#i nearly didn't make the teacup ride

[beckiboos]

Le Carnivale de merde

[sungbeam]

007!ji changmin x f!reader

you're sent to montenegro to infiltrate a high-stakes poker game, but with the world hanging in the balance, it's a good thing m's sending her best employee along with you—agent 007, ji changmin.

▷ genre, warnings. f2l, james bond/007/spy au, action, suspense, pining(?), minimal angst, humor bc i'm me, violence, blood, death, mentions of alcohol, mentions of weaponry, mentions of corruption, swearing, kissing, near-death experiences, mentions of terrorism but not explicitly discussed, the ending is kinda cheesy im sorry it's late and i like making him yearn, barely proofread (dudes it's so late when im writing this)

▷ word count. 11.1k

▷ based on. casino royale (2006)

a/n: this is for @winterchimez ally's 007 files collab! pls check out the other fics that have been posted 😎 also, this is way lighter than the actual movie, so uhm, yeah!

YOU KNEW FROM THE MOMENT you first stepped into your position as an agent of the Treasury, that Kenneth Kang would be a thorn in your side. Perhaps not even a thorn, but a massive pain in the neck, the back, the ass. He was a man with a helm of pomade for hair and an ego the size of Russia, who, for some odd reason, despised you.

It was funny… the last time you checked, an entity such as Russia wouldn't be so easily threatened by someone like yourself. But here was Kenneth Kang, continuing to email you passive aggressive correspondence as if he wasn't butthurt the director chose you for this task rather than him.

After all, only the best of the best were selected to assist MI6 with their assignments. The fate of the world hung in the balance.

You told Kenneth just that in your last (hopefully) email to him for the trip: The quarterly reports are still due on Monday, Kang. Remember that Director Song excused me from them because I'm off to go save the world—ta-ta! Or something to that effect.

It was unfortunate the government monitored everyone's emails or you would've signed off with something wildly hilarious like “Love (if pigs flew), Director Song's Favorite <3 (not you)”—that would stick it to him—

A clearing throat drew your attention away from your laptop so abruptly, you were glad you didn't get whiplash.

“This seat taken?” You didn't catch a clear glimpse of the man's face before he was already claiming the seat across from you. The voice was awfully familiar, and when you finally saw him, you understood why.

You nearly did a double take, but the surprise swiftly melted away like glaciers in the spring to something like warm amusement. “Ah, do I—uh—know you, sir?” You asked, gently folding your laptop closed so you can gesture to the teapot before you. “Tea?”

Ji Changmin leaned back in his chair, eyes darting from the view outside the train car window and back to you. He dragged his gaze up and down your form, the back of his knuckles pressed against his lips. It did nothing to hide his smile. “Tea would be lovely, thanks.”

You obliged, refilling your cup with the hot beverage and pouring a decent amount into the extra teacup and saucer on his half of the table.

The two of you were currently on a train to Montenegro. Less than 48 hours ago, you were summoned into your director's office, only for the head of MI6 (the elusive M) to join you. You were debriefed on a high stakes poker game being hosted by a man notoriously reputed for funding terrorist organizations around the globe. You were told that M would be sending her “best” along with you to be dealt into the game—you were never given the agent's name or identification number.

But now that you were nearly an hour's ride away from Montenegro, it seemed he finally decided to reveal himself.

“Are you sure you don't remember me, Miss?” He asked, eyebrows raised over the rim of his teacup. “I was so sure that I left a lasting impression on you the last time.”

You slowly raked your eyes over the sharp, dark blue suit he wore, the white dress shirt beneath opened up at the collar, his wrist fitted with a watch that glistened in the afternoon light filtering in through the window. He had cropped his hair since the last time you saw Agent 007, M's so-called “best.” That was about two years ago, when there was a joint-branch charity gala and the two of you shared a dance before he was called away. Before that, you reckoned it was likely your graduation from Cambridge.

Time flew, you supposed, and you'd both been busy.

The corner of your lips lifted as you took a ginger sip of your tea. “Well then, you'll have to do a better job this time. What brings you to Montenegro?”

“Ah, business. You know how it is.”

“A truly dull answer,” you remarked. He couldn't come up with better conversation? You expected more from the man who always prided himself on buttery smooth lines. Where was the fun in ‘business’? “No wonder you've got all of that on. You're dressed like you're about to go buy a company.”

“Could I buy your company?” He asked in jest, tilting his head to the side.

You set your teacup down and a smile flitted over your lips. “I don't think you'd ever have enough money in the world for that.”

He chuckled then and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, catching a droplet of tea clinging to it. “Challenge accepted.”

When the train pulled into the station at Montenegro, it was just about a quarter past two in the afternoon. You and Changmin stood up from your cozy two-seater table to prepare to disembark. You rifled through your laptop tote for your wallet, but before you could retrieve your money, Changmin was already dropping bills on the table.

“Is this yours?” He asked, placing a hand on the bag stowed above the seat. It was a duffle bag that ranged on the smaller size with enough room to store your toiletries, emergency items, and any other things you might have needed. You were informed that clothing and the like would be in your accommodations waiting for you—there must have been a strict dress code for this event.

You shouldered your purse. “Yes, I'm traveling light.”

“Same here.” He grabbed your bag for you, and the two of you were off, shuffling down the aisle toward the nearest exit. Light, indeed. He didn't seem to have any luggage on him, but you supposed an agent of his caliber was provided everything he needed at his accommodations.

The train station, at this hour, was rather busy. People bustled to and fro to get to their trains, the parking lot, the ticket booth, the works. Your instructions once you'd arrived in Montenegro were to get in touch with the agent who was assigned to this case, and that you already accomplished. Until now, that was about all you knew, barring the general mission at-hand.

“I assume you’ll be staying at the Hotel Splendide, as well?” You voiced to him as you walked by his side toward the valet at the front of the station. You never knew a train station to have a valet, but you supposed it made sense if there were luxury, long-haul train cars.

“Your assumption would be correct,” he said. “In fact, we’re sharing a room.” The reveal of this information nearly had you tripping over your own shoes, and you were sure you saw a ghost of a smile make it onto his lips. You narrowed your eyes at him as he carried onward—of course, the two of you were sharing a room. What cover did MI6 even come up with? Something incredibly original like a married couple, you’d bet. Or, god forbid, a man and his mistress. (The thought made you gag.)

Changmin made eye contact with the valet boy, his chin inclining toward him. “Afternoon. It should be under ‘Ji.’”

The boy traced his finger down the edge of his tablet screen and his eyes lit up in recognition. “Ah yes, Mr. Ji,” he said, grabbing a keychain from his station and tossing it over to Changmin, “your car was just delivered two minutes ago. Have a nice trip, sir.”

“Thank you.” A rolled up bill was exchanged so fast that you thought you’d imagined it, and Changmin was walking onward down the length of the curved curb toward a parked vehicle. You followed swiftly after him, and upon further inspection, realized that the vehicle he was striding towards was a sleek Aston Martin in a classy shade of silver. It looked like something straight out of Hollywood, the sight nearly making your knees buckle. It was enough to say that all thoughts of you sharing a room with Changmin flew out the Aston Martin’s window.

Changmin gave a laugh at your reaction, opening the passenger side door for you. “You look more excited to see this car than me, sweetheart.”

“Was I that obvious? She’s beautiful.” You couldn’t help but grin back as you slipped into the smooth, leather seat. The interior was just as beautiful and sleek, with dark colored leather and a shiny center console. While you buckled yourself in, you heard Changmin deposit your bag in the backseat before rounding the car to take his place in the driver’s side.

“I can’t say I disagree,” he said, the door slamming. He retrieved a pair of aviator sunglasses from a compartment above the rearview mirror, donning them, then flashing you a dimpled smile. “Shall we?”

Changmin revved up the engine and pulled out of the train station's front lot onto the scenic road that would wind down the mountains to reach the portside where Hotel Splendide was located.

“I haven't seen you in two years, have you been well?” You piped up, now that the two of you were alone.

He hummed. “Ah, for the most part, yes—I’ve been alright.”

“Trotting the globe, I bet?”

“You'd win that bet, for sure,” he mused. He passed you a brief glance, turning his eyes back to the road. “And you?”

You mimicked the humming sound he'd made earlier. “I've been decent. Just work most days; you know how it is.”

He nodded his understanding. “Social life just as dead as uni?”

An incredulous sound flew out of your mouth, your hand swatting his arm to coax an impish smile from him. “I have friends!”

“Significant others then,” he offered.

You bristled in your seat and met his grin with a stink eye. “There are more important things than finding romance.”

“Still the same Yn as I remember,” he teased. “Now I know you're not an imposter.” A beat of silence, and then, “M must have been very pleased with your performance records to have approved of your director's choice. Not that I'm surprised; you've always been exceptional in your field.”

You turned your head to face the window on your side, barely hiding the pleased smile on your face from his compliment. It had taken a lot of hard work to get where you were, and you should've been proud of yourself. “I appreciate that. Though, I'm sure the fact that we know each other might have something to do with it, too.”

“I think that's just an added bonus,” he remarked optimistically. “You'll know how to keep me in check.” That was, literally speaking, exactly what your role here was. While Changmin was dealt into the game, you controlled the amount of money he was able to use or bet with. Because you were the trusted agent of the Treasury, you would be privy to the amount of money appropriate to use from the government's coffers.

“Who knew one partner project would lead to us saving the world together?” He added offhandedly with almost a nostalgic sort of whimsy.

“Are you ready to be a team player this time, though?” You asked, eyebrow raised. “The rumors say you enjoy flying solo.”

“I fly solo when it's dangerous,” he corrected. Which, you guessed, was most of the time in his line of work.

“So you're saying this mission isn't dangerous?”

“A poker game?” He laughed. “The only dangerous thing about it is gonna be how fast I'm going to win.”

The Hotel Splendide was as splendid as its name suggested. The grand, white limestone facade was carved with arched windows and statues, sleek columns and balconies. This side faced out into the waterfront, giving all arriving patrons a beautiful view of the port.

Changmin directed his car into the cobblestone roundabout at the front of the hotel. When he brought the vehicle to a stop, a bellboy in a maroon colored uniform opened your car door for you and offered a hand to help you out.

“Thank you,” you murmured, rolling your neck and stretching your limbs from the hour-long car ride.

Changmin emerged from the driver's side with his keys in hand, speaking to another attendant about being careful with his vehicle. He rounded the car just as the bellboy grabbed your duffle from the backseat.

“Welcome to the Hotel Splendide. This way to the check-in counter please,” the bellboy said, gesturing toward the front door, framed by an amber-toned awning and crowned in a myriad of flags from around the world.

You felt Changmin's palm warm the small of your back as you clutched your laptop purse in your hands. “Of course, thank you.”

The hotel’s foyer was just as magnificent as its outside. A crystalline chandelier hung from the high-domed ceiling, painting the room in a luxurious champagne gold, while the marble floors were lined in a deep crimson velvet. The front desk was to your immediate left with a number of staff stationed behind it.

The woman you and Changmin went to greeted you both with a polite smile. “Welcome to the Hotel Splendide. May I have the name of your reservation, please?”

“Ji,” your friend answered, “James Ji.”

Your eyebrows flew to your hairline.

“Ah,” the woman said, “but of course, Mr. Ji. Yours and your assistant's suite has been prepared for your arrival.”

Assistant? While she readied the key cards for you, you met Changmin’s gaze with a number of questions in your eyes. He only answered with a helpless expression.

Assistant? As if.

For fear of jeopardizing the mission by correcting the cover MI6 so generously assigned you, you reluctantly kept your mouth shut.

The desk clerk pushed a pair of cards across the polished wood toward you and Changmin—key cards. “These are your keys for your stay in room 700. All amenities, such as room service and the spa, are included in the fees you paid while booking. Your luggage will be delivered to your room for you. Anything you might need may be addressed via the phone in your suite or here at the front desk.”

(Assistant? Did you look like a fucking assistant?)

Changmin collected the room keys and passed you one. “Excellent, thank you. Did any mail arrive for me?”

“Yes, sir. A small parcel was delivered directly to your suite, as well as several garment bags. You'll find them in your wardrobe. Is that all?”

With nothing else to be addressed, you and Changmin thanked the front desk attendant and you were shuttled toward the elevators at the end of the hall. It was a good thing the elevator carriage made a swift arrival, because as soon as the doors slid closed, you let your frustrations be known.

“Assistant?” You exclaimed, gesticulating frustratedly. “Out of all the cover options? That woman probably thinks I'm your mistress!”

“I didn't choose it,” Changmin said, raising his palms in surrender. Though, it was clear by his expression that he was at least amused by your reaction.

You rolled your eyes, then narrowed them and crossed your arms over your chest. “What if you were the assistant, hm? Why aren't I the rich lady with a handsome secretary I take on vacation with me?”

His grin was teasing as he leaned closer to you, your breath hitching for a split second. There was a brief moment where your senses were fully engulfed by the smell of his cologne and the way a lock of his hair curled over his forehead. “You think I'm handsome?”

As if the universe could feel the warmth rising to your cheeks, the elevator doors mercifully opened onto the seventh floor.

He leaned away, something self-satisfied playing on his mouth as he returned his hand to your back. “Okay,” he drawled, “say I'm your handsome assistant…”

“I'm never living that down, am I?” You groaned, already feeling the headache spike in your temples. Your eyes fluttered about the corridor you entered; it was just as beautiful as the lobby downstairs, but with a slightly moodier glow to the lights as if not to disturb any of the patrons on this floor should they wish for an escape from downstair's hustle and bustle.

“Imagine if Chanhee found out you'd said that.”

“Don't get me started on Chanhee.” Room 700 appeared in your sight, and you smacked your key card against the card reader before letting yourself into the room. As the lights flickered on, you asked Changmin from over your shoulder, “Have you heard from him recently, by the way?”

Chanhee was a mutual friend from your college days. While he was technically a closer friend to Changmin, you'd met Chanhee through Changmin after your partner project and grabbed dinner together every once in a while whenever Chanhee was in town.

You were already making a beeline to the bathroom when you heard the hotel room door close and lock behind Changmin. “Recently? Depends on your definition of ‘recently.’”

The sound of your sigh echoed as you absentmindedly fixed your hair in the reflection. Train hair wasn't as poor as airplane hair, that was for sure. “He misses you,” you said in a singsong tone.

“Is that right?” He chuckled. “I'll shoot him a text then.”

He appeared in the reflection behind you holding two black garment bags, one in each hand. He'd shed his suit jacket somewhere, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to expose his forearms. “These are ours for tonight,” he said to you, handing you the one with your name on it.

Ah, tonight. “Thanks,” you said, taking a peek inside to see what exactly was prepared for you. Your curiosity piqued at the sight of deep wine red fabric, but you didn't look any further for the time being.

“Are you ready for tonight?” He asked, stealing a glance at you as he brushed his hair back in the mirror.

At the proximity of tonight's events, you suddenly felt your heart rate climb. Before when this was only an assignment, the gravity of the situation hadn't fallen over you yet. But now that it was your current reality, it began to rush at you with the speed of an oncoming train.

You steeled your nerves. You were tapped to carry out this task for a reason. The only thing you had to do was be wary of Changmin's spending; he was doing the heavy lifting. Even if you were about to be in a room with a few dozen other dangerous people.

You swallowed, nodding. “Ready as I'll ever be.”

He pressed his lips together, his dimples appearing in his cheeks but not because of joy. There was a step forward, then another. “Hey,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, “I won't let anything bad happen to you or to anybody; that's what I'm here for.”

He draped his garment over his arm and leaned against the bathroom counter beside you. “If we both do our jobs right, we'll be fine. Do you know who our target is? Just so you're aware of who to look out for.”

You nodded, “Le Chiffre.” That was the name of the host of tonight's poker game. He was high on the MI6's most wanted list, and tonight was a critical effort to put a stop to his movements, as well as the credibility he had with his clients. You'd seen pictures of this man—the cold of his eyes and the pale scar that disabled one of his pupils—you were well aware of what he looked like.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then you stay far away from him, got it, sweetheart?”

“Got it.”

Though the gravity of the situation hung heavy in the room after that conversation, Changmin ordered the two of you room service before you needed to prepare for the poker game. You figured food in your stomach would keep you grounded and lessen the nerves trilling through you and making your extremities feel cold to the touch.

Dinner shared in the privacy of your hotel room with an old friend was pleasant. You both sat on the couch sectional next to each other, his arm laid casually over the back of where you sat, as you caught up and dined. There was something oddly warm in his eyes… you didn't know what it was that made him seem so clued into what you were saying, as if he was spellbound. You figured it must be the training he underwent; after all, if he couldn't just muscle his way to an answer, then seduction was also a powerful tool at his disposal.

You just wondered why it was seeping into his interaction with you. Perhaps it became second nature for him to be this way—to lean into every word you said, to brighten at the sound of your laugh, to mirror every smile. To make you feel like you were the only person in his world and that you were all that mattered.

By the time nine o'clock rolled around and you were in the bathroom preparing for the game, your nerves had calmed considerably.

The dress that MI6 provided you was a deep wine evening gown that hugged your upper body and cascaded down the length of your legs before it hung just above your feet. The satin was gathered and left to create a cowl at the neckline, and somebody had thought it was a fabulous idea to leave a high slit in one side all the way up to mid-thigh height. (One wrong move and you were screwed.)

It was as if a river of wine physically wrapped around you as a garment for the night.

Though you appreciated the beauty of it, it only served to make you realize that perhaps controlling Changmin's spending wasn't your only job tonight; your other purpose was to distract everyone else. You weren't sure how you felt about that.

A knock sounded at the bathroom door just as you were fitting on a pair of matching ruby earrings. “Yn?”

“Just a second,” you said. You pushed the earring backing into place and hustled over to open the door. “I'm just finishing… hey.”

Changmin had changed into an all-black suit, a classic piece of uniform that was tailored perfectly to his proportions. His eyes were hooded and dark as he drank you in like a glass of Pinot Noir.

A low whistle drifted out from his lips. “If I'm being honest, you might be a liability in this dress.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said, turning back to return to the bathroom counter.

Changmin trailed after you, almost dumbfounded, like he'd forgotten why he'd knocked on the door in the first place.

You tried to suppress your smile as you handed him his comb. “See something you like?”

His eyes met yours in the mirror, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “I do.”

Your expression shuttered in the mirror having not expected that reply at all.

Changmin cleared his throat, stepping to your side to fix his hair with practiced grace. In no time, his appearance was complete, and he was heading out of the bathroom, his cologne lingering by you.

When you were satisfied, you turned off the bathroom light on your way out to meet Changmin in the main room. He was by the safe, fitting a fresh magazine into a silver pistol with skilled hands. He felt your gaze on the weapon and passed you a glance. “We can't carry weapons into the room,” he told you, “but it's a good idea to have one ready here.”

You bobbed your head in agreement, though you felt your shoulders tighten.

He locked up the safe before making his way toward you. “Do you know how to use one of these?” He asked.

You shook your head. “It was never in my job description,” you said quietly. “I hope you don't have to use it.”

There was a graveness to his gaze now. “I hope I don't have to either.” Because both of you knew, if it came down to it, he wouldn't hesitate.

The room where it happened was deep in the bowels of the hotel, somewhere below the casino floor and above the core of the earth. To get in, one was required an exclusive invitation, which was the item Changmin had received in the small parcel from earlier in the afternoon.

You and Changmin arrived on the scene arm in arm, your posture straight in an effort to come off as nonchalant. As you descended the velvet-lined stairs into the basement room, you were confronted by a pair of broad-shouldered bodyguards with body scanners in their hands. After retrieving Changmin's invitation, you were both scanned separately for security, before being granted entry.

The playing room was on the smaller side with a fully equipped bar on the furthest wall of the room. The centerpiece was an oval table, barred off with railings for spectators to lean on while the game was played. There were a sprinkling of others here, both players and their guests.

Your initial scan of the room, unsurprisingly, produced no familiar faces—but your arm tightened around Changmin's when you caught sight of the man of the hour. Le Chiffre stood on the opposite side of the room, nursing a coup glass of liquor as he spoke in low tones with another man. From this angle, you could see the cut of his one glassy eye and the angry scar that marred his face.

“Our four o'clock,” you muttered between your teeth to your counterpart.

Changmin glanced over out of his peripheral vision, nodding subtly. “How about a drink, sweetheart?” He asked you, his voice slightly louder than your own.

You gave a small smile, and he began to lead you over to the bar.

As the two of you moved, you couldn't shake the feeling of eyes trailing after you, something akin to spidersilk clinging to your limbs that you could never quite brush off. It was no secret that you were one of the few women in the room.

When you reached the bar, Changmin flagged the bartender down. “A vodka martini, please—shaken, not stirred—and a mint julep for the lady.”

“Right away, sir.”

You looked over at Changmin with an impressed purse of your lips. “You remembered,” you mused.

The corner of his lip tilted upward. “How could I forget?”

With your drinks served to you, you gently sipped on your mint julep. It wouldn't do you well to get drunk tonight; you just needed a little liquid courage.

From your side, Changmin stared out into the crowd, likely assessing his opponents in the room. He made a small noise of consideration that made you prompt him. He answered lowly, “You see the man to our nine o'clock?—”

You followed his instructions and casted a single glance that way. At the other end of the bar stood a man in a gray suit, nursing a rum and coke in his hands as he assessed the room for himself.

“—Lee Juyeon. CIA.”

Your eyebrows flicked upward. “Interesting. Are they after our man, too?”

“Good chance that they are,” he said and raised his glass to his lips. He swallowed the last of his drink and set the empty glass behind him, leaning the elbow closest to you against the bar behind him. “Know how to play poker?”

“I’m more of a Go Fish girl, actually.”

He sputtered a laugh, and you smiled into your glass. “You're kidding. Not even a little?”

“Go fish, Mr. Ji,” you said and gestured to him with your glass. “Do tell though, since your boss seems to have so much faith in you. What's the secret to winning poker?”

You hadn't even realized how close your faces were tilted toward each other until you registered the smell of his drink on his breath and the shine on his lips. For a plot second, you swore his eyes even dared a glance away from your own.

Neither of you backed away from the other and remained in the intimate gray space.

“The secret?” He parroted, cocking an eyebrow. He tugged at his bottom lip. “The secret is figuring out what everyone else's tells are. It's about bluffing and strategy. If you can figure out how to tell when a person is lying, then you're practically set.”

You hummed. “I see. So what's my tell?”

“Your tell?” His gaze on you was hot and heavy as his eyes devoured you slowly but surely for yet another instance tonight. You could no longer ignore the rapid hammering of your heart, its insistent palpitations threatening to expose you to the man you swore could already see right through you.

His lips pulled into a slow smile, the kind you couldn't decide if it really was a smile or a smirk. “That’s for me to know, and you to figure out.”

“You don't know then.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

A hush fell over the room. You followed everyone's eyes up to the man who had summoned the room's attention. Le Chiffre stood atop the poker table's platform with a small laptop seated upon the table's edge.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the game,” he greeted coolly. “We will begin this evening's festivities with an introduction to our security protocols. This device—” he gestured to the computer, “—is fully secured to store and activate all of the night's betting money. Each player will enter a six-character code, unique to them, that will grant them access to the winning sum—should they win.”

A small murmur of laughter amongst the crowd; you didn't find it funny.

“We will begin with Mrs. Takeuchi.”

One by one, each of the players present tonight came forward to input a six-charactered passcode of their choosing. When Changmin was summoned forward, you watched as his expression became a careful, unreadable slate. He strode up toward the poker table, eyes never leaving Le Chiffre and Le Chiffre's never leaving Changmin. You could feel the tension in the room tighten, and Changmin confidently input his desired password.

When he pressed ENTER, you swore you could feel the fifteen million dollars being locked into the pot. Fifteen million was a shit ton of cash. The amount you were not willing to go beyond was twenty million. As long as Changmin played safe and played well, it wouldn't be a problem.

Not before long, the players were all summoned to the table. You sent Changmin off with a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder, and followed behind him to find a space at the railing to watch.

Changmin settled in the chair directly across from Le Chiffre.

The dealer passed out two cards to every player, each of whom hoarded a stack of chips and rectangular plaques that valued up to fifteen million. As the dealer revealed the four cards before him—two jokers, a king, and an ace—the game was on.

You weren't even sure what you were looking for, but the sinking feeling in your gut would not fade the entire game. You held onto your mint julep until it was drained, eyes trained on the cards lying face down in Changmin's hands as he watched Le Chiffre across from him like a hawk.

He was looking for his tell, you realized.

The match was tense. You couldn't pull your gaze away, for fear of missing some minute detail, even if each move made was technically quite large. In the beginning, however, it felt as though everyone was playing it safer, for fear of getting out too early.

The night was young, and it would do none of them any good if they lucked out of a pot of at least one hundred million.

You watched Changmin, who watched Le Chiffre. You noted the way Le Chiffre would occasionally bring his left hand up to his scarred eye… was that his tell?

It was nearing one hour when it was only Changmin and Le Chiffre who had yet to fold. The dealer called for Changmin to make his move, and you looked over to your counterpart as the gears turned and twisted in his mind.

“I'm all in,” he decided, and shifted his entire pile into the center, mounting up to some amount close to twelve million.

You pressed the backs of your knuckles to your lips in anticipation of Le Chiffre's move. The man did not cower, but rather, called his bet. He moved his pile of fourteen million to the center. All in.

“Gentlemen,” the dealer gestured for their cards to be revealed.

They flipped their cards into view—you could feel the scandal rocket through the crowd.

“A pair of jacks. Monsieur Le Chiffre wins. This marks the halfway point of the match; we will return in one hour to resume, with the big blind set at two hundred thousand.”

Everyone around the table, both players and spectators, began to dissipate to find something to distract them for the hour-long break.

Changmin's posture was taut as a bowstring as Le Chiffre pulled his mouth into a sly smirk across from him. “Ah, Mr. Ji. You must have interpreted my tell wrong. Off your game tonight, don't you think?”

A muscle feathered in the agent's jaw. “I wouldn't be so quick to boast,” he drawled. “The game's not over yet.”

You didn't know what to say, but you knew one thing was for certain—no matter what, you and Changmin could not let Le Chiffre leave tonight with the jackpot. And as Changmin departed the table with a crease between his brows but his head held high, you knew what was on his mind, as well.

“Need a drink?” You asked, as he met you where you stood.

Changmin shook his head. “No, I'm alright,” he said, glancing about. He nudged the back of your shoulder with his fingers, guiding you toward the exit. “Let's get out of this room for a moment though.”

You weren't going to argue with that decision, and the two of you linked arms and made your departure.

When the cool air in the lobby swept over you and all the tension in your body left for a brief moment of paradise. It was so stifling down in that room; you were almost thankful to be wearing this dress.

You and Changmin lingered at the top of the railing that looked down into the lobby from the second flood, heads close together. “What now?” You asked him.

“I need more money.”

“I can give you five million, but that's my limit, Changmin,” you told him firmly.

His brows crossed together. “Five million isn't enough to go toe to toe with a guy who just ended round one with thirty—”

“That's not my fault; this is policy.” You knew the world hung in the balance, but while that was his job, this was yours. You sighed. “Maybe I can contact someone about approving more, but right now, five million is our only option. Do we not have a plan B?”

Changmin's lips pressed into a line. “Plan B is hoping he does something fucking illegal in front of my face, and praying that reinforcements come in fast enough to take him away.”

Now it was your turn for your brows to crease. “Why do we have to wait for him to do something illegal? Don't we know he's a criminal?”

“We're onto him, yes, but there has been no tangible proof that he's a corrupt banker,” Changmin admitted tersely. He absentmindedly rubbed his jaw with his palm. “If we could just—”

“Ji.”

Both you and Changmin straightened. Coming toward you from down the hall was Lee Juyeon, the CIA agent Changmin had pointed out to you earlier.

You didn't fail to notice the way Changmin blocked you from Juyeon's view with his body. “Lee,” Changmin greeted back.

Juyeon nodded to you in hello with a warm smile, and you lifted your hand to wave. He seemed decent enough.

Changmin’s eyes narrowed as he shifted so he stood next to you now, an obvious arm slung around your waist. “I didn't know the CIA was on this.”

“I didn't know the MI6 was on this,” Juyeon fired back. He let out a sigh that sounded about as stressed as you were. “I wanted to propose a deal with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, well—” Juyeon cupped the back of his neck with one hand. “I'm not the most adept poker player,” he confessed. If you remembered correctly, he nearly lost half his money throughout round one—then again, Changmin lost all of his. According to Le Chiffre, it was because he had read his tell incorrectly; you must have interpreted the wrong one, too. “And I figured that I'm not going to be making enough right moves in the second round to even stand a chance against Le Chiffre. You've got the balls to go up against him, and I know you're down a few bucks, so I wanted to bow out of the round and stake you instead.”

Both you and Changmin glanced at one another in surprise.

Juyeon was backing out… and wanted to stake Changmin? Stake, meaning to invest or sponsor him; to give Changmin funds.

Changmin's eyes narrowed. “And what would I do for you in return?”

“You would give the CIA Le Chiffre.”

What other choice did you and Changmin have? Five million was not enough to make a winning comeback; at least being sponsored would give Changmin enough cushion to make some more mistakes. The allyship between your governments was enough to make the CIA taking Le Chiffre in the end seem like a victory.

Changmin exhaled and stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

The second round was no less tense than the first. Changmin entered with more determination and fury than before, and Le Chiffre was no short of amusement and arrogance.

After Juyeon made his official departure from the game, he came to stand by you to spectate and offer insights wherever he could. The game chugged on by for another half hour with bets being placed, drinks being sipped, and money being exchanged.

You watched Changmin reach for his glass again, only to pause. There was a moment where you didn't breathe, and you watched his hand retract up toward his shirt collar to loosen it.

“Something wrong, Mr. Ji?” Le Chiffre asked.

You squinted at him, disliking the sinking feeling that had returned to your gut.

“Break,” Changmin suddenly called out, as he stumbled out of his seat and pushed out of the room in a hurry.

Eyes widened, you bolted after him, leaving Juyeon to wonder what had happened to Changmin.

You called out to your partner as he stumbled into the elevator, and you crashed in after him. “Oh my—fuck. What the fuck happened?” You asked as Changmin toppled over into you, sweat dripping down his face and his skin growing more and more flushed.

You jammed the button for your floor in a hurry as you attempted to hold him upright. “God, you're heavy, man—”

“Poison,” he choked out, practically ripping his shirt collar open, as if it was constricting his breathing. He gasped for air and clung onto you like a lifeboat.

Panic seized you by the heart and squeezed hard. “Oh my god. Okay—uhm, okay. What do we do? Changmin, what do we do?”

The elevator arrived on the seventh floor, and you half dragged Changmin toward your room. “The—the antid—antidote—”

“The antidote! We have an antidote?” You didn't have time to question him as you retrieved your room card from within your dress and barged into the hotel suite.

You deposited Changmin onto the floor as quickly and carefully as you could, hands shaking as you helped to take his shirt off so he could breathe.

“Safe,” he gasped to you.

“The safe? Fuck, what's the code?” You asked, clambering to your feet and racing over to the black box in the wall.

You heard him choke out the four digits, and the safe swung open without ceremony. You rifled around the contents and retrieved an aluminum foil packet with a slim syringe inside. “Found it!” You cried and practically slid across the floor to get back to him.

You ripped the packet open as Changmin's breathing continued to shallow, his skin paling, and his body growing weaker. His left palm had landed somewhere on his thigh—inject here.

“Shit,” you swore, grimacing to yourself before stabbing the syringe into his leg.

As soon as the liquid was gone, all you could do was pray.

But the storm clouds were beginning to clear, and color slowly returned to Changmin's face. You sank back onto your heels, relief and adrenaline coursing through you.

“Fucking hell, that was a close—”

White hot pain flashed through you as something—someone—grabbed you by your hair and yanked. Your scream pierced through the silence, and it was nearly enough to wake the dead.

They were dragging you backward toward the door, and you reached up to claw at their hands, your skull feeling as if it was being pulled into a million directions while being set ablaze, all at once.

“Let—go!” You screeched, thrashing around. You couldn't see your captor, but they suddenly released their grip on you.

Relief was short-lived.

Your head whipped to the side as a shoe met your cheek. Stars danced in your vision, and you cried out in pain—and then you begged. You were certain Changmin was still recovering, hardly in a state to save you, and desperation began to claw itself into your heart.

Your body was hoisted up beneath your armpits and you squirmed, fighting for your life.

For a second, you were sure you heard Changmin call out your name.

You threw your elbow back into your attacker's face, then tried the back of your head—the sound of pain and bones cracking echoing in your eardrum.

“You bitch!” They roared, loosening their grip to feel their broken nose.

You were a mess as you landed on the ground. A gleam of silver caught your eye. The gun.

Adrenaline seized you and you made a mad dash for the table where the gun was stowed beneath.

Your opponent caught your ankle and dragged you back down to earth. There was no time to mourn over bruised knees and limbs, and you kicked your heels out behind you in a blind fury, desperate to get away.

“Yn—”

“Please,” you screamed, begged. Whoever that was—you just wanted this to end. Fear coursed through you as your body began moving backwards and was dragged back to the door.

You dug your fingers against the polished ground, unsuccessfully gaining purchase. You clutched at a chair leg and dragged it along with you, and felt the hand around your ankle tighten—

With all your strength, you took the chair and heaved it back toward your captor. He let out a garbled swear, only agitated by your continued resistance. The hand around your ankle disappeared and you took it as an opportunity to get away.

“Not so fast.”

Your body hit the ground, the back of your head making purchase against stone. This time, you saw your assailant—he was one of the guards from earlier, likely working under Le Chiffre's orders. Blood dribbled down his lower face, courtesy of your retaliation.

“I should just kill you here and now,” he growled and enclosed his meaty hands around your neck. “Won't make a difference.”

You struggled against him, but to no avail. Your windpipe was being crushed and your vision blurred.

You thrashed and scratched and kicked—this was the end. Oh god, was this the end?—

A shot rang out.

Air slowly began seeping into your airway and you hacked a cough around the hands that had fallen away from your throat.

The dead body above you was heavy and sticky, and the smell of iron permeated your nose like a nightmare. You didn't even realize your cheeks were damp until you blinked and tears filled your eyes.

You nearly died just then.

With a suppressed sob, you shoved the dead body off you with all of your remaining strength.

There, by the table, was Changmin and the smoking gun in his hand. He still looked only half conscious, but he'd managed to get himself to sit up with pure willpower, enough to reach the gun stashed beneath the table, and to aim and fire a shot.

The room was quiet for a few moments, other than the persistent ringing in your ears.

Then you let yourself cry—it shook through your body and shoulders in violent sobs.

Changmin's chest clenched painfully at the sound, and the gun clattered out of his hand so he could crawl his way over to you. His hair, his face, his clothes were all dampened in sweat and the empty syringe laid abandoned on the floor. He made it over to where you were, the red of your dress mixed with the blood of a dead man, and held your body close to his.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered against your hair, lips pressed against your crown. “You’re okay; we're okay now,” he promised.

With his strength slowly returning to him, Changmin sat himself upright and let your body lean against him. You grappled onto him so tightly, as if he might slip out of your grasp.

It was almost thirty minutes later that you and Changmin returned to the poker game. With some gentle coaxing, he got you into the shower to wash the blood away, but you couldn't get the icky feeling clinging to you. He'd been gentle, though, letting you sit beneath the stream in your dress as he got onto the shower floor with you to run the water and soap through your hair.

In his hold, he rocked you gently through the tremors. “No one's gonna hurt you anymore, sweetheart,” he rasped. Never again, not if he could help it.

You'd never seen him like that—all the tenderness in his gaze out in the open.

And you'd only seen it when you glanced up at him once; the rest of the time, you tucked your chin to your knees, staring at a tile.

Unnerved but still alive, you entered the room with another clean dress, and Changmin with another clean set of clothes. You returned to your place beside Juyeon, and Changmin went back to the table to face Le Chiffre.

Le Chiffre, however, looked as if he'd seen a ghost. His eyes had widened just a millimeter, but it was enough.

Changmin dragged up the sleeves of his dress shirt, a predatorial-like gleam in his eyes. You almost killed me. Even worse, you dared to lay a dirty hand on her. “Sorry about that,” he drawled, gaze lifting to meet Le Chiffre's, “seemed that last hand nearly killed me.”

His opponent swallowed.

The game resumed.

With the final phase in play, the dealer announced that there could be no more buy-ins. Juyeon had fetched you a drink, which you were most grateful for, and Changmin avoided all beverages for the remainder of the game.

“Everything alright?” Juyeon asked you quietly as you chugged your drink.

“Perfectly.” You handed the drink off to a waiter nearby and smiled tightly. “We were just strategizing on how to murder this game.” You hoped he didn't hear the tremor in your voice.

As the final round approached, each of the four finalists that were left alive were asked to make their bets. Each player slowly, but surely, slid all of their remaining chips into the center.

Everyone was all in.

“Reveal your cards, if you please.”

One by one, the cards in each player's hand was turned. The room held its collective breath as Le Chiffre revealed an ace and a six—a fuller house, with three aces and two sixes.

All that was left were Changmin's.

With little more than an arched brow, he slid his cards apart: a five and seven, both of which were spades. When joined together with the rest, they made—

“A straight flush,” announced the dealer. “Monsieur Ji wins the game.”

Cheers and applause rang out throughout the room as the game finally came to a close. Relief soared through you, and you shook hands with Juyeon at Changmin's success. Perhaps twenty million had been spent, but it all meant that you had won back that money in full.

From your standpoint, you couldn't see Le Chiffre's reaction, but he didn't look pleased. He stormed out of the room only moments later.

Changmin was swift to join the two of you, his hand coming to lie on your shoulder. “We should go after him,” he said.

Juyeon nodded, expression sobering. “You're right.”

“I'm going with you,” you told him. Already anticipating his refusal, you shut him down with a look. Though you might have been shaken from the night's near-death experience, it only seemed to steel over your resolve to catch this bastard. “I'm safer with you; don't try to argue with me.”

He knew you were right—you saw the reluctant agreement in his eyes. He grunted, “Okay, but you're staying behind me the entire time and when I say run, you better run.”

You patted his chest and followed after Juyeon. “Of course.”

The three of you raced after Le Chiffre in the direction he disappeared. He'd gone up to the second floor via the grand staircase in the lobby, but neither you nor the other boys knew which direction he went from there. The second floor was damn near close to a labyrinth.

“We split up,” Changmin declared. “Me and Yn go one way and Juyeon takes the other.”

“Wait, Juyeon goes alone?” You butted in. “Le Chiffre is dangerous and desperate; that combination isn't good for anybody.”

“None of us have any weapons either,” Juyeon pointed out.

Changmin gestured to you. From beneath the skirt of your new dress, you withdrew the pistol from earlier out into the light. After what happened in your suite, the both of you thought it best to let security measures be damned and holster a gun to your inner thigh. And now, it was proving to be the right decision.

Juyeon deadpanned, amending, “I don't have a weapon.”

“Then you should go get one,” Changmin said smartly. You rolled your eyes at him.

“I—shit.” Juyeon huffed in frustration. “Goddamn it. You better hold your promise, Ji.”

“My word is gold,” Changmin swore as you passed him the pistol. “We'll find Le Chiffre; you call for backup.”

With that matter settled, you grabbed Changmin's hand and set off in one direction.

His fingers tightened around you as you stuck close behind him. The corridor was hauntingly quiet with not a soul around. You and Changmin trudged onward and kept your eyes and ears open for anybody hiding behind a corner or waiting to enact revenge on your poker victory tonight.

The hair on your arms and the back of your neck stood erect, heart thundering loudly in your ears.

So loud, that you almost missed it.

You caught Changmin's eyes. Did you hear that?

There it was—it sounded like voices coming from a room further down the hall.

“—please, just a few more weeks, and I can get you your money back!”

A muffled response in return.

“NO! I swear, I'll do better! I have another i—”

You never heard the end of Le Chiffre's offer. There was only the sound of a metallic swish, followed by a dull weight hitting the ground. A body.

Your breath hitched as you and Changmin looked around wildly for a swift exit or cover. There was an emergency stairwell just a few doors down.

Changmin grabbed you and booked it.

Your breath caught in your throat as he pressed you against the open doorway, eyes flickering somewhere behind you to watch the door the voices had come from.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, eyes furiously searching your own.

You didn't have to think about it. “Yes.”

Just as a door opened in the hallway, Changmin cupped your jaw with his hand, braced himself against the doorway with the other, and kissed you.

Your eyes fluttered closed upon immediate impact and you felt your heart leap into your throat. His lips moved gently against your own, as if afraid of breaking you, and his hand moved down from your jaw to wrap around your waist to pull you flush against him.

One moment you were melting into his embrace, and the next, he was shoving you behind the other side of the doorway for cover.

A war cry rang out—not Changmin, you realized—as a body blurred past you and was thrown into the stairwell's metal railing. Your soul nearly left your body, head turning in time to throw yourself out of the way of the incoming bodies.

Changmin brawled and grappled on the floor with a second man, a silver machete glistening in the dim light, only a few centimeters from his throat. The first man was slowly beginning to stand up, and your eyes tracked where Changmin's gun had skidded to the floor.

You swiped the gun up just as Changmin wrestled his opponent off him.

With adrenaline powering through you, you smashed the butt of the gun against the back of the man's skull. He crumpled to the cement—unconscious.

“Here,” you breathed, helping Changmin to his feet and shoving the gun into his hand.

He shook his dizziness away, eyes widened on something behind you. “YN, DUCK!”

You swore, and dropped to the ground, narrowly missing the arc of the first man's machete attempting to remove the head from your shoulders.

You dove down the first set of stairs to get out of the way of the fight, your knees and hands scraping against the cement and bruising.

The man with the machete attacked Changmin with reckless abandon, swinging his blade and striking the railing to make sparks fly. Changmin had no opening to use his firearm and—oh shit. They were coming this way.

“Yn, you better be fucking running.”

He didn't need to tell you twice. You tumbled down more stairs, ditching your heels as you went. You would be useless in this fight, so your best action would be to get the fuck out of the way.

Changmin's breath flew out of his chest as he hit the wall hard, then stuck his hands out in time to stop the assassin from impaling his head on the sword. Changmin drove his knee into his stomach, then threw him across the stairs to the opposite landing.

The fight clambered on down the spiral stairwell, metal clashing against metal, and bone and flesh grinding against stone. Changmin gritted his teeth as he fumbled backwards down the stairs, hitting the opposing wall with even more momentum.

He ducked—and missed another swing; and another; and another.

There was a kick to his gut, and his body went flying. His assailant took a leaping start and charged. Changmin grabbed at his hands again, desperately attempting to wrestle the machete away.

The weapon went sailing; that was his opening.

With pure adrenaline, Changmin fisted the man's shirt and flung him over whatever railing was left. You cursed as his body hit the basement floor with a thump.

Changmin tackled him as he attempted to climb to his feet. With the violent thrashing, Changmin ended up beneath him, his arm wrapped tightly around his opponent's neck, and he squeezed.

The man's arm flopped about, desperately reaching for the gun that scattered onto the floor from all the ruckus. If he could just reach it—

You lunged for the gun, tripping as the man clawed at your ankle to throw you off. You shrieked, swinging the barrel at his hand to knock it away.

When you finally managed to scramble backward, you watched the light fade in the assassin's eyes.

As soon as the man slumped in death, Changmin loosened his grip and crawled out from beneath the body.

You clambered over to him and helped him to his feet, his joints and muscles screaming as he attempted to straighten. He groaned, white-knuckling the railing, “Fucking hell.”

“Are you okay? Holy shit, Changmin,” you said, wrapping your arms around him to hold him up. There had been too many close calls there.

You passed a glance over at the corpse lying on the floor about a meter away from you. A shudder rippled down your spine, and you felt Changmin's hand on your forearm, like he knew.

From up above, you heard the sound of the stairwell door opening. The two of you peered straight upwards as a familiar face peered over the landing.

“Le Chiffre's dead,” said Juyeon. In his hand was a pistol; it seemed he finally retrieved his firearm.

“No shit,” you and Changmin replied simultaneously, chests heaving up and down in laborious panting.

Juyeon blinked, squinting his eyes to take in your appearances. “What the fuck happened to you guys?”

“Careful,” you called up to him, “that guy isn't dead.”

Juyeon jolted and he considered the body at his feet with new awareness.

You threw one of Changmin's arms around you to begin the ascent back up. “Can you—fuck. Is that yours?” You swore for the thousandth time tonight as you peered over at the growing dark splotch of red seeping through Changmin's shirt.

He hung his head as strength rapidly bled out of him with his own life force, and you carefully laid Changmin down on the ground.

“Juyeon!” You called out. “Juyeon, help!”

You heard rapid footsteps in the distance, but it faded to background noise as you ripped open Changmin's shirt and came face to face with the vicious knife wound in his abdomen. “Oh my god,” you whispered. God, there was so much blood.

“Cover the wound, Yn,” Juyeon said to you as he leapt down the final steps. “Fuck, this looks bad.”

“He must not have begun to feel it until the adrenaline was over,” you reasoned in a desperate attempt to keep your head on straight. Per Juyeon's instructions, you pressed your palms over the wound, bile rising in your throat from all the blood. “Changmin—Changmin, come on. Stay with me.”

He murmured something you couldn't hear, and you leaned your ear down over his lips. “Come on, talk to me, love. Tell me something, anything.”

His voice came out, barely there. “I'm… I'm glad I got—I got to see you again.”

And he would see you again. That was a promise you made to yourself, and to him, as Juyeon called for his reinforcements and you clung onto Ji Changmin's life with your own.

When Changmin came to, it was bright enough to blind him. There was a fuckass beam of sunlight shining right into his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, wrinkling his face into a grimace. There was a violent throbbing in his abdominal area that ached when he attempted to roll over or sit up.

Was he dead?

“You're not dead.”

His body immediately relaxed into the sheets he was settled in. When his eyes grew accustomed to the god awful amount of light in the room, he was met by the sight of your face, silhouetted against the sun, and beautiful. “Are you sure? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you're an angel.”

Your palm came over to rest against his forehead, and his eyes fluttered shut. “You must still have that fever,” you teased.

When you both shared a laugh, he opened his eyes again.

It seemed he was in a hospital room—well, something akin to that. It looked more like a small bedroom was transformed into one, and he laid on the bed with a heart rate monitor hooked up to him on the side. You perched on the edge of his bed with a cardigan draped over your frame, and something soft in your eyes.

No, he was definitely in heaven. Maybe he didn't die, but he was in heaven.

Your expression sobered as your hand drifted down to caress the side of his face. “You lost a lot of blood,” you whispered. “I was really worried about you.”

Changmin brought his hand up to gently take your wrist and turn your palm inward, his lips meeting your hand in a butterfly kiss. “Hey, sweetheart. I'm alright now, see?” He intertwined your fingers, missing the feeling of how they felt interlocked in the hotel hallway.

The hotel hallway—the fight—Le Chiffre—the kiss. His lips seared at the memory, and he fought the urge to touch his lips at the phantom sensation.

“What happened?” He croaked out instead, gazing up at you. His heart tugged against its confines when he made out the shape of dark purple smudged against your cheekbone. It was the bruise forming from the guard who came after you, and it made Changmin ache to see.

Hurt, you'd been so hurt.

You shifted your body so you could tuck your feet onto the bed, too. “Juyeon came with reinforcements and we got you out of there as soon as possible. One of Le Chiffre's clients killed him—the guys you fought with in the stairwell. Apparently he'd used their money to buy into the game, and because he wasn't able to win, they killed him.”

Changmin stared up at the eggshell-colored ceiling. He supposed that would have been the tangible evidence needed to convict Le Chiffre, but his client was faster at acting as judge, jury, and executioner.

“M's on her way to meet with you,” you continued, your thumb gently tracing dizzying circles onto the back of his hand.

“To be expected,” he chuckled. He glanced back up at you. “How are you? Were you hurt at all?”

You shook your head. “No, nothing to your extent. There were a few scratches and bruises, but nothing time won't heal.”

“And everything else?” Your mental state, especially after all you went through, could not have been in a terrific place. If he could have prevented you from experiencing any of what happened, he would do it in a heartbeat.

The pure fear that speared through his chest when he thought you were about to die…

He had long since figured out that what he felt for you was not simply platonic. It was more—he yearned for more. Seeing you again after so long just made it worse.

You made a noncommittal noise. “I'll… I'll be alright.”

For a moment, the room filled with only silence and the white noise from the heart rate monitor. You suddenly perