Gojo had already stepped out.

Gojo was stretching his arms above his head. His shirt lifted slightly showing a bare inch of skin under the hem. You felt your breath catch in your throat at the sight.

He was so beautiful that angel was probably the only right word to suit him in looks.

Though he didn’t act like any angel you’d ever imagined would.

Yet, he didn’t have anyone to answer to anymore, maybe that changed things.

If god was dead and he had no one above him anymore, did that actually make Gojo the new god?

That title somehow suited him even more and less at the same time.

The two men ushered you into the house and you saw that the inside was just as unappealing as the exterior.

It had peeling white and blue flowered wallpaper over thin wood paneled walls and bright red carpet that looked like it hadn’t been changed since the 80’s.

There was a main living room you walked into with a plaid green and black couch near an old boxy television set. That room connected to a hallway leading to 3 doors; the two bedrooms and a small bathroom.

The kitchen was also attached to the main living area. Dark wooden cabinets that also hailed from a much older time were scuffed up and faded in spots. It wasn’t a large kitchen but you could imagine it working just fine for two people.

The whole place smelled like mothballs and old paper inside. But, surprisingly it wasn’t dirty. Someone must have come in and cleaned the place up for you.

Gojo showed you to the bedrooms. One had two twin sized beds and one had a larger queen bed.

Nanami offered to take the one with the twin beds but you insisted you were fine with the smaller bed. He didn’t argue.

A lot of your things seem to have already been dropped off. By who? You weren’t quite sure. Maybe the police, maybe more angels.

You did wonder if there were any more around the city or if it was just Gojo and Nanami here.

After staying for a little and getting you settled in, Gojo told you that he needed to leave. He had some important business to take care of early in the morning at a news station and didn’t want to stay out too late.

You walked him to the door, nervous to be left alone without him now. Not that he wasn’t much more of a stranger to you than Nanami at this point himself.

You trusted him though he scared you. Angels were supposed to be fierce and powerful, were they not? That didn’t make him less good.

If he trusted Nanami to watch you, you’d trust him too.

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I’ll stop by again for dinner and to tell you if there’s any news on our guys.” Gojo smiled another heart melting smile on his way out the door.

“That sounds good…” you replied, wanting to say more, wanting to keep him longer but not sure why, or what to say.

“Gojo?” You called out, he’d started to walk away back towards the car, but turned around quickly when he heard you. Blue eyes were fixed right on yours.

“Just hurry back okay?” You decided on.

One corner of his mouth rose into a subtle smirk and he gave you a nod.

“Of course y/n.”

He got in the car and you watched him pull away and leave down the long drive. It was odd that you felt the pains in your stomach of missing him already. You tried to tell yourself it was because you trusted him more than Nanami to protect you. But, there was more to it than that. It was more than obvious to you at this point.

You were falling for that pretty angel and his blue eyes.

———

You unpacked some of your clothes into a small wooden chest that sat at the foot of one of the twin beds.

The inside of the room was cramped, but at least it had a few windows on one wall.

The beds were so close together it might as well have just been the queen bed. There was also a continuing of the nauseating red carpet here as well.

You tried to tell yourself it was only temporary. You hoped it was at least…

Knuckles rapped on the wooden door to your new living area.

“I’ve made dinner.” His deep voice spoke in a monotone. He didn’t wait for you to reply, simply walking away as soon as he’d announced the meal.

“Okay, thank you! Be right out!” You yelled after him.

You decided to change into something more comfortable now that you were settling in for the night. It was just dinner with Nanami after all.

You put on a thin and lowcut pale purple tank top with some soft blue fuzzy shorts. You debated if shorts might have actually been a bit too short. You turned in the cheap full length mirror that was hung on the back of your door.

“Fuck it.” You shrugged, seeing your ass cheeks poking out from under the bottom hem of the shorts. It’s just Nanami, and this is where you’re living now, you should be comfortable. This was something you’d usually wear in the evenings around your home.

You walked out to see him setting down food on the coffee table near the tv. That seemed to be the only place to eat.

“I’m gonna have to get us an actual dining table and a couple chairs if we can make ro-“ he stopped when he saw you walk towards him.

The adam's apple in his throat bobbed as he gulped, taking you in with surprisingly wide eyes.

You were a bit confused. It’s not like you’d walked out in lingerie. But here he was, his cheeks turning a shade of pink, blushing as if you’d walked out and told him something dirty.

Maybe dressing like this wasn’t such a good idea.

Awkwardly you decided to try and distract from it all.

“So what did you make?” You smiled walking over to him and sitting down on the couch in front of the meal he was laying out.

That did seem to snap him out of it.

Though, his voice cracked slightly on his next word out.

“Ah, Um, I made some chicken, and pork and rice with a few different sauces…” he started listing off the things he made as you started loading up a plate and trying things.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit while you ate, until finally you spoke.

“Guardian Angel huh..” you said before taking a giant bite of a fried chicken ball.

He chuckled softly and you noticed how lovely and boyish his smile seemed to be despite how much the rest of him looked like a hardened business man.

