#and then he tried to eat some puzzle pieces for good measure

[oliviawhen]

Yesterday was Brioche’s first gotcha day anniversary! One year of noisy bread time. Thank you for being such a friendly, affectionate little guy. 

[134340am]

for the madeup fic game, idk why my brain immediately thought of the words "banana bread" but here i am with the title "banana bread" if you can think of anything 😂

hello my pretty rae! happy tuesday <3

for banana bread, i'm thinking of a light-hearted crack fic where bokuto is cursed at birth to drop any and all foods that he compliments after the first bite.

it started when he was a kid, just a little guy at the park chomping down on some ice cream on a hot summer's day. he's saved up enough to try a new flavour—today's treat is strawberry ice cream encased in a thin layer of mochi. "yum," he mutters to himself after the first bite: a small, tentative one, where he rolls the flavour about on his tongue afterwards. when he goes in for a second, bigger bite, he drops his ice cream.

fuck.

bokuto swears by his dad's toast. it somehow tastes better, though it's just toast? the outside is a stunning golden brown, the balance between the crunchy crust and the pillowy insides is perfect, and the little pad of butter his dad slides on top the hot toast is just the right amount—enough to coat the entire surface of his breakfast without getting it soggy and greasy.

"it's just toast, but it's awesome every single time, pa," he once said through a generous mouthful of said toast, before his fingers twitch and his breakfast goes barrelling towards the floor.

gravity 1, bokuto 0.

(screw this shit, he hates it here.)

he's mindful of his compliments to the chef now. pizza, beef rice bowls, cold soba in the summer and hot oden in the winter: whatever he's eating, bokuto's careful to express his appreciation for the food only after he's had at least half of it.

until he met you.

the humble bakery down the street serving the freshest pastries has been the fruit of your labour for the past five years. lemon pound cake, pain au chocolat, darling little vanilla cupcakes and giant chocolate chip cookies—your menu is sure to satisfy anyone with a sweet tooth. your best seller, however, is your banana bread: the caramelised exterior and fluffy interior, in addition to the overpowering smell that wafts through the street every morning, had people queueing up long before your bakery opens.

bokuto is no exception.

he's almost in tears when he tries your banana bread for the first time, teeth sinking into the crispy crust to find the soft sponge underneath and a satisfied hum already brewing in the back of his throat.

before he can help himself, he speaks, "this is the best banana bread i've ever had."

shitshitshit, he shouldn't have said that.

bokuto cringes, awaiting the familiar numbness to take over his fingers, awaiting the dreaded fall of the delicious banana bread from his hand...

...but it never comes.

when he opens his eyes, he's puzzled to find the golden-brown square still intact between his thumb and index finger. huh, that's weird.

"this banana bread is— it's, um. amazing. delicious. wonderfully tasty," he tries, eyes fixated on the dessert. he even takes another bite for good measure, nibbling at the corner where a bit of caramelised crust has formed. he starts rambling when nothing happens. "this banana bread is lovely. i'd eat it everyday, for breakfast and lunch and dinner. maybe even supper, but my trainer says i shouldn't eat too late or i'll mess up my circular rhythm. my circulator rhythm? what's the damn word— anyways, this is good. like, great good."

nothing happens. his little slice of banana bread, now down to a piece the size of his thumb, sits unharmed in his hands.

a grin breaks across his face, lighting up the room almost immediately. "holy shit!"

"holy shit is right, sir." you slide into the seat opposite his, armed with another slice of banana bread on a plate. your smile mirrors his, amusement decorating your pretty features, and bokuto feels his heart rate pick up even more—something he didn't know was possible.

"i'm glad you like my banana bread. it's our bestseller, and you probably know that, but nobody's really complimented it the way you have." you laugh good-naturedly, sliding the plate across the table. bokuto's eyes flick from your face to the bread and back, heart soaring.

"well, i hope you know i was telling the truth," he starts, almost shyly. "would you, um, like to share this piece?"

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it!

[primofate]

Hello there~ I see that you are opening request and there isn't much twisted wonderland content, so may i request soulmate au or arranged marriage au for twst bois? (Riddle, Kalim, Malleus- or which any character you prefer to write for) (•ө•)♡

I actually love soulmate AUs and Arranged Marriage AUs. Just don’t have time to write a proper fic for it. 

I went for arranged marriage btw! Thanks anon! Ah, also, sorry, I’m holding off on Malleus for a while, there’s just not enough about him and I’m not confident to read his personality at this moment. :) 

Riddle Rosehearts

His mother arranged it. As it was when he was younger, his mother dictated every part of his life. 

Somehow he couldn’t stop his mother’s decisions in arranging a marriage for him. You were from a well-known family who excelled in magic so his mother found it fitting.

Riddle, of course, didn’t really like the idea. He disagreed with his mother’s decision, but didn’t say much about it. 

You would see each other during school holidays, since you don’t attend the same school. 

It was really awkward at first, but Riddle was at least polite to you. He just didn’t know what to talk about or what to say. He didn’t find much of a point in conversing anyway.

There was one time, where you visited his school and he was quite shocked about it as well. But anyhow, he introduced you to Trey and Cater, who were both equally surprised. 

You basically went to see what his life was like, but Riddle was busy that day so he left you with Trey and Cater. Which was perfect! You wanted to get to know Riddle a bit more and the best way was to probably talk to his friends. 

You found out what he liked to eat, and started practicing how to bake strawberry tarts the way he liked it. (Trey said the ingredients and measurements had to be PERFECT, so it took you weeks.)

Christmas came round and your family was invited over to their house for dinner and to stay the night. 

Dinner was normal, not much words were exchanged on the table between you and Riddle. As you expected, no sweets were served after dinner.

So, you went looking for Riddle after dinner, in his room.

He was surprised to see you out there and you simply handed him a cake box. It’s a strawberry tart that you worked hard on the day before. “Merry Christmas,” 

He opened it to find an immaculate looking strawberry tart, but he also noticed that your fingers were covered in some bandages. He was quick to piece the puzzle together.

“...How did you know?” He asked, the two of you still standing at his doorway. You tell him that you exchanged numbers with Trey and that you’ve been asking him for some baking tips. 

Riddle is silent for a moment before he actually opens his door and lets you in. “...We should...eat it together,” he simply says and so that’s what the two of you do.

Riddle was skeptical at first. He didn’t think anyone other than Trey would get his tastes precisely right, but you did well on your first try. “...It’s good, thank you,”

You were super relieved and was telling him how his friends are really nice, to which he only half agreed with. You had the wrong impression of Riddle, he didn’t seem so uptight as you thought he was.

“...So you...exchange messages with Trey?” He suddenly asked you and you nodded your head in confirmation “Mmhmm, he’s very nice,” 

Riddle tries to hide the small hint of displeasure on his face, his eyebrows creasing the slightest bit. He doesn’t even know why he feels the slightest bit annoyed.

He hands you his phone, “It doesn’t seem proper that I don’t your number...so if you could just put yours down...” he pretends to be busy with the tart while he says that and pretends he’s uninterested.

The two of you say good night shortly after but you before you even enter your room for the night you get a message from Riddle.

“Thank you. It tasted wonderful. Could I ask what your favourite dessert is?” 

You ended up texting back and forth for a while before going to bed. He was much more talkative through text.

The two of you gradually got closer...and that’s a story for another time ;)

Kalim Al-Asim

Arranged marriages are quite common where he’s from. He isn’t fazed by it and he knows a lot of people who go through it. 

He takes it on like how he usually takes everything on, with a smile and positivity. 

You are actually quite lucky, because he is so easy to get along with and he’ll warm up to you in an instant.

The first time you met he was all smiles and complimented you on the outfit you were wearing, the two of you actually had fun hanging around in his garden and him telling you all about his school life. 

You were smitten in just a few days and you thought that this wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

Until you realized that he basically treated everyone the same way. 

The first time you noticed was when there was a big ball/gathering that was hosted at his mansion. 

Kalim talked to everyone so easily! He complimented them on how they looked, asked about their hometown, conversed with them smoothly. 

So, basically, you felt like you weren’t special at all. He was just like that to everyone. 

At some point during the party you left Kalim’s side to get your own drink but you never did return back to his side cause you wanted to think about things on your own for a bit.

Another person approached you and started getting friendly with you, which you didn’t mind. You kind of had this ‘If Kalim can socialize so well I can too’ sort of thing going on in your mind at that moment.

Until the person started to get a little touchy, then alarm bells started going off in your head. 

Jamil was watching everything from a distance right from the start, but he wasn’t one to interfere into Kalim’s conversations, or rather, he wasn’t supposed to. But Jamil did interject Kalim the next moment he was free and all he said was. “Kalim, where’s Y/N?”

Kalim suddenly was conscious of your absence and when he looked around he saw that person touching your arm rather affectionately and he wasn’t sure why he was so bothered by it. 

Still, he approaches the two of you with a smile and scratched the back of his head when talking to you. “Hey, Y/N, sorry, I got caught up talking with others,” he extends his hand out to you and then addresses the person talking to you “Ah, hey, Haadi thanks for looking after my partner, I’ll take it from here!” 

Haadi drops the hand that was brushing your arm and apologize “S-Sorry Prince Kalim, I didn’t know the two of you were together,”

Kalim smiles and laughs though, like nothing happened. “Yeah! Guess I haven’t been introducing ‘em properly. This is Y/N, we’re engaged!” 

Haadi congratulates the two of you but quickly excuses himself right after, which Kalim doesn’t quite understand, but he shrugs and turns towards you. 

“Mm, alright, well, let’s go around the room again! I gotta introduce you properly to everyone this time around!” He squeezes your hand and grins and somehow you get the impression that Kalim does see you differently but you’re still quite insecure about it all. Wondering if Kalim would be ok with getting engaged to anyone and if it didn’t really matter if it was you or someone else.

So, you decide to ask. “H-Hey, Kalim...Is it... I mean, are you just going along with the engagement and...Ah... nevermind, I’m sure you are. It wouldn’t really matter even if it was someone else, right?” Of course he was just doing it to please his parents and follow rules, it’s not like you were special.

He blinked at you and tilted his head a little, wondering what your crestfallen look was about  “...Father introduced a couple of others to me, but I didn’t like them so I chose you!” 

Turns out that traditionally, there are a few people whom Kalim can pick from (it’s a matter of hierarchy and bloodline) and he’s allowed to say no until they find someone who he actually likes. It’s basically like matchmaking. You thought that he didn’t have a choice on the matter and that you were forced upon him.

“You’re really nice, the other ones were um... hehe,” he doesn’t have it in him to say something bad about them, but most of the previous ones were very stuck up and most likely was just enamored by the fact that he was rich.

“Anyway! I’m glad that you’re here! Have you ever tried halva before? Let’s go get some...” and he basically doesn’t let go of your hand the rest of the night and properly introduces you to everyone.

He’s a super nice and energetic guy, but the way he squeezes your hand tells you that he’s also pretty loyal to those he chooses to be with.

[n3onguts]

5 times he said i love you. | kim taehyung

summary — different versions of ‘i love you’ told throughout the course of a relationship.

pairing — kim taehyung x f!reader

genre&tags — slice of life au, fluff, angst out of nowhere???, a terrifying lack of plot and direction (i cannot stress enough how unedited this story is. at some point, it got away from me and i just needed to be rid of it), taehyung making terrible choices while drunk, healthy-eating propaganda, pettiness and pride being the pitfall of every relationship, yk how it is

warning(s) — mentions of alcohol consumption and intercourse (but it's chill, they're both adults)

w.c. — bordering on 5k but pretty easy to digest

a/n — yes i have been working on my drafts (!!!), don't really wanna think abt them tho bc my laptop broke like two days ago, right when school's about to start so i'm not doing v good rn :/ anyways i've had this story in my head for a while ever since i read this one fic that used this same format (if i can find it i'll be sure to link the author as my inspo!) so i just wanted to get it out of my system. i'm not rlly a hardcore fan of bts (gotta admit tho... yoongi's passion for making music is so mmmmm), but when i started writing this i used taehyung's name as a filler for the guy character and it kinda just stuck. i hope u still enjoy, and as always, if u have any feedback, i'd love to hear it! :)

i. WHEN HE WHISPERED IT INTO THE NIGHT

Taehyung loves your apartment.

He loves it in the morning. Waking up to the sound of sizzling, of wood against metal, lightly clanging in your kitchen as you whipped up breakfast-for-two. Exiting the comfort of your bedroom to find early solace in the domesticity of the sight before him — you, with your sleep-ridden hair and bare legs peeking out from under an oversized tee. Messy and mussed but still looking oh-so-fucking-angelic, crooning along to your favorite Etta James record playing in the background as the rising sun bathes the scene with its glow. Solid hands wrap around your waist from behind as he rests his head in the crook of your neck. Syrupy kisses come in place of a greeting and contented sighs seep out when you break apart: all he could ever want, and more.

He loves it in the afternoon. Both of you on your lumpy couch in the living room; your head in his lap, his hands in your hair. Everything in its place the way it should be. Happiness is home-grown and laughter permeates the air perpetually. You tap-tap-tap away at your laptop, which rests on your chest. He tries to pay attention to whatever’s on TV, but his eyes always end up on you.

He loves it in the nighttime. Dancing together in front of the bathroom mirror before bed, toothbrush still in mouth. Lights off, lamps on, the safe warmth of your thick comforter enveloping you two. Legs intertwined as your dainty fingers trace his features, like you’re trying to commit a map of him to memory. Minty lips follow to sleepily graze against the trail you’ve left — starting at the top of his forehead, along his cheek, down the bridge of his nose, and, finally, after what feels like eons and then some, pressing onto his patient mouth. The evening does something to you both: honest words are exchanged with less resistance. Admissions of pleasure and confessions of pain spill out after dark, until you both succumb to the exhaustion, bodies interlaced like puzzle pieces.

Taehyung loves your apartment, he really does. He’s told you that numerous times. It’s a lot easier to say than what he actually wants to, but, well, those three goddamn words? They relentlessly attempt to claw out of his throat.

So he waits.

In the dim moonlight, the white noise of the city below acting as the soundtrack to your romance, he waits.

He waits, and when he’s certain you’re fast-asleep — chest gently rising and falling at a measured rate, cheek taking ownership of his chest — Taehyung surrenders to the feeling.

Glancing at you through drowsy eyes, he mouths it in the dark, rapid yet cautious, like a secret and a promise meant only for the night.

I love you.

ii. WHEN HE WAS DRUNK

Friday night — he found himself stuck at some bar, God knows where, struggling to stay upright.

Just one shot, Taehyung's sober self had stupidly claimed. One shot, and I’m done. But once his surroundings had started to go out of focus, and all he could make out were the cheers of his equally-idiotic friends, egging him on, well, how could he not succumb to the cloying pull of his own recklessness?

Alcohol was a shitty lover; it was bittersweet moments interspersed with short-term euphoria and long-term regrets. Side effects almost always included the following: (1) the ill-advised ballooning of his usually-muted ego, (2) a sudden and asinine surge of confidence, and, finally, (3), the mistaken belief that his present actions would have no future consequences, as though tomorrow would never come.

But tomorrow always did, and a half-dead, hungover version of him was always left to fix whatever mess he had made the night before.

Tonight, it seemed that drunk-dialing you was on top of his to-do list of mistakes to make. Clumsily, phone in hand, Taehyung summons your contact number, a familiar feeling of home washing over him once he spots your name at the top of his screen through heavy-lidded eyes.

It’s barely midnight, but half of him expects you’re already passed out, too glued to your bed from exhaustion to pick up. The other half — soft, daring, wishful — hopes that you aren’t.

It takes 3 rings before he hears your sleep-ridden voice hum through his line, “Hey. What’s up?”

For a moment, sobered by a split-second semblance of level-headedness, he hesitates.

“Hello? You there?” You patiently wait for a response, but worry laces your tone. Time to buck up and get this shit over with, he realizes.

Taehyung’s voice is timid, gentle, a juxtaposition to his booming surroundings, which are awash in a red glow and brimming with a sea of sweaty, intoxicated bodies. “Did I wake you?”

“Not really.” He hears you shift in bed, most likely sitting up to focus on the conversation. “Where are you?”

His response comes out slurred and ambiguous. “Um. Out?”

“Ah… you’re drunk.” He mentally curses himself for being so easy to read; you must be so annoyed, having your sleep disrupted by some boozed jackass. Instead, you laugh knowingly, and a wave of calm rolls over him. You don’t hate him, thank God.

Buzzing with a newfound self-assurance, the words start slipping out with much more ease. “Well, just a little.” You laugh again, and he’s grinning now, something wide and goofy and uninhibited.

“That sounds fun,” You murmur. “As long as you’re okay and you’re alive.”

“No—” He sighs dramatically. “I’m in agony. I wish you were here.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?” He can practically envision you as you say this: eyebrow quirked and delicate lips pulling into a faint smirk.

“I miss you less when you’re next to me.”

“O-kay, stupid. You know, you’re cute—” Taehyung pumps his fist in the air in celebration. I’m cute! He rejoices. “But you’re drunk.”

“What?!” He exclaims, and he hears you giggle at his sudden outcry.

Eyelids fluttering at the melodic noise, he imagines you’re seated at the foot of your bed, hugging your knees. Your ear is warm from the phone pressed against it and your toes are curling along your mattress. There’s a glint in your eyes as you speak to him, probably relishing in his current state of ill-advised inebriation. He’s making a fool of himself, he understands that much, but he doesn’t care — he’d run through the streets naked, if you willed it.

“You are, though.”

“I am, yes.” He concedes, nodding ruefully.

Another giggle. God, he’d never get tired of that. “Wonderful. So, do you have any more nice things to say to me while you’re drunk?”

You weren’t taking him seriously — couldn’t, seemingly. You were teasing him, he was sure, but he didn’t want that.

“I’d still miss you if I was sober, you know. Probably more so. The alcohol helps tamp it down a bit.”

“Sure.”

“I kind of wish we were attached by the hip — or, like, I had a leash that I could use to drag you around with me.”

“Oooh… Kinky.” Now it’s his turn to laugh.

“No, hey—”

“Hey.” You interject, voice a bare whisper.

“I…” Taehyung massages his temples out of frustration. He wishes you would just listen. His restlessness has two fingers down his throat, pushing the words out before he’s even ready. “Look, it really doesn’t fucking matter whether I’m at some bar or at your place: I want you next to me always. You haunt me everywhere I go, and I’m tired of trying to escape it. Because, well, um, you know— Shit. I love you, okay? Sober or not. Dead or alive. Stupid or whatever the opposite of stupid is.” He pauses to take a breath. “Me. I’m the opposite of stupid.”

Silence consumes your end of the line, and it implores — no, demands him to fill it. The world around him seems to slow as he rambles on, “That’s why I called you. I wanted to tell you that I love you.” Hope overcomes him. “Fuck, man, do I love you! And I know you think it’s the alcohol talking or whatever — which, sure, yes, Jose Cuervo did help push the words out — but I’ll still wake up tomorrow morning and you will still be my first thought, just the way you are every single fucking day.”

A tense quiet lingers, terrorizing him. Finally, after what feels like a millennium in his drunken stupor: “Smart?”

Your voice is tender, lighthearted, yet simultaneously consoling — he could sense a masked apprehension that you were deliberately trying to keep hidden.

“What?” He eventually stutters out.

“The opposite of stupid is smart.”

Oh. “Yeah. Um. That’s me.”

“Uh…” You begin and he absolutely despises how patronizing you sound. “Let’s just forget about this, okay? I get it: you think you love me and that’s really sweet, but…”

As soothing as your voice attempts to be, it’s a stab in his gut as he realizes that you don’t believe him — or maybe don’t want to.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Um, so, I’m a bit tired, I think I’m gonna go back to bed.”

A monotonous ‘sure’ leaves him reflexively. There’s a numbness that takes root inside of him as he stares straight ahead.

“Take care of yourself, please. Text me tomorrow morning so I know you’re okay, alright?” You hang on for a few more seconds, expecting a half-hearted acknowledgement from him, but you get nothing in return.

Taehyung hears a final, careful ‘bye’ muttered from your end before the line cuts. He lowers his phone down from his ear, resting it on the counter next to him. For some reason, it feels oddly heavy now. Stuck in a daze, he stares at the device like it’s an alien—

What the fuck had he just done?

iii. WHEN HE WAS SURE

“Tae, why would we ever need this much Jjajangmyeon?” You scold as he haphazardly scoops an entire row of instant noodles from the shelf into your shopping cart.

He shrugs, “It’s easy to make — you know I’m shit at cooking. Plus, it’s quick. And filling.”

You give him a withering look. “And full of sodium! Do you want a UTI? I swear to God, if you get sick, I’m not taking care of you.

“You say that but last time I did, you took a 3-day leave from work and rubbed my supposedly-smelly feet until I fell asleep.”

Grunting in response, you huff and he hears you mumble something along the lines of, “But they are smelly.”

You turn away from him to gingerly return the packets back into their place, ignoring his cries of protest when you leave only two behind — one for him and one for you. “Shut up. Why would it matter if you’re shit at cooking? You have me.”

At this, Taehyung smirks, leaning against the shelves like a quintessential rom-com lead. “I do?” He asks, voice dripping with innocence but eyes sparkling with mirth.

Grumbling, you wave a hand to dismiss him and he stumbles back dramatically, as though he’s been shot. You roll your eyes, “Will you behave? I feel like your mother.”

“Are we roleplaying right now?”

“We won’t be tonight if you keep being so annoying.”

“Okay— Sorry, sorry. My bad. Got the message. Behaving now.” He gestures to show that he’s zipping his lips.

He pulls out his phone to check your grocery list for what you two need next, eyes squinting to read the screen. Without missing a beat, you fish in your bag for his glasses and hand it to him. Taehyung pauses to look at the specs in your hand then back at you, before nodding gratefully and accepting them.

“It says we need bread next.” He announces, and you walk ahead to find the aisle containing bread. He maneuvers the cart to follow the route you leave behind as you check the aisle markers, zig-zagging along the pathway like a little pinball machine.

“Here!” You call out. Up ahead, you disappear into one of the aisles, and moments later, he enters said aisle to spot you trying (and subsequently failing) to reach the bread you want on the top shelf. You stop tiptoeing when you see him rush over.

He grabs the nearest loaf, one that’s eye-level to you, and waves it in front of your face, “Why not this one?”

You send him another withering look. “That’s white bread, Tae.”

“And so?”

“It’s super processed.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m young.”

“And you’ll die young if you eat garbage. Will you just get the whole-grain bread I was reaching for?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so concerned about these things — I’m an active guy, I’ll be okay.”

“Well, I’m sorry I care about your health.”

He wants to laugh at the scene before him — you, with your arms crossed and your eyebrows hardening like a petulant child — but he knows that would only irk you even more.

“No— Hey— C’mon.” Taehyung tries to pull you into a hug, but you swerve and swat away his attempts to close the gap between you two. “I’m glad you do. I’m very grateful, actually.”

Your pursed lips melt into a soft pout. “You just— You don’t know what a demon white bread is! I read an article about it the other day, and it’s made of refined grains, Tae! Refined grains.” You explain hysterically, hands buzzing around with the air of someone who's just divulged an incredibly juicy secret. “They’re chock-full of sugar and preservatives! And these preservatives have chemical names that no one ever questions because they can’t understand it, so they just accept it! You can eat a whole loaf in one sitting, Tae. I don’t want you to contract diabetes or something worse.”

When you finish your tirade, you go quiet, and when he looks into your eyes, dark pools he wouldn’t mind drowning in, he can’t tell whether he wants to laugh at your absurd worry over him or cry at your sincerity.

Instead, he smiles. It’s unrestrained, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “That’s a bit of a far reach.”

In one swift movement, Taehyung grabs the loaf you were eyeing earlier and hands it over nonchalantly. “But I do love you. So I’ll try my best not to.”

Perhaps it’s because he’s just said he loves you for the first time — terrifyingly sober, under the harsh fluorescent lights of your local supermarket, after you’ve lectured him about his health and as he casually tries to give you bread — that you stare at him for longer than he’d like, eyes peering like he’s become transparent. But he stands his ground.

He shrugs, tossing the loaf into the metal cart behind you. He thought your inability to respond might bother him, but, surprisingly, it doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t think he minds much. Taehyung always assumed loving someone with certainty would be like an immediate thing, a singular, specific moment he’d have to seize with confidence or it would pass, leaving him wrecked with nerves and regret. But, as it turns out, certainty could wash over him during the most mundane of instances and love would slide out easily into his words, as though it always belonged. Maybe it had.

“You love me?” You say, and when you do, it almost sounds like a wish. One he’d go to Hell and back to grant.

He looks at you like you’ve just told him that the sky is blue or the Earth is round. “Yeah. Of course, weird-o. Was I not clear enough with my profession of love earlier?

You shake your head as you laugh. “No, you were.”

Taehyung nods, satisfied, moving past you to push the cart in search of the next item on your grocery list. But before he can, he feels a pair of small hands clutch his arm and a face nuzzle into the wide expanse of his back.

“I love you too.” You muffle, voice humming warm air against his sweater. “Which is why I’ll let you get a pack of Oreos.”

“Fuck yeah!”

“But just one.”

iv. WHEN HE WAS SORRY

Stumbling inside your apartment, you rush out of your boots and head straight for your bedroom, locking the door. A few footsteps behind you, Taehyung follows, disgruntled by your brisk pace.

“Y/N!” You can hear him from inside your room, where you’re sat on the bed, staring into space as you try to process what had just ensued during the car ride home from Jin's dinner party.

“Your ‘friend’, huh?” You're staring stonily ahead, eyes carefully fixated onto the cement floor of the car park.

He’s still settling into his seat, shuffling on his seatbelt, too busy to really comprehend the challenge you’ve just initiated. “What?”

“When Jisoo asked you to introduce us, you said, and I quote, ‘Oh, this is my friend, Y/N.’ You called me your friend.” Gone is the acidity that laced your tone mere moments ago, replaced by an almost mechanical voice, something carefully constructed to mask feeling.

Taehyung stops what he’s doing to look up, finally taking notice of your cold demeanor. He frowns, “But you are my friend.”

“So that’s all I am to you? Just your friend?” You whip your head to face him now, fully, arms crossed. You’re devoid of emotion as you await an answer from him. He, on the other hand, looks utterly confused.

“What— No, of course not—”

“No, you were right. We’re friends. We are.” You cut him off. “Just friends. You’re correct.”

“I didn’t mean anything by—”

“I know. Which is why it’s no biggie.” You shrug, switching from robotic to indifferent. He can’t decide which is worse. “Let’s go home. I’m tired.”

You turn away, finished with the conversation, but he isn’t.

“I don’t understand— You were in such a good mood at dinner. What the fuck is happening?”

Looking at him again, you smile now, a sedative Taehyung won't fall for. “Nothing. Nothing’s happening. Can you start the car now? It’s freezing.”

Frustrated, he shuts up and does as he’s told, punching the keys into the ignition. You two sit in aggressive silence as he exits the car park.

The city roads are relatively bare, save for a few trucks driving along the highway. Passing street lamps illuminate your face in intervals, and every so often he looks over to check on you. When the car reaches a stop light at an intersection, he speaks up.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Honest. I didn’t.” His phrasing is wary, but heartfelt. So much so you almost want to put the matter to rest.

But pride is the only thing you’ve ever known — your child, a monster you’ve nursed back to health when wounded and fed when starved. You’ll be damned if you back down now.

“Right. It’s okay. We’re fine. I swear.” It’s terrifying how easily these lies breeze out of your mouth, without so much as a pause.

“I mean— We never had a discussion about our label— I just assumed—”

“I get it. No harm, no foul. We’re friends.”

“It was just automatic in my head, and I don’t know why. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

At this, you let out a cruel laugh. “Jesus, Tae, let’s not jump to conclusions here. Don’t assume I even care enough about you to get hurt by something as stupid as that.”

His face contorts as though he’s been bitten. “I understand that you’re mad, but you don’t have to be so unnecessarily mean.”

“I’m not being mean. I said I get it, right? You think our situation is too difficult to explain and blah, blah, blah. Now, can you focus on the road?”

When the traffic light turns to green, he steps on the gas pedal. Any and all discussion is once more extinguished, up until you reach the warm basement parking lot of your apartment building.

You’re gathering your things, about to head out of the car door, when you feel his hand pull at yours.

“I really had no ill intent when I said that. You’ve just always been my friend, so I had no other word for what we are now.”

You twist your head to see him, eyebags accentuated in the shadows, pleading with you to understand. You grip him tightly back, a sickeningly sweet smile etched onto your lips, “Like I said, we don’t have to discuss this anymore. We are friends, Tae, you were right.”

“But—”

“We’re friends— I’m your friend! The friend whose bed you spend more nights in than your own. The friend who knows that you brush your teeth in a specific order because that’s how your grandma taught you when you were nine— Or that your favourite compliment is when people tell you that you look like your dad because he’s your idol. I’m that friend! The friend who takes off from work the minute she hears you’re sick, who learns how to make Japchae exactly how your mom did. The friend who’s held you when you’ve cried, cleaned up your sick when you’ve gotten drunk, and swallowed your goddamned cum! The friend you fucking said ‘I love you’ to! Just fucking friends!”

Your furious shouts echo throughout the empty space, bouncing from wall to wall so that even when you've finished your rant, eyes frenzied and hands done flying, Taehyung can still hear your words create a cavern of guilt in his chest.

Fast-forward back to the present moment: there's a knot in your heart as you get ready for bed. Looking at your reflection in the mirror as you brush your teeth, you wonder, is loving someone supposed to be this hard?

“Y/N, please. I’m sorry. Open up.”

You gargle the last of the water in your cup and spit, wiping your mouth and smoothing down your pajamas as you head for the door. Opening it up, you assume a pleasant facade.

“What’s up? Sorry for the wait, I was changing.”

If your nonchalance deters him, he doesn’t show it. “I’m sorry. I realized I never said that. I’m sorry I called you my friend— I wish I hadn’t.”

“Tae, I told you, it’s not a big deal, we’re goo—”

“No, we’re not.” He runs a tired hand through his hair. “If you had introduced me as your friend, I’d feel fucking terrible. I’d feel so put out.”

You stay quiet, and you don’t want to, but you can feel yourself cracking.

“Friends don’t say I love you like that. And I love you like that. I’m sorry.”

You let a sigh escape. Your mom once told you that you housed a terrible anger, one you’d hold onto no matter how exhaustive it could be. But when he looks at you like that — disarmingly earnest in his sorrow, like wounding you wounds him — you want to raise a white flag in surrender, want to promise him you’ll do everything in your power to douse your pride.

You rest your forehead onto his chest and you hear him exhale in relief. He envelopes his arms around you (a cocoon you think you never want to leave), burying his nose into your hair.

“I should’ve just called you what you are: my girlfriend.” Taehyung whispers, a final reparation. “You’re my girlfriend, right?”

You pray no hesitance bleeds out into your words. “I’m your girlfriend.”

v. WHEN HE TRIED TO HOLD ON

“You’re my girlfriend.”

“I know.”

“And I’m your boyfriend.”

“I know.”

“So if you know, then why—” Taehyung exhales out of his nose. “You can’t treat people this way, Y/N.”

“I know.”

He’s standing across the room, arms crossed as he berates you. You really want him to leave, but if he did, you’re certain you’d run after him. You also want him to hold you, but if he did, you’re sure you’d only push him away. Feelings are stupid like that.

You poke craters into your lumpy mattress, chin resting in between your raised knees. Parts of you feel guilty, and perhaps that’s why you’re avoiding his gaze. But you’re also stubborn. I’m entitled to be selfish about my pain, you think.

“You’re supposed to— Why won’t you—” Lots of words swim in his chest. Taehyung wishes he could just reach inside and pull out the right ones, because all of the ones he uses only make you seem farther away. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N.”

“Doing what?” You spit out, all poison. Why? You wonder. You’re clearly in the wrong here.

“This.” He gestures towards you like it’s obvious. “Holing up in your own little world, refusing to let anyone else in. And then when I come to you to try and understand, you make me feel like I’ve done something wrong.”

You open your mouth to say haughtily that he hasn’t, but you’re cut off.

“God, Y/N, you know— It’s actually fine that you’re like this. I don’t mind if you shut everyone out, don’t mind if you’re hard to reach, because I’ll put in that effort. You expect me to give and give and give, and you know what? That’s fine. It’s fine with me. I’ll say sorry first, I’ll concede, I’ll swallow my ego, I’ll let you win. I don’t mind.”

You fiddle with your bedsheets, eyes fixated on them so hard you think you might burn a hole through. You shouldn’t be, but for some reason, you’re irritated that he’s confronting you with all your wrongdoings and letting you get away with it.

“I don’t mind! Really, I don’t. I’ll let you do whatever. That’s how much I love you.” He runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “All I ask for in return is that when I knock on the door of this little cage you’ve built for yourself, you let me squeeze in beside you.” His voice tapers off, “I’ll make myself small, won’t be a bother— Won’t even take up that much space, really. I just want to be in there with you. That’s all I want. That’s not much, is it?”

You want to tell him you’ve always lived like this — behind a smoke screen, inaccessible, like connection is a tap you can just turn on and off. Hurts less that way.

When you glance at him, guilt swells. Did you do this to him? Taehyung’s face looks worn; his eyes, desperate. A flicker of sadness pierces through your gut. You let him infiltrate your life, carve out a designated space for himself in your daily routine, and when he tells you he loves you, drunk, you refuse to believe it; he tells you again when he’s sober and you still can’t. You hate it when he introduces you as his friend, but get scared when he refers to you as his girlfriend.

You don’t know when it all turned to shit. Maybe it started during that week he was too busy to contact you, and you retaliated by ignoring him for the next two. Maybe it was because of that time he called you ‘difficult to be with’, and how no matter how many times he apologized, you couldn’t prevent that cancerous little seed of insecurity from burrowing itself in your mind. Or maybe it’s always been shit, and you’ve just been too spellbound to look at things with a clear head.

You try to absolve yourself of any blame, try to convince him as well as yourself: “I never asked you to do any of that. You did that to yourself.”

His hands implore you to see reason. “But that’s what a relationship is. You don’t ever have to ask— I’ll still be here anyway, still be waiting. That’s what loving someone is.”

There’s a phenomenon in psychology known as Stockholm Syndrome: it’s when a kidnapping victim forms an emotional bond with their captor. It seems irrational, unlikely. How could anyone fall for a person who’s hurt them? Defend them like none of that pain ever happened? But people do it everyday, you realize. People settle — they make compromises, they let themselves get stepped on, they excuse their chest aching as part of loving someone.

You let Taehyung’s words drift into the cold air of the room. The scene has slowed down. He’s sitting now, on the edge of the bed, and he looks like a husk of himself, as though getting all those words out has sucked him dry. You look outside of your window and notice that it’s drizzling.

“Did you bring a coat?”

“Huh?” He follows your line of sight. “No, I didn’t.”

“You can borrow my umbrella.”

From your position on the bed, you watch the rain fall, and from the corner of your eye, you see him tilt his head at you, like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” When you inquire, it comes out casual, without the cadence of the argument you just had.

“Of?”

“Being here. Waiting.” A pause. “Loving, I guess.”

Taehyung shakes his head firmly, obediently, like he’s confident his love will be enough for the both of you. “No. Never.”

The next time you speak, you can hear two hearts break. “I do.”

[shyvioletcat]

I have no idea if you’ve seen NCIS: LA, but they have an episode just like your fic Treacherous of two agents posing as a married couple in the suburbs!! It’s season 3 episode 22 for reference!

Prompt based on that: A comes home and sees blood, panics and follows the trail thinking B has been hurt/killed. Carefully pushes the door open and finds A has simply cut their foot and didn’t hear B

I have watched some and I did go looking for this episode but came up bust in my search. It could have provided some good inspiration I’m sure. We all love a good fake relationship.

*EDIT: TAGLIST DONE. Sorry if you’ve already seen it and are getting the notification.*

Treacherous Masterlist

~~~~~

Grabbing the shopping bags out of the boot of the car Rowan swept his foot under it to activate the automatic close, all the while suppressing a yawn. He was dead tired. Aelin had gotten her revenge after the pen incident, setting an alarm clock in his room to wake him up at exactly 3:47. The damned thing hadn’t been within reach so he had to get out of bed to turn it off. And from copious missions together Aelin knew once he was up, he was up so he’d hadn’t bothered to try and get back to sleep. Knowing her she might have set others up in the room anyway, even if he had tried to sleep again paranoia would have kept him awake. All the while she slept blissfully across the hall.

Being just the two of them in the house they hadn’t bothered to keep up the bed sharing part of the charade. They slept in separate rooms and thank the gods for that. If he didn’t have that space to himself he might have never been able to get away from her and have some quiet. Aelin seemed to fill every room she was in and it was suffocating for him… most of the time. She had a way with people he had admired at times, it was what made her such a good agent, especially when undercover. Not that he would ever tell her any of that. No need to inflate her already insufferable ego.

When he had grumpily asked her over his third cup of coffee why she’d chosen 3:47 exactly she’d smiled at him, bright and cheery as ever after sleeping in until 8 o’clock, and alluded to some lockeroom talk she’d heard about certain measurements—in millimetres. When he had rolled his eyes she had gone on to clarify she was talking about 30 and not just 3 he’d promptly left the room, well and truly done with her immaturity. Her laughter had chased him out.

Shifting the shopping bags so he could open the back door, Rowan entered the kitchen expecting to find Aelin in there preparing the food for the ridiculous party tomorrow while listening to some obnoxious music very loudly just to piss him off. But she wasn’t, in fact the house was silent.

“Aelin,” he called, stepping around the length of the counter.

That was when he saw the blood.

Rowan dropped the bags, things crushing on impact. The blood pooled in one spot, then splatters made a path across the tiles. He didn’t have a gun on him, but there were enough stashed around the house and he found one in a low kitchen drawer. It was pointed and ready in moments and Rowan made sure he didn’t disturb the blood on the linoleum floor.

“Aelin,” he called again. “Agent Galathynius.”

Still silence. He followed the trail of blood towards the small bathroom that was on the bottom level, his heart pounding in his ears. There wasn’t enough that the situation looked dire, but the assailant may have dragged her off to another location, hidden away from windows. Why hadn’t the team been alerted to anything? Where was the back-up? Panic started to fill him, but his training kept it under control. If something had happened to Aelin…

He shook his head to shake out the thought. She was a perfectly capable agent, one of the best. Rowan was overreacting and he needed to calm down. A deep breath in and he nudged the door, when there was no reaction he kicked it open, gun ready. Eyes darting around the room, his gun dropped to the side when he took in the scene before him.

Aelin was seated on the floor, holding wads of toilet paper on a wound on her foot, wincing from what he gathered to be pain. She hadn’t noticed his entrance and was still focused on her foot.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, but got no response, so he tried a little louder. “Aelin.”

She jumped looking up at him. “Why do you have a gun?”

“Did you not hear me calling out?” Rowan asked, putting the safety back on the gun.

Aelin took small earbuds out of her ears. “What?”

Rowan rubbed a hand over his face, panic turned to exasperation. “I called out to you and you didn’t answer.”

“Podcast,” she held up her earbuds in explanation. “But the gun?” Aelin then asked him, her attention going back to her foot.

“The blood trail…” he said but didn’t elaborate.

Aelin straightened where she sat and looked up at him, then laughed. “Did you think I’d been murdered in the bathtub?”

Rowan didn’t answer her question. “Would you mind telling me what happened exactly?”

Aelin sighed. “I was trying to cook and I knocked a knife off the counter and my hands were full so I couldn’t catch it. It nicked my foot and now here we are.”

“Okay,” Rowan said, the adrenaline finally settling and he knelt down to assess the injury.

“What are you doing?” Aelin brows were furrowed in confusion.

“Inspecting the cut, you can’t get at it from the right angle,” Rowan said, turning her foot and earning a hiss.

“I can do it myself,” Aelin said and tried to pull her foot away but Rowan held firm. She relented with an over dramatic sigh and leaned her back on the bathtub.

Aelin had already got down what he needed, so he cleaned the cut up and foot, putting a large bandaid on it to stop the bleeding. “There,” Rowan said succinctly, brushing a thumb unconsciously along Aelin’s arch before letting go, making her suppress a laugh. She was ticklish.

“Hmm,” Aelin said, looking at him curiously.

“What?” Rowan asked, standing and washing his hands. When he turned around to dry his hands on a towel she was still looking at him.

“Careful Whitethorn, someone might think you were concerned for my well-being if they found out about this.”

“Not likely,” Rowan scoffed. “It was the paperwork I was concerned about.”

Aelin snorted and walked past him, Rowan taking a moment before he followed. There had been a moment when… He shook his head. Concern for a partner was only natural, no matter the feelings of enmity between them. The two of them couldn’t stand each other, but that didn’t mean he wanted her hurt or dead. Rowan left the bathroom, headed for the kitchen to put away the groceries when he heard a frustrated exclamation.

“Are you serious, Rowan?”

Any concern he had felt evaporated at Aelin’s tone. Entering the kitchen he found her holding a carton of eggs, leaking yellow and clear goop. They must have cracked when he dropped the bags in his panic at the blood.

“You need to go get more,” she told him, dropping the ruined eggs in the trash.

“No, I am not,” Rowan groaned. He was tired, he didn’t want to take another trip to the grocery store across town.

“Oh, you are. I needed those eggs for the barbecue tomorrow, so because of your overreaction over a little bit of blood I am now eggless,” Aelin explained. There was no answer from him as Aelin unrolled some paper towel to clean up both egg and blood. “Off you go.”

Too tired to fight anymore Rowan just grabbed his keys and left to get more precious eggs.

~~~~~

Tags:  @fucking-winchester-trash // @literary-licorice // @galyxsy // @tangledraysofsunshine // @highqueenofelfhame // @3am-reading // @soup-that-is-too-hawt // @aelinfire-bringer // @nalgenewhore // @highladyofthesith // @http-itsrebecca // @sleep-and-books // @alifletcher2012 // @westofmoon // @sleeping-and-books // @ttakeitbacknoww // @armixers-unite // @mariamuses // @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen // @velarian-trash // @queenofxhearts // @heroesofterrasen // @highladyofstoriesandmusic // @empire-of-wildfire // @camerooonchiu // @crackedship // @lowhangingtreebranches // @over300books // @yourwhisperingshadows // @thesirenwashere // @tswaney17 // @impossiblescissorspeachpaper // @cat5313 // @judelovescardan // @flowerspringsea // @chaoticskyy // @the-regal-warrior // @fanfictrash3000 // @blueeyes425 // @starseternalnighttriumphant // @bamchickawowow // @thehuntressofmoon // @giorgia-the-trashpanda // @flora-and-fae // @thereaderandfangirl // @illyrian-bookworm // @chemicha // @meltalgel // @gay-book-nerd // @that-odd-puzzle-piece // @i-love-all-books // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @hizqueen4life // @the-third-me // @1islessthan3books // @bestmelle // @cursebreaker29 // @b00kworm // @superspiritfestival // @aesthetics-11 // @maastrash // @mynewdreamwasyou // @the-last-apprentice // @charincharge // @firestarsandseneschals // @scarznstars // @absolute-dissapointment // @thesurielships // @df3ndyr // @trinitybailey2003 // @hellasblessed // @booknerdproblems // @larisssss // @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves // @rolltide7 // @scandinavianromantic // @tillyrubes10 // @starwarsslytherin // @minaidss // @paytin77 // @jesstargaryenqueen // @anntheintrovert // @starbornvalkyrie // @loudphantomdragon // @woollycat22 // @claralady // @perseusannabeth // @fangirlprincess09 // @maddymelv // @sierrareads // @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx // @jlinez // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @rowaelinismyotp // @pullnpeeltwizzlers // @anne-reads // @jadeaffliction // @gracie-rose // @elriel4life // @miserablesmusings // @tothestarswholistentodreamers // @littleboxofthunder // @empress-ofbloodshed // @booksbqueen // @rowanwhitethornisbae // @aelin-queen-of-terrasen // @alyx801 // @amandaswallowtail // @louiseleblancdiggory // @abookishfreak // @danibutterr // @nicetomeetyoufabi // @icantpeopletoday // @post-it-notes33 // @crystalfireandblazingice // @mariejulie2000 // @thegreyj // @thenerdandfandoms // @castielspelvis // @swankii-art-teacher // @grandma-noob-lord // @vanzetanze // @lizzyfirebringer // @aflickeringsoul //  @highlady-brittney // @story-scribbler // @linguine-panini // @pastasiren // @surielandiareendgame //  @charlizeed // @endlessdaydream // @magnifique1807 // @wordsafterhours //

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

I really liked reading your fics of Lotor watching movies! Do you think Lotor would like watching Atlantis or lilo and stitch? And who would he watch them with? (Hopefully either Allura or Pidge)

Movie Time with TSL Lotor – Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001)

It was a cold and rainy morning on the planet of Olkarion, with an emaciated Galran prince swaddled in blankets on the floor of the paladin’s lounge room. Lotor still wore his night robe and Earth-fashion pajamas, his white hair disheveled from sleep. He yawned. His face pulled tight with his harvesting scars, and his long fangs gleamed in the lamplight. He tiredly scratched at his cheek. “Why did you wake me so early, little one?”

Across the room, a pajama-clad Pidge sat cross-legged, plugging in a few cables. “Because. It’s Saturday.”

The bleary-eyed man blinked. “I know not what a Saturday is.”

She looked up, readjusting her glasses. “It’s the day where people get up to eat cereal and binge-watch cartoons. Like a tradition. My brother and I used to do this all the time. And sometimes my dad too, but he slept in a lot.” Her face twisted in a pout. “And everyone here sleeps in for, like, ever.”

“Even the princess?”

“Even the princess.”

Lotor’s gaze slid to the container of milk, courtesy of Kaltenecker, and then to the sacred box of—he narrowed his gaze curiously—frosted cheerios. Pidge had procured two bowls and two little spoons. He raised his nose and sniffed delicately. The box smelled of sweetness and grains, and saliva swarmed through his mouth in anticipation of food. Beneath the blankets, he scratched at his stomach. Wakefulness began to seep through him at the thought of eating and watching more animated drawings from Earth. “You wish to share in this…tradition with me, then?”

“You were sleeping out here on the couch,” Pidge deadpanned, giving him a look, “so you were gonna share in it no matter what.” A small emotion came over her. She glanced down, returning to connecting the cables. “And my brother’s still off-planet, so you’ll have to do.”

He huffed in amusement. “I am a companion of convenience, then. A replacement brother.”

“Yeah, something like that.” She began to scoot away from the cables, grabbing for her cereal bowl.

Lotor quirked a brow. His blanket shifted around him as he picked up the remaining bowl, mimicking her actions. “What is the topic of today’s entertainment adventure?” He watched curiously as she dumped cereal into her bowl and filled it with milk. And then he followed in kind, hesitantly dipping his spoon into the concoction and biting down.

His slit pupils dilated at the sweet taste.

His fangs crunched down loudly.

Pidge munched more quietly, but her lips stretched as she moved to turn on the movie. “It’s called Atlantis: The Lost Empire.”

Lotor’s elfin ears flicked in interest. “Lost empire?” he repeated curiously, voice muffled by cereal.

As the movie began to play, Pidge’s face brightened. “The whole movie involves an old human legend, about this advanced civilization that sunk under the sea in a sudden cataclysm.”

“Fascinating.” His explorer’s heart lifted in excitement, the sleeping disappearing fully from his eyes. In that moment, it did not matter to him that he was 10,000 years old or watching something that was most assuredly meant for children and families. “Does the legend have any form of validity?”

“Well, being mentioned by Plato, who was a real philosopher—” she pointed to the screen to the opening quote—“has made people search all over for it. But so far, nothing’s proven because there’s a lot of sunken cities on Earth.” She paused. “The movie definitely takes some creative license with ancient human tech, too. Like, ancient humans did not fly in fish ships.”

“I see.” Lotor crunched down happily on the cereal, eyes wide. The screen brightened with the cartoon colors of human animation. Strange, fish-like planes streaked through a blue sky in a panic. Lotor instinctively leaned along with the framing of the movie, as if he were on the ships as well. “Calamity is rather fun to indulge in when it’s not real.”

“I know, right?” Pidge grabbed onto her blanket, wrapping it around her.

And the two remained sitting on the floor of the great lounge, increasingly lost in the tale of Atlantis.

***

It was at some point after Milo Thatch’s introduction that Lotor hesitantly spoke up, his voice catching oddly. “This animation.” He tried again. “I thought you said once that humans were unaware of the planet Altea.”

Pidge pushed up her glasses, still cradling her cereal bowl in her lap. “Yep. Didn’t know about it at all.”

Lotor puzzled at the screen. He hummed, setting his cereal bowl down on his lap. “This Atlantis bears significant similarities to Altean technology and to its people, down to being significantly advanced even ten-thousand years ago.”

The human girl blinked. And then her face twisted in a mischief. “Oh, yeah. It might have more similarities than you think.” She began to waggle her bows. “Including to a certain Altean princess.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Also, you kinda remind me of Milo,” she declared. “Just saying.”

His eyes slit further in consternation, for at that moment, the somewhat bumbling but intelligent character of Milo Thatch was sitting in a water puddle after his museum colleagues rejected his proposal. For good measure, Lotor crunched down on another bite of cereal. “I may enjoy ancient history,” he declared, voice muffled, “but I am not as scrawny as he.”

Pidge poked him hard in his ribs, which still jutted out beneath his sleeping robe. “You’re right. You’re scrawnier.”

Lotor flinched away, shooting her a playfully dark glare. “A temporary consequence of being harvested by the witch. I will reclaim my health, and then you will regret making fun of me so.”

Her face split in a wicked smile. “Nah. You’re definitely Milo. Muscle can’t hide that you’re a nerd.”

He sputtered, waving his cereal spoon. “And what of you? With your books and codes. And cat memes.”

“Oh, I’m a nerd,” she declared. “I just own it proudly.”

The fallen prince ate of his cereal in a light disgruntlement. He watched Milo as the character awkwardly stumbled through meeting a busty blond human woman and then a spastic old man in a bathrobe—his objective always set on discovering the secrets of Atlantis and its sources of power.

Milo Thatch owned a cat too.

Lotor’s face began to heat in realization that he did have a lot in common with this strange human man.

***

By the time the character Milo Thatch met the Princess Kida of Atlantis, a real princess had sleepily trailed into the movie room. Allura’s long, pink robes slipped against the tiles of the halls, her curls a tumble down her shoulders. She yawned and proceeded to stumble her way over to Lotor and Pidge.

With little preamble, she flopped over them.

Pidge barely managed to raise her bowl of frosted cheerios in time, squawking. Lotor froze entirely as Allura’s white curls spilled across his lap—her warm cheek leaning against his leg.

“It’s too early for movies,” the princess whined lightly. She snuggled against him and wiggled a bit to get comfortable, laying across two bodies. “I could hear the sound all the way from my room.” Lotor’s attention split from the animated Princess Kida to the living, breathing princess in his lap. His elfin ears flicked back, and his sharp cheeks heated.

Pidge grumped and tried to shove her off.

The princess did not budge, save for a grump right back.

Lotor had long finished off his bowl of frosted cheerios—leaving not even a drop of milk in his wake. But he carefully pushed the bowl further away, in fear that her hair would end up in it. “We are watching Atlantis: The Lost Empire,” he murmured to her, voice straining. “Would you not like to watch it with us?”

Allura made a noncommittal noise, appearing to fall back asleep, the lines in her shoulders relaxing as she exhaled deeply. The action suggested she had grown to trust him a great deal, for the back of her neck lay bare where her hair had parted.

Lotor swallowed hard.

He turned to look at Pidge, who had sighed and given up trying to push Allura off—instead, she’d moved to accept Allura’s robe as something of a blanket and had rested her arms over the back of the princess’s legs.

Lotor hesitated, knowing that the paladins often piled upon each other as a means of displaying familial affection.

As Milo Thatch moved to swim alongside Princess Kida in search of the Heart of Atlantis, Lotor moved to brush his fingers against the waves of Allura’s curls.

It was a soft, hesitant action—testing the waters of her trust. She made a soft noise in response, her lips sleepily stretching. Her elfin ear flicked lightly as the calloused pads of his fingers ran over it. The action itself meant things to Alteans and Galrans, for only family and lovers touched one’s ears.

The princess nuzzled against him.

His heart skipped. Careful of his claws, he continued to toy with her hair as he turned his attention back to the movie, in which Milo’s very interest in Atlantis had now endangered the Royal Atlantean family.

Lotor bit his lip, feeling a great protectiveness for Allura wash over him.

***

The movie indicated that Atlanteans received their power from a great, sentient crystal—the animation of which was not unlike pure quintessence.

“Do you think,” Lotor asked quietly to Pidge, “that it is possible your Atlantis was real, and that some piece of a quintessence-rich substance—a comet, perhaps—landed upon your Earth?”

Pidge looked over at him, readjusting her glasses in interest. “I suppose it would be possible, but you’re suggesting then that Atlantis is real. And that the power in this movie is real.”

“How do you know it isn’t?”

“What would you do with it?” she challenged right back, raising a brow. “You got plans for that power or something?”

The fallen prince made a face. He was still absentmindedly running his claws through Princess Allura’s hair. “No. I simply fear that concentrated sources of quintessence may have this effect in our world—that it bonds to a host and…overtakes them, somehow.” His white brows knitted together. “As it did my own mother, who has been lost to quintessence, and a demon has taken her place.”

Pidge’s gaze fell to Lotor’s hand, which ran along the tip of Princess Allura’s ear. The princess herself was fully asleep against him, her mouth open with a trail of drool slipping against Lotor’s pajama-clad leg.

The girl’s face curled with a sneaky smile. “You’re worried about Allura? Afraid you’re gonna lose her over something, because you loveher?”

Lotor’s eyes snapped to Pidge, his face heating. “I know she has successfully navigated Oriande, but…” He fell silent with emotion for a time before he could add, “My mother came across something of great power, and it changed her.”

The strain in his voice made Pidge’s mischievous smile falter. She hesitated.

The movie played between them as the animated humans fought to steal Kida, who was bonded to the crystal.

Pidge eventually said, voice softer, “Allura’s really powerful. We’re not gonna lose her over anything.”

Lotor’s throat tightened. He continued to stroke Allura’s hair as she slept against him. “You do not know what I have seen quintessence do to people. Even now, if certain groups knew what all Princess Allura could do, they would seek to control her, just as the evil humans in this cartoon wish to do with the crystal-bonded Kida.”

An emotion came over Pidge. “Well—I mean, we wouldn’t let that happen.”

Within the movie, Milo Thatch had accrued a small band willing to risk their lives to retrieve the princess.

Lotor watched, his heart rising in a pound. “Do tell me that they save her,” he demanded. “I will not watch the rest of this if the Princess Kida dies.”

The human girl gave him a look. “It’s a children’s cartoon. They’re not gonna kill off the princess.”

His breath caught oddly, as if he suddenly realized what he was doing. He pulled his hand away from Allura’s hair. “Right, yes. Of course, they wouldn’t.” He breathed out slowly. “That is well.”

“You take these shows too seriously,” Pidge warned. “Half the fun is knowing that it turns out okay, but not knowing how. You just gotta watch.”

“And Princess Kida?” Lotor demanded. “She is not permanently bonded to the crystal by the end, is she?”

Pidge groaned. “Oh my god. Just watch the movie.”

The princess suddenly whined at the loss of Lotor’s touch, her blue eyes cracking open. “No,” she pleaded blearily. She disjointedly reached up, searching for Lotor’s hand. “Keep petting me; it was quite nice.”

He looked down at her, face tightening in a mix of amusement and protectiveness. “Apologies, princess,” he said, moving to run the back of his knuckles against her warm temple. “I will do as you wish.”

She made a happy noise, settling back into sleep.

***

Lotor did not relax until after Milo Thatch had released Princess Kida from her prison, and until after Princess Kida had saved Atlantis and reappeared from out of the crystal’s aura—to land in Milo’s arms.

“You see?” Pidge called, waving her hand at the screen. “What did I tell you?”

Lotor swallowed down emotion. His fingers stilled against Allura’s stiff curls and the warm of her cheek. Despite the fact that he knew the story to be a children’s fairy tale, an odd burn appeared in his eyes. He exhaled shakily. “You were right,” he relented. “The princess lived.”

“Exactly,” Pidge said. For all her youth, she narrowed her eyes with a critical level of awareness. “They saved the princess. Because she had people to fight for her too.”

He raised his vulnerable eyes to her.

An unspoken truth wavered between them—which was that he and the paladins would fight to protect Princess Allura in much the same way, if it ever came to it.

Then, Pidge broke the mood, her expression shifting with a demonic mischief. She waggled her brows. “You love Princess Allura.” She began to shove at Allura’s legs. “Wake up. Lotor wants to declare his undying love for you and tell you that he’ll save you from crystals and evil people and—”

“—Stop it,” he hissed, his cheeks heating. He grabbed for one of the extra pillows that hung off the edge of the couch—and he flung it directly at Pidge. “You gremlin.”

It struck her soundly, but it did not hide her cackle, nor did it stop Princess Allura waking up from all the unsettled movement and raised voices. Her eyes opened a slit. She made a noise of confusion. “What is—going…on?”

She sleepily raised up from Lotor’s lap, her white curls tumbling down her shoulders.

Pidge opened her mouth to respond with a tease, but Lotor smoothly cut in. “Pidge was just putting in another movie,” he said, voice straining. “Weren’t you, Pidge?”

Allura turned to him, still rapidly blinking her eyes. In that moment, she appeared so entirely vulnerable that Lotor struggled against an instinct to gather her into his arms. “Oh, another one?” She yawned. “But I think—I missed all of this one.”

The human girl crawled away, reaching for her watch with her movie collection on it. “Don’t worry,” she called merrily. “I’m sure Lotor wouldn’t mind reenacting it with you one day.”

“I should hope not,” he retorted, his lavender cheeks still in a flame of emotion. “I’d prefer the princess not be in danger at all. And I am not a Milo Thatch.”

“You are definitely a Milo Thatch,” Pidge deadpanned. “Allura, tell him he’s a Milo Thatch. You know he is.”

The sleepy princess only half-understand the plea. She rubbed at her eyes before leaning back against Lotor, resting her heavy cheek against his shoulder, curling up against him. “He’s—my Milo,” she murmured groggily. “Thatch.”

Lotor pressed his lips together, and he damned the skip of his heart.

Allura’s Milo.

He managed a glare at Pidge, but it lacked fire.

The human girl simply smiled back with that demonic mischief before turning away to look for another movie.

[saturnsummer]

i don't mind forever.

AU: When Sol is handed a case, she doesn't realise how big the case gets. Luckily for her, her best friend is here. (AU of lawyers at Hankuk Law Firm.)

notes: all credits go to @thenerdywriter !! she gave me this prompt just days after i joined tumblr, and i’ve been working on and off on it ever since. my first au series, so please go easy on me! i know i’m practically killing myself for doing two series at once, but i’ll deal with it later. as always, big love to everyone! any grammar mistakes and all will be taken fully responsible by me!

ao3 link

words: 4035 words

one.

Sol scrunches her hair in frustration. She twists her long, wavy light brown hair in a bun, fixing it with a jab of her white, long chopstick hairpin. She adjusts her bangs for good measure and resumes with her report. She reaches over to her coffee mug, only to find it empty. Great, it’s the third coffee she had today, and it wasn’t even lunch. Hearing her colleagues nagging on drinking too much coffee in her head, she stands from her desk and pushes the glass door of her office to the staff pantry. Her heels click against the marble floors as she strides across, filling her cup with iced water before retreating back.

It would have been a normal day at the Hankuk Law firm, but it wasn’t when she had such a pressing case.

It's been weeks. A client of hers has pressed charges against Lee Man Ho, claiming that he scammed her life savings. Lee Manho was a convict that was charged for raping multiple women and on several occasions, sexual harassment. He had been on good behaviour after his release for a couple of years, with no complaints and no news. Only now did his name resurface. He was snarky in his speech, manipulative and quick with his tongue, but most of all had a sinister smile that sent shivers.

Sol, being Sol, couldn’t say no to the poor woman. How could she? She experienced her fair share of poverty from growing up in a single-parent family that made enough to get by. She sympathised with her feelings, knowing just how stressed this poor mother must be when she can no longer afford to pay rent for her home, even less so the necessities for her toddler kids. Because, too many times, Sol was found broke and skipping meals so she could have her younger sister, Byeol, be fed instead.

With the help of the local police, she found more victims to be scammed, all similar in their scenario. Manho would call under the alias of a financial aid consultant, sometimes an insurance agent or bank teller. Then, he would extract their bank numbers from them, effectively draining their money away. By the time they victims tried to call back, the number would be out of order, or picked up by another voice, evident that he used another number to cover up his.

None of his victims had anything in common. Some were rich, some were poor. Some were female, some were male. And Manho had long disappeared in the wind the moment he got out of jail. He was said to be sighted once and when the police placed eyes on him, they lost him that same day.

His digital footprint was an utter headache as well. The police had other things to matter, and figuring out his digital footprint was the least of their concerns when they had important murders and urgent matters to solve.

But two could play this game.

Seungjae was a good friend of Sol’s. They were close acquaintances in school and kept in close contact. He, unlike Sol, was a whiz with computer codes and had his fair share of hacking experience. She remembers how he would hack into the system during school events and broadcast short music videos on the school televisions during breaks. Despite their age gap, he was always courteous, nice and kind hearted in helping others.

Seungjae eventually found a job with the police force, using his skills to legally hack criminal networks and dark nets. He was essentially part of a task force that identified suspicious activities like mass radicalisation, fake news and essentially tracking down internet hackers. It was a no-brainer that Sol would approach him, even though she knew that he could only legally hack under his work orders, not for personal favours.

Well it’s best she at least try.

She called Seungjae, who was fortunately free, and agreed to meet at a cafe. The sun was out, warming them from the autumn breeze that chilled them. Sol grabbed her coat and placed a post-it on her door, informing her colleagues of her business. Sol, while dressed in a warm coat, was undoubtedly freezing from the breeze. If only she could go back to law school, where she wore jeans and sweatshirts all day. Instead, she had a light blue long sleeved blouse, a knee length pencil skirt and a midnight blue blazer, and her only coat she had weakly shielding her from the cold.

“Sol A, what gives me the feeling that you aren’t calling for the purpose of catching up, but for a favour?” Seungjae asks as soon as his ice coffee arrives. Sol is amused at his habit, that he still calls her Sol A to differentiate her from Sol B, her colleague just working next door to her. But in response, she gives a small frown.

“Oppa, please? You have to help me with this. This case is driving me nuts!” She says in frustration as she stirs her ice tea. “Look, he’s off the grid, like properly off. I can’t even track his number or his email accounts. When the police placed plainclothes on him, he was like a ninja and they lost him within the first hour.”

Seungjae’s frown deepens. He knows of people who are good on the internet, but for an ex-convict to be running this alone? Furthermore, a convict who had no criminal record of scamming, conning and IT based crimes? There was definitely more to this.

“Sol A, do you think that he’s working alone?” Seungjae asks, stopping Sol in her speech. She tilts her head, the way she does normally when she puts the puzzle pieces in order. From her bag, she takes out a notebook and scribbles down the facts, then pushes it to the centre of the table.

“Okay, so we know that Lee Manho was convicted of rape and sexual harassment long time ago. Now, he’s running scams, and has no known background of coding or conning people, yet somehow the money appears in his bank account and it disappears the next moment.” Sol states as she circles her notes with a pencil and Seungjae nods.

“I think… I think you’re right, oppa. He’s definitely not working alone. And he could just be the middleman bringing the cash from one place to another.” Sol breaths out, realising how big the case has gotten. She’s not just going after Lee Manho, but she’s going after an entire team.

“You said that you can’t track his whereabouts, people he communicates with and where the money is going to?” SeungJae asks. Sol nods.

“Looks like someone is covering up the transfers and his tracks.” Seungjae concludes. Seungjae furrows his eyebrows. Sol recognises his thinking face and tries to plea once more.

“Please, oppa? You helped me check out and verify Yeseul’s boyfriend, which saved her life! Please, oppa…” Sol pleads with him. Seungjae knew how much Sol was going to dedicate to this, and besides, he was legally going to hack. He was fighting for those who couldn’t fight. What difference would it make? It felt wrong to ignore such a desperate plea.

“Fine. But you have to let me use a laptop that isn’t mine. I can’t have my superiors know I’m hacking into a case that wasn’t submitted to me again. God, Yeseul’s ex-boyfriend case got me a bloody earful from the captain.” He finally agrees, getting up from his seat and grabbing his coat. Sol lets out a relieved sigh and picks her coat too.

“Thank you, thank you!”

“Save it for later, when I’m done hacking. Let’s head back to your office for now.” He says and walks to the door. At that moment, Sol’s phone rings, and she picks up, knowing who will call at this time of the day. If it’s lunch, it has to either be Yeseul or Joon Hwi.

“Are you joining us for lunch, sunbae?” Sol takes a moment to close her eyes in frustration. This man is going to drive her insane.

“Yeah. Are you all ordering?”

“That’s right. Extra pickles?”

“Always. Add one more jjampong and kkampungi, too.” The receiving end goes silent.

“Who’s joining?” Sol gives a knowing smile as she unlocks her car.

“An old friend of ours.”

-----

“Wah, it’s been a long time since Seungjae-hyung could eat with us!” BokGi says, as he passes out the chopsticks and Yebeom unpacks the meals. Seungjae only gives a small smile while helping out with the food.

Despite the cold weather, the odd group of friends found pleasure in eating outdoors as opposed to their office pantry. It was too noisy some days, too quiet on some, and knowing how chaotic the group can get during lunch, it only made sense to have their meals downstairs at some benches. Besides, they could use a break from being stuck in their offices all day and look at trees changing their colours to shades of red, oranges and brown.

“Thank your noona here, for convincing me to come.” He says as he nods his head over to Sol, who is busy unpacking her pickles and noodles. Joon Hwi gives a smile as he stares at the delight on her face when she sees those yellow pickles on a plastic saucer.

“Hyung, what are you here for?” Joon Hwi asks, as he unpacks his noodles.

“This lady here has enlisted my help once again for a case she is working on. But it has to be off the books. Thus, my presence here instead of my cubicle back at my headquarters.” Sol chokes and she quickly takes a sip of her tea.

“Oppa, why do you make me sound so law breaking…” Sol grumbles. Yeseul, sitting next to her only gives a small smile and squeezes her hand.

“Seungjae-oppa did help me bring Yeongchang to jail. So I would consider his work, whether under his boss orders or not, to be lawful.” Yeseul quips quietly. The table grows silent for a moment, knowing how this topic took a mental toll out of them, but Yeseul was hit the hardest.

When Yeseul first started dating Yeongchang, everyone didn’t mind it. Only when Sol witnessed how Yeseul would be frightened to pick up his call and spotting bruises on her arms did she get Seungjae to dig into his personal life. Lo and behold, not only was he abusive, he was seeing two other women and they were treated badly, if not, worse.

Yeseul’s heart broke, this being her first love and the man she envisioned marrying. But with her friends' support, she took it upon herself to press charges on him, for the women he tortured and for herself. Representing herself and the women that he had failed to protect and taken advantage of, it wasn’t easy for her, having been so blind in love and still harbouring feelings.

The group stood by and silently supported. They accompanied her trials, no matter how busy they were. Sol remembers Jiho running from one courtroom to another on one occasion when he had to immediately attend a court hearing for a client he was defending. Sol had Yeseul stay over at her apartment during the entire situation, while Yeseul searched for an apartment nearby after moving out of his house. Even Sol B, who was usually cold, bought her meals and stayed to eat when the girls spent late nights in silence and drinking.

Finally, the judge ruled that Yeongchang was to be charged in jail. For the sexual, mental and physical abuse of these women, including Yeseul. It has been months since then and time can only tell how much she has healed. The rest can only give their silent support and be there for her.

“I didn’t mean to make the mood bad. Come, let’s eat. Also, what is the case about, unnie?” Yeseul quickly breaks into a smile, an attempt to let everyone know she’s okay. Sol gives a brief description of her case to everyone while she slurps her noodles and pickles.

“This is going to be difficult. If you guys are right, you might be dealing with something bigger than just Lee Manho.” Sol B states and Sol gives a nodded reply.

“Please don’t tell Superior Kim or Superior Yang about this. I really need to break this case and Seungjae-oppa is my only way to.” Sol informs her group. They give half hearted murmurs, not wanting to be meddled into Sol’s affairs. Well, all but one.

“Yah, why didn’t you come find me? I have my own contacts in the police as well.” Joon Hwi asks, a slight frown on his face. From anyone else looking, it would have been easy to miss. But for Sol, she knew that he was upset, interpreting his complaints as “Why didn’t you come and tell me about this first?”

“Because, Mr. Second Round Judicial Exam Pass, you have been too busy! Do I really need to remind you to eat every damm moment? You drive me crazy some days!” Sol argues. They launch into a light hearted argument, as the rest of the lunch group watches with equal fervour as they eat their meals.

“Guys, stop arguing, my ears hurt.” Jiho said, his tone in slight annoyance as he dove straight into the kkampungi and tangsuyuk. Sol finally gave up fighting, earning a teasing smirk from Joon Hwi. They continued their noisy meal, chatting and catching up with Seungjae. Seungjae gives them some updates of his pregnant wife and some interesting cases.

After their meal, they separated their trash neatly. The sun now hides away in the clouds, leaving little warmth against the chilly breeze of autumn. Sol brushes her coat and rubs her hands and arms. If only she could afford a better one than this old coat she’s been using since her first year in university.

Joon Hwi notices her trying to warm up against the cold and takes his coat from the chair, layering it on her. He honestly didn’t feel cold, but he knows he has always been the stronger one to resist against the cold. For Sol, it must be freezing.

“Take mine.” He simply says, taking the packs of plastic from Sol. If Sol had a hint of blush, he pretended to not notice.

“Oh, thanks.” She said as she took wipes from her bag and wiped down the mess on the benches and tables. “But I don’t need it. We’re heading back to the office anyway.” She shrugs his coat off and drapes it over her arm, returning it to him. He pushes it to her, and leans in closer to her.

“Help me carry it, so I don’t have to, sunbae.” He teases with a smirk, sending Sol in a fit of frustrated squeaks, chasing him as best as she can in her heels. Sol knows Joon Hwi gets a thing out of his teasing, and sends him annoyed glares as she continues to clear the tables. Jiho manages to sigh and Sol B rolls her eyes as she dumps the trash in the bins.

The group grabs their bags as they head back into the office, where Sol checks Seungjae in as a visitor at the reception. The receptionist hands him a blue lanyard with a visitor pass as Sol leads him to the elevators. Jiho and Bokgi are off to meet clients, and Sol B is headed to court for a hearing. Yeseul stops at another floor to her office with Yebeom, who needs to pick up some reports from a colleague.

Joon Hwi follows Sol to her office with Seungjae, despite his office being upstairs. Sol grabs her personal laptop from her bag, which is separate from her desktop computer and passes it to Seungjae, who takes a seat opposite her and starts programming the computer to begin hacking.

“What, did you just let him use your personal laptop?” Joon Hwi asks in concern as he takes a seat on a spare chair.

“Let him do it. Don’t you have your reports to do?” Sol asks as she turns to her own reports before typing in her findings for the new Lee Manho case. Joon Hwi doesn’t reply, and Sol sends an annoyed glance. He’s not going to leave unless he knows all the information of this case.

“Okay, I got it.” Seungjae says after a series of clicks and turns the screen to show Sol what he has found. Sol leans into a chart of bank transfers.

"From what I can tell, it seems like the money enters his bank account and is transferred to an offshore account. I can't trace where the money goes from there anymore." Seungjae explains as he uses the cursor to show them. "I can't tell who owns the account either. If I could take a guess, it's probably the mastermind of this."

"Wait, look. Lee Manho is getting paid a constant amount every single time before a large sum comes in and leaves." Joon Hwi points. Sol grabs her printed papers as she matches the amounts that her clients have given here. They match exactly to the large sums, but have no relation to the constant amount that he gets every scam.

"He's getting paid to scam? Tch, God, I hate this crook." Sol says through gritted teeth. Joon Hwi sighs and observes the anger rising in Sol. He places a hand on top of her clenched fist for comfort and her fist stops clenching as she sighs in response.

"Sol A, I can't track his location with your laptop. It's not exactly ideal, since it can be tracked back." Seungjae says, eyes darting while continuously typing. Joon Hwi could sense the disappointment in Sol's face, but it can't be helped. It was too dangerous from her location and IP address.

"Oppa, thank you for helping. I owe you one." Sol says as Seungjae scrubs her laptop clean from hacking traces. Seungjae returns her laptop and stands up. "You should go back, oppa. You've been gone too long."

"I'll keep you updated." He says as Sol guides him out of the office. Once she shuts the door, she pulls the hairpin from her hair and crunches her hair in frustration. She has the information on where the money is going, but it's no use when she can't find out where he is. Joon Hwi takes a seat opposite her.

"Don't stress." He says softly, and Sol bites her lip in frustration.

"Don't stress? How can I not? The police aren't giving me any information on him, delaying his location tracking! I can't even find him! How am I supposed to get evidence to charge him, if he can't even appear to show up to court?" Sol angrily spills, her hands flailing. Joon Hwi sighs but grabs a hold of her wrist.

"Don't get swayed by your emotions." Joon Hwi firmly says, sparingly into Sol's anger-filled eyes. She pulls her wrist back, taking a deep breath before gathering her hair up again.

"Fine." She grumbles. "Get out of my office, Prosecutor Han. Don't you have work?" This earns a soft smile from Joon Hwi. As he heads to the door, he turns back before he leaves.

"Don't... Don't do anything stupid or impulsive, you hear me?"

Sol clicks her tongue and gives a half-hearted nod. She turns back to her report and updates her findings and tries to diffuse the thought of asking Seungjae to hack with her laptop to find Man Ho's location.

For Kang Sol A, such thoughts don't leave easily.

-----

"You sure?" Seungjae asks, seated in Sol's car. Sol takes a deep breath in and nods.

It was a few days after Seungjae visited the office. Sol called the police as much as she could, but they always left her on the line or just said "we're working on it." Thus, Sol told Seungjae to meet her at a park, before driving to a random alley and passing him her laptop.

"Yeah, I'll take my chances." She replied. Seungjae sighs and begins typing away.

"You know you're putting yourself at risk?" He asks, eyes never leaving the screen.

"I'll put myself at risk for the justice of my clients." She says firmly. A few minutes pass as Sol stares out of the car and watches the bright moon and the clouds floating by in misty swirls.

"Got it." Sol turns her attention to Seungjae. On the screen is a map and a blinking red dot of Manho’s location. Sol reads the map and puts her car back in drive before turning out of the alley.

"Woah, do you know where you are going?" Seungjae asks, grabbing onto the overhead handle for support and his hand securing the laptop.

"Seungjae-oppa, don't tell anyone about this, okay? Especially not Joon Hwi." Sol ignores his question as she speeds up the car, turning into a drop-off point of a train station.

"Sol A, you're-"

"Sorry, oppa. But I need to find him. I can't sit and wait for the police anymore. I promise you, I'll be safe." Sol says. Seungjae couldn't say no. He knows how stubborn Sol is, how when she decides on something, she will commit to it wholeheartedly.

"If he's armed, you could get yourself in danger." Seungjae exasperatedly sighs. It was too big a risk to see the junior he treats as a little sister put herself at risk.

"I'll be fine. Look, you're on my speed dial. You know that I can handle myself. There's a reason why I took years of self-defence classes." Sol tells him. Seungjae nods his head unwillingly.

"You better call me after you're done." He says as he opens the door and gets out of the car. "Please, please stay safe." Sol nods and gives a small smile.

"Thank you, oppa." Sol drives away immediately, leaving Seungjae to pinch his nose bridge in frustration and concern. Silently, as he boards the train, he prays for Sol's safety.

-----

Sol knows the area well. As she parks her car at a carpark, she checks to make sure Manho is still at the bar. The blinking dot stays stagnant at the bar, not moving ever since she dropped Seungjae off. Getting out, she tightens her coat around her and thanks herself for the long trousers she's wearing. At least she isn't wearing a skirt, if she needs to beat someone up.

Entering the bar, she naturally takes a slow walk around. But hidden by the corner of the bar tables sit a lone man, with a cap, dressed in black button up and holding a glass of golden whiskey. She knew that was her target.

Taking a seat next to him, she orders a glass of soda water from the bartender. Man Ho chuckles next to her as he sets his glass down. Turning his head, he faces Sol with sly eyes, lips curled at the corner.

"Prosecutor Kang, you're quick." She hears him say and a chill goes down her spine. She lets her eyes meet the cold stare of Manho.

"Oh, you think I don't know you? You're the one after me more than the police are for the past weeks." Man Ho sinisterly says, a sick grin on his face. Sol grits her teeth and takes a deep breath to soothe her anger.

"Why are you doing this? You think it's fun?Watching my clients suffer?" Sol says through her gritted teeth. He only scoffs.

"My, my. Don't want you getting agitated now, don't we? We just started." He says, sipping from his glass again.

"Answer my question." She says with force. Man Ho sips on his glass, swirling the golden brown liquid against the large square cubes of ice as he exhales.

As the words fall from his mouth, Sol grows as cold as the glass in her hand. Her hands slightly shake as she hitches her breath. When her shaky eyes turn to Manho’s, his eyes are sly with a mocking grin. No, he can’t know.

"You’re just as feisty as your sister, aren’t you?”

[lihikainanea]

going with bill to the family summerhouse and the whole Skarsgård clan are there. the weather isn’t the best and takes a huge turn for the worst when a storm comes. papa S does trust his kids to know better but everyone is banned from going outside until conditions get better. after a few days the boys start to butt heads over the most basic things because let’s be honest that much testosterone all cooped up is a disaster waiting to happen. tiger finds it funny watching bill revert back to being a child and wrestling alex to the floor for using the last of the butter and just the boys being boys and tiger teasing bill about being this dramatic as a kid

okay but I LIVE FOR THIS CONCEPT.

Listen, I love brothers. There is something so special about the brotherly dynamic in a big family, when they're close. Brothers horsing around and being harmless, lovable idiots with each other is the only acceptable context to the phrase boys will be boys and that is final. I love it so very much.

And like, the Skarsgards....man, they are big boys. They are big boys and they're big goofballs, sometimes there are certain things Bill does that you can just SEE the annoying big brother come out, and sometimes his brothers to things to him and you can SEE the annoyed younger sibling in the way his demeanour changes. I fucking live for those moments, they are so precious.

And like, the thing with growing up in a big family is once you start to have your own space--say, your own apartment, your own career, your own separate group of friends--you really start to hold those things near and dear to your heart. It's why Bill is so protective of tiger in those scenarios. But it's also why, even though they all love each other, getting them back into the same house for a week is usually a recipe for disaster.

And it's not even tempers getting short, it's not nerves being frayed. It's just....brothers. And over the course of a week, it starts to take less and less confrontation to initiate a full on wrestle match as tiger kind of just marvels at them all--marvels in the way that, you know you'd marvel at a bunch of gorillas beating their chests in a zoo. tiger thinks it's a fascinating study of testosterone in its natural, weird element.

It starts off innocent enough. Alex pours a bowl of cereal, right as Bill takes the half-empty carton of milk from the fridge and chugs the entire contents of it. They have more milk--the Skarsgards have to buy groceries in bulk--but the other milk is downstairs in the other fridge and Alex doesn't want to go get it. So instead--much less effort--he grapples Bill, gets him into a headlock and hip checks him into the cupboards. Bill struggles, tries to wrap his hands around one of Alex's legs to throw him backwards.

Tiger sits at the table, quietly drinking her coffee as two very big boys engage in a full on wrestling match in front of her. It only stops when Gustaf walks in, breaks it up, swats both of his brothers upside the head.

Another time maybe they're all in the living room, Bill sprawled on the couch with his feet on the coffee table. And Valter, who had gone to get a snack--comes back in and like, he wants to sit on the other side of the couch. But the problem is, in the open space all the dogs are lying down and he doesn't want to disturb him, but his other passage way is blocked by Bill's daddy long lanky legs. And like, Bill doesn't feel like moving his legs so suck it, Valter.

Valter grabs his legs and deadass pulls him off the couch. Bill lands on the floor but puts his rudimentary jiu-jitsu training to good use, taking Valter down with him.

Tiger snags the popcorn from Valter's hand, settling back and leaning a bit on Gustaf as they watch it all go down.

"Should you...?" she asks, motioning to them. Gustaf barely spares them a glance, before grabbing some popcorn and turning his attention back to the screen.

"Nah."

The next time, maybe it's just that--Bill had a hankering for his fancy Madeleines that he makes sometimes, both because he likes them but he also knows that tiger loves them. So he sets her up in the kitchen, she's tackling a puzzle and having some tea and Bill gets to work. He even packed his Madeleine pans, in case of a cookie emergency. He gives them a wash, gets his ingredients out, and meanwhile Alex saunters in to make some toast. And while Bill is so carefully measuring out and weighing all of his ingredients, Alex gets a shit-eating grin on his face and deadass stares his brother down. And right as Bill goes looking for the butter Alex grabs it, and proceed to schmear the entire thing on his toast.

It's too much butter. That schmear was unnecessary and embellished in every way. There is an entire stick of butter on just two pieces of toast. But Alex just licks his fingers, picks up his toast, and clears nearly the whole piece in one bite.

"You son of a bitch," Bill seethes, clobbering him off the head with a spatula. And then it ensues--Bill in an apron, this time with Alex in a headlock, cursing in Swedish and various sounds of a struggle are heard.

"Oh what have we here?" Gustaf asks kindly as he walks in, ignoring the situation at hand, "A puzzle?"

it's just a week of this. Of tempers flaring and inappropriate responses to issues that shouldn't even be issues and I am HERE FOR IT.

[passivenovember]

mama said to smile while I still have teeth : PART TWO

(part one)

(or) Billy gets his wisdom teeth removed and Steve understands things will not grow back in the spaces we leave for them.

--

Billy hops down from the passenger side like it’s written in a script or something. Part B of his master plan, logical in the journey of what happens next.

He swings the car door open and charges through wet grass. Neon green blades stick to the heel of his boot, lopsided smile drawn forward to inspect the ferns nestled on either side of a welcome mat that says Bless this Mess. 

It’s as if he’s been here before. 

As if he belongs.

Steve watches Billy collapse on the porch swing, arms and legs folded under him like a house of cards toppled over in the wind. He must not realize that it’s functional, or something, because Billy sits bolt upright and uses the toe of his boot to get the swing moving, once he does.

Really moving, like. Banging against the bay window his mother leaves clear for her azaleas, moving. 

Billy hollers. Makes grabby hands, like, “Push me!”

“You’re gonna get sea sick.” Steve chuckles, watching Billy shrug and take it for a ride. 

Billy brings the swing to a sudden halt, when. “How come you’re all the way down there?” he asks. 

Catching on. 

Steve watches him struggle to get his feet up on the swing. Feels his heart shudder in fondness, when Billy grins up at him triumphantly. 

“Didn’t know there were other options.” Steve says.

“There aren’t. Come here.” Billy gestures to the porch when Steve’s legs decide to fizzle out. “It’s a carnival ride. You got one on your porch, at your house, and--”

Steve claims of the second cushion when Billy removes the thumb from his mouth long enough to spell it out for him. “Cuddles.” He says.

Simple.

And his eyes are so blue. Bright. Steve doesn’t have a choice because, really, they’ve swapped sides with the rope. 

Up and left this dimension all together when the flea got squashed by the acrobat deciding that they could skip the apologies and get to the good part.

Steve realizes that he wants this. 

Billy. Scooting impossibly closer and humming the bridge to Mama Mia. “You smell good, Stever.” Billy says around the pad of his thumb. Dripping more blood down the front of his hoodie, and. Trying to get his face in Steve’s neck. 

Which should be gross, but. 

Steve just clears a path. Makes room for the warm nose that sniffs a trail up and around one ear. “You said I smelled like ass,” He accuses, sounding shaky. Star struck. 

Billy’s breath feels like fairy wings. “Wrong. I said you smell like sweet grass and have a sweet ass, didn’t you pay attention to my context clues?”

“Um.” There’s something warm on Steve’s throat. Going wet in the middle, parting and sucking and--

He pulls away. 

Billy smiles at him. tries to get in Steve’s lap but the bench moves with him and when the bench moves with him, Steve’s got a brick wall glued to his side. 

Shivering. Cold, or afraid. Nervous.

“You tired?”

Billy shakes his head. With his whole body. “Wanna hang out.”

“You can sleep for a little bit. I’ll still be there, when you--”

Billy grunts. Refuses, so. Steve rubs the side of Billy’s shoulder, instead. Fabric and muscle and heat living somewhere beneath his fingertips. “You don’t wanna go in?” 

“Nope.” Billy somehow works his way under Steve’s arm. 

Feels right, striking oil in the heartland.

--

It starts raining again. Somewhere along the way, it starts getting cold and Billy shivers, peering up at Steve like he made it happen. 

Like the heavens split open and bleeding at his command.

Steve chuckles, pushing off the swing and laughing harder when Billy squawks like an angry rooster. 

“Where are we going?” He demands.

“Inside.”

Billy seems to hate that, like. Instantly. 

“Don’t make me carry you, Hargrove.” 

“Oh, look who’s got Popeye arms all of a sudden.” Billy leans back on the porch swing, thighs spread like. He has no idea how fucking--

It doesn’t matter.

“You need to eat.”

“My stitches haven’t fallen out.”

“Yeah, and they won’t. Not for days.” Steve leans against one of the porch posts, trying not to crack a smile when Billy’s thumb finds his mouth again. “Unless you’re planning to eat your hand, we gotta get some mac and cheese--”

Billy’s off the swing before Steve realizes what’s happened. He wanders in between the ferns in their bright orange pots. Jamming a thumb at the number above the doorbell, like, “This door?”

And. “Yeah?”

“This is the one with the cheese?”

“And the mac too.” Steve winks at him, watching a warm blush spread across a sea of freckles. He cocks his head, like, “What’s up?”

“Maybe we can do inside.” Billy says harshly. “For a minute. To kiss the noodles, or something--”

“Kiss the?”

“Open the door.” Billy suggests. “Now.”

So Steve does, biting down on a smile when Billy clomps through the foyer, tracking dirt and grass and pieces of Steve’s heart across imported marble.

“This is so huge.” Billy says softly. His eyes go bright all of a sudden and he’s right in Steve’s face. “You probably have so many pillows here. And chairs. And blankets, too, like. The big ones--”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s build a fort, Stever.” Billy says desperately. He bounces a little, managing to knock more mud onto the floor beneath him. “Let’s build a house. For me and you, and the noodles if they wanna stay the night.”

Steve grins, untangling Billy’s fingers from his hair. “Yeah, I guess we could do that.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” Steve points to the ground. “Boots off first, though.”

Billy jerks away. “No.”

“Stop being a little shit for like, three seconds--”

“Stop being party pooper. For like. Your entire adulthood.” Billy shoots back, collapsing onto the staircase and holding his foot in one hand anyway. 

Steve holds his breath. 

Billy stares at the boot, and his foot inside the boot, like maybe the connection between them is lost. 

Steve feels like an asshole for finding it adorable, but. Billy looks up at him through his eyelashes. 

“I think I’m still high.” He theorizes.

“Yup.” Steve tugs his own shoes off, placing them on the rack by the door.

“I don’t think I can untangle the knots.” Billy says miserably. He tries, though, scowling like the laces have done it on purpose.

Steve watches him struggle, and laughs at the struggle, before holding out his hands. “Give me your foot.”

Billy stares at him. “Really?”

“Our only other option is to wait around until you figure it out, and who knows how long that’ll take.” Steve says, waiting for Billy to shoot back with something venomous. 

He doesn’t. 

He coos, instead. Like a little baby bird, pointing his toes in the air with a giggle. “I’m Cinderella and you’re the prince,” Billy declares, laughing harder when Steve drops to his knees and gets the boot off in one go. “Prince Charming, Prince--”

“You’re just saying that because I have amazing hair and you have little blonde princess curls.”

“Hey.” Billy deadpans, holding out his second foot. “It grows out of my hair like that.”

“Head.” Steve chuckles.

Billy’s mouth falls open in a silent O, brows drawn in confusion. 

Steve puts both muddy boots on the rack next to his own, smiling down at Billy’s puzzled face. “Your hair grows out of your head like that.”

“It does?” Billy asks in wonder. “I like it. Do you like it?”

And. “Yeah. It’s cute.” Steve says, holding out his hand. “Come on. Lunch time.”

Billy lets Steve pull him up, swaying a little bit at their proximity. 

He doesn’t pull away, and.

This close his eyes aren’t just blue, they’re green. And yellow. And brown, like a kaleidoscope. 

“Am I a cute person, Stever?” Billy asks softly.

“The cutest.” Steve says. Without thinking, but.

It doesn’t seem to matter. Because Billy’s high as a fucking kite, wiggling his hips and saying, “I think you’re cuter than me. Softer. Like an opil painting, or maybe a box of raspberry macaroons.”

Steve chuckles, not even trying to pull away when Billy’s fingers try to force their way into his mouth. “When have you had macaroons?”

“I haven’t,” Billy admits easily. “But I always thought that maybe you tasted like one.” 

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but. Billy’s gone after that. Running his fingers along the wall and disappearing around the corner. 

“C’mon, Stever! I want cheese flavored kisses.”

And Steve.

Doesn’t think Billy will remember this. 

--

They order pizza instead. Steve knows that Billy’s gotta be careful with his incision marks. Not go to heavy on the fat and grease less than three hours after his surgery, but. 

Steve tries to hold blue eyes even as they slip through his fingers. Pools and rivers disappearing beneath the Earth.

He’s starting to think that maybe. 

All it would take is bat of those stupid eyelash and Steve would throw every responsible thought out the window. 

Billy says, “You got a laundry machine?” After the pizza performs its vanishing act. 

And Steve says, “Yeah, why?” 

Two seconds before Billy is stripping down naked. 

“Woah, woah, hey--”

“There’s Kool-Aid on my hoodie.” Billy says from behind a wall of fabric. “I can’t walk around with red juice on my clothes, people will know I’m a vampire then.”

“You’re a vampire?” Steve tries to look away from Billy’s stomach. 

The smooth planes of skin, soft just above a layer of muscle. He puts a hand over his eyes for good measure. Safe keeping when Billy gets the hoodie off in one go and he’s standing there. 

Shirtless.

In the middle of the room like some kind of wet dream Steve never even realized he had. 

Billy grins, curls sticking out in every direction. “They’d think it.”

And Steve’s brain is, fucking. 

Offline. Distracted. He blinks, tearing his eyes way from Billy’s chest long enough to go, “Think what?”

“That I’m a vampire.”

And Steve thinks he couldn’t be. Too tan. Too--

Alive. Steve shrugs. “I don’t think it.”

“That’s because you don’t think.” Billy tosses the hoodie onto floor. He points at Steve, like, “Can I wear your sweater?”

And Steve looks down at himself. “This one?”

“Yeah.” Billy says. “Smells like you.”

And Steve doesn’t even have to think about it. Doesn’t even consider what it might mean, pulling the fabric over his head and handing it to an asshole who examines his Kate Bush tee shirt and says, “That one too.”

Like he’s trying to make Steve catch on fire.

Steve shakes his head. “What will I wear if you take all my clothes?”

Billy shrugs, like, “Not my problem.”

And he’s uncovering truths with those eyes. Getting a little too close to the root of it, the revelation, so. 

Steve gives Billy the shirt too. 

And tries not to think about the four seconds that they’re both shirtless. Standing in a room together, just. looking. Charting unmarked skin, eyes glazing silver springs on bronze soil. 

Billy puts the tee shirt on, and the sweater over the top of that, until It’s just Steve. 

Half naked in the living room.

“I’ll go grab another shirt, and then, um.” It feels like the walls are burning down. Steve’s thoughts fall like bullet points. “We should go outside,” He says. “Wanna go sit on the swing?”

Billy frowns. “’S cold outside.” 

“Yeah, but.” Steve picks the hoodie off the ground. “I’ll keep you warm.”

--

Billy’s fingers don’t leave his skin. Don’t soothe, when they light trails of smoke over his collarbone. 

Steve leans into the touch anyway. 

Gives into the pull, anyway, when Billy grabs his cheek and brings their eyes together, looking every bit like he’s got something to say. 

Something important.

“What?” Steve asks. Wanting to touch. Wanting to--

“You know my mom threw a plate at my old man,” Billy says, eyes resting on a scar they both know is there. Hidden, like gold beneath caverns of rock. “The day she left, she. Threw my Mickie Mouse at him.”

“Your plate?”

“It was a bowl.” 

“I’m sure he deserved it.” Steve says easily. “I’m sure it was the only way to win.”

“There aren’t any winners with stuff like that.” Billy says gently. His eyes are watery again. Steve’s getting suspicious of it, like maybe that’s just how the world comes together for Billy. With water and sphere’s of blue. 

God hovering over the surface of the deep. 

Billy sighs, thumb twitching against his leg. “Neil would’ve killed her.”

And Steve hates Neil.

Knows more than be probably should. Pays attention, takes notes.

“That just means she’s resourceful, right?” Steve whispers. “Using the stuff around her to fight fair.”

“Wasn’t fair.” Billy whispers, finally looking away. Eyes studying the rain as it drips from the trees above. 

“Clean, then.” Steve shifts, rocking the porch swing as he sits criss-cross with his knees pressed against Billy’s thigh. “Even fight. Clean break.”

He wonders how he can get those eyes on him again. 

How he can be taken apart. 

“No such thing.” 

Steve doesn’t get it. “What do you mean?”

“All breaks sever the bone.”

And Steve thinks. Maybe. “Are you high?” He squints at Billy’s face, trying to see if it’s written on his forehead. 

Billy smirks. “I think so.”

“Still high.” Steve says, wanting to lift his fingers. Prod at swollen cheeks. He doesn’t, when Billy’s eyes start welling up again. “Don’t cry.” Steve suggests, sliding closer. “Don’t cry, Billy--”

“I’m sorry about--”

“I know.”

“That night. It was. I never should’ve--”

“She’s your sister.” Steve says fiercely. Because. “We were trying to protect you.” And he was. At the root of it all, deep in the center of himself. Steve turns outward again, feet planted on the ground. “We didn’t want you to get roped into our shit. With the monsters, you were.”

Billy’s staring at him. 

Watching. Steve can feel it, so. He closes his own eyes, just to even the score. To make it easier when his lips say, “You’re too beautiful to have your life cracked open like that.”

Billy doesn’t speak until he does, voice flickering like candle light behind a window covered in frost. “Life was already laying in pieces on the rug.”

And there are fingers in Steve’s hair. Brushing tears from his cheeks. Billy grabs him by the throat with more care, more. 

Love.

Than Steve ever thought he would get in this life. Billy moves him until they’re right in each other’s space. Breathing the same air, no longer running races to escape one another. 

It feels right. 

Billy smiles at him. “Thank you.”

And Steve doesn’t know what for. Doesn’t care what for, but there’s a finger on his mouth, parting his lips. Billy’s eyes burn a hole in his tongue. Clear a path through muscle and bone, until Steve is pulled forward. 

Into an embrace. 

Into a trilogy of kisses; on the corner of his eye. On the bridge of his nose. On the bow of his lip that turns biting. And bruising.

Billy asks if he can lay on Steve’s chest, because. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that.” He says shyly. Billy kisses him once more and  and Steve.

Goes down easy.

[queenmuzz]

Happy Mother's Day

I'm terribly sorry, this is supposed to be a happy day between mothers and their children, but you know how I am... Note: Set Between DMC4 and DMC5

Nero’s legs wobbled with numbness as he cautiously got off the bike, making sure that the motorcycle wouldn’t tip. He really didn’t want to bring it back to Lady with a ding in it. But when she had offered it to him to borrow, he couldn’t resist taking it for a spin. The vehicle was a beaut, lovingly taken care of, and...very, VERY fast. How that waif of a woman was able to hold on for dear life, he had no idea.

After he had steadied himself, he looked at his destination and frowned, looked down at the paper in his hand, and looked back up. The address was a match, but this place, right smack in the middle of downtown Redgrave, looked like a dump. A decrepit skeleton of what had once been a magnificent manor that looked abandoned for decades. Even though it looked like a prime location for a demon hang out, Lady had insisted that Dante wasn’t on a job. Nero had gotten the feeling she really wanted him to find the elder demon hunter.

Confused, and more than a little curious, he passed through the broken down wrought iron gate towards the house.

The overgrowth was tall and suffocating, but Nero noticed, just before what had been the entrance, a new path going to the left had been created, freshly trampled grass going around the corner. Nero didn’t see any other sign of disturbance, so this is probably where Dante had gone. So, he trudged along, wondering why of all places the man would have come here.

He pulled around the corner, and instantly came to a stop. Unlike the rest of the property, this area here had been recently maintained, the grass recently shorn (Nero had a sneaking suspicion it was Rebellion’s doing) A large oak tree, with bright green newborn leaves, cast a lovely dappled shadow upon the ground. And beneath the aged trunk was Dante, his back to Nero, facing a pair of granite stones. It took a few moments for Nero to realize...not stones… gravestones.

“Lady,” Dante didn’t turn around, “I told you that I didn’t need you here. I’m fine…” Nero caught the scent of flowers, specifically roses fluttering in the breeze. The young man awkwardly coughed, startling the man in red.

“Sheesh!” Dante rapidly turned around, revealing that the scent came from a bouquet of red roses in his hand. Well, nearly all red. In the middle of the bundle, was a single blue rose. “Didn’t expect to see you here kid! Heard Lady’s bike rumbling down the street, so I thought she was sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.” “Yeah,” Nero said, scratching the bridge of his nose. Had Lady used him as a tool to get to Dante? “You weren’t in the office when I came by, but Lady let me use her bike, and gave me directions to...this place.” He didn’t know the significance of this area, but it was probably very important to Dante.

“Did she eh...?” he murmured, slightly annoyed, slightly resigned for some reason.

“Yeah, Kyrie told me I needed to get out of Fortuna, to take a break from rebuilding Fortuna. And the only place on the Mainland that I knew about, was your place.” That was partially the truth. Nero had also wanted to ask if Dante would be interested in a business idea that Nero had come up with: A mobile franchise using the Devil May Cry name, centered in Fortuna, but he had the feeling that this was not the time nor place to bring up business matters.

Dante chuckled, and looked down at the roses he was holding. “I guess Lady didn’t tell you why I was here.”

“Nah, and I didn’t ask.”

“Welp,” Dante rolled his shoulders, the joints popping. “Might as well get this over with. You know what day today is?”

Nero was perplexed. It was just another Sunday in May. He shrugged.

“Ah, maybe they don’t do it in Fortuna. Here, today is Mother’s Day. Where kids and adults spend time with, and thank the women that raised them, and well… I’m visiting my mom.”

Nero felt the pieces of the puzzle falling in the place. Fortuna’s version of Mother’s Day was during the autumn, and Nero hadn’t really cared much about it, considering his background. But to Dante, the day was more significant.

Suddenly, he felt the yank on his sleeve, and before he knew it, Dante had dragged him towards one of the gravestones, the one that was older, and slightly more worn. It was simple, no words on it, but there was flowering climbing roses carved along the edges. The one stone beside it was similar, but newer, and there were no roses, just intertwined climbing thorny stems.

“Hey Mom, I’d like to introduce you to that kid I was telling you about. This,” he pushed the boy further in front of the stone proudly, “is Nero.” He stood there, partly awkward and partly proud at the thought Dante had talked to his mom about him. Dante hadn’t mentioned his mom much, but Trish had helpfully filled in the blanks when Nero had asked why Dante had a pic of her on his desk.

“Oh, that’s not me...that’s Eva, Dante’s mother. It’s complicated, but I was created by Mundus to look like her, to lure him into a trap many years ago. She was very important to him, and while I don’t quite understand it, I know that she loved him dearly she loved the bot-”

She’d been interrupted by Dante coming in the office, and Nero hadn’t pried further.

Nero tried to come up with some words “Uh...hi.. It’s nice to meet you.” God he sounded like an idiot.

Thankfully, Dante swooped back in. “She was a wonderful woman. You’d think she was soft and demure, but the moment you pissed her off, she was as hard as steel. I can still feel her pulling on my ear when she caught me sneaking into the cookie jar before supper.” He chuckled and winced as he rubbed his earlobe, “A fantastic cook, a wonderful violinist and… an irreplaceable mom.” Dante’s voice trailed off, and for a moment all that could be heard was the rustling of the wind through the grass. Strange, despite never meeting her, with no connection to this family, Nero had a feeling he...belonged here.

“She would have adored you…” Dante murmured softly, startling Nero. He turned to find the older man with a wistful, almost melancholy look on his face.

“Huh?”

Instantly, that softness, that rare glimpse of something seldom seen, was locked up behind a steel grin. Dante laughed. “It’s nothin, just me talking without thinking. So, what about you? You’re on the Mainland now, best time to talk about your mom.” Dante must have seen his sudden scowl, and placed his hands up in surrender, realizing this was a sore spot. “Doesn’t have to be your blood mom. Can be any woman that helped you grow up!”

“Well,” Nero mused, “There was Cecilia, Kyrie’s mom,” he explained, “she was a heck of a woman. When Kyrie brought me home after I’d gotten into a scrap with the other kids at school, when they took my lunch, after she made sure I was okay, she gave me a ham and cheese sandwich on two pieces of fresh bread. She was a baker by trade, you see. And every day after that, when school was day, Kyrie would bring me to her, and Cecilia wouldn’t let leave until I couldn’t eat another bite. She was always looking out for me afterwards. Making sure I got my school work done, mended my clothes, and then when the Orphanage didn’t have clothes my size, she got Credo to get me measured up so she could get me several sets of clothes. But most of all…” he continued, trying to figure out why his eyes were getting all watery. Must be from the newly cut grass. “Unlike the rest of the island, she never judged me, never made me feel like I didn’t belong. I…” he took a deep breath, “I would have been proud to be called her son-in-law. But she never got the chance to see Kyrie and me grow up, to become a couple… Maybe if I had been there when the demon attack...” he trailed off, feeling a bit lost and alone. He couldn’t feel the same pain as Kyrie or Credo had, but there was pain nonetheless. He was surprised by a firm hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see the older man giving a smile of sympathy.

“I kinda feel where you’re coming from. My mom, she died in an attack too…she died protecting me from demons.” That smile vanished as Dante looked down at the gravestone...not this mother’s, the one beside it. “Our positions should have been switched” he murmured softly, grief on his face, “things would have been so much different, so much better...” Nero was perplexed. Was Dante wishing he had died so his mom had lived?

“Well, if she’s even half the mom you claim her to be, she’d probably be happy that you’re alive, strong enough to protect yourself, and others….” Nero tried to say what he was feeling, and it seemed to be what came from his heart. It seemed to do the trick, because Dante had perked up, and that mask of a grin was nowhere to be seen.

“You’re a good kid, Nero.” Dante said, and rubbed Nero’s head, laughing at the halfhearted scowl that earned. Dante looked up at the sky, the noon sun shining happily down. “Welp, I’m famished.... How bout we get our asses- I mean butts, sorry mom, back to the office and order some pizza. I’m pretty sure Lady owes me a couple boxes of them, for what she’s done…” Dante glared at her bike, barely visible from their location. Nero didn’t quite understand, but he’d never turn down free food.

“You go ahead, bring that bike back to her, tell her I’ll be there a bit later, just have to do a…” Dante looked down at the pair of graves. “A few more things to spruce up the place.”

Nero nodded. Obviously, Dante deserved some privacy, this was his mother’s resting place, so he turned to leave, his stomach already growling at the thought of pizza. He slightly worried he was turning out like the old man. Next thing he knew, he’d be having questionable tastes in fashion, and have a penchant for shooting old men in the head without explaining beforehand that the guy was trying to take over the world. Strange, he thought as he got on the bike, and looked back at the manor. It didn’t look as decrepit and creepy as before. Instead of a carcass of a house, it was a dignified memorial of happy times long since gone. A place that seemed to welcome him to return as often as he’d like. As he drove off, he remembered that he’d forgotten, in all the emotional unloading, to ask about the other gravestone….

------

When the sound of Lady’s engine had finally faded away, Dante let out a breath that he’d been holding in for longer than he thought. Damn Lady, trying to get him to break down and tell the kid the truth. Well, there had been a few close calls, a few words slipped out, but that façade had been maintained, with the kid none the wiser.

He looked down at the bouquet in his hands, and then at the grave before him. “He’s a great kid, like I said.” He sighed, “I know you’re probably disappointed at me for not being truthful, you were always a big stickler for ‘Honesty’ but…” he pulled out the single blue rose out of the bouquet, and spun it between his fingers. “Bad stuff happens to us Spardas. You, me…” he placed that blue rose before the newer gravestone, “Vergil.... I just don’t want that to happen to him. The less he knows...the better. He deserves the stability that we never got...” He placed the roses down, and knelt down, eye level to the grave.

“I hope, wherever you are, that you’re at peace, and that he’s with you, so you can tell him what I never could, that he was loved just as much as you loved me….” His forehead touched the cool stone, and a few drops of water splashed onto the crimson blooms.

“Happy Mother’s Day”

[xxsmokeyy]

Levi x Drug Dealer! Reader (F) The Lunatic And Her Dog

genre: smut, canonverse — Levi’s early recruitment

summary: being a former thug, the new soldier is given a task to ingratiate himself, finding an old associate from his past along the way.

tw: vices (drugs, cigarettes), rough sex

wc: 12,039 holy fuck (smut is only latter half)

“Coderoin. A strong, sweet, and highly addictive drug that’s been circulating in Stohess District for about four years or so,” the Commander says, voice gruff as he explains the content of the unwrapped paper filled with azure tablets.

Coderoin. Levi thinks he’s heard of that thing not long before. He just can’t quite put his finger on it.

“The Military Police Brigade failed to capture the primary smuggler of this substance multiple times, and it’s only recently come to their notice that it’s gotten reformulated to a liquid solution,” he continues, pinching one of them in his fingers, rolling it back and forth to study its appearance.

Levi can only stand back in ennui, the lack of interest reverberating from his aura. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

Erwin places the tablet back to the paper, propping his palms on the tabletop, and stares deep into Levi’s unamused eyes.

“You’ll have to hunt this drug dealer down.” The curt order comes. Levi cocks a brow in confusion, wondering why the blond would make him do such thing.

“That’s the MP’s job. I thought I joined here to kill those filthy titans, what are you going on about?” he quizzes in confusion.

Erwin sighs, lids shutting close before he massages his temples. “The higher-ups are still not exactly in favor of your recruitment in the army, and as much as you hate buttering people up, you’ll have to deal with this case to secure your postion,” he makes intelligible, getting into the details so to clarify things out.

The raven haired man before him listens intently with a permanent scowl on his face, arms crossed over each other. He’s most definitely not liking the idea of seeking those damn swines’ goodwill. Just when he decided to trust the guy.

“You’ll earn Darius Zackly’s approval once you catch the little felon,” Erwin speaks truthfully. Of course, the Supreme Commander who so hates him, of all people. “It’s just this once. Trust me, you’ll have no more problems with your stay if you solve this case,” he even adds to convince the man. Not that there’s any way around this matter. Levi has to do this to prevent further threats in his position and to clear his reputation as well, by hook or by crook.

“You basically want me to suck up their asses,” he concludes, not a question, more of a full decisive statement. The Commander grunts his affirmative response, still getting used of his soldier’s sharp tongue.

“Tch. To hell with that.”

—

The afternoon later, he’s walking on the stony pavements of Stohess District, left with no choice but to follow the Commander’s orders.

Ever since the death of his last friends, Farlan and Isabel, just a few weeks back, things have gotten ridiculously out of hand regarding his enlistment. It almost arrived to a point where he’s wanted in court for seniors to debate whether he can stay up top or should be sent back to the Underground, considering his heavy crimes.

Holding a poster in hand, he studies the illustration keenly. It says the words WANTED: Notorious Drug Lord in big, thick, and bold letters. In the sketched picture is a person wearing a hood. From what he’s told, the wanted criminal has been in the hide for years now, but never once left the district.

“That man never shows himself. That portrait is from a witness in a pub near a shanty town. Some say he often appears wearing a cloak.” That’s what a Military Police officer said to him when he asked for the dealer’s whereabouts.

A man? He squints a little to see the image better.

It’s a bit difficult to determine since it’s only a roughly sketched side profile with a hood worn, blocking the hair, but he’s sure as hell those are certainly not eyes of a man, looking ultimately feminine and provocative. He doesn’t know, but those eyes are somewhat achingly familiar. And those plump lips that held a suggestive smile? He’s fully convinced that it’s a woman.

“A woman? That’s in no way a fair lady. Women here in Stohess stay at home and polish their husbands’ boots.” That’s what the Military Police officer said as well when he told it’s a woman.

Fucking sexists. Not that he cares, though.

Levi stops by the said pub, pushing on the saloon doors before walking to a table of three men, boisterously laughing like crazy. It’s dark and warm inside, the trademark ambience of local bars eating up the whole place. “Any of you seen this guy?” he lazily asks, showing the piece of paper to their faces.

Their eyes dart on the illustration before all of them fall silent, throwing looks at each other, and Levi can swear he could hear the rusty gears in their pea sized brain turn.

When they keep quiet, he almost surmises they turned mute upon seeing him and is about to leave them alone, finding them completely useless. He just wants to finish this task, and quick.

“Heard ya were a nasty criminal in the Underground,” the guy on his left comments and drinks the beer at hand, briefly pausing, “ya can’t seriously be turnin’ y’er back on that kinda past,” he smugly continues.

Levi’s brows twitch in irritation. How is that relevant to what he asked?

“Just answer the damn question,” he orders assertively and slams the paper onto their tabletop. The guys exchange gazes once again like it’s some sort of stupid inside code.

“What makes ya think ya can fool us? We know you’ll arrest us off the bat if we answer, young’un,” the man continues, his company still speechless. What, is he the leader of their pack or something?

The way they stare him down with the most condescending eyes is ticking him off to ridiculous measures, he could’ve knocked them out cold one by one already if not for the fact that they obviously know something, and nobody else is in the pub other than them and the staff.

“I don’t give two shits about your work. I’m not asking for you, I’m looking for this guy right here,” he jabs a finger into the poster, causing every one of them to look at it once more.

“I ain’t convinced—”

Levi has had enough of their refusal and decides to pull out his knife, kick the very chair the garrulous man is sitting on to drop him on the ground, beer spilling everywhere, before using the dirty sole of his boot to shove the man’s cheeks against the wooden floor.

He kneels down on his right knee, his other foot still stepping on the man’s face, and points the tip of his freshly sharpened knife just a few centimeters from his eyeball, which earns him a whimper of surprise.

“Gonna stop yakking any minute now?” Levi asks. It’s a bit surprising to him that the bartender of the pub didn’t meddle the whole time for pressing on his customers, oddly similar to the lukewarm nature of his hometown.

The two men freeze in fear, afraid that if they do anything to counter the soldier’s menace, their good friend might suffer and go blind. How worthless.

After a couple more seconds, the old geezer eventually gives in and speaks. “That’s our dealer,” he admits, voice weak and shaky. Levi cocks a brow and listens, finally getting the information he‘s aiming for.

“Guy’s been selling drugs that originated from the Underground,” he adds.

“Coderoin?”

“Yeah. He never shows up to us buyers, only sends brokers to deliver.”

“That’s not a man,” Levi corrects again, slowly getting convinced it’s someone he knows from way back. The descriptions about the wanted dealer and the way she arranges things precisely match, not to mention the poster looking exactly like her.

“I told you I won’t end up in brothels, Levi. I created something, and it’s doing great,” she says with a proud smile painted on her colored lips.

“What is it?”

“Coderoin.”

But the soldier only sounds out of his tree in the listeners’ ears, and they immediately speak to nullify his scarcely credible conspiracy theory. “There’s no way. Women here in Stohess—”

Yeah, he gets it. If they don’t believe it then let it be. See, this is why they haven’t caught the culprit for the past years, because they’re looking for a damn male.

“Where was she last seen?” Levi asks, completely dismissing their words, but the guy tries to oppose the small detail once again. “That’s a man—“

“Where was she last seen?” he repeats, cutting off his hostage’s words while he flattens with his boot the man’s cheeks in such a way as to crush his skull, emphasizing what really is important here and what he’s actually asking for. Levi ignores how the poor guy yelps in pain, waiting for intel he can benefit from.

“I don’t know!” he truthfully says, face already deforming from the forceful contact, having difficulty breathing.

“She lives at the skid row,” the bartender chimes in as he wipes on a glass, turning Levi’s head his way. Someone who knows her real identity, huh?

“How do you know?” he keeps his foot down and quizzes, looking for the authenticity in his words. The runt might be fooling him for all he knows, a trap to lure him in.

“I live there,” he simply says. “I don’t have business with her so it won’t be bad if I rat out on her,” he shrugs and turns his back to return to working. The guys listen, puzzled about what they’re talking about.

The ravenhead thinks for a moment, then rising to this heels, kicking away the head he was previously pulverizing before heading out the bar to make off.

In the end, none of them was substantial but the barkeep. And in Levi’s humblest opinion, the guy whom he mostly talked to should drop his so-called friends who didn’t even have the guts to drag their pal out of his plight, being one who gets rid of ineffective people himself.

He looks up at the gloomy afternoon skies once he exits, the clouds moving as he thinks about a variety of stuffs from his past. Envisioning and etching into his brain the familiar silky locks, rose red lips, and a pair of sultry eyes, he then starts walking.

Now, to find you.

—

With the help of the villagers’ directions, he’s arrived at the said skid row by foot. It surprises Levi a lot, having not expected to see a number of resemblances between the Underground and the surface. The visible corruption is no different from down there, with certain rundown areas openly exposed, just a couple blocks away from extravagant neighborhoods. That just goes to show that people’s amoral natures don’t change wherever they go.

He scans his eyes around, studying the dark and uninviting alleyways, the narrow paths, and the compressed townhouses. It’s almost as if the sun refuses to shine here.

This place isn’t any less than a junkyard, he thinks, coming from someone who has just escaped from one.

He takes a step forward to head to the flat where you apparently reside, only to get stopped by a bunch of gangsters, another guy putting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. An animal touching him with filthy fingers, something he hates the most.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the insect says as he looks down on the soldier’s short stature, showing not a droplet of respect. “What’s a scout soldier doing here? There ain’t no titans here, boy!” There’s nothing they love to ridicule more than suicidal people under the disguise of a uniform.

He immediately uses his clean hands that would unfortunately be dirtied as he removes the assaulter’s arm away from him, squeezing it with great force before twisting the whole limb around with full intentions to dislocate it.

The man screeching in pain, Levi gives him a good kick in the face, causing him to fall to the ground, unconscious. Of course, there’s three more left standing. Even if they’re rendered speechless and horrified, he still can’t let bothersome runts on the loose.

One of the delinquents attempts to swing a fist at him, a sorry excuse for a punch by the way, only to get hit right in the guts, disgusting spit flying everywhere. The other tries to slash a knife, which he only snatches away with nimble fingers before hitting a nerve on the neck to knock the guy out cold.

The last one, hairline already receding and looking grey, tries to hit him with a bat. It’s a pitiful sight to look at, really, how they all think they could give him a good beating when they approached him. He crouches down to dodge the weapon, dragging his dominant leg on the floor to kick sweep the old fart off of his toes, head falling against the solid concrete.

Dusting his hands to rid himself of the muck he gained from fighting them, Levi stands upright in vexation and observes as they either squirm or doze off on their own. A flock of vagrants that has got to learn how to keep their hands to themselves.

The thing is, he has had enough of drunkards trying to get on his way. He just wants to get his job done, bring you to those impotent MP’s and get this reputation Erwin kept saying to secure his position for a lifetime.

When finally sets foot on your alleged doorstep, he tries for three knocks, waiting for a response. As much as he wants to finish this task, he doesn’t want to barge in your suite, if possible, because he’d also hate it if it’s done to him. He tries again, focusing to catch with his ears any faint sound.

Minutes pass by and he turns the knob open to find out it’s unlocked the whole time, all his deliberations of keeping still and going down the drain.

It’s quiet and empty.

Levi freely enters, keeping an eye out for attackers, if there are. It’s small, but enough for one person.

He goes with the assumption that you live alone, and maybe don’t have any flings. He still remembers how you latch onto different guys back in the day to have them arrange deals for you. Yeah, you had a way with your words, especially towards men. The epitome of a social butterfly.

But maybe it’s not like that anymore, now that you’re in a city like this with rich people out and about.

How did you wind up here in the first place?

He keenly observes as he goes further in. To your credit, the place is relatively clean. No scattered trash, no messy clothing, and the furniture are well organized. Well, that’d be essential to make an innocent front and hide your junk evidence. But still, impressive.

Nothing really seems malicious at first glance. So far, no one’s coming out, and there are no drugs to be found.

He stumbles upon two more closed doors. He finds that one of them is a bathroom, and the other your bedroom. Aside from those, there’s nowhere else to go. He enters your personal space, looking for something peculiar.

Your bed is fixed, sheets folded nicely. You had a study desk, and a bookshelf. Based from the covers’ titles, they’re all about science. Tch. It’s a dead giveaway. No matter how much you tried to make an oh-so normal living space, those books would be a suspicious lead.

Now what? You’re nowhere to be seen.

Is she home?

He looks around the room looking for an ashtray or even a fire because somehow, it reeks of burning cigarettes, like it’s being consumed at the moment.

Something finally clicks inside of him. Of course, you’re a damn drug lord. An infamous one, at that. You’ll need someplace to hide once all hell breaks loose, and someplace to hide your stuff.

Levi uses his boot to lift the carpet he’s currently stepping on, and finds, just what he expects, a trapdoor. Clever, but not too much.

He then vigorously kicks the door open, which nearly bursts it off of its hinges, if not already. It swings down loosely, losing its assistive joints. He ignores the wooden ladder provided and instead jumps down, dropping on his knees.

“Now you gotta fix that,” says a soft and seductive voice that is definitely no stranger the young man.

Levi raises his gaze and finally finds you, sitting on a chair in the opposite end of a long presidential table, smoking a mint cigarette, and the stench reaches his nostrils. That’s where the ashy pong was coming from.

The secret chambers appear almost pit black from the lack of natural light if not for the candle sconces built on the walls all around, and the lone lantern situated on the table.

He scrutinizes you for a moment, meeting your luscious, glowing eyes. Your hair is styled just the way he remembers, luxuriant, untied, and flowing in sync with your movements. Your plump lips shaded red, fierce like how you want it. Your figure voluptuous by your feminine puff sleeved dress, black front laced corset over top hugging at your curves. For a dress so dainty, you ultimately still looked provocative.

Actually, he kind of understands how it’s unbelievable for such a lady to be a criminal of ill repute. Although nothing much has changed with you external-wise, your youthful attributes have only matured beautifully, and you’ve indeed grown up to be an enchanting woman.

“It’s me. You’ve found me,” you claim, feeling his strong stare burning into your skin. What, does he not recognize you now?

It’s totally the other way round. Every single one of your physical features under the warm candlelight’s reflection keeps rekindling memories inside his head, some just flat out inappropriate.

“So you are the goddamn drug dealer,” he states, not any less than a confirmation.

“Drug dealer is a bit brusque, don’t you think?” you comment with a smile. Anything but to be called a drug dealer. How cheap.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I prefer to go with narco hustler, rolls off the tongue just right,” you suggest. It sounds plain dumb to Levi’s ears, you had zero taste. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t,” you take back upon seeing his seriously bored expression. He has always been one so hard to read, but now he just looks evidently repulsed.

Levi stays standing across of you, resting his arm on top of the other, and leans back against the ladder. Maintaining respective distance, he decides to linger for a bit, intrigued by what stories you must got.

“Rumor has it you’re one of them now. Guess it’s true,” you posite as you observe his physique, wearing a uniform jacket with the wings of “freedom”. Couldn’t he have joined the MP’s out of the three? Lame.

The young man watches back as you lift your wrist up and bring the stick to your delicate lips, inhaling a lungful before blowing the smoke upwards, and he could easily feel how you held yourself up with superiority. Nothing new with the headstrong woman that you are.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” he inquires right away, genuinely curious of your sudden disappearance years ago. He knew full well you weren’t dead, but he never got his hands on news about you.

“Huh? What the fuck are you doing up here, too? You surely downgraded from being a crime boss to a pongo’s dog. Seriously?” you retort cheekily. Last time you checked, he was doing well with his gang, couldn’t he have stayed that way?

He massages the temples of his forehead with closed eyes. Your words are making him think back to his decisions, but not too deeply. He reluctantly contemplates if it’s alright telling you things, but chooses to do so. You had a spot in his life, too, no matter how small. And he’s going to arrest you anyway.

“Lot of complications. It was all supposed to be a job to kill the Section Commander then we’d get granted citizenship…” he trails off, unsure of whether to go on or stop there, “but things took a turn.”

“Hmm?” you hum, waiting for his continuation.

He stays silent and refuses to say a word.

“Alright then. Well what about… who was it? Farlan and Isabel?” you ask cluelessly, thinking if you got their names right.

He sighs. It was exactly what he was trying to avoid. “They’re in the Survey Corps now as well?” you quiz, partially interested. You already know the answer. Who would leave their beloved boss? You just know for sure it won’t be them.

“They’re gone,” he averts his gaze, expertly hiding his emotions away with thick pride.

Your eyes largen a little in realization. “Oh. Sorry.” He catches you put out your cigarette by prodding its cherry into the glass ashtray. There’s still about half left but you paid no extra mind, and it says a lot about your well heeled state.

Enough about him. “What exactly happened to you?” Levi questions, and you prop your elbows on the tabletop, interlacing your fingers together before resting your chin on them.

“Bought citizenship,” you start off, never taking your glance off him. He‘s hot all right, still a sight for sore eyes. Heavily improved, even. It has been five years, after all. You admit, he aged like the finest wine there is.

“A pain in the pockets, yes. But worth it.” You pucker your lips and furrow your brows together upon remembering your old situations.

“Underground folks were becoming cheapskates day by day! Can you believe it? They’re trying to buy two-fifty for, what, five bronze coins? My stuff are as expensive as your maneuvering gear, you know!” you complain, memories of being wrongly paid years ago flashing through your brain.

That’s life. At least you’re well off now. That’s what’s important.

He rakes his eyes around the room and finds stacks and stacks of packaged tablets, same ones as those Erwin showed him.

“Coderoin, huh?” he comments, testing the word on his tongue. Nothing special with the name, probably came from the scientific components. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass.

The warm temperature from the window restricted room urges him to remove his jacket, and so he eventually does. You try not to raise both your eyebrows in captivation as you see the outlines of his muscular torso tracing through his clothes, his veiny forearms exposed by his cuffed shirt.

“I haven’t released it yet, but I just finished formulating a liquified version to easily shoot it up the veins for a more elongated and ecstatic experience,” you proudly brag to divert your attention as well, and Levi cocks a brow in confusion. Haven’t released it yet?

“The MP’s already know there’s a new formula,” he informs, recalling what the Commander said when he was educating him about it earlier.

“What? Already?” you ask, gasping in surprise. It’s a given that word spreads around here fast, but you’re doing your best to work in confidentiality. Some big-mouthed brokers of yours must be babbling.

“Yeah.”

“See how famous I am?” You giggle, letting the issue slide.

“Everyone thinks you’re a man.”

“What?” you ask again, completely scandalized, eyes widening in repulsion. They cannot be serious. You never knew that! Not even your associates told you!

It’s a bit amusing to him how that almost looks like it matters to you the most. Do you even know why he’s here? You don’t seem to be questioning his out of nowhere presence.

“You’re a drug abuser. It’s natural for people to think that way,” he says, eyeing your reactions.

“That’s mean! I’m not an addict. In fact, I don’t even do those often,” you oppose a matter-of-factly. It’s not half a lie, you probably had one the past week, but aside from that, you never took it recently. This stuff is for the customers to abuse. You don’t really have an avid addiction to it.

Honestly speaking, being one for dirty felonies ending just a couple months back, he couldn’t care less what kind of profession you had, as long as people find their own way to live, he’d immediately—but only mentally—give kudos to them. It’s hard enough trying to survive in a corrupt system.

You lived all by yourself back then. You were a tough and independent one, he’d give you that. You helped him with particular deals. Important ones.

In actuality, it’s solely because of you that he got his hands on certain armaments like the ODMG. It was hard to obtain those, seeing as it’s a highly illegal trade and costs an arm and a leg. Though on the plus side, it made his stealings more convenient and less a pain in the ass.

But he wouldn’t say you’re good friends, nor are you on the same gang. Associates, he would say. At times, something even more than associates. Oh, it’s not anything close to romantic. Just something beneficial on both sides.

“I mean at least I’m not a squaddie now, playing soldier like you,” you add, playfully mocking him. Levi throws you a glare of the same energy. It’s not like he wanted this. He’s got no choice, it’s better than going back to that sunken town, alone at that matter.

“You don’t show up to people here,” he surmises from what he learned. As you rise to your feet and walk to the piles of boxes, you fail to notice how he gives your form a runover, from head to toe, his eyes involuntarily staying on some shapely areas.

“This is where I bring my brokers. I’m not going face-to-face with my dear buyers now. What if they sell out on me? Can’t trust people nowadays.” It’s true, because back there, everyone was a criminal in their own ways. You grab a small bag of the tablets and turn around to show him, dangling it mid-air.

“But I’m telling you, people here are as generous as lords. It’s basically easy money everyday,” you say and throw him the drawstring bag, which he catches with one hand in maximum proficiency, the action causing his arms to flex a little. Oh, those muscles. Suave.

“You’re living in a dumpster.”

“It’s called a sentimental value,” you dismiss.

Levi pours some out and takes a moment to observe the packed drugs on his palm, the blue color even and smooth. He’s never found himself drawn to this kind of thing, but he understands the usage. Something to escape from reality for a short period of time.

“I never expected you to turn on your past, of all people,” you mindlessly comment, causing him to look at you with furrowed brows. Though you never meant that the bad way and just wanted to speak your mind, your choice of words still strike a nerve from within him.

Why the fuck are people on the surface keep acting like angels as if they’re any better? At this point, he’d prefer his hometown people over some half assed drug addicts.

This should be enough for today. He carelessly chitchatted for long, almost forgetting his true purpose of being here. It’s too bad he has to ruin your oh-so perfect life. Well, there’s not much he can do about that as it’s how the cookie crumbles. Dragging people down to rise up the ranks is part of the norm in this wretched society, it’s just unfortunate he has to do it to you.

“Say, what if you join me? Leave the Corps and let’s team up. You can run the errands, and I stay here to formulate,” you continue to propose, fully unaware that you ticked him off just a second ago, bringing him back to earth.

“I can’t. Apparently, I’m a soldier now,” he straight up rejects and starts to walk up to you, handcuffs ready by his belt.

Taken aback by his deadpan refusal, you tilt your head in an attempt to understand. “Well then, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for you to come with me,” the soldier finally admits, showing the restraining shackles he has at hand.

Realization dawns upon you, and you feel a bit dense. Oh, right. He did welcome himself into your home, completely unannounced.

A dry and bitter chuckle leaves your throat continuously, dissolving into a long thread of laughter that echoes around the spacious room, resembling those of a mentally deranged woman. Levi’s forehead knots in a mix of puzzlement and irritation as he waits for you to calm down.

Your fit of entertainment starts to boil down, tears of satiric bliss filling your ducts. You wipe them off timidly, building up the manner of being a prim and proper lady. “Sorry… that was funnier than I expected,” you apologize, and he couldn’t quite understand what you want to come across with. He waits for your explanation.

“Buzz off, will you?” you ask of him once you finish composing yourself.

“What?” the man quizzes.

Your face turns dead serious as you fish a tiny pouch from your dress’ pockets, throwing it lazily to the table, contents spilling mid air due to the loosened tie. An abundance of golden coins shower all over the place and fall suspendedly to the ground.

“I’m telling you to fuck off. Now,” you don’t flash him even the smallest of smiles as you curtly give him the order.

You’re bribing him.

And fuck, did you drive him round the twist, he has never felt so insulted his whole life.

Is it because you’re doing well than him now despite the honorability of occupation? Is it because it’s coming from someone he knows from the past? Is it because of your tone so ludicrously condescending it’s making every single drop of blood in his body boil?

“Need more? Why don’t we negotiate upstairs with the amount that will send you away?” you carry on with casting aspersions on him.

What a jackass. After all you’ve done for him? There’s nothing you hate more than shameless traitors, and this guy in front of you doesn’t bat an eye about being one.

Meanwhile, you were rubbing to his face the looming difference between his stability and yours. And of course, it doesn’t matter whose reputation is better, because both of you were miscreants at one point in life. The only distinction is: you gladly kept on with that line of work, and he was forced with his.

Levi takes big strides to reach your form, dropping both the jacket and the drugs he was holding. He’s furious, but he refuses to show. All he wants now is for you to shut your filthy mouth.

He lunges at you and slams you against the wall, wrapping his fingers around your neck. An involuntary whimper slips past your lips, and it certainly feeds his ego to see you so helpless. “Shut your damn mouth,” he bellows, tone imposing the dangers you could get from rubbing him up the wrong way.

You’re not about to give him what he wants. He’s barking up the wrong tree here, treating you so indiferrently for what? For letting him in and being hospitable? For offering him a generous partnership? Can you believe this guy? He’d throw your acquaintance off the window for his own sake. Selfish crab.

“Hate to see your ally so successful?” you attempt to breathe out, one hand trying to unclasp his fingers, one hand aiming to claw your nails at his face. He slaps it away before you can make contact and increases pressure.

Your eyes well up from the suffocating pain as he robs you of air supply, choking you tightly and pressing roughly. Crap!

“That’s—all you got?” you struggle to challenge him, same time trying to pull the slightest amount of oxygen into your lungs you can catch on.

Your dare does absolutely nothing but piss him off. Wow, you’re a bitch to try and control. Levi has the means to tighten his grip. It doesn’t even matter to the MP’s if he brings you dead as long as he can hand over the evidence. But he won’t go that far, because that far would be killing you off.

Staying that way for a moment longer, he examines your facial expression, still brave and never surrendering. He then lets go of you, but only by throwing you to the hard ground. Your back hits the flooring and you squint your eyes in sharp ache, all the while desperately breathing for any available air.

“Rot in hell,” you curse at him in great detestation. Lying back, you gently caress your neck as if to heal the reddened skin from the harsh force he applied.

Levi sighs, collecting himself, and kneels down in level with your weakened body. Maybe he went too hard on you. He has got to keep his temper at bay.

“Sorry,” he genuinely says. It’s not everyday he says that word, but when he does, he accepts that he’s mistaken. A bit surprised, you peer at him with a bleary vision, finding a scowl on his face as he admits his wrongdoing.

You swear you were ready to laugh it all out and forgive him, if not for the fact that he’s currently grabbing the handcuffs, still determined to arrest you. How sincere of him. What exactly was he apologizing for again?

You wait for him to scoot over, discreetly regaining steady breath as you stay laying down. You’re not the best at countering someone combat wise, but growing up a female in the Underground has taught you a couple moves enough to stall you some time to escape.

As he finally crouches beside you, you jolt up to sit and sling two of your arms around his nape and under his armpit, pulling him towards you before throwing him beside with the strength you can manage to utilize.

When did you learn that move? It baffles Levi a little, but he won’t let you have your way. His weight isn’t something you could overlook, that you’re dragged along with and on top of him. The moment you try to quickly prop yourself up and make a run, he grabs your waist and rolls over to bring you back down, straddling on top of you.

“I’ll kill you!” you spit to his face, once again feeling betrayed. You never once thought he’d drive you into a corner do this to you.

“That’s cute of you,” he says in graceful sarcasm. You fight him back with a piercing glare, but he only looks back at you with those apathetic, steel grey eyes. Nothing has changed within them, they’re still cold and indecipherable. It matches his personality well.

Apathetic? He can’t be all that bad, he’s just human. He has needs, one way or another.

You stick a hand out to pull his dark locks, and for once, you actually succeed. He hisses in irritation. He should have expected you’d put up a fight, but he doesn’t get why he’s just straight up pissed. Talk about annoying.

He doesn’t expect it when you forcefully yank him in for a deep kiss, the sudden motion causing your lips to crash together, freezing him in place. It’s all just to take him by surprise and then you’d gab the chance to run away in haste. Cheap trick, but worth a shot. If this will work, that is.

Earlier than he can try to push you away, you kick your knee into his abdomen and hurl him aside with all your might, doing your best to head to the ladder leading up to the trapdoor. But Levi is quick on his feet and kicks your leg to make you lose balance. Tripping over yourself, you fall toward the table, your stomach plowing into its side frames. He will never let you escape.

You inwardly curse him for being such a headache. Before you know it, your left arm is rashly held behind your back and you shriek in pain, your cheek shoved down onto the tabletop. Shit. He got you there.

“Can’t you be any gentler?” you ask, voice soft and of forged innocence, which is patently just an attempt to con him. He ignores you and instead starts wearing one part of the handcuffs around your wrist from behind. You think of anything to get yourself out of this. Chuckling dryly, “Hey… I told you already. Let’s talk things out,” you woo, but to no avail. Levi twists your arm a bit, not too much, but enough to shut you up. He sure is enraged.

A lock clicks from one of the shackles and you feel the cold steel wrap your frail wrist. It’s happening, the most humiliating moment for a criminal. You’re all tapped out of ideas—

with your limited field of vision, you scan your eyes around what you can see, finding a trail of drugs scattered on the ground. It must be from when he launched at you and tried to strangle you to death. Although you still don’t know why he did that, you bury the thought to the back of your head to come up with a plan.

—except one.

A smile creeps up your lips, one that appears when you just figured out something clever. Alright, then. Let’s see what else is enraged.

Not giving him the chance to lock both your hands together, from your held up position, you perk your bum up a little to make a feel for his crotch. Your thick cheeks hit something poking and you giggle in festivity. It so turns out your hunch is right, his bulge is, indeed, straining from inside his pants.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stops dead in his tracks and questions, more like an order for a valid answer.

With your bended over form being perfectly convenient, you wiggle your ass and stick it up against his obviously aching groin, teasing it even more. It’s a shame you’re both wearing clothes, your titillating movements ending up just mere friction.

“My, my. How long has it been like that?” you jest, voice about half an octave high and femininely suggestive. His brows knit in pique and flips you over to make you face him and to put a halt to your indecent measures. You click your tongue in mock, elbow propped against the table to look up at him.

“What a naughty soldier,” you whisper with a satisfied smirk, and reach a hand out to pull his cravat, yanking him down and in for another kiss. This time, it’s you who won’t let him escape, with nothing else but a nice trick for women to prevail over men.

It makes his hackles raise how you try to enter his mouth with your probing tongue like you’re the one in foremost control. As if he’ll let that happen.

He pushes your tongue back and bites your lower lip, earning him entrance along with a quiet mewl. He then travels your wet cavern with his own, forcefully exploring every inch to show you who’s in charge, like always. There and then, he instantly distinguishes the mint flavored nicotine evenly mixed in with your sweet saliva. It interests him how five years have already passed, and yet you consistently taste the same. Up until here, you never dropped the habit of smoking.

You try to fight back and earn your place, hooking both your heels into his hips to draw him closer. Even if it’s utterly inappropriate and misplaced, you quickly feel your pussy drip with excitement. Everything feels so nostalgic.

Amidst the kiss, his palm begins to roam around your body, from your neck to your chest. Levi finds the corset a hindrance, and he takes note to go back to it later, maybe rip it apart as well.

He resumes exploring your body, from your tummy, to your clothed womanhood. It starts to rile you up and turn you on as he slips his hand under your dress, not bothering to lift it up, just blindly cupping for your sex. When he finally feels your panties, you know for certain he smirked.

“You’re not so frigid yourself,” he comments upon the discovery that your growing wetness is soaking the fabric. He slides one finger against your slit, your undergarment still in between. He gently rubs on it as he sucks on your soft lips, earning him quiet moans in return. What a nasty tease.

When you both pull away for air, you open your eyes to look daringly straight into his grey ones, and while you exchange stares, you also let go of his cravat and grab his hand as if to guide them deeper and further in. He finds that you’re more than just eager when you put his hand inside, now in touch with your intimate skin. He gladly takes your offer and tears your panties away, his vigor making you laugh breathily.

Levi plunges two fingers in without delay, and you yield in defeat, letting him do as he likes. He has no intentions of lurking around the corner. You let your head hang back as he does you with his slick fingers, moaning to your will when he hits your good spots.

He lets his unreasonable hate and anger dissipate into nothingness, allowing himself to be indulgent in giving you pleasure. It’s been so long that this almost serves as your reunion. He doesn’t mind that. Just as long as he keeps in mind his sole purpose of breaking in to take him with you.

The ravenhead watches you spread your legs wider, visibly aching for more as you surrender to him and give him full control over your body. He moves his dexterous fingers in and out, the rhythm exquisite like how you prefer it. It’s like he still memorized you the same. Your responsive hums are tempting and fervid, your bodily movements a subtle indication of a longing. He increases his speed, looking for an angle to rub you up good, and he knows he hit it right when you shudder a little, back falling to the table and grip losing.

He lets on with working his hand, your juices coating his fingertips as he jabs them in deep repeatedly. It’s a flattering sight to see you so lost and vulnerable singlehandedly by his mere touch, and he would be lying if he says it doesn’t turn him on.

Your sweet, melodious moans resonate inside the whole of the chambers, music to Levi’s ears. Your mouth partly hanging open, eyes in but a permanent daze as you struggle to crack them open. The way he has you going crazy is beautiful. You’re beautiful. Not half-bad-looking for a woman about to approach her thirties.

Out of nowhere, a mood ruining thought crosses his mind. He recalls you saying this place is where you bring your brokers. And since your neighbors haven’t found out your true identity and racket yet, having a clump of men visit your apartment could entirely be misleading.

It’s only natural that they think you’re some kind of courtesan selling your body. Knowing you, you don’t give a flying fuck if people think that, but with him, it doesn’t sit right. Who knows? Maybe you actually humor the same men every once in a while. Just look at what you’re doing now.

A grim expression materializes on his face. No, he’s not jealous. But in all honesty, he wants what’s his to stay his.

You couldn’t think of anything as he harshly thrusts his fingers into you, your body’s consciousness focusing only on the uprising pleasure, but when you’re this close to coming, all of a sudden, he pulls them out at once, grabs your hands and finally locks both your wrists together with the handcuffs before pinning them on top of your head.

Cruelly left hanging, a wave of disappointment rushes over your veins. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” you whine, genuinely annoyed as you’re already fully installed and waiting for your explosion. Did he do that on purpose? Yes. But to your surprise, he doesn’t do anything to lift you up or bring you with him to jail.

Brows furrowed and eyes dark, Levi unties your corset’s lacing in a rapaciously eager manner, harshly pulling down the garter of your neckline to let your boobs bounce free. Your eyes widen a little when he pulls your skirt up to gain thorough access of your fruity folds. You didn’t expect him to continue on, with you restrained, even.

“Just like the good old days, huh?” you tease, voice awash with prurience. Although this reminds you of those days, this is surely going to be a new experience. While handcuffed? You love it, and just thinking about him pounding you out as you’re unable to lay your hands on him makes your neck hairs straighten in great arousal. You’re totally into this!

He’s suddenly reminded of years ago when you’d come over to catch up with the latest trades, or simply just bring with you your babbling of the day. Oftentimes, the visit ends up in the bedroom, the couch, the kitchen.

You were both young, both helping fill each other’s primitive needs and desires, not the thinnest string left attached. You handled the whole thing casually, the whole thing being just lustful sex every once in a while. Fuck buddies. That’s what they call it.

Memories of your heated body rubbing up against his, lips messy on one another’s skin, hands everywhere, nude and naked—sometimes still completely clothed, fucking you against the wall, fucking you on the counter, and finally, you kneeling on the floor as you eat him up hungrily. All of those, just five years ago.

He’s only proven you haven’t changed despite the time difference when you kick your kitten heels away like you disregard its price, stretch your right leg out to reach his crotch, your foot making a feel for his huge bulge.

He looks down to his pants, your toes stroking his covered length invitingly as if to provoke it. “You’re one fucking dirty bitch,” he points out upon your indecorous actions, meeting your catlike eyes illuminating nothing but indiscriminate salacity.

“We’re not all that different, see?” you tell, never tearing your gaze off him as you continue moving your foot up and down. He’s straining so bad, almost making you giggle. Come on, Levi. You’re just as aching as me. We could use a quickie.

He sternly grabs your ankle to stop your lewd ways and keeps quiet until you speak. Does he really think he can stop you from acting so dirty? You then bring your chained wrists to your chest, gently massaging your exposed breasts with what space you can manage, giving him a little show you know he can’t resist.

“I mean, just look at you, wearing a cheesy cravat like it’s gonna make you look dignified,” you poke fun at him and laugh, flashing him a grin before seductively licking your lips. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, but is still unable to take his eyes off of your body as you continue to play with your very own mounds.

“Shut up,” he orders, stripping the authority in his tone. Oh… you know him perfectly well. It’ll only take one last trigger for him to fire away and spring into action.

“You shut up and just fuck me,” you demand candidly, the smile in your face disappearing in the blink of an eye.

You like to think he’s one hell of a dog as he listens to your whim, undoes his trousers, only dropping them so far because of his difficult, complicated, and inhibiting harnesses. What a costume. He glares at you when you raise a sly brow at him, cocky expression conveying the words: still wanna be a soldier?

Levi just wants you to shut up for real, and he victoriously does that by pulling your body closer to the end of the table, then practically ramming his huge dick inside you, his massiveness able to cover your whole depth when he mercilessly buries it in. A long and sonorous moan leaves your throat in the utmost pleasure. Shit, he’s so big! Your tight walls are forced to adjust, desperately stretching to adapt to his size.

“Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, throwing your head back to release your emotions, eyes clenching shut in nauseating pain. Overwhelming! Can a man in his age still grow? You didn’t expect this in any way. It sure hurts like a bitch, but that’s just one of the reasons why you love it.

The cadet starts moving in a pace that tells you he won’t be beating around the bush, quick and rough. The only thing you’re worrying about is the soreness that you’ll get once this is finished, because right now—you’ve said it two times—you love it.

His anger seeping as he forces his dick in and out of your fuckhole, Levi finds it an entertaining cabaret as he watches you, your makeshift play consisting of you opening your mouth wide to moan in fervor, whipping your head side to side, eyelids falling while he quickly drives you to the brink of insanity. One bewitching whore, he thinks.

He bucks his hips even faster and spreads your legs wider apart to let you have what you want, violent and aggressive. Like an obedient lady’s man, Levi spoils your carnality by licking his middle and forefinger to rub your engorged clit, his spit helping him circle the most sensitive spot in ease.

You arch your back up in surprise, your nerves receptive in alerting you of the littlest motions. He’s so good. So good that your brain is going blank, unknowing of what to do. When you squirm under him, try to shoot up and search something to hold on for dear life, only to fall back against the table, your manacled hands suddenly add up to the gratifying thrill stirred with powerlessness. It makes Levi smirk for a fleeting second.

Not so free now, are you?

Simultaneously, Levi deepens his thrusts and starts to rubbing your clit directly to intensify the sensation, back and forth, up and down. With fervent eyes, he feasts on your body as it loses control, tits bouncing from his relentless humps, pussy unendingly leaking. Out of reflex, you try to wriggle away, but to no avail. You’re losing your mind by his marvelous stimulation, and you remember just how he feels like before.

The humidity is starting to take over your bodies, and you both feel hotter. The dark room, the rattling of the lantern on the table, sweat beginning to break through your skins, his stifled grunts, your loud wails, both your heads full of lustful desire. Who knew an apprehension would end up like this? Purely lewd. Seems normal to you, though.

The telltale signs of your upcoming orgasm appear. Your walls envelop around him tightly, your moans longer and hitching, your breaths shaky as you catch it and whatnot. The immense pleasure that keeps gradually stacking up inside your veins finally snaps free, and you come with unruly convulsions. Eyeballs rolling to the back of your skull, your cunt contracting around him, he doesn’t stop, and fuck is it overbearing.

His dick reaching the end of you, his merciless thrusts unwavering when you’re obviously trembling uncontrollably, he’s a damn ruthless lad. The amount of spasms you receive is livid, you so wanted to applaud yourself for choosing the perfect guy. Exceptional taste.

Your high eventually tones down and you’re back to awareness. The demon stops moving soon as well, deciding maybe you’ve had enough.

You gasp for breath after losing your grip from the mind boggling experience. It’s been so long since you’ve had amazing sex, and when you say so long, you mean excruciatingly long years. You study him as he looks back at you. Still so dominant, isn’t he? Refusing to get off the same time you do.

Alright. You’ve had enough mindless nooky. Now it’s time to break free from his clutches. From your lied down position, you then proceed to distract him with some ramblings.

“You better not be fucking your comrades like this,” you quip, collecting yourself.

“I’m not like you,” Levi answers and pulls out, thinking about how much men you’ve entertained your whole life. You cock a brow upon hearing his smart assed reply and mock him again, a giggle escaping your mouth, “Gonna keep acting so clean?” He should know not to continue wanting to look like a saint. He’s not any different than you, for shit’s sake.

“You have a screwed up background, Levi. You can’t seriously be thinking your superiors will be in favor of you just because you lick their boots,” you honestly advise. Disgusting. One moment he’s leading his people, then being ordered around the next.

It’s this again. You shamming like you’re so immaculate. He’d prefer it if you get off your high horse.

“I’m giving you a chance, just quit and—“

“If you keep running your damn mouth, I’m going to make use of it,” he cuts you off before you can continue offering him a deal. It’s not that you genuinely believe he’ll go with it, you just want to stall him because you’re only playing by ear. One wrong move and he’ll stop you dead in your tracks.

His words pique your interest. Does he mean that in the sense that you think it is? “Oh yeah? And how?” you push his buttons to give it a shot.

Levi shows you what he means through grabbing you by the nape to yank you up, then dropping you to the floor, pretty face nearly shoved to the concrete. It hurts a tad, your knees hitting the ground roughly, but your eyes almost immediately dart on the bunch of azure tablets scattered everywhere, three of them within your reach. Perfect!

Quickly, you snatch them with both your hands in one fell swoop, and Levi miraculously misses out on your sneaky motions. You hiss a little in pain and close your palms together tightly when he pulls a fistful of your hair to hoist your head up. Forced to make eye contact with him from below, you momentarily meet his gaze brimming of disrespect before he dicks your mouth down with his length.

He pushes your head to his groin and pounds, so deep and so rash that you literally feel him hit the back of your throat. Tears pool from your ducts as you’re forced to take him inside your mouth. But he doesn’t get it wrong, because he knows you like it, of course.

With full intentions to reach his own end and cum on your pretty tongue, he shoves his erection into your warm cavern and tightens his hold on your now messy locks. He eyes you with resounding authority as you’re down on your knees with fettered hands on your lap, dress still on but tits bare and pouching outward from your neckline, looking up at him with glistening eyes like a good, well-behaved girl. It madly turns him on seeing you like that, what a view.

His fierce stale eyes prod you to bravely blink the tears away and independently move to your own will, proceeding to suck him with stupendous obedience. Fine then, you’ll go along with him. Nothing wrong about taking your time.

Levi throws his head back a little from your sudden motion, bobbing your head back and forth in harmony with his pumps, but quickly returns his gaze to you. You gladly eat his whole size without hesitation and keep your body still, nipples fully peaked in eagerness.

You’re always so damn good, just as he remembers. Never going without a challenge, the same lecherous emotions brewing within your orbs, listening to what you’re told. His grunts start to become audible.

“Look at you, sucking like a little slut,” he groans, slowly becoming unable to process things by your turn on serving him gratification. You give him a hum in response, the muffled sound creating a vibration as you continually hollow your mouth wide open against his thickness, sending chills up and down his spine. He inwardly curses, fuck.

Levi untangles his fingers from your strands, rests them on top of your head instead, and stops giving guidance, allowing you to perform well. You know just what to do and how to please him anyway.

You pull away, a loud and satisfying pop ringing inside the enclosed space upon losing connection. Panting, you inhale the air you could to prep yourself, temperate breath ghosting over his dampened skin. Time to take matter into your own devices. You glimpse at your interlaced fingers, clinking of metals reaching your ears. You can work this without using your hands. Let’s give him a show.

Pausing, you adore his intimidating thickness, the glowing pearls of precum impressively still there on its tip. You playfully swathe it with the edge of your tongue and look straight at him with a childlike gaze, the salty taste staining your buds. The sensitive area causes him shudder and shut his eyes closed inadvertently. And it’s rewarding to see him so affected, because this play is more about you controlling his pleasure, less about him being invulnerable. You feel your pussy trickle with desire.

Without any beating around the bush, you angle your neck a little to the right before gingerly taking him inside your mouth once again, closing in inch by inch. When you dauntlessly push forward until you’re on the verge of gagging, his size filled your throat the way you like it. Then, you go back to pumping in and out in a regular pace, sucking the tip harshly every once in a while.

Levi could feel himself approaching, his guttural groans set free and detectable. Fuck, you wanted to stroke him with your hands to add up to his growing euphoria, but you can’t.

This time round Levi is only able to peer at you from his drooping lids, following your every movements, and he finds winsome the way your cheeks lose its original shape due to his cock being inside, your lips lush and full around his shaft, tongue dancing in a way that mirrors the lantern’s fire. Moving in a very devious pace, you run a lick on the underside of his hot, veiny penis, lapping him up like a thirsty bitch. God, you are coy, and it’s taking him every last ounce of his resolve for his body not to react something close to pitiful submission.

It takes him one last blow for him to finally explode, a powerful rush spreading all throughout the ends of his limbs, his balls clenching as he shoots his cum deep inside your chops, to which you willingly gulp down, a satisfied ahh leaving your lungs like your quench for his seed has been solved.

The soldier mindlessly pats your head, and you give him a quiet purr before rising to your feet. We’re not finished yet.

As if your lips are magnetized into his own, you lean in and let them crash together. He answers back just the same, indicating he’s still up for some more. But you shouldn’t put your guard down, you might not know it if he knocks you out all of a sudden.

“You’re still the same nasty whore I know,” he vehemently growls in between the lip locking, intense flame starting to devour his system. “Shut up,” you talkback. You ache to touch him but these irksome shackles are on the way. You choose not to mind it anymore since it’s only a matter of minutes before you leave.

You push him back down to the chair and he sits down in force. “Pull my skirt up,” you order on a whim, and he does as he’s told, holding your skirt for you. You help yourself into the same chair and truss your knees beside his thighs, settling for a convenient position until you’re straddling his front, wrists on the chest’s top rail, then sitting on his fully stiff and awaiting cock. As you spread your laps apart to aim and sink down, you swear you almost went insane.

A lengthy, strenuous hum slips out your lips upon letting your tight cunt engulf his big dick. “Fuck,” you mutter, whipping your head back in zeal. You should try not to lose your mind or else.

Your stretched out neck grants him the opportunity to nibble at the delicate skin, sucking intensely to create a mark of ownership, the tangy flavor due to the thin film of sweat covering your skin. It stings a little when he nips, but almost tickling at the same time. You mewl and let Levi finish his job and lower your forehead to meet his glance.

It doesn’t take you long before returning to crashing into him, his distinct taste amusingly addictive to you. The kisses sloppy and unorganized, you begin to roll your hips up and down, and he thrusts upward to meet you like an animal in heat. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he breathes out low.

You pull away to gasp for wind, chest stuttering and ragged from your unfaltering humps. “I know,” you brag and pause. The near to none distance between you two allows you to study his facial features and point out what changed by the years.

Hmm, not a lot really. He still looks twenty-four with his superbly chiseled jaw, slightly parted inviting lips, narrow nose, and the slim lining of his brows. Flawless and without fault, except for the darkening bags under his silver pools, which you dig by the way. He is, in fact, the godly embodiment of sexy, you bet women in his rank swoon for him only to be pushed aside. Lucky of you, you have a one of a kind charisma that drags this real life devil to his feet.

You look into each other’s face for a couple briefing moments, both of you discovering similar pairs of fiery eyes filled with lust in an overflowing amount. Meanwhile, his gaze dawdles on your red lips, color smudged by his doing, and he likes it. The longer he stares up at you, the more he’s convinced you’re nothing but a licentious woman hiding under your little renaissance dresses. Just thinking about it makes him want to fuck you so bad.

Levi refuses to stay still and dives into your breasts, causing your back to arch, unexpectedly hitting the perfect spot. He isn’t content and squeezes your butt, then letting his hands sit just at the top of your ass’ globes. “Levi—ah!” Shit! You desperately hold back your uprising orgasm. You have to stay in tact.

With that in mind and while he suckles on your twin mounds, you grab the chance to wring your clasped hands to your mouth, letting three of your dear coderoin melt and simmer under your tongue. This will have to do.

It’s thrilling, you’re about to drug a person who’s currently eating your boobs out hungrily in an alternating manner. What an odd situation. You wish you could continue fucking, but let’s not forget that Levi is very objective, and he’ll still eventually do his task no matter how much fun you spent with him. Before he can do that, you’ll just beat him to it.

You wait for the sweet, pungent tang to unravel, and when he lifts his chin to kiss you, the drugs are already diluted by your spittle. You skillfully transfer it into his mouth in a sparse method so he won’t notice right away.

Completely unaware, Levi gets to sparring with your tongue in a battle of ascendancy, his hands groping everywhere, and you don’t stop riding him gracefully like you didn’t do anything malicious at all.

With every grind being slick, an endless seduction, you continue enjoying yourself for the last lingering junctures. The constant sheathing into your impossibly close-fitting fuckhole extracts husky groans from his throat, ending up subdued against your mouth. He bites on your lower lip, earning himself a delightful whimper.

Two minutes pass by, something snaps, the brisk effectiveness all thanks to you. He doesn’t know why kissing you feels so dizzying, and… intoxicating. He slowly stops moving his lips and pulls away, cracking both his eyes open, only to be greeted by a cunning look. Then and there, overwhelming peak hits him like a freight train.

He feels less aware, a heavy weight being pressed against his body, colors around him becoming vibrant and he bets his whole life he could feel his own blood stream moving from inside his veins, synchronized with his heartbeats. His peripheral vision seems artificially sluggish yet accelerating.

Your lips quirk upward, discovering the befuddled expression plastered on his handsome face. You notice how his muscles strain in distress, but he can’t move even a single inch, indicating your success.

Levi’s brows furrow in cluelessness, eyes later widening upon realizing what kind of dirty stunt you pulled on him from up your sleeve.

You fix your posture upright before removing your body from his, heaving out a sigh of relief. Standing up, you look at him. Frozen and unable to do a single thing to restrain you. Down and obedient like a mere, small pet. At long last! He’s out of your hair.

“You’re too high to walk straight right now, aren’t you?” you jest, voice laced with the most graceful condescension. Of course, you know perfectly well first times can be extremely stupefying, especially with the dosage you just used for a rookie like him. Instead of it being euphoric, it’s entirely going to be the opposite. Nothing close to good.

“What the fuck did you just do?” poor Levi seethes in anger, but even his tone sounds tenfold more groggy compared to when he first arrived.

“Gave you a heavenly experience?” you giggle and repeatedly pull your wrists away from each other in an effortless attempt to break them apart, the hindrance of a shackle limiting your movements. Bothersome.

What part of weariness and intense jet lag is the heavenly experience? In a trice, Levi blames himself for being careless and taking you for granted. He should’ve done better than forget you’re from the same garbage dump he’s from. You’re one fucking crazy bitch.

Helpless, he watches you walk to the part of the table where you left the cigarette pack, shaking it all out just to get one and clip it between your lips. Some roll off to the ground, but you pay it no heed. His blood is boiling hard and tries to stand. You let him squirm around, confident that he can’t do anything, and struggle on your own to fish your lighter from your dress’ pockets.

You take your precious time lighting your stick, butane triggering the fresh burn of tobacco. You don’t mind that you look ridiculous with both hands on your face, or that your hair is a mess, or that your breasts are popped out. As you suck for smoke and briefly fill your lungs to then blow it upwards, you think, it’s just you and a spiked guy in here anyway.

Letting the nicotine rush take over your senses, you sit on the edge of the table and examine the dark haired soldier. What gives, he’s more impotent than you now. It’s ever so rare to see Levi so open to attack. “Mint goes well with coderoin, you know?” you inform just to piss him off.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Though you can hear his fury, the threat only sounds so void, the usual venom lacking from his pitch.

He sits back as you pull in smoke into your chest, exhale it out, menthol aroma reaching his nose. You chuckle heartily that among every tip and corner of his body feels like burning from rage.

Time is ticking and slipping away from Levi’s grasp. He stays silent, the pounding of his heart loud enough to ring in his ears. He can’t accept he got deceived. Did you plan this from the very start? When? The moment he told you his intentions? The second he asked about your life here? Or maybe when he kicked the trapdoor open? That can’t be. Five years, and you’re quicker on your feet than you once were.

“That’s cute of you,” you copy what he said when you barked the same phrase. You admit, earlier was a close call, but thanks to your sharp mind and the past you shared, you won him over. Barely.

As always, men are most vulnerable when driven by libido. What fools.

With one last hit of the cigarette, achieving the lightheaded state you’re aiming for, you drop it to the floor, not bothering to extinguish it. Burn this house down, for all you care. You’ll have to move places from now, knowing he might start tailing behind you for vengeance.

Now, you can’t stay longer. The drugs won’t last on him from such a method. It’s not the right way to take it—through kissing.

It was a good time, but unfortunately, you have to part ways with him. The guy wants to arrest you, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You’d rather settle in and have five kids with an old geezer than spend the rest of your life in a prison. You’re not dense, you know how heavy your crimes are, having circulated in both the Underground and the surface for plenty years. Impressive of you, right? Makes it all the more fun to carry on.

That’s why they should just dream of catching you, because you’ll never let that happen.

You walk toward his immobilized body, movements slinky as you bend over to reach his face and deliciously run your tongue over his lips, tasting the seemingly nectar. As much as he wants to just grab you by the hair and kick your annoying face, he’s only able to lift his arms up a few inches before falling back down again.

It doesn’t escape your field of vision, reminding you to leave immediately. “Sweet, isn’t it?” you ask once you pull away, a sly smile on your lips.

“Why don’t we call it a truce, shall we?” you lastly negotiate. His lips are firmly pressed into a thin line and refuses to say anything. Steel grey eyes look back at you in annoyance. You tilt your head in curiosity. You know he has a lot going in his brain. This might be the last time you see each other, will he choose to keep those in?

Well, he does want you out of his sight right now before he regains his strength and kill you on the spot. He clicks his tongue in impatience.

“Just fucking leave, you lunatic,” he spits. You sure will.

“Gladly. Until next time, Levi,” you drawl and blow him a kiss goodbye, then strutting away in triumph, smile never leaving your face even if you’ve fully turned your back on him.

When you finally disappear, he lets out an exasperated sigh, contemplating his defeat. Nape resting on the chair’s rail, he looks up to the dark ceiling. A droplet of sweat slides from his forehead, which he manages to wipe away in no time, resilience overcoming the delirium.

Actually pondering about it, you’re a real witty one. Of course he was still going to take you with him eventually, he just hasn’t planned it ahead. Seriously though, a sneaky tactic. He massages his nose bridge, shaking his head.

What a crazy brat.

In the end, he decides to just pass on the work to Erwin about getting on the good side of the monarch and politicians, knowing full well he was in for some major explaining—maybe leave out the obscene details.

[ibijau]

How to Woo a Lan pt 4 / Also on AO3

Jin Ling explains why he fell in love, gets some advice, and tries to give advice of his own in return

Clearly expecting that the conversation would take a while, Nie Huaisang put away his work and called for servants to bring everything needed to serve tea. Once they were alone waiting for that tea to arrive, Jin Ling started explaining how he had fallen in love with the most perfect person in the entire world, how beautiful Lan Sizhui was (this earned him an unimpressed stare from Nie Huaisang), how elegant (more staring), how nice (a roll of the eyes).

“So he is polite, and you find that impressive,” Nie Huaisang noted, hiding a yawn behind his fan. “I suppose someone living in Jinlin Tai and the Lotus Pier wouldn’t be used to it. And of course he’s handsome, he’s a Lan. I think it’s something in the water of the Cloud Recesses.” Jin Ling frowned at the dismissal of Lan Sizhui’s quality, while Nie Huaisang yawned again, this time without bothering to hide it. “Is that why you love him? He’s capable of more basic decency than most people you’ve met in your life -a very low bar, might I add-, he’s somewhat good-looking, and that’s it?”

“Of course that’s not all!” Jin Ling exploded, but he couldn’t explain the rest right away as the servants returned then.

Nie Huaisang, who could act like a good host when he felt like it, prepared tea with slow, measured movements and poured it for both of them when the servants left again. With unexpected elegance, he gave one glass of tea to Jin Ling before making a gesture to order him to resume speaking.

“He really is kind, and I won’t let you treat it like something that doesn’t matter,” Jin Ling said, before taking a sip of tea. 

It was nice, if a little plain. Having accompanied both his uncles to conferences in Qinghe before, he knew this blend was considered the better sort of tea available in the Unclean Realm, which comforted him. He had no doubt Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have hesitated to serve him bad tea if he’d really been annoyed about being half blackmailed into helping.

 “I know people from Gusu Lan are polite, but it’s not the same as kind,” Jin Ling pointed out, and he could have sworn Nie Huaisang’s mouth twitched in an almost-smile. “When we were in Yi City, he really was nice to everyone, checked those that had gotten poisoned, and encouraged them to eat some congee even if it tasted awful. If it had been me, I’d just have scolded them into eating it! And some of the others with us were scolding their poisoned friends, because we were all worried, but he took time to reassure others, even if he had to be worried too. I mean, his dad was out there fighting stuff, of course he was worried!”

Nie Huaisang made a face at the mention of Yi City, and quickly opened his fan to hide behind. Jin Ling only remembered then that if he and his friends had almost died in that place, it might have been because of this man sitting across from him. It was a really odd thing to think, and if Wei Wuxian in person hadn’t made the accusation, if Jiang Cheng hadn’t later told Jin Ling that the whole thing made sense… how could Nie Huaisang have had the guts to do that, when he was too much of a coward to meet Jin Ling’s eyes when he mentioned this?

“I suppose he’s been raised a little better than most boys his age,” Nie Huaisang conceded,fanning himself just a little too quickly. “An effect of growing up around Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, both excellent role models, except for their taste in friends. So you love a beautiful young man who is kind to everyone, hm?”

“Well…”

It was Jin Ling’s turn to avert his eyes, his cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment.

“Well, it’s also that he’s not always sweet,” he muttered, before quickly emptying his tea to give himself a countenance.

“How so?” Nie Huaisang asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. He even closed his fan, as if to better focus on what Jin Ling had to say.

“Well. Well, you see, after that whole thing in Jinlin Tai, when Wei Wuxian accused my uncle of murder, and my aunt died, and then me and a bunch of juniors were kidnapped, right?” Jin Ling asked. Nie Huaisang grimaced again. Right, this too was kind of his fault, wasn’t it? “And even then Sizhui was so nice when we were held in that cave, and trying to comfort everyone! But also… Well. I have this very annoying cousin, you see? And he was acting awful, and Sizhui had been patient and patient and patient, but in the end… well, in the end he snapped, and I think if he hadn’t been tied up, he would have slapped Jin Chan in the face.”

Even after this long, the memory of Lan Sizhui’s righteous fury still made Jin Ling’s heart beat a little faster. That it had happened because his cousin had been pestering him was just a nice bonus.

“And also, he tries to hide it, but he’s a little proud,” Jin Ling added. “He really, really likes being praised. His face completely lights up when Hanguang-Jun says he’s done good, and he’s almost glowing whenever Wei Wuxian compliments him and says he’s a good boy and all that. And then when someone says something mean to him, his face does that thing…”

Jin Ling tried to scrunch his own face into an approximation of Lan Sizhui’s expression. He didn’t have a great talent for impressions, but it was still good enough for Nie Huaisang to let out a snort. He then tried to cover it by coughing a few times, but Jin Ling knew what he’d heard.

“It’s never for very long,” Jin Ling resumed, “but I noticed it and it’s just. I guess he wouldn’t like me to call it that, but it’s really cute. I just wish I didn’t keep saying the wrong thing to make him make that face, you know? I want to watch it, not cause it.”

“At least you have self awareness,” Nie Huaisang said, rolling his eyes. “That’s more than several members of your family could ever have said. You’ll just have to learn how to turn a weakness into a strength. Now, tell me, what have you tried to make Lan Sizhui aware of your interest in him?”

Jin Ling, suddenly, desperately wished he had some tea left in his glass, just so he could pretend to drink it instead of facing that question. He ended up turning the empty glass between his hands and staring down at the table, feeling Nie Huaisang’s silence get more and more judgemental the longer it took Jin Ling to answer.

“I see,” Nie Huaisang said after a while.

“You don’t see anything! I just want us to be good friends first, and then…”

Jin Ling trailed off, and toyed some more with his empty glass.

“Fine, then what have you done to become his friend then?” Nie Huaisang insisted, amusement piercing through his voice.

“Well, he hasn’t been around much those last few months,” Jin Ling muttered. “But, well, I went with him on Night Hunts twice before someone killed my uncle, so there’s that. And then he came home not too long ago, and we went on another Night Hunt with everyone! And then…” He sighed, deeply. “And then I said something wrong, and I think I accidentally insulted him, and I haven’t seen him since then and I can’t see him until I figure out how to do things right!”

Nie Huaisang hummed, but didn’t say anything right away. When Jin Ling risked a glance, he found the older man looking at him the way one might inspect a horse before buying it. Jin Ling didn’t particularly care for that. It felt so wrong for Nie Huaisang to have such an intense, calculating expression on his face, making him look miles away from the blundering fool who had bothered Jin Ling’s uncle for years and years.

When Nie Huaisang looked like that, it became too easy that he had done all those terrible things Wei Wuxian had accused him of.

“It’s true that you have a certain gift for saying exactly what people don’t want to hear,” Nie Huaisang stated, fanning himself slowly. “You’re impulsive, that’s your problem, and your uncles both failed you in that regard. It’d be hard to go against your own nature in the best of case, but they've done nothing to help you understand your own temper. I suppose we’ll have to work with it. Have you ever considered taking up a correspondence with Lan Sizhui?”

Jin Ling shook his head. “It’s… isn’t it risky? My uncles have always told me if I start liking someone, I shouldn’t leave traces. There’s always a risk of blackmail, if the other person doesn’t feel the same. Not that Sizhui would ever do that! But, well… Letters can fall into the wrong hands, and because of my grandfather I know people watch me more than other boys my age in case... well...”

“I’m not telling you to write him erotic letters,” Nie Huaisang said with a mocking sneer. “Not yet anyway, and I could teach you a trick or two about keeping those secrets. But simple, polite letters... it’s a good way to stay in touch with a friend, and it would let you think more carefully about what you’re saying, and how you’re saying it.”

“Oh.”

That did sound wise. Even Jiang Cheng was a little less abrasive when writing than in person, and Jin Ling was fairly sure he wasn’t as bad as his uncle. That might be worth trying.

“Another piece of advice,” Nie Huaisang continued, fanning himself with slow, nearly hypnotic movements. “Own up to your faults. Admit to your little friend that you’re aware your mouth goes faster than your brain, and that you often realise too late you said something bad. You could even tell him that you’d appreciate his guidance in correcting this. Gusu Lan disciples love that sort of things, they’re all raised to become teachers. Offer yourself as a student and the fight is half won already.”

“You’re sure?”

“How do you think I even got Lan Xichen to notice me? ‘Please Xichen-gege, please tutor me’,” Nie Huaisang whined in a high pitched voice, his bottom lip trembling for a moment, before his pathetic pout turned into a disgusted grimace as he closed his fan with a sharp gesture. “I think the Lan like a desperate case, so you should have your chance.”

That was a very rude thing to say, but Jin Ling could hardly disagree. Nie Huaisang was a complete mess, that much was clear. And as for Wei Wuxian, the less said, the better. Yet those two absolute disasters had, apparently, managed to seduce the two top cultivators of Gusu Lan, nay, of the entire cultivation world, who surely could have had their pick of competent and emotionally capable partners of any gender.

Jin Ling hated that it did make him feel a little more hopeful.

“Well, that’s all my advice for today,” Nie Huaisang announced, before glancing with disgust at the pile of paperwork he’d set aside earlier. “I have to do my own work these days and it takes a while, so I’d appreciate it if you left. I know etiquette dictates I should invite you to spend the night here,” he added, “but I really don’t feel like it, and I don’t suppose you’d enjoy it either. Who could say if I wouldn’t change my mind and murder you in your sleep, right?”

Nie Huaisang laughed at his own joke, earning an unimpressed stare from Jin Ling for his poor taste in humour.

It probably was a joke. 

Right?

Just to be a pest, Jin Ling considered forcing the issue and demanding to be given a room. But Nie Huaisang had guessed right in suspecting that Jin Ling didn’t quite trust him enough to make himself vulnerable in his domain. Not only that, but if he stayed, poor Ouyang Zizhen might start worrying about him, and either try to storm the Unclean Realm on his own, or worse fly toward the Lotus Piers and get Jiang Cheng to storm the Unclean Realm, by far the worst possible option because then Jin Ling would have two other sect leaders furious at him.

“I’ll leave,” he conceded, which made Nie Huaisang smirk. “But can I come back tomorrow, and show you my letter? Just to make sure I’m not writing anything too awful.”

“I would say no,” Nie Huaisang sighed, “but I have a feeling you’ll just do as you please anyway, so I might as well pretend I have any control over this. Yes, come back tomorrow, why not. It’s not like I have anything better to do. Try to be here at the same hour as today, and I should be able to make time for you.”

Jin Ling promised. Nie Huaisang then called for a servant to bring Jin Ling back to the gate so he wouldn’t get lost. The distrust, apparently, was mutual.

Once out of the Unclean Realm, Jin Ling lost no time in returning to Qinghe proper, and there he headed straight for the inn where Ouyang Zizhen awaited his return with much anxiety. The poor boy nearly cried of relief when he saw Jin Ling enter the inn. In fairness though, he was just that sort of a person so Jin Ling told himself he hadn’t caused his friend any actual worry. Still, he made sure to buy the best food the inn had to offer, and some wine as well, just to thank Ouyang Zizhen for having come along.

While they had lunch in the privacy of their room, Jin Ling reported his success, and shared the advice given to him. Jin Ling had told Ouyang Zizhen that he’d gone to Nie Huaisang in particular because he used to be friends with Lan Xichen and thus knew Lan Sizhui, an explanation that seemed to be accepted without further questions. 

Jin Ling couldn’t help thinking that Lan Sizhui would have asked for more details about that. He was curious and observant, surely he might have picked up on something wrong with Jin Ling’s lie. Then again, with gossip forbidden, he might not have said anything.

Someday, Jin Ling wouldn’t have to speculate. Lan Sizhui and him would be married, and happy, and they would share everything, unlike some people, so Lan Sizhui wouldn’t even have to pick up clues to know things.

With this goal in mind, Jin Ling started drafting a letter as soon as he was done eating. His first attempt was predictably awful, but to Jin Ling’s surprise, he actually realised that on his own, even before Ouyang Zizhen could check it. Maybe Nie Huaisang had been on to something about it being easier to deal with his temper and lack of social skills on paper. So Jin Ling drafted a second letter, and then a third, while Ouyang Zizhen sat by, reading over his shoulder and occasionally offering his opinion.

By the fifth draft, Jin Ling felt he was starting to get the hang of this.

“I just can’t believe you got him to agree,” Ouyang Zizhen said while glancing at his letter again. “I mean, Nie zongzhu! You’ve said that Wei Wuxian said that he’s the one who got your uncle killed, right? So… are you really sure it’s not a trap?”

Jin Ling chewed on the end of his brush, trying to remember how to write a certain character, and shrugged.

“I’m not sure it isn’t. A trap, I mean.”

“And you’re still going back tomorrow?” Ouyang Zizhen gasped. “He’s given you advice, and good one at that, isn’t it enough?”

Jin Ling shrugged again, and wrote down another sentence.

His friend wasn’t wrong to find him unwise. Nie Huaisang was dangerous, there was no denying it, and he certainly wasn’t nice, that was certain as well. But if Nie Huaisang had been as awful as he pretended to be, he wouldn’t have listened to Jin Ling at all, wouldn’t have talked so fondly about Jin Zixuan, wouldn’t have gotten so upset at the thought of Lan Xichen’s reputation being ruined any further.

Nie Huaisang wasn’t nice, but he probably wasn’t that bad either. No more than other people in Jin Ling’s life, anyway, and at least he didn't shout as much as Jiang Cheng did.

“If I don’t go back, he’ll think I’m scared,” Jin Ling claimed.

“Well, aren’t you?”

“Even if I were, I wouldn’t want him to know that. Anyway, I think I’m done, can you read it?”

Ouyang Zizhen obeyed, and agreed it was about as good as it could get without getting too awkward. It didn’t need to be perfect, anyway. Jin Ling had a feeling that Nie Huaisang would enjoy having something to criticize. So he put away his letter, and went out to explore Qinghe with Ouyang Zizhen, forgetting his love troubles for a little while. They had great fun, and Jin Ling only wished a few times that he could have been doing this with Lan Sizhui instead.

Soon, he would.

-

Come morning, Jin Ling dutiful returned to the gate of the Unclean Realm. Just like before the disciples guarding the entrance stared him down in disapproval, but this time they let him in almost immediately, and Jin Ling was again led by Qinghe Nie’s first disciple toward Nie Huaisang’s office. This time there was already tea waiting for him when he got there, and the pile of paperwork on Nie Huaisang’s desk looked a good deal smaller and neater. Either he had worked hard to free some time, or he had hidden away anything sensitive to make sure Jin Ling wouldn’t get too curious. Jin Ling figured he would have done the same, and decided to take no offence.

Instead, he put a small pouch of candies on the desk, by the teapot. Nie Huaisang threw him a sharp look for that but pinched his lips so he wouldn't ask any questions. Jin Ling sat down and shrugged.

“You used to bring those to Jinlin Tai when I was little, even if nobody but you would eat them. I figured you had to like them, and since you’re helping me and all…”

“I see good memory runs in the family,” Nie Huaisang noted, glaring at the candies yet making no movement to take one. As if Jin Ling would have poisoned him. It was a coward’s method of murder, Jiang Cheng always said, and Jin Ling was no coward. “Did you write a letter, Jin zongzhu?”

“I did,” Jin Ling confirmed, digging into his sleeve for the latest draft which he handed to Nie Huaisang. “I think it’s pretty good.”

In answer Nie Huaisang just rolled his eyes, and started reading. Jin Ling realised he was getting nervous, as if that odd man’s approval actually mattered in any way. To distract himself he drank some tea, and helped himself to a few candies. They were pretty much nothing but sugar, which made his teeth ache. How could anyone enjoy something like that? Maybe Nie Huaisang had just wanted to be a pest back then, bothering everyone with shitty candies.

“It’s acceptable,” Nie Huaisang said at last, returning the letter to Jin Ling. “Not great, but a clear improvement over the things you tend to say in person.”

“I can rewrite it again,” Jin Ling muttered, disappointed that all his efforts got him so little praise. “If you show me what to change…”

“No, the imperfections are necessary,” Nie Huaisang explained, opening his fan. “If it is too polished, it will be obvious that you’re not writing alone. It really isn’t so bad, anyway. Better than when your father… well, nevermind that. You’re not doing so bad. And inviting him to a Night Hunt is smart, I’m surprised you thought of it.”

“You don’t think it’s too bold?” Jin Ling asked.

“He’s a Lan, they don’t see Night Hunts as a prelude to flirtation,” Nie Huaisang said, before grimacing. “I wish I’d known that when I was young, actually. So don’t hope for anything more than a pleasant moment with a friend. Well, pleasant if you enjoy Night Hunting, which apparently some people do.”

Jin Ling huffed. Of course he liked Night Hunting. Any decent cultivator did. But of course, Nie Huaisang was hardly a decent cultivator, no matter how you looked at it, and his dislike of Night Hunts was no big secret. He only showed up if he had absolutely no choice, Jin Guangyao used to complain, and then he was such a hindrance that everyone would have been better off without him, especially poor Lan Xichen who’d had to rescue him more than once.

But still Nie Huaisang would go and try, Jin Ling remembered. He didn’t enjoy it, but he tried, at least if Lan Xichen was also present. And Lan Xichen did look happy about that, whenever it happened. Really happy, instead of just polite.

It really was too bad that these two had fallen out like that, because they’d seemed to have a good influence on each other, aside from the one murder. Not that any of this was Jin Ling’s business, of course, and he presently held little affection for either man.

And yet...

“Since we’re on the topic of letters. Have you ever thought of writing to Zewu-Jun?” Jin Ling asked, because if it were him having such a huge argument with someone he loved, maybe he would want someone to butt in and help. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d want it. “Because maybe…”

“I have written to Gusu Lan a few times on official business,” Nie Huaisang coldly cut him, closing his fan with a snap. “Aside from this, I have no reason to correspond with anyone there.”

“But maybe you could…”

“I have nothing to say to Lan Xichen,” Nie Huaisang explained, reopening his fan with an impatient flourish. “You see, I am not sorry for what I’ve done,” he said with a cruel smile. “Your uncle deserved to die. He was an awful man, who did awful things, and if I’d truly had my way, he would have died an awful death.”

Jin Ling, who’d thought that losing an arm, being stabbed by his closest friend, and then having his neck snapped by the enraged fierce corpse of one of his victims only to be trapped with said fierce corpse for a century to suffer untold torment had been a pretty awful way to die already, couldn’t help a frown.

He made a decision to never ask Nie Huaisang what he would have preferred to see happen to Jin Guangyao.

“I know what Lan Xichen wants to hear from me,” Nie Huaisang continued, fanning himself. “He most likely wants me to say that I’m sorry. And I could say it. I’m a very good liar, if I do say so myself. So I could lie to him, say exactly what he wants to hear, be exactly the man he wants me to be…” He paused and grimaced in disgust. “But in that case, I would just have turned into another Jin Guangyao.”

“And you don’t want to become like him.”

“I am like him,” Nie Huaisang snapped with such rage that Jin Ling jumped on his seat. “I can’t change that now. I am a good liar, but I’ve decided long ago I wouldn’t lie to myself, and I know what I am. As for Lan Xichen, in spite of his blindness, in spite of his errors, he deserves better than to fall prey to another liar. And that’s why I cannot…”

“You really should write to him,” Jin Ling insisted. “And tell him all that stuff. I mean, since you don’t have regrets and you know you're an asshole, then it’s no big deal telling him things as they are, right? And then at least he gets to know the full truth. You old people really should be more honest instead of making everything complicated all the time.”

Nie Huaisang glared at him, as cold and angry as he’d been the day before, but Jin Ling realised it was already starting to lose its effect on him. It wasn’t so different from when Jiang Cheng threatened to break his legs over every single little annoyance.

Well, it was a little different in that Jin Ling still wasn’t sure Nie Huaisang wouldn’t murder him if he was certain to get away with it, but it was still the same general sentiment.

Jin Ling didn’t even mind that Nie Huaisang impatiently ordered him to leave, grumbling about disrespectful children, time wasted on educating idiotic youths, and how he refused to be involved in this any further. This, too, Jin Ling had heard before from his uncle, and he’d learned to ignore it all.

If the letter and the Night Hunt didn’t work, Jin Ling knew for sure he could come and ask for Nie Huaisang’s help again.

[ladyc0312]

A Jikook Guide to RunBTS: 91-101

Sometimes, I think about some of the moments I list here and start to worry that I'm reading too much into things. And I'll be the first to admit that a bunch of them are ambiguous enough that reasonable people can differ in their interpretation. 

The thing about jikook, though, is that there are so many of these eyebrow-raising types of moments that you could throw out half of them and still have enough left over to think "there's something up with those two." Especially in the following episodes...

Ep 91 "Mini Golden Bell Part 1" (Ep: 3 / KM: 1)

The ones where they make the best of sitting on the floor of an empty room and Jin and JK just barely manage to avoid murdering Tae over his less-than-excellent MC skills

03:35 - Everyone is confident that the "oh!" sound that's played is either JK or JM, but aren’t sure which is which. 

8:14 - When JM gets the right answer, JK is the only one to clap.

16:38 - JK is once again the only one to clap when JM gets an answer right.

Ep 92 "Mini Golden Bell Part 2" (Ep: 3 / KM: 2)

15:00 - As he goes to measure JK's arm, JM informs everyone that JK's arms have gotten longer since he's been boxing.

15:54 - When JM keeps moving around while JK is trying to measure his arm, JK tells Suga to hold JM still. 

16:31 - When JM's arm somehow seems to get slightly shorter from his stretching, JK gets excited and calls him "Jimin" (no hyung) a few times and then "Jimin-ssi."

20:03, 20:18 - When JK is singing his karaoke love song, the other guys are all over-emoting or swaying and listening, but JM just stares straight at him (and even looks genuinely emotional?) and the camera just stops showing him at a certain point. See picture above. 

20:46 - When JK starts to criticize Suga's cham cham cham performance, Jimin tells JK to just sit down. And he does.  

BEHIND 5:48 - After RM tries to comfort JM about his short arms by saying his legs are long, JK repeats "yes, your legs are long" and then sings a lyrics with JM's name inserted ("moon, moon, what kind of moon jiminie")

Ep 93 "BTS Marble Part 1" (Ep: 4 / KM: 3)

The ones where I still don’t understand this game but enjoy the episodes involving it anyway

0:42: Not jikook-related, but I can't not point out the adorable moment where RM makes a pun about how Marble sounds like the way Koreans pronounce Marvel and JK says "I love you 3000" to himself. 

10:22 - JM and JK are sitting pretty close all episode, but it's particularly apparent here, where JM's arm is resting on JK's thigh as they read a question together.

10:40 - Reading the question is long done, but JM's arm remains. 

12:21 - JM pats JK's shoulder in comfort after he messes up a question.

16:14 - After the heart-making game is over, JM and JK make hearts towards each other once more.

20:21 - JK taps JM's leg while sweetly reminding him that the pedometer game is difficult. Then they lean in to strategize together. 

21:07 - JM pats JK's back when he ends up winning the pedometer game, then again when it seems like JK was tired out by it. BEHIND 1:15 - JK is sitting next to JHope in this shot. The next time we see them, JM is there instead and stays there the rest of the game.

2:10 - JK pats JM's hand after JM says that the winning team should share with the losing one so no one's feelings are hurt.

2:48 - JM appears to be sitting half in JK's lap as he explains his answer.

4:41 - JM leans into JK as he laughs. 

5:51 - Another angle of the 16:14 moment.

6:25 - JM is half in JK's lap again as they watch the other team eat snacks. When JK says it looks good, JM gets a piece for him and rather intensely watches him eat it.

8:40 - JM and JK continue working on a puzzle after the game is over. When JM solves it, he shakes his whole body and makes cute frustrated noises. JK looks like he finds it adorable (how could you not?). Jimin does it again closer to JK's face and JK looks away shyly. 

Ep 94 "BTS Marble Part 2" (Ep: 4 / KM: 3)

4:20 - JM & JK trace a line with their fingers together in sync and the on-screen text informs us "two hands are moving like one hand."

7:24 - After JM and JK mess up in a game, the reach towards each other and hold each other's shoulders while collapsing in giggles onto the game board. The caption dubs them "dumb and dumber."  

16:28 - JM has his arm around JK's shoulders (while continuing from last ep to be half on his lap).

23:13 - When they're going back and forth about who should do the challenge, JM puts his hand on JK's thigh (the far one, for some reason) to tell him that he (JM) might get a leg cramp if he does it. JK does the challenge. 

24:12 - After JK loses the leg-shaking game by only one point, JM comforts him by massaging his thigh, shin, and calf.

BEHIND  0:29 - JK yells out "Jimin-ssi!!!" after JM gets an answer wrong.

1:54 - Another angle of the 7:24 collapsing together on the board moment.

4:03 - More of JM with his arm around JK.

7:48 - JM and JK stay behind to geek out together over some sort of kitchen appliance.

Ep 95 "Let's Play with BTS Part 1" (Ep: 3 / KM: 2)

The ones where BTS play childhood games 

9:17 - JK whispers to JM to ask for clarification on the rules.

11:18 - JK falls backwards laughing and, immediately after, JM does exactly the same thing.

15:23 - JK comments on how small Jimin's hands are.

31:33 - JM shushes JK when he tries to give advice on the game.

34:32 - JK puts his hand on JM's shoulder and asks for a snack.

BEHIND

7:40 - JM and JK giggle together over something.

7:56 - JK wants to show JM a jacks technique.

8:18 - JM and JK giggle together again and JM puts his hand on JK's arm as they do so.

10:24 - When JK adjusts the cameras, JM says JK is the director, then congratulates him and offers him candy when he's done.

Ep 96 "Let's Play with BTS Part 2" (Ep: 4 / KM: 3)

The one where we get the origin of “Rock Bison” - and it’s rather jikook-y!

3:18 - JM sees that JK is sad because he didn't get the top he wanted, so JM gives JK his top and takes the Rock Bison one that no one else wanted. 

11:32 - JK giggles at JM repeatedly throwing his top in the background.

22:52 - JM and JK do a weird backwards handshake before competing against each other in the eraser game.

23:56 - JK claps for JM after JM beats him in the game.

31:11 - JK consults JM on which lane to choose for his model car.

33:46 - When JM reaches out to take a box that might be heavy, JK watches and stands up as if ready to assist. BEHIND 6:51 - JM stands with his hand on JK's shoulder as they watch RM compete.

6:57 - JM holds JK's arms from behind and acts as resistance for him as he does arm-lifting exercises. 

10:19 - An off-camera JM tries to help JK figure out what's why the model car he built is so slow.

Ep 97 "Pajama Party Part 1" (Ep: 4 / KM: 4)

The ones where the guys wear cute pajamas and yes the Behind picture in the second part is real!

5:49 - We see that JM and JK have been drawing on their socks together. More on this in the Behind...

11:14 - JK is lying in JM's lap and they're playing around with their feet. This one is also expanded in the Behind!

22:13 - JK pokes a rod he is playing with in between Jimin's asscheeks. I... have been searching for a less suggestive way to describe this accurately and I keep coming up empty. Blame JK, not me!

22:38 - Another entry in our ongoing "it's JM's fault if JK thinks everything he does is hilarious" series, JM collapses laughing when JK skips back to the group carrying a Cooky doll attached to the rod like he hunted it. (In JM's defense, JK does look incredibly adorable doing it.)

23:54 - JK reaches over and touches Jimin's hand and the camera immediately cuts to something else.  

Note: For fans of JK's satoori, it comes out multiple times in this episode when he gets frustrated with various members after they get a question wrong.

BEHIND 2:41 - JM calls for Taehyung to come sit next to him. JK does instead. 

3:04 - JM rests his foot on JK's thigh as they both draw on their socks.

4:07 - After JM finishes showing off the drawings on his socks, he points the camera to JK in full focus mode finishing his drawings and JM smiles like it's the most adorable thing ever. 

5:26 - I'm sure you've all seen this clip already somewhere, but I'll describe it anyway! After JK tucks his feet under Suga's robe, JM pulls him back so he's laying in JM's lap. JM then puts his arms around JK as he grabs his decorated socked feet to show him while making silly noises. JK then picks up his foot to show his drawn-on sock and makes a different silly noise, causing JM to giggle. The shot gets cut off mid-giggle for whatever reason...

5:53 - JM rests his foot on JM's back while he adds to his sock art. 

7:52 - When JK stretches his arm out to indicate some of the members, he maybe puts his hand on JM's back for a moment.

Ep 98 "Pajama Party Part 2" (Ep: 4 / KM: 1)

You'd think this would be a super jikook-y episode given those pictures, but strangely enough, there are no moments of note in the episode itself. Since you can see the pics without watching the ep, I didn’t include them in the KM score.

BEHIND 1:20 - JM complains to JK that he hasn't gotten any answers right so far.  Some people have matched this to a round of the game in the episode itself where JK doesn't seem to be guessing as enthusiastically as he did before, perhaps in an attempt to make JM feel less bad. I mention it here because it's a theory I've seen a lot, but YMMV.

7:50 - JK shows JM that he has attached J and M balloons to his shirt while saying "JM" and "Jimin," making JM giggle. 

Ep 99 "Florists" (Ep: 5 / KM: 3)

The one where we learn that Jin probably doesn't have a future as a florist

4:33 - When JM starts to get embarrassed because everyone is laughing about his birth flower name sounding like a dirty word in Korean, JK rubs JM's neck and then continues rubbing circles on his back for a while after, seemingly to comfort him. 

19:05 - When Jimin looks confused after RM says he comes out of a glass bowl in Serendipity, JK lightly slaps him on the chest for forgetting. It's almost like it has some sort of personal meaning to him...

28:05 - After JK presents the bouquet he made (which he says represents all different kinds of love), JM says "I think I'll love it when I get it as a present."  Translation note: As we've discussed before, Korean can be hard to translate because often pronouns are omitted. A more literal translation is "present if received will be loved." Most translations that I've seen interpret it as Jimin talking about himself as the recipient, but it's not totally clear. Mentioning this because I know I was wondering why this moment isn't talked about more, since it seems fairly suggestive that JM would assume JK was going to give him a bouquet of flowers he made.

28:38 - When JM explains what "Serendipity" means, he's looking at JK (I think - I'll be totally honest and say the angle is weird and it could be RM).

31:02 - After the florist picks J-Hope's bouquet over JK's as his favorite, JM comments that Jungkook's "looks like a real bouquet for a wedding."

Ep 100 "100th Episode Special Part 1" (Ep: 4 / KM: 3)

The ones where the show does enhanced editions of games previously played on the series and you will walk away with zero doubt as to whom the episodes are sponsored by

21:36 - When it looks like Suga hit Jimin with the badminton birdie, but he actually made a bad serve, JK approaches with his frying pan racket held out and an angry look on his face and starts to scold Suga.  I’ve seen this written up as a jikook moment with JK being over-protective of JM. I’m going to be totally honest with you and say that I didn’t see it that way - JK had been getting increasingly annoyed at the other team re-doing serves and my read was that the moment was more about that. Let me know if you see it differently.  Regardless, the more significant moments are the ones in the Behind...

BEHIND 4:13 - When JM is hit near the eye with the badminton birdie, JK goes over to him and checks on whether his eye was hit. JM reaches out towards him as he gets up. It's interesting to me that the others stand back and let JK be the one to check in on JM, even though Tae and Jin were both closer when it happened. 

5:03 - Not a jikook moment, but JK is doing an adorable cheerleading routine in the background here and I can't not mention it...

8:39 - When JM sees that Jin and JK aren't messing around and JK was actually hit in the nose with the volleyball, he gets serious and walks over, asking him multiple times if it hurts a lot. He ruffles JK's hair before kneeling down next to him to check in.

Ep 101 "100th Episode Special Part 2" (Ep: 4 / KM: 1)

17:40 - JM tells everyone JK is good at this type of game.

BEHIND

1:06 - JK instructs Jimin (in half-informal language) how to work the box.

5:50 - JK calls out to Jimin that his photo makes him look like he's in a cartoon (and there's a slight pause when he calls him in between "Jimin" and "hyung").

7:09 - Jimin asserts that JK does look sexy in the "sexy pose" photo. He is imho correct.

9:15 - When JM is playing around after the game is over, he calls for Jungkook to cover him

100th Episode Special: Survival Directors Cut (Ep: 2 KM: 0)

5:32 - JM covers JK with his laser gun, allowing JK to escape.  Not particularly shippy since they're on the same team, but including it for anyone who wants a visual aid for some sort of military AU...

[kiranatrix]

This is entirely self indulgent but can I ask how you think whammy’s house celebrates pi day, every year I make a ton of pies and I bet the whammy’s kids would be just as dorky. I know in my bones that Mello gets at least 2 chocolate pies a year and god help anyone who dares to steal a slice.

Oh thank you! I needed a cute ask after some heavy ones <3 (not that I mind those kind). That’s so fun that you celebrate Pi Day and I’d love to see your pies! As for how it might go down at Wammy’s House:

- The Pi Day tradition started out academically where their math professor held a contest to see who can remember the most digits of pi. Wammy’s House does love their tests and rankings, and the winner can request a pie of their choice no matter how decadent. Of course, the current record-holder is L himself who, when presented with such supreme motivation, typed out 120,00 digits with his left hand while working on solving cases with his right. It’s become a legend around Wammy’s and not all the kids believe it (mostly Beyond because he couldn’t beat him). 

-  The tradition soon shifted from the digit contest (which took too long) to a bake-off! At first Wammy and Roger figured it would give them a break in the kitchen but they didn’t anticipate the messes and kitchen disasters and fires. But it remained so popular with the kids they didn’t have the heart to stop it. There’s a ‘mystery judge’ (it’s L lol) who taste-tests each one and gives it a rating. The winner doesn’t get much more than bragging rights but everyone gets to eat a lot of pie.

- You’re absolutely right that Mello MUST have chocolate pies (Chocolate Cream!), and I think the reason he needs a minimum of two is that one is for eating and one is for throwing at Near lol. It becomes an annual cat-and-mouse game where Near tries to avoid Mello for the whole day while Mello frantically searches for him, pie in hand and ready to hurl it at any moment. That’s probably the only way he’d ‘give’ some of his pie away. “WHERE IS HE?!” is often heard ringing through the halls of Wammy’s House on that day. I headcanon him as a really good baker-- he’s trying hard to beat whatever pie Near makes. “If I can make a bomb, I can bake a pie.” *clenches fist*

- Matt never gets very far in the baking process because he eats all the ingredients, either from munchies or distraction when he gets a notification on his game. He assembles whatever’s left (apples cores and raw crust) with a shrug and calls it ‘avant garde.’ He could definitely do it but he knows Mello and Linda will make awesome ones anyway and he just doesn’t care that much. He eventually remembers Mello never shares, oops. 

- Beyond....sigh, Beyond. Is an entire pie tin filled with jam really a pie? He’s ready and willing to debate this point until detractors give up and go away. If he suspects L is really the secret taste-tester he might stuff the pie with all kinds of horrendous stuff, spiders, toenail clippings, boogers, and sneeze on it for good measure. He probably spends as much time looking over the other kids shoulders and making ‘helpful suggestions’ (spoiler: not so helpful) as he does making his own cursed pies. “This? Oh it’s a mud pie.” Except with real mud. 

- Near spends most of Pi Day hiding from Mello but arranges to use the kitchen in Roger’s cottage to bake in peace and quiet. I see him having less of a sweet tooth and putting more focus on (overly) intricate presentation. Maybe he tries to make his pie crust look like dozens of puzzle pieces, only to despair when the baking process smooshed them all back together. I think he’d end up making a Banoffee Pie (given Wammy’s is in England).

- Linda’s pies are a work of art and she pretty much always wins, having a good balance between flavors and creative presentation. Because she’s familiar with how most of the other student’s pies are going to go--hoarded/splatted/gross-- she makes a bunch and all different kinds. Her crust is the flakiest, fillings homemade and completely protected from Beyond’s ‘help.’ L is completely enthralled with her pies, to the point Wammy has to pull her aside and ask her for the recipes (he’s not thrilled about that).

- Food fight? Food fight! All those kids getting hopped up on sugar and its bound to happen! Mello gets Banoffee Pie to the face and no one has any peace

[shyvioletcat]

Can you maybe do something like rowan looks at Aelin with a smirk on his face and she says "don´t you dare" and then he throws her over his shoulder and maybe carry her to her/his bed or the couch?

OK... I posted the fic on the wrong prompt *facepalm* just if everyone was wondering where that notification went. I saved that prompt though, because it was a good one. Anyway... lets try this again.

SO... I stole this prompt for my Striking Matches AU because this is a very firefighter-y thing to do in my opinion.

~~~~~

“I know I’ve said it a million times, but I’ll say it again,” Aelin panted, gripping the handrail tightly. “I hate these stairs.”

Rowan laughed from where we walked a few steps in front of her.

“How does a building in this day and age not have an elevator,” Aelin complained some more.

“It’s an old building I guess,” Rowan said over his shoulder.

“Well I hate it,” Aelin declared. “And I hate that you’re barely out of breath.”

“The stamina is all part of the job,” Rowan explained. “I thought we were well acquainted with the extent of my stamina by now. You should know that stairs are absolutely nothing to me.”

Aelin’s cheeks heated, and it had nothing to do with exertion. “Don’t tease, I don’t have the energy to fight back.” She paused on the landing to catch her breath. “Gods, we’re only on the fourth floor. I think you’re going to have to carry me.”

Aelin looked at her boyfriend, he was smirking at her – mischief shining in her eyes. 

“Rowan, no,” Aelin said, backing up a step. “No. Don’t you dare.”

Rowan didn’t listen, he only smirked wider and one moment Aelin was standing and the next she was being thrown over Rowan’s shoulder.

“Rowan,” she hissed. “Put me down right now.”

“No,” he replied simply. “I’m tired of your whining. This way we both win.”

“How?” Aelin asked, bracing herself so her head stopped dangling.

By this time was already halfway up the next flight of stairs. “We’ll be faster this way and I don’t have to listen to you complaining. You also get a perfect and interrupted view of my ass for a while.”

Aelin couldn’t complain about that. But his shoulder digging into her stomach, that she could complain about.

“I don’t think I’m winning right now,” Aelin grumbled as she tried to get a better position. Rowan sensed her discomfort and shifted her a little and she was suddenly much comfier on his broad shoulder. 

“Isn’t this one of your fantasies? Being carried by a fireman up to your room? I’m still in my uniform and everything.”

Aelin could hear the smile in his voice. She was silent on the matter, not wanting to admit to anything. The sound of Rowan’s rumbling chuckle was evidence that she had been very well and truly found out. 

“Can you at least make sure my ass is not hanging out?” 

“Oh, it’s not. But I would say I am most definitely still winning on that account.” Rowan finished his sentence with a firm slap to Aelin’s backside that had her gasping out his name in surprise. That sound had barely finished ringing when Rowan said. “Hello Glennis, how are you this evening.”

Aelin pressed her palms against Rowan’s lower back, praying that he was just playing around. That Rowan was not in fact talking to the very kind old lady from the level below.

“I’m very well, thank you Rowan,” Glennis replied. “What might the two of you be up to?”

Rowan let out a dramatic and resigned sigh. “This one,” he gave Aelin a jostle, “was complaining about the stairs so I thought I’d give her a hand.” 

Glennis laughed, then projected her voice a little. “Well dearie, if I can make it up the stairs, so can you.”

Aelin glanced up to see Rowan shake his head. “That’s what I’ve been telling her.”

Aelin scowled as Glennis laughed again and how Rowan was no doubt smiling. 

“I’ll let  you get back to it,” Glennis said and Aelin heard her door open and close.

Once she knew they were alone Aelin reached down and pinched Rowan on the butt, then further displayed her displeasure by jabbing him in the ribs for good measure.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Aelin said.

“I’m very much looking forward to it,” Rowan said, utterly sure of himself and the outcome of this little escapade.

They finally reached their apartment, luckily not running into any more of their neighbours. So easily, Rowan pulled out his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. Aelin expected him to put her down once they got in the doorway, but he didn’t. He carried her all the way to the bedroom and then flipped her onto the bed, the breath leaving her body with an oof. There was no time wasted and next thing she knew Rowan was crawling over her, his lips on her neck, her jaw, her lips.

He pulled back, and he was smiling when he said, “See, I didn’t break a sweat. Now we both have energy to spare.”

“Oh? For what exactly?” Aelin said, smiling coyly up at him.

Rowan’s own smile was wicked and was answer enough, but still he gave her a slow lingering kiss that mapped out exactly what he had planned. It had Aelin thanking the gods for firefighters and their stamina. 

~~~~~

That last line is awful but we can’t win them all. Hope you enjoyed this little instalment of Firefighter Friday.

Tags: 

@tangledraysofsunshine // @nalgenewhore // @highqueenofelfhame // @galyxsy // @fucking-winchester-trash // @literary-licorice // @http-itsrebecca // @highladyofthesith // @aelinfire-bringer // @soup-that-is-too-hawt // @sleep-and-books // @3am-reading // @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius // @rowaelinforeverworld // @alifletcher2012 // @westofmoon // @tswaney17 // @mydarlingfireheart // @rowansfirebringer // @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen // @vanilla28 // @fireheart-of-your-dreams // @enquires-state-building // @im-not-rare-im-rarr // @your-high-lady // @mariamuses // @ttakeitbacknoww // @vi0let-femmes // @kindofawalkingpoem // @sleeping-and-books // @armixers-unite // @velarian-trash // @queenofxhearts // @princess-galathynius // @heroesofterrasen // @highladyofstoriesandmusic // @unassumingsodalovesherbooks // @empire-of-wildfire // @brittneym15 // @camerooonchiu // @worldoffae // @mybbyfeyre // @crackedship // @lowhangingtreebranches // @over300books // @yourwhisperingshadows // @thesirenwashere // @pilesofriles // @chemicha // @keshavomit // @sarahbringsoutmygay13 // @wifeofchrishemsworth // @impossiblescissorspeachpaper // @cat5313 // @judelovescardan // @illyrian-velaris // @flowerspringsea // @whitethorn15 // @whiskeybusiness1776 // @notaddictedtoanything // @thereaderandfangirl // @mynewdreamwasyou // @tintinnabulary // @the-regal-warrior // @searchingforbellarke // @queen-of-wings-and-fire // @court-of-fuck-me-daddy // @officialasianbitch // @burningbookz // @viajandosinalas // @chaoticskyy // @fanfictrash3000 // @blueeyes425 // @starseternalnighttriumphant // @bamchickawowow // @thehuntressofmoon // @giorgia-the-trashpanda // @flora-and-fae // @thereaderandfangirl // @illyrian-bookworm // @meltalgel-ig // @gay-book-nerd // @that-odd-puzzle-piece // @i-love-all-books // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @hizqueen4life // @the-third-me // @queen-of-glass // @belamoonbeam // @bestmelle // @cursebreaker29 // @b00kworm // @superspiritfestival // @aesthetics-11 // @maastrash // @mynewdreamwasyou // @the-last-apprentice // @charincharge // @aelin-queen-of-terrasen // @scarznstars // @absolute-dissapointment // @thesurielships // @df3ndyr // @trinitybailey2003 // @littleboxofthunder // @ladywitchling // @booknerdproblems // @rowaelin-cressworth // @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves // @rolltide7 // @scandinavianromantic // @tillyrubes10 // @starwarsslytherin // @minaidss // @paytin77 // @jesstargaryenqueen // @anntheintrovert // @starborn-faerie-queen // @loudphantomdragon // @alyx801 // @amandaswallowtail // @louiseleblancdiggory // @abookishfreak // @woollycat22 // @claralady // @perseusannabeth // @fangirlprincess09 // @maddymelv // @sierrareads // @empress-ofbloodshed //

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 7: Perfect

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 8

---

Everything went black. Not because Tony had passed out, but because the world had been consumed by thick piles of dust and a dozen layers of crumpled concrete. A ringing silence pursued after the ceiling had collapsed, leaving him unable to hear anything but the aftereffects of the explosions that he'd attempted desperately to shield Peter from. Not that it had gone very well.

Tony tried to move, gritting his teeth at the pain in the lower half of his body, pinned against the floor by what was probably hundreds, if not thousands, of pounds of concrete and metal. He was unsuccessful in even moving an inch, reduced to only wiggling under the smothering weight. At least his head and upper body had managed to avoid being hit. But he didn't know the same for Peter.

"Kid?" he called, his voice raspy. He coughed a few times, sucking in gritty air and blinking rapidly, trying to find the teenager in the low light. "Peter? Where are you, bud?"

There was a grunt, and then the grating of concrete shifting. Tony turned his head in the direction of the noise, squinting. He swallowed down a gasp as he finally caught sight of the kid.

He was not too far from Tony, his entire body crushed between two slabs of rough concrete. Only his head and a shoulder poked out, the material crumbling as the boy shifted. The two were separated by a wall of rebars, snapped and sharpened from the collapse of the ceiling. Whatever Peter had done in the chaos as the roof had fallen, it had saved Tony from the worst of it and left the kid there instead.

"Peter?" he tried again.

There was a whined groan in response, followed by the rumbled grinding of concrete and the clatter of stone falling. It was hard to make out through the darkness, but the kid's head picked up at his call. He could barely distinguish his bloodied and dirtied face, only his swimming eyes broke out from the oppressive darkness.

"Mr...Mr. Stark?" Peter rasped, his voice croaky and strained. His eyes picked the mechanic out in the darkness, settling on him easily.

"Right here, kid," he responded. "Can you move?"

There was a scrabble and the sound of primitive rustling. Tony squinted harder, trying desperately to make out the kid. He could see the movement of limbs scraping against the floor and the flurried panic of a tired struggle. He expected it to die down after a few moments once the teenager realized he was trapped, but, if anything, the scraped movement only picked up in its furor.

And then there was the gasping of wheezed breaths.

"Kid, you gotta calm down." There was no response. "Peter--"

"Mr. Stark!! Please, please, please. I’m stuck, I’m stuck. I can’t move. I can’t..."

"I'm right here, kid. Right here," he tried to assure. "It's okay, kid. It's gonna be okay, you can relax."

Peter shook his head. "No. No, no, I should've--I've got these powers and I couldn't even...I can't even get us out... You were right about the suit, Mr. Stark."

Tony stared at the kid who was keeping his head down, shoulders slumped. He swallowed.

"Maybe I was." Peter flinched, head picking up to stare at him through the maze of rebars, eyes wet. "But you're more than a suit, Peter."

"No I'm not," Peter muttered. "I couldn't even take down the vulture guy with the suit, and I've been here for two days. I should've been able to escape."

"I was in Afghanistan for three months, in an admittedly pretty shitty situation, but with access to materials. Nobody would've expected you to get out from here, kid. I didn't." Peter glanced away from him. Tony dragged in a rugged breath, thinking back to everything horrible that Peter had told him before the ceiling had collapsed. "I said later, but now's as good a time as ever I guess. You're my soulmate. And I'm proud of that."

"But--"

"I don't want to hear any 'buts' on that. Not one. I have waited my entire life just to meet you, and I am not disappointed in the slightest. I never even thought of that as a possibility." A pause as he let that sink in. "You asked after the ferry why I cared. I think that's a ridiculous question, but I'll answer it now anyway: You're my soulmate. The little shadow I've been dreaming of meeting for fifteen years. And let me tell you, kid, dreams don't measure up to you.”

He could see glistening tears running down Peter's face, a confused expression scrunching up the boy's features. Piecing together a puzzle impossible to do alone.

"What's eating at you? Let me fix it." A moment of pure desperation. "Please."

There was a moment, a teary sniff, and then, "You said, "forever," and--I thought you didn't want to see me again."

Tony flinched, jostling the pain spiking his trapped legs. But whatever level the pain was, he deserved it for causing this good and kind kid. He forced out a harsh sigh.

"I...I didn't mean it. Not like that. Never like that, Peter. There is nothing you could've done that would have made me never want to see you again... What I said that day--I was scared. I was scared for all those people and I was scared for you." He took in a deep breath, unused to being this vulnerable. For just tearing down his walls like this. But Peter needed him. Peter needed Tony to be honest and open. "I was scared of losing you, and I freaked out and I didn't handle it great and...and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Peter."

"Not forever then?"

"No. Not forever." He tried for a smile. "I was going to call you tonight actually, to make sure we were still on for Friday. I didn't realize you'd put your phone in your mask. Or your other stuff. You're getting all of it back when we get out of here, by the way."

"How are we getting out of here?" Peter asked. "I can barely move."

Tony twisted as far as he could, squinting into the darkness. "We need some leverage. If I can get this off of me, I might be able to call for help. Oh, and stop Mr. Vulture from stealing my whole plane."

"What?"

"Later. Anything near you that could give us a good purchase on this shit?"

  ---

Peter searched around at Mr. Stark's request, looking desperately for something that might free the man. His lower half was trapped underneath a concrete slab, so he just needed something that could let him reach it. Maybe dislodge it a little so that they could hope his phone wasn't broken.

After a few seconds, Peter's eyes landed on the wall of broken rebars between him and Mr. Stark. There were a few long ones, easy enough for him to reach and long enough for Mr. Stark to use. He grunted, reaching out and gritting his teeth in pain as the concrete and metal clamped down around his ribs.

Mr. Stark turned to look at him from where he'd been searching in his area, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Peter finally wrapping a hand around a rusted rebar. With a grunt, a snap, and a tear, the skewered metal was free, the end he was holding slowly being covered in blood from where it had cut at his hand. But it was free.

"Here," he said, pushing it through the wall of rebar. Mr. Stark grabbed it immediately, pulling it over to his side.

"Good work, kid," the man complimented. Peter watched with sharp eyes through the dark as he twisted, jabbing the metal underneath the slab and heaving. Pushing the rebar back and forth, the concrete began to shift, wiggling backwards. After a few minutes, Mr. Stark was, well, he was still trapped, but he was allowed much better movement now.

The man dug into his now free pockets, pulling out a phone, grimacing, and then grabbing another phone. Another grimace. "Phones don't work. All broken."

"Nothing else in your bag of tricks?" Peter asked. Mr. Stark shook his head.

"I've got plenty of trackers on me, but there's nothing to do until someone realizes we're missing."

That you're missing, not me, Peter thought, but he didn't voice aloud. Instead, he stared down at the ground, wheezing in rattled and wet breaths. Vulture guy was going after the plane, filled to the brim with Avengers stuff and Mr. Stark's inventions and all sorts of dangerous weapons. The guy had built a business on scraps, the thought of what he could do with all of that other stuff was terrifying. And he couldn't let it happen.

Peter grit his teeth, sucking in a deep breath as he braced his shoulders, tensing them up against the concrete. It began to shift above him, grating and scraping and tearing at his still ringing ears. He couldn't help the pained grunt, but it was working. There was enough free space that he could twist his arms, shifting the weight.

He was aware of Mr. Stark staring at him, but only dimly, as he raised onto his knees and then his feet, flinching at every piece of concrete that crashed down around him. He bit down on every scream that tried to tear its way through his throat, but he couldn't completely keep them in. Short outbursts of pain escaped, but then the weight and the pain was gone. There was a deafening crash as it tumbled behind him, stirring up a cloud of dust and dirt so thick he couldn't see a thing as he dropped onto his knees, coughing violently.

"Kid?" Mr. Stark called.

Peter wheezed in a shaky breath, forcing himself back to his feet. "Here! I'm okay, Mr. Stark."

There was a relieved sigh as Peter jumped shakily over the pile of rubble, gripping onto the top and then dropping onto the ground right next to where Mr. Stark was still trapped. The man stared up at him, a proud smile on his face.

"That was impressive, kid. You did good."

Peter grabbed the concrete slab, lifting it easily. His ears burned at the praise.

"Thanks." He held out a hand, which Mr. Stark accepted, pulling the man up. He stumbled for a moment, a hand resting on Peter's shoulder for support. The teenager thought back to the fingers that had curled into his skin and left dark bruises and darker nightmares. But this hand was soft, strong and everything Mr. Fowler wasn't. Peter was okay. "Okay, let's go find the vulture guy. He can't have gotten too--"

Peter was cut off as Mr. Stark wrapped him in a hug. The teenager stood stiffly, confused as gentle arms bundled around him and Mr. Stark's head pressed against his own. After a hesitant moment, he raised his own arms and, after not knowing how long it had been since he'd had a hug, his arms grasped around Mr. Stark. Tight and tired and desperate. He closed his eyes.

Safe.

With a pat on his back, Mr. Stark let go.

"C'mon, let's get moving. We've got a plane to catch."

Peter followed his soulmate quickly, stumbling after the man and out of the broken rubble, his legs more than a little sore. "How? Aren't your armors on the plane?"

"They are, but they'll be good for something else other than fighting tonight."

Peter blinked, more than a little confused, but he followed Mr. Stark out of the building nevertheless. There was a sleek car waiting, still rumbling with the keys in and the door flung wide open. Mr. Stark slipped into the driver's seat and, after a moment of hesitation, Peter got in the shotgun.

"Hello, sir, glad to see you're still alive," greeted a cool voice. Peter flinched in surprise.

"Yeah, yeah. Can it, Fri, I need the plane's location right now."

"It is currently twenty minutes out from the compound on its projected course."

A screen popped up in the car, showing the path of the plane. Both the man and the teenager's brows furrowed, glancing at each other. That wasn't right.

"Okay, I want you to keep an eye on it and see if anything's tampered with it," Mr. Stark started, grabbing a pair of glasses from the glovebox and slipping them on. "And track Mark Forty-Nine while you're at it. Let's see where these bastards really are." A second dot appeared on the screen, veering off from the projected course of the plane. "Gotcha."

"But how are we going to get there?" Peter asked. Mr. Stark thought for a moment.

"Rhodey's got the only other suit right now, but he's in DC. And Vision's in Europe for a little honeymoon or whatever, so that just leaves us."

"A man with a heart condition and a teenager."

"A teenager who just lifted several thousand pounds while trapped. And my heart's fine, thank you," Mr. Stark countered. Peter gave him a look but it fell as he took in the man's expression, clearly warring with himself. Fear and apprehension and scary determination. After a moment, Mr. Stark sighed, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a familiar red fabric. It was placed on the console in between them. "You're our best bet right now, kid. Lives are going to be lost if we don't get that stuff back before they can start selling it."

Peter grabbed the scarlet mask hesitantly, glancing between the narrowed eyes and Mr. Stark. There was a shake in his hand, accompanied by murky brown eyes and the stench of overpowering beer. Of a hand on his shoulder and the horrible inability to fight back. The teenager shook away the memories flooding him as subtly as he could. He voice shook as he said, "I don't think I'm ready."

Mr. Stark fixed him with a steady stare. These brown eyes weren't murky, they were bright and strong. He didn't smell of rank beer, instead roasted coffee and faint motor oil. The lines on his face weren't fixed in anger and worn away by the harm he'd caused, but rather a comforting mix of laugh lines and memories of regret.

As if against his will, Peter was instantly soothed, his racing heart calming and his nerves quieting. Mr. Stark's words only amplified the safety that had cocooned the teenager ever since gentle arms had wrapped around him.

"We never are, kid. But the world doesn't wait." Peter ducked his head, brow furrowing and mouth frowning. Confusion and fear and doubt all warring and showing clearly on his face. At his silence, Mr. Stark added, "You can do it, Peter, I know you can. You're going to be the best of all of us one day."

Peter's face burned. His heart swelled. His resolve hardened. With a sharp nod, Peter gathered up the suit and hopped into the back of the car. It began to speed off immediately, but Peter stuck himself to the car floor easily, beginning to pull on the suit.

"How are we going to catch up?" he asked. A horn blared and Peter looked back to see someone honking at them as they cut them off.

"If they stay on their course, they'll be going over Jersey in ten."

"We can't make it to Jersey in ten."

"How fast can you swing to Jersey?"

"From here? Not fast enough."

Mr. Stark thought for a moment, eyes focused on the road. "Friday, are the drones still ready to be deployed from the compound?"

"Yes, sir."

"Get one over here, and then attach it to the plane's coordinates."

"Done."

Peter leaned up front, his mask pulled up over his hair. Mr. Stark glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "What's the drone for?"

"Much faster than a car," he answered. "Get on the hood, it'll take you to the plane in time. I'll try to catch up and keep under you, but right now, it's up to you."

The window rolled down for him. Peter glanced between Mr. Stark and the opening. He gave the man a smile, pulling the mask down. "I won't disappoint you, Mr. Stark."

"You never could, Peter-butter."

Peter, already out the window, peaked his head back in. "I'll be back with an embarrassing nickname for you. Just you wait."

"I don't doubt it."

  ---

The drone arrived quickly. Peter's spider sense picked up on it quickly, barreling in from behind him. He narrowed his eyes at it, unfurling from his crouch on the car. With a perfectly timed leap, he jumped off of the car's hood, attaching himself to the drone and holding on as it climbed higher. He swallowed nervously. Heights were kind of his thing, but flying and swinging were very different.

"Incoming call from Tony Stark," Karen said in his ear.

"Connect him," Peter said, nervously readjusting his grip on the drone. A closer look revealed it was the same model as the one that had helped piece the ferry back together. It was pretty cool, actually, able to contort itself to be just a little bigger for Peter to hold onto.

"Hey, kiddo. How's it hanging?"

"Do not joke about this, Mr. Stark."

"Don't tell me you're afraid of heights."

"I swing, I don't fly, Mr. Stark."

"Same difference," Mr. Stark said. Peter grumbled, immediately planning a time to swing the man around. He'd get his revenge one day. "Okay, the cameras on the plane are playing on a loop, so I can't see what's going on over there. You're going to go in blind."

"Okay, okay. Plan. We need a plan. Right?"

"I've got one. I'm gonna stay on the phone with you. When you get in, I'll walk you through resetting the plane's route and activating the Iron Man armors. They'll take it from there."

"Okay, okay, okay. Solid--solid plan."

"Eyes on the prize, kid. ETA in five minutes."

Peter nodded.

Five minutes came and went too quickly and too slowly. Either way, the teenager wasn't quite prepared when he broke through the clouds, the screen in his mask picking the reflective plane out of the air. He squinted at the strange lump poking out of it, realizing after a moment that it was the vulture's wings.

"I see the plane, Mr. Stark," Peter reported as the drone flew him closer. Once he was underneath, he let go, sticking himself to the plane and attaching a securing web just in front of him. The drone flew off, but he could still hear it buzzing around. "I don't see anyone, but the guy's wings are here. I think it's covering his entrance."

"Do you think you can move it?"

Peter crawled over the metal, getting on the other side and securing himself once more. He gave it a heavy kick. It moved, but not much. "I think so, yeah."

"Okay, get to working on that."

Spider-Man kicked again, pushing with all of his available strength at the metal encasing in front of him. A jolt of pain shot up his leg with every movement, but he didn't stop. He kicked and kicked and kicked until--

It moved.

Alarms rang inside the plane, and Peter couldn't help the way he flinched.

"Okay, so uh, it moved, but not enough and I think he knows," Peter reported.

"Are you sure?"

The wings opened, revealing a flash of bright green eyes that he only saw for a second before they were lost in the clouds.

"Uh, yeah. Yep. Pretty sure, Mr. Stark. Pretty sure." Peter glanced up at where the wings had been, disappointed to see no opening for him. He began to climb up the side to where the door should be. "Uh, his opening is gone."

"Can you still get in?"

The wind swept Peter back when he reached for the door, making him grunt in pain as his bruised back was slapped against the metal. He opened his mouth to answer when his senses spiked. He whipped his head around, letting out a yell of surprise as wings broke through the clouds. He shot out two webs on instinct, hitting the metal wings that he barely had time to dodge before they slashed through the metal just inches above his head. The vulture continued flying, pulling him and his web along. He shot another one at the plane, suspending him in air.

"What the hell was that?" Mr. Stark. Peter grunted.

The web snapped.

Peter was trapped in air for a fleeting second before he was shot through the air, the plane still moving ever forward. The jet whirred, angry metal teeth whirring to swallow him. He let out a raspy yell, his throat scratchy. He shot out his arms and shot what looked like half of his web fluid. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting pain. When there was nothing, he blinked his eyes open to see himself snugly caught in the stuffed propeller.

The propeller fell, and he barely managed to cling on. He reached out an arm, grabbing on and kicking the broken motor. It creaked out before falling through the clouds with a deafening whoosh. He slipped back into the circle where the motor had been.

"I can't believe that worked," he said with a relieved gasp. He began making his way onto the top of the plane so that he could try and reach the door again.

"What worked? What's happening?"

"I thought you had the Baby Monitor protocol," Peter snipped.

"You disabled it," Mr. Stark responded. "I put the suit in the box and didn't look at it. I'll fix it tomorrow."

"Great. Maybe change the name, though."

"No can do, Peter-butter."

Peter opened his mouth--to quip or groan he didn't really know--but any thought of snide remarks was washed away by the raising of his hairs and the pounding of his skull. The Vulture returned, shooting out of the clouds. Peter rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding the sparked slashes left behind by the metal wings where he had been only a second before.

The wind swept him back as he struggled to get a grip, the whirring of another engine screaming danger behind him. He forced out his back leg and splayed out his hands, trying desperately to stick to the sparking plane. He looked underneath himself to glance at the jet, his head snapping back up at the scraping of metal as the Vulture returned once more.

A wing struck out, and, seeing no other escape, Peter let go. He managed to get a grip again by attaching a web, but the wing came for another slash, digging into the plane where he had been barely a moment before. It snapped the web, and the teenager was dragged back.

Peter flew up as the Vulture came for him once more, the wind carrying him. His senses spiked, but he managed to narrowly miss the jet, instead knocking against the side and flying back. He shot out another web, flailing out behind the dashing plane, the jet catching on fire and blowing a trail of harsh smoke into his face.

"Peter, you're dropping real fast. What's going on, bud?"

The teenager couldn't find it in himself to answer, his breath shot as the plane began to careen downwards. Peter pulled himself forward by his web, squinting his eyes and glaring over the rapidly disappearing clouds. A city was in view.

"Oh, my God."

Ignoring the Vulture digging into the plane and Mr. Stark's demanded question, Peter turned, shooting out a web and forcing himself to his feet. He pulled, letting out a harsh yell at the pulling on his arms, though it was washed out by the groaning of the wings as it turned.

"Please turn! Please turn!" he yelled.

The sparking plane began to tilt, carrying them over the city where it disappeared to be replaced by the twisting rides of Coney Island and the sand that stretched beside it.

The web snapped, whipping him into a tumble onto the plane's wing where he barely held on, curling himself into a tense ball on the flashing metal. There was no time for goodbyes or terrified thoughts or anything of regret. There was only approaching land and a tired fear in his choked throat.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark."

The plane crashed.

Sound left Peter. Reason and understanding left him too. All he was aware of was the pain as he was launched from the plane's snapped wing, rolling a million times over. The sand was hot against him, even through the suit, the high friction tearing and scratching at him through the suit. The heat tore at him, clawing at him worse than anything else.

Peter finally came to a rolled stop in the sand in the middle of dark plumes of smoke and the harsh brightness of red and orange flames. He was sure that the plane was sparking, the wind roaring, and the fire crackling, but there was nothing for him to hear except for the ringing. He was aware dully that Mr. Stark was speaking for him, but nothing made sense as he struggled for a coherent breath.

The teenager took in a gasping breath, forcing himself onto one of his elbows and tugging at his mask with shaky hands. He tore off the fabric covering his face, peeling it off of his sweat and and blood covered face, throwing it into the sand in pain. He stumbled back onto his elbows with the force of his rattling coughs. After a moment, he picked himself up by his arms and knees, finally forcing his stumbling and shaking feet into use, allowing him to stare around the turned up beach.

A tingle ran up his spine. He turned, squinting into the surrounding fire. Green eyes and sharp claws burst out of the sparks and plumes.

He gasped in rattled fear, the reality of the world returning in a loud rush of overwhelming sound and heat as the sharp metal claws clamped around him, pushing him back down into the sand. He let out an unwilling scream as the metal tips tore through his skin.

There was a whine and a whir as Peter was lifted into the air by his wounds. He struck out his hands, tugging at the metal claws until they let go. Peter dropped, grimacing as he turned in air to shoot a web, flinging himself back up and into the man's metal suit. The Vulture was forced to dip low as the teenager unbalanced him, but it left Peter unbalanced too.

The boy snapped against the loose sand, a pained mumble escaping his tired lips, blood tricking from them. The Vulture approached slowly, threateningly. A hooked feather extended, reaching forward and aiming towards his chest. Peter swallowed painfully, staring up at the man through the grit in his eyes and a fiery red lens, sure that this was it.

He could barely move, he could barely even talk. He wished he was at least wearing his mask, just so that he could say goodbye.

The feather jabbed forward. Peter flinched and closed his eyes.

There was a sharp, reverberating clang.

The pain never came.

  ---

Tony stood over Peter, a metal encased arm raised in front of him, a metal feather knocked against the Iron Man gauntlet reaching up to his elbow that he had barely managed to grab from the plane's rubble before rushing over. He glared at the Vulture hovering in front of him, the green eyes piercing. Behind him, he heard Peter mutter lowly, "Mr. Star'?"

"Mr. Stark," the Vulture echoed him mockingly, the metal feather still slashed against Tony's upheld arm. "I didn't know you care so much to put yourself in harm's way. Perhaps you're right. I don't know everything."

"No. You don't," Tony answered shortly, narrowing his eyes up at the man through his glasses. He glanced beyond the man at where boxes of his stuff sat idly in the fire, resisting the desperate urge to turn his head and look at the kid. "Now's your chance to run before anyone else shows up."

"How generous, Stark," the man said. "But I'm not leaving empty-handed."

"Then you're not leaving at all."

"Contrary to your usual position, I'm the one with the power now."

"Oh, yeah?" Tony challenged, taking a step forward. The man hovered back, just a little. But it was enough for Tony to confidently lie out of his ass. "Big talk for a man in a bird-suit. You think I didn't have a contingency for this? I have contingencies for my contingencies. A functional War Machine armor and a vibranium android are on their way right now. Three minutes. Your choice."

The feather withdrew from against his gauntlet, the Vulture hovering backwards. Tony held his bright green stare, a furious glare written harshly across all of his features. The man didn't turn away, instead glancing over Tony's head and raising his wings. He flew at Tony, forcing the mechanic to duck down to avoid the wings that sliced the air overhead.

He expected an attack, but nothing ever came. He turned to glare at the man, his eyes narrowing as he watched metal clamp down onto a leaking metal box, glowing arc reactors slipping out. He wanted to yell; to shout and run and defend the power sources only moments away from being stolen, but his shadow flashed underneath him, dragging the mechanic's eyes down to the kid trying to stumble back onto his knees, one arm clutched around his chest.

Tony let him go, dipping down low to kneel beside the kid. It was selfish, and he knew it. Those arc reactors could cause a lot of damage in the wrong hands, but Peter was infinitely more important to him.

Tony pat the kid's back even as he tried to stumble to his feet, murmuring reassuringly, "It's okay. Take a seat, kiddo, you did good."

Peter glanced at him from where he was staring at the Vulture, beginning to lift off into the air, flames trailing after him. There was a terrified stiffness to the kid. His voice was shaky as he said, "Mr. Stark--Mr. Stark, his wing suit. His wing suit's going to explode!"

Tony followed Peter's gaze to stare at the Vulture's wings. They were fizzing and sparking. His immediate thought was, good. He won't get away, but Peter was different. Peter was better. The kid flicked out a shaking hand, a white line streaking out from the metal on his wrist and attaching to the Vulture's suit.

Peter stood, Tony followed suit, unsure of what to do. He didn't have super strength, he couldn't exactly help, so he stood by the kid, a metal arm raised up in warning as the Vulture turned around, clearly confused by the resistance on his suit. Peter only pulled back tighter.

"Time to go home, Pete," the Vulture said.

"I’m trying to save you!" Peter yelled. Tony just glared, refusing to move a muscle as the Vulture raised a wing. He snapped through the web. Peter was flung backwards with the force, landing harshly in the sand. Tony startled, cursing and kneeling beside him as the kid tried desperately to shoot another web. He sent a terrified glance Tony's way as he realized that he was out of fluid.

Heads twisted to glance at the Vulture, the fizzing and sparking crescendoing. With a split second realization about what was going to happen, he forced Peter to the ground, guarding the kid from the heat that exploded behind them and grabbing his head protectively. Peter curled up underneath him, one hand clutching into his jacket desperately.

When the initial force was over, the two unfurled from one another, turning to stare at the crackling fire.

"No," Peter murmured. The teenager flinched and squirmed, rushing to his feet. Tony grabbed his arm.

"Kid," he breathed.

"Mr. Stark, I gotta--I gotta go get him."

"Peter--"

Their shadows stretched out from them, switched. A spindly thin teen reflecting a spindly thin teen and a ruffled and sharp man reflecting a ruffled and sharp man. The teenager tore his arm away, the shadows returned, and one terrified and regretful look was sent to Tony.

He ran.

"Peter!!" Tony yelled. The kid was already gone into the burning flames, and, without a moment of hesitation, Tony followed.

The fire scorched at him through his dark suit, licking and crackling at his skin. He hissed, forcing down pain and squinting through the smoke to make out Peter's red and blue suit. The kid was crouched down beside a heap of metal, a yell of pain escaping him as he touched it. Tony ran over, catching Peter by surprise as he turned up to look at him.

There was apprehension, and then there was understanding. A sliver of trust thrown his way.

Tony gave Peter a nod, digging his metal encased hand underneath the burning heap. Peter followed suit, forcing his own fingers underneath the sand. With equally heavy grunts, the metal lifted, revealing the soot covered body of the Vulture. No mask, no wings. Just a man.

Peter grabbed him, throwing the man over his shoulder fireman style. Together the two stumbled out of the fire. Peter dropped the coughing Vulture onto the sand, stepping a few feet forward before collapsing to the ground himself. Tony laid down beside the gasping kid, wheezing in rasped breaths himself.

Two heroes and a vulture, all collapsed on the sand, coughing smoke out of their lungs like lunatics. Tony didn't know whether to laugh or not. As if it would provide an answer, he turned to stare at the kid, catching Peter's eye, who turned to stare at him as well. Tony smiled. Peter followed suit tentatively, doe eyes swimming.

"I've got your nickname, Mr. Stark," Peter rasped. Tony huffed a laugh.

"Yeah? Lay it on me."

"MacaTony. Like--like macaroni?"

Tony laughed. Full on and hearty and completely disregarding the smoke choking his lungs. He didn't care as the coughs were mixed with his crazed giggles, resting his head back against the sand and staring up at the sky. After a moment, Peter's own laughs joined his, mixing with the crackles of pluming fire.

Their shadows stretched in the orange light, their own kind of happiness flickering in the dark silhouettes, like they knew that their souls had finally met. Finally understood.

Or maybe the goofy grin stretched across Tony's face was making him delirious with joy, but Peter's own bright and sooty grin was enough to make the world feel right even in the rubble of an invisible plane on a burning beach.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 8

@annabanannabeth here ya go!