“Yes.” Was all he replied.

“And my guardian angel now…what does that mean.”

He thought for a moment, his face looking less cheerful again, like in the car. He didn’t seem to be fond of letting you in on what was going on here. Which seemed quite unfair considering he was only here protecting you because they wanted to use you as bait.

“It means that I can feel if you’re in trouble.” He answered. “A guardian angel who is assigned a human can form a connection with them in many ways.” He pondered giving more information than that. But he settled on. “To start though, I’d be able to tell where you are and get to you quickly if you were in danger. Like an alert going off in my mind.”

You pressed your lips together tightly and nodded. “That does seem handy.”

He gave another small laugh. “It is. Let’s just hope we don’t need it.”

You still didn’t feel satisfied though.

“So how did you become a guardian angel? Are you born that way? Are you…even born at all?” You started spilling out questions without thinking.

It was a mistake to get too excited with his engagement in your conversation.

His eyes narrowed coldly and he snapped his chopsticks down onto his plate firmly and shoved it forward. The muscles on his forearms flexed as he angrily packed up the food to put it away as leftovers.

“Enough.” He grunted, standing up from the couch. “I’m full. Going to bed.”

You rolled your eyes at his tantrum and shrugged. “Okay. Goodnight then.”

He rushed off in a huff.

Unsure of what you’d really done to upset him so much, you felt a bit bad. but you also didn’t feel like he was justified in storming off on you.

So you stood your ground by staying and finishing the rest of the meal on your plate.

You turned on the television to see you only got news channels out here, that was going to get boring.

Maybe Gojo would bring you a dvd player and some movies to watch. Or at the very least some board games to play…if you could convince Nanami to stay friendly with you for more than ten minutes.

You cleaned the last of the meal up and went to bed.

You curled up in the patchwork quilt blanket that had been laid out at the foot of the bed. The night was getting chilly and though it wasn’t yet the time you’d usually fall asleep, it was dark enough, and you wanted the day done with.

Closing your eyes and trying to sleep felt impossible though.

It had been every night since the crash.

It wasn’t the memory of the sound of the metal scraping though that kept you up.

It wasn’t the thought of how many had died and how you’d lived.

It wasn’t the pain in your head that you still felt from hitting the steering wheel.

Nothing of that was horror enough compared to the sick feeling you felt when you saw the white fangs of the man poking his head into your car.

The real horror. How much thinking about him excited you…

——

The next morning you woke up to the smell of eggs and bacon cooking.

With messy hair and morning face still on you wandered out to the kitchen groggily.

“Fuck!” Nanami hissed.

Through squinted eyes you could see that he’d just burnt his hand somehow. Possibly distracted by you again, in a similar way as yesterday.

He’d been bent over the stove cooking eggs, but was now looking you up and down for a moment.

“I think we are gonna need rules about this.” He muttered, tearing his eyes away and returning them to his cooking.

You rubbed your eyes and then narrowed them in on him.

“Yeah, like not staring me down when I am just wearing my pajamas.” You grumbled.

“You call those pajamas?!” He snapped. “You might as well have walked out in nothing.” He angrily scraped at something burning onto the pan.

You shrugged.

“I’m covered up. It’s not my fault you can’t control yourself better. Angel.” You threw that last line in with a teasing tone.

But he slammed the pan down hard onto the stove top at that, storming out of the house.

You stood shocked and still for a moment. Having been aware of his temper you’d known it not wise to push him, but you weren’t the type to just appease a person like that.

Though, you did feel a bit bad it seemed you pushed him too far.

You went and turned the stove off.

If you were being honest with yourself, you really hadn’t thought he’d care. Angels were supposed to be innocent and pure right?

So why did he keep looking at you like he wanted to tear your clothes off just because of some short pajama shorts and a tight tank top?

You wondered if there was something more to him that you were missing, and it did seem like you’d be spending a lot of time together. So you figured it best to go find him and at the very least try and meet on some middle ground with him.

You started by going and putting on a t-shirt a few sizes too big for you over your tank top you’d been wearing. It was hanging down over the shorts. That should be more modest, you figured.

You walked out to find him sitting on a tree stump out in the yard a bit, with a cigarette in his hand.

“I didn’t know angels smoked.” You called out jokingly, stepping carefully barefoot over twigs and leaves to get to where he sat.

He spun around and saw you and cussed under his breath.

“So you’ve come out here to tempt me some more.” He grumbled.

“Tempt you?” You repeated annoyed as you got to him. “I figured this would be better! I’m more covered!”

“Well now you look like you’re not wearing anything under there at all!” He motioned to all of you standing in front of him, trying not to let his eyes rest on you long.

“I am wearing more clothes than earlier, I’m not tempting you, not on purpose at least.”

“You could leave a little more to the imagination, at least.” He bit back.

You glared at him with your face scrunched and arms tightly crossed. “Sounds like your imagination running away with you is the issue here. Not how I’m dressed. If you’re tempted that easily it must be pretty hard being a good angel.”

He scoffed at that. “And who said I’m a good angel.” He took another puff of the cigarette. “I’m not a cherub like Gojo. I’m not even in the second ring of angels.” He sighed. “Guardians are the lowest rank of angels. So who do you think picks up the most slack?” He chuckled, tossing his cigarette into the dirt by his feet and stamping it out with a black shoe. “Who do you think spends the most time with the humans, only to just be forgotten about here when everything goes wrong side up.”

You noticed his hands almost start to shake at this. You felt a sudden urge to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and comfort him.

“So why does that make you not good?” You almost poured at him.

He sighed and stood up, looking you over again with sad but still slightly hungry eyes.

“Because, humans aren’t good, and I grew to like you all a bit too much.”

————

[winterproductions]

Un-Thinkable | Preview [New Series]

Genre: Mafia Au, Thriller, Suspense

Rating: Rated R, PG-18

Trigger Warnings: Sexual Assault, Blackmail, Murder

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader, Bangtan x OC

Word Count: 508 words

Author's Note: Hey everyone, new story alert. Let me make some things clear, the sexual assault portion of the trigger warning IS NOT connected to any of the main character's (you) love interest, we don't play with Stockholm syndrome. It's a plot point that changes the life of the character it will affect. Now, let's move along to the story.

Name changed from We belong to Un-Thinkable.

This will also be available on wattpad

Preview > 01 > 02

“Come on!” You heard an eager voice scream at you from ahead.

Your ears are ringing as you began sprinting, bruised and injured from debris due to an explosion you barely escaped. Vision blurred since the glasses you depend on are broken.

As the ringing subsides, you begin to hear the echoes of gunshots and feel the wind push past you as the bullet ever so closely came in contact with you.

“For fucks sake! Let’s go!” You heard another voice scream at you as they overtake you. You began to get overwhelmed as the open wound on your feet begins to burn and your sight is more blinding since it’s midnight on a dimly lit street.

You squint your eyes trying to find the people you were accompanied by but that was futile, all you saw you black. The darkness you loved when you are home in your bed suddenly became something you despised. At this moment, you realized it was your enemy.  Your throat began to burn as you continue to run to no destination. Gradually, you slowed down before coming to a complete stop. You gave up.

Silence

You were hesitant to move as everything just…stopped. Everything became still, the wind, the trees, and even the cars that roamed the main road made no sound.

You held your breath and silently blew it from your lips in an attempt to control the heavy breathing. However, the sudden movement of the trees alerted you making your stance defensive once again. Your body lunged forward to begin running once again but that failed as someone held your waist.

“Got you.” You felt the male’s smile through his whisper. “Let me go.” You whispered in a small voice. You desperately wanted to seem unphased but your condition rejected that attempt. “for you to keep looking for people that already left?” Your body froze at his words and it made the man laugh, he was thoroughly entertained. “What man leaves his girl behind to cover his ass and what friends do the same? See, this is why you should’ve just stayed but I guess the grass was ever so slightly greener on the other side.” She felt the cold metal drag up her abdomen to her head. “Tell me, should I end you right here where no one will find you, wait, let me rephrase—where they will find your skeletal remains” He spun you around pulling the handkerchief from his suit and wiping the tears and blood from your face.

“Answer this question and be honest with yourself kitten. Have I ever abandoned you like this?” She bit her lip and a new stream of tears fell. “Monica? Phoenix? Have they ever left you behind injured?” slowly, you shook your head. “But yet, you chose the Koreans over us.” He spat then aimed the gun back at your temple, drawing back the hammer, cocking the gun. “My darling, My kitten hopefully you make it to the pearly white gates and the golden mansions you always spoke about.”

[wolfverse-stories]

Camera one

Songfic (A map script but I can't draw)

(Falling in Reverse Au/ Reverse Batfam)

The sandy-haired son of Hollywood

Lost his faith in all that's good

A young Tim walks through an empty Drake manor, stopping in front of the kitchen. A box with a bow sits on the table.

Closed the curtain, unplugged the clock

Little Tim climbs up onto a roof with a camera hanging loosely around his neck

Hung his clothes on the shower rod

But he never got undressed

Tim walks into the Batcave wearing the robin suit

And no, he never made a mess

Damian pushes past him storming out of the cave

It's funny how life turns out

"Whatever little wing" Damian smiles at his little brother for the first time

The odds of faith in the face of doubt

Tim walks into an abandoned warehouse

Camera One closes in

Joker slams a crowbar against Tim's chest repeatedly

The soundtrack starts

Tim tries to push himself off the ground but slips and falls back

The scene begins

Tim looks across the room to see a bomb ticking away

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

The bomb keeps ticking down as Tim leans against the wall

Take a bow

Take a bow

Damian stands in front of a headstone

The trophy wife from Palisades

Whose yearbook beauty never fades

Rose stands on a rooftop watching as the waves peacefully move back and forth

Sits and watches the sea fold in

And wonders what might have been

A young Rose fights alongside the Titans

If she could ever have the chance

Slade stands in front of her reaching out his hand

Would she do it all again?

Rose reaches forward shaking his hand

It's funny how life turns out

Rose stands on a roof pulling the Cowl  of her suit over her head

The odds of faith in the face of doubt

An injured Ravager stands in a room of assassins

Camera One closes in

A gun goes off as the assassins fall to the ground one by one

The soundtrack starts

Red Hood lands in front of Rose

The scene begins

Rose shakes his hand

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

Tim opens a window letting Rose climb into his apartment

Take a bow

Take a bow

Rose leans against him as they both fall asleep on the couch

On the corner 

By his streets

He sits in his lawnchair

In the heat

Damian sits at the bat computer working on a case

Sightseers see 

What they want

Jason walks by talking to Bruce.  Damian closes his eyes as a memory of Tim plays through his mind

They're selling star-maps 

To the sun

A younger Tim is walking beside Damian bragging about his last case

The sunny-haired son of Hollywood

Lost his faith in all that's good

Tim lets out a sigh running his fingers through the patch of white in his hair

Closed the curtain, unplugged the clock

He pulls on his coat and helmet

Hung his clothes on the shower rod

But he didn't get undressed

He turns off the light shutting the door behind him

And no, he didn't seem depressed

Red hood stands on a roof with Nightwing

"It's funny how life turns out" 

Tim says turning to his older brother

"The odds of faith in the face of doubt"

He smiles under the helmet

Camera One closes in

A young Tim opens the box pulling out a camera

The soundtrack starts

He closes his eyes as the bomb reaches one

The scene begins

He emerges out of the Lazarus pit with rage in his eyes

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

You're playing you now

Red Hood jumps into the water pulling out an unconscious Nightwing

Take a bow

Take a bow

Take a bow

Take a bow

A Tiny Tim stands on the rooftop taking a picture of Robin

More stories / Main fic

[depressopax]

From ABQ with love, Nacho

This is the first chapter/prologue of my LCDP x BCS AU/Nacho spin-off. More info can be found here! || AO3 link TW: Spoiler for Better call Saul, violence, cuss words and mentions of death. Words: 0.6K [Might be a bit OOC, bare with me] English is not my main language, if I make any spelling mistakes please let me know so I can improve my writing! <3

Chapter 0

I was walking towards my own death when I met him. 

Life wasn’t easy. Never been, and I’ve given up the hopes of a calm, easy life. 

I’m already a dead man. A walking dead man. Dressed in black, as for my own funeral. There’s a gun in my back pocket. A loaded gun. 

Bullets are ready to fly. But I’m not ready to die.

The Salamancas. Gustavo Fring. I make a list in my head, reminding myself of my enemies.

I also make a list of people I want to avenge, Arturo being one of them.

But the list that makes me keep on walking, that makes me determined to actually allow myself to die, is the list of people to protect. Dad. 

I’ve taken farewell to my dad. I’ve somehow accepted the sorrow that I’ll never see him again. 

Ever. 

Still, every step through the desert feels like hell. My body feels too heavy to carry. My mind is a mess. 

But if I feel, I’ll live. And if I live, I’ll be scared of death. 

So I shut it all off and continue walking. Walking, towards death. 

A black car pulls up. 

“Ignacio Varga?” Although I’ve promised myself to not show fright, I reach for my gun. I stare at the man with big eyes. It feels like they’ll fall out of the sockets. 

But it’s not Gus. Nor his men. It’s not a Salamanca either. 

No… This is..?

The man staring back at me looks smug. Entertained. 

As if my situation -  my beat up face and body, my pain and rage - is funny to him. 

Maybe it is. 

The man has brown hair which is turning gray. His brown eyes stare into my soul. I don’t need to tell him that; Yes. Indeed I am Ignacio Varga. 

He knows. 

“Cat got your tongue?” 

“Who sent you?” I hiss and before the man in the fancy suit can react, I grab onto his black tie and put the gun against his temple. 

Silence. 

Then he laughs. 

I feel confused, disgusted, even. I let him go and step back. He looks at my dirty hands with disgust and fixes his tie whilst chuckling.

What a psycho sack of shit. 

“Ignacio… Por favor. We’re friends!” 

“I’m not your anything.” 

“We’re allies, Ignacio.” Another car drives up to us. “Get in the car.” 

He stops laughing and his face turns cold. 

“What?”

“I said, get in the damn car.”

The car that approaches… It’s them. Fuck. It’s them. The people that want me dead.

Before I can react, the man grabs my button-up shirt and drags me into the car. 

The fancy son of a bitch drives away, whilst I protest.

“Shut the fuck up!” he hisses. He drives beyond speed limits and roars in delight. 

He seriously finds this… Funny? Before I can ask him and draw my gun, I realize it’s missing.

Fuck!

Then, something is held against my face and I fall into a deep, worried sleep. 

One story ends - And another one begins. 

Like I said - this was the end of me. The end of the man who I once was. 

That day I killed Ignacio “Nacho” Varga. He died, the second I left Albuquerque. 

I escaped the rage of the Cartel. I escaped the twisted game that The chicken man forced me to participate in. 

I died, but somehow kept on breathing. 

My story was over, but he had other plans for me.

[samsspambox]

The 'Aetem + pierced ears' post is giving me "Wotakoi + Nifuji piercing his ears bc he saw Neru date a guy who had them" brainrot? Like... an AU...why do I imagine a version of Artem doing this sort of thing? 😳

HI HI! putting the nonnie here again bc I feel like I didn't elaborate enough on the last ask and wanted to make a proper post about artem with piercings!

ima be honest tho, i have not seen Wotakoi but have seen snipetts from tiktok reviewers to have a general idea of how it goes (it has been on my watch list for a while now, i just haven't gotten around to it)

anyway: artem with piercings. ever since that scene in 6.2 where he's like:

and that got my monkey brain thinking, you know? cuz first of all artem at a party? hmmm,,, and then the earring part!! and then with me being me, i had to find some way to prove to myself (and yall) that artem could have pierced ears. so!

Artem with Piercings? It’s more likely than you think.

an observation/analysis on artem and the possibility that he has pierced ears.

(~600 words)

Aight so, as mentioned in a previous theory, I'm betting good money on Artem having either closed piercings or having actual piercings without the studs in. It follows a pattern I've mentioned before, but that’s not the only reason I think Artem has piercings. Like yeah, in 6.2 he says that he wore earrings to a party (he went to parties?) but I would assume that he wore clip-on. After all, his sprite doesn't show any holes, right? Well… let’s look at Marius’ idle sprite. 

The sprite itself has four earrings on the left side and none on the right (considering he’s the one who did at least one of the piercings, it makes sense they’re on his left). Looking through stories and cards where he’s wearing a suit, he doesn’t take out the earrings. He witches them out for ones that don’t call as much attention to them compared to events where he can dress up (re: Fabulous Feast vs. Main Story 7). 

'But what’s the point?' I hear you ask. Well, mostly to get you focused on his ear. We don’t have a sprite where a person known to have earrings… doesn't have them on. This goes for MC as well. A brief glance into cards where they appear always has them wearing a pair of earrings, so we don’t have that baseline as to what ears in this universe look like if they have a piercing but don't have an earring. 

Anyway, aside from the theory, why would I think Artem had piercings at one point? Well, I’d cite teenage rebellion or something similar. In his revisiting youth card (which im still fucking salty i didnt get fuck you mr. wing) he says he knows how to pick locks. Idk what type of pin mc was wearing that day but the fact that Artem ‘I get called an emotionless robot by the media’ Wing can pick a lock using a pin that he’s not really familiar with?? Idk man something ain’t adding up here. 

There’s also the fact that his mom called him ‘Difficult to deal with’ as a teenager. Now, let’s not jump the gun and say Artem was a full on bad boy, far from it. Back to his revisiting youth card, we’ve seen the outline of Artem’s highschool portrait. We know that while stand-off-ish, he was generally a good kid. But you can be a good kid while being difficult to deal with. Honestly when someone won't approach you for some bullshit reason, there has to be some way to pass time. Especially in a closed environment like school. Hence: lock picking. People like learning how to break into things because they can, not because they use the skill.

But then when do we get to the earrings? Well, we get to them at the same time. Gifted Kid Artem Wing was probably bored, already had the reputation of being a loner (not a total one but one with acquaintances), and was in an environment that both facilitated and spread bad ideas. All Artem had to hear was people talking about piercings for him to get the idea. It’s entirely plausible that Artem got piercings on a whim. After all, no one is going to tell him otherwise. 

Now I do think he let them close out if he did get them. Going back to Marius having earrings, he changes them when it comes to corporate matters or just day to day. Idk if I’m just assuming but isn’t it a thing in corporate culture to just, you know, not have earrings? Marius gets a pass because he’s the protagonist he’s the CEO of the company. You’re not gonna tell the CEO to go change, are you? Artem, while being the senior partner, still is Celestine’s employee. I’m 90% sure Celestine wouldn’t mind because it's Artem, but better to err on the side of caution, right? 

So there’s a 50/50 chance he either has piercings that aren’t closed (since we don’t have a sprite to show us what that looks like) or he has them closed.

and yeah! that's my long-winded ramble. thank you for asking!!

[titichan]

The Taste of Betrayal

Chapter- 3

Tags: Vampire!Au, Vampire-Hunter dynamics, Bottom!Yuuji, Top!Gojo, Top!Sukuna, Threesome, M/M/M, Sex toys, Bondage, Slight bdsm, Rough sex, A little bit of gore, porn with Plot, Slight mentions of Meimei and Nanami, Author is Sukuna's bitch ;], Other tags will be added as I commence

The house was eerily quite at the time of midnight. A little 5 year old child woke up and went to his parents... he couldn't find them in their bedrooms. He rushed for the living room....and what he saw...was the start of his nightmare. 

  

Yujii could still remember- the bloody corpses lying strewn on the floor. His childhood self was traumatized at that. He could make out the silhouette of a man under the full moon. Though the face was now, hazy; he could still remember the stench of the rotten corpses and the disgusting pheromones of the vampire. 

The vampire's words and actions were reeling in his mind.  

The vampire smiled a toothy grin, soaked with blood. He approached the little, trembling child. 'What a beautiful child you are~'  

The vampire touched his face and carved out a bloody mark, diagonally across his face. 'Now that looks better~'  

Little Yujii was screaming with pain and fear. 'Don't touch me! You...you murderer!'  

The vampire was taken aback by his resistance- which seemed to be an invisible shield.  

'You...you're a hunter...aren't you?'  

Yujii could only remember up to that...for after that, he had fainted.  

Yujii snapped back to reality, his head hurting badly.  

"Ugh...what a nightmare... oh...right, the late victim.."  

He silently placed the corpse near by, and turned towards the dead body of that vampire.  

"Somehow... I have a hunch that this vampire is carrying something valuable." 

He slowly crept near the body, and searched his pockets.  

He found two packets of Arsenic. 

"Illegal drugs? Sweet." 

He quietly tucked in the packets in his suit pocket.  

- 

He reached home and as he opened the door, Meimei jumped on him and gave him her 'killer-hug'. Itadori was almost suffocated from her hug. Somehow getting off from her hug, he entered the living room. 

"What's with that hug of yours?" He enquired, putting down the gun on the coffee-table.  

"Guess what? I actually got my hands on the secretive information of the most notorious mafia boss and the dreaded vampire of Japan- Sukuna Ryomen!" She happily waved her phone at him, showing Itadori the vampire's picture. 

"Damn, what's up with those tattoos? Looks pretty suspicious, I must say." Yujii looked pretty uninterested on seeing that man's picture.  

"Hey, that's unexpected of you- he's in the top two of your kill list, Right?" Meimei looked at her phone, and then looking at him. 

"Oh, I forgot." She rushed upstairs, with heavy footsteps.  

'What's she up to now?'  

Yujii was curious, as he saw the silver-haired run upstairs.  

She came back in a flash, with a shiny card in her hand and threw it to him. With quick reflex, he grasped the card and inspected it. "What's this? Rivera...grand party?" 

"Yup~ Your main target's gonna hold this grand party tomorrow. At 8 p.m." Meimei sat down on the couch. 

"Oh, I can see what you're planning..." Yujii eyed her with suspicion.  

Meimei's blood ran cold, thinking she was found out. "You...think so?" She tried to hide the growing fear in her voice.  

He laughed, "Look, I already am the 'personal secretary'- which is truly surprising, but a perfect opportunity. Now why are you giving me this?" 

She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. 

"Pfft...oh and even if you kill him in the working place, do you think media will let you live? That's why...you should-" 

She stood up again and reached for his wig.  

He was surprised, "Wait- what are you-" 

With one slight tug, the wig came off and his pinkish hair unfurled- looking vibrant against the dark, murky black wig. 

"So that nobody recognizes you, go without the wig...and kill him 'undercover' and quietly behind the shadows..." Meimei ruffled his hair. 

Yujii chuckled, "Hah. What a cruel little way you have...truly exciting~"  

The lavender-eyed grinned, "You sound more like a villain than hero here." 

The pink haired shrugged, "Well, I'm just doing my job."  

She laughed, moving towards the kitchen.  

"Very well, now help me with dinner- Mr. Hunter" 

- 

The next day, Itadori reached the office building. As he entered the elevator, a white haired man also entered.  

Oh, it's Gojo Satoru.  

It was just yet another morning for another tiring work-day, but that man was shining like anything.  

"Ah, Good morning, Yujii-kun~" The blue-eyed smiled at him, leaning on the elevator wall.  

"Yes...Good morning, sir.." Yujii kept his guard up, in case that vampire was trying to pull some kind of trick.  

"No need to be that much formal..." He seemed to pout.  

'Wait, did he just pout? Man, he looks a bit...different...' 

The elevator reached the floor, and it opened. "Let's get going then! Oh, and have you prepared the files I've requested?" 

 Gojo strode forward to his room.  

Following him, he answered, "Yes sir, I have."  

"That's good to know~" He grinned, opening the door. "Please keep those files on my desk and do talk with Mr. Kentou for the new schedule and all"  

"Yes sir." He quietly put down those files on his desk, just when Satoru sat down.  

The white-haired eyes trailed from his black hair, to his lips... 

'How can a human have such plump lips? He looks so delicious~'  

Gojo gripped the arm rest of his chair hard, trying to control his emotions.  

As the pink haired was done arranging all the files, the white haired somehow managed to speak, "You...can go now..."  

Yujii nodded and turned back, walking towards the door.  

Again, the oceanic blue eyes trailed off...to his amazingly curved figure and his juicy ass...  

He did feel his vampiric instincts getting hold of him, but he had to control it. No way he's going to succumb to it so easily. Or he thought so. 

He tried to close his eyes, but when he did, he heard the door close. Realising he had left, he breathed out- like he was holding his breath the whole time.  

"Fuck...I think...I really want to taste his sweet blood~"  

[sparkingspider]

As a part of my new obsession with Persona 5, I have made a whole ass au for it and short fics have already been written.

Word Count: 1600+

Warnings: Blood, coarse language, brief mentioning of traumatic events.

A thunderous roar erupted from the throat of Masayoshi Shido, his burning red body flaring with an outright demonic aura.

“Woah! Something just spiked in him!” Futaba cried from within the safety of Prometheus. “Watch out guys, he’s gonna do something big!”

Immediately, Ren pointed his gun at his greatest foe, unloading his entire clip in a brief moment.

“To hell with that!” Ryuji hissed, pointing at Shido. “Let’s bring this asshole down!”

At his command, Seiten Taisei unleashed a column of lightning that struck Shido, Ann and Haru following suit with respective elemental blasts from Hecate and Milady.

Yuuki and Makoto followed with their own attacks, a barrage of watery blades from Coyote and a burst of ozone from Anat.

Sensing an opportunity, Yusuke dashed to the raging politician. “Kamu Susanoo!” He cried, his oni-like Persona manifesting behind him and slashing at his target.

Mirroring her companion, Hifumi charged forward with Eris, the angel adjacent Persona thrusting her lance towards Shido’s chest

Ice ran through the two Thieves’ veins as Shido deftly caught Susanoo’s blade in his right hand and Eris’ lance with his left, his roaring ceasing and his rage honed on the two like a lion cornering its prey.

“Enough games.” Was all Yusuke heard from him before a fist collided with his core, all air fleeing his lungs as he was sent flying from the foe.

“Fox!” Hifumi could only get out the single word before Shido unleashed a vicious kick to her jaw, blood gushing from her lips as she tumbled to the floor. A Tsudyne nearly spelled her end if not for the intervention of Morgana.

“Shit!” Ryuji swore. “He’s still got more in him?”

Ann’s breath quickened as she tended to Yusuke. “I can’t believe it. Even after all that, he’s only gotten stronger?”

Shido only glared at the Phantom Thieves as a response, his hands flowing with a dark purple energy. As he curled his hands into fists, a gasp was prompted from Futaba.

“Guys, brace for-“ The warning came too late as Shido’s fists slammed into the ground, rending the wooden floor and unleashing a shockwave of dark energy towards the Thieves.

Ryuji screamed as he was flung far away from the main floor in the courtroom, landing on his bad leg and curling into a ball. After the wave of pain ended, he looked up and scanned his fellow Thieves, all sprawled across the floor. Yusuke, Ann, Hifumi, Morgana, Haru, Yuuki, Makoto…

Eyes widening, Ryuji looked to the area of the blast, a massive ring of purple fire enclosing the area where they once fought. In the center stood an absolutely livid Shido, staring down a shaken Ren, alone and facing the monster of his past

Ryuji immediately rose to his feet, bad leg be damned, and ran as fast as he could to the ring of fire. “Joker! Ren!”

“Ren!” Came an equally desperate cry from Makoto, unleashing a Freidyne on the ring to no avail.

“Shit shit!” Futaba swore from her Persona, frantically typing away on her keyboard.

At the cries of his teammates, Ren looked back through the ring, his own eyes wide with shock. “Guys, are you-“

“NO MORE GAMES!” Shido roared as he sped towards Ren and socked him in the jaw, causing the teen to launch into the air.

“NO MORE DISTRACTIONS!” The enraged politician grabbed Ren’s leg and slammed him into the ground, his eyes narrowing mercilessly as he watched blood erupted from Ren’s forehead and mouth.

“THE MASSES OF THIS COUNTRY ARE NOTHING WITHOUT A STRONG LEADER!” Shido screamed as he rapidly threw blow after blow on the dazed body of the Phantom Thieves’ leader, slowly deepening a crater through his sheer strength. “AND I ALONE AM THAT STRENGTH! I ALONE HAVE THE STRENGTH OF BOTH WILL AND BODY TO LEAD JAPAN INTO THE IDEAL FUTURE! AND MY CAMPAIGN WILL BEGIN WITH THE DEFEAT OF YOU AND YOUR TROUPE OF ANTS!”

Ren’s body could only be slave to the torrent of pain that Shido unleashed on him, his mind flashing through blurred images of the past.

“Don’t stick your nose into the affairs of adults.”

“This school is my castle and a king can do whatever the hell he wants.”

“Art is merely a tool for profit, just as my students are tools for me.”

“Your pathetic group is just a dying fad. You’re not even going to last a year.”

“Of course my authority is absolute! Choices left in the hands of juveniles will only result in total ruin!”

“Money rules the world, it’s that simple. Just follow orders and maybe you’ll be fine.”

“I AM YOUR MOTHER! LISTEN TO ME!”

“Attain victory by any means necessary, even betrayal. That is the Okumura way.”

“I am the only one worthy to judge the scum of this world! My word is justice!”

In spite of the pain, Ren couldn’t help but build a growing rage towards these thoughts. How dare those damn adults try to control him, even in his death.

“Promise me this….take down Shido, for my sake.”

“….I’ll hold onto your glove, Goro.”

Ren’s eyes snapped open, in time to see Shido prepare one final finishing blow. Thinking fast, he cured out “Kaguya!”

The moon goddess formed above the two combatants in a burst of blue cinders, Shido’s vicious punch immediately reflecting back at him and causing the tyrannical Palace Ruler to get sent back.

Slowly, Ren got back up, a healing chant from Kaguya keeping his legs strong. Old blood continued to drip from his forehead, but he still stood, more resolute than ever.

“Joker!” Cried Ann.

“Joker-kun!” Came Haru’s scream.

“Leader, are you ok?!” Morgana wailed into the ring of fire.

Ren spat on the floor, painting the shards of wood in a splotch of crimson. Turning to his Thieves, he flashed them a bloody grin. “Never better.”

Turning to his tormentor, his grin widened as his silver eyes burned with righteous fury. “This ends here, Masayoshi Shido. The manipulation, the torment and the control. All of it, right here right now will be rent asunder by the Phantom Thieves of Hearts!”

“Smiles like that sicken me.” Shido snarled as he raised his arms. Ren only barely avoided the massive fiery Agidyne, dashing across the limited arena as blasts of every element whizzed around him.

“Come on Joker, end this deplorable plot!” Shouted Yusuke from outside the ring.

Ann quickly joined in. “Kick that fucker’s ass, Joker!”

“You heard them Joker!” Futaba exclaimed from the comms. “We may be unable to reach you but we’re still cheering you on ‘till the bitter end!”

Joker smiled as his Thieves cheered him on, the people in the world he cherished the most still with him even when separated by fire. “It’s time we enact our justice, Robin Hood!”

A resounding gasp came from the Phantom Thieves, even Shido’s anger wavering in the face of the stalwart archer suddenly being summoned by Joker.

“As you command, Trickster!” Robin Hood bellowed as an arrow of light came flying from his bow, Joker dashing behind the arrow with his knife drawn.

In spite of his shock, Shido caught the luminous arrow. “Useless tricks! I will not-“ His retort was quickly shut down as Joker grabbed the arrow with his free hand and shoved it into Shido’s shoulder, prompting a scream of pain from the tyrant.

A wild swing from Shido was swiftly avoided as Joker slashed at his legs, narrowly avoiding another punch and tagging him on the side of his face with a few shots from his pistol.

“Byakko!” The alabaster tiger let out a roar as it coated Shido’s leg in a sheet of ice, with Joker delivering a knee to his face before Shido could free himself.

“YOU WILL END HERE! I WILL SEE TO IT!” Shido cried, summoning a giant fist from the sky to squash his foe like an ant.

Joker smirked at Shido’s mistake. “Kaguya!” He cried, the moon goddess allowing him to take the massive power of the fist and redirect the force towards Shido.

The crimson tyrant let out a gasp as his legs began to wobble. Joker’s eyes widened at the opportunity. “Horus!”

The golden bird summoned a bolt of thunder, forcing Shido down to one knee. The tyrant’s eyes widened as he heard Joker cry “Athena Picaro!”

A powerful lance slammed into Shido’s core, almost knocking the tyrant out cold. Shido quickly shook his head to rid himself from any daze and rushed towards Joker.

“Arsene!” Joker cried, the deep laughter of his gentleman thief soon following. Arsene and Shido engaged in a brief clash, exchanging a barrage of kicks and punches respectively.

In spite of the abuse his body took, Shido’s frown gave way to manic laughter. “You can only do this for so long boy! This arsenal of misfits and false gods are nothing in the face of my might!”

Shido’s eyes widened when Arsene suddenly vanished, the momentum of his punches forcing him forward.

“You speak ill of falsehoods, yet you deceive the masses. You speak of leading, yet you led yourself astray. You speak only of your own strength, yet you have only used others to get this far.”

Floating above Shido, head in his hands, was the demonic visage of Loki. His usual grin was twisted into a dangerous scowl as his spear floated gently in the air.

“YOU KNOW NOTHING OF WHAT YOU SPEAK!” Shido spat back. “YOU ARE JUST THE LOST SOUL OF AN UNWANTED BRAT!”

Joker’s scowl harshened. “Finish it, Loki.” He said, walking away.

Shido let out a scream as he prepared to unleash one final against the leader of the Phantom Thieves, but he was stopped by a swift slash across the chest courtesy of Loki.

“Fall, Masayoshi Shido, Tyrant of Pride, Ruiner of the Paths of Youth. Fall to your wretched knees and let a better world form from the ashes of your defeat.”

Ren let out a deep sigh when he heard the man crash to the floor. Masayoshi Shido had been defeated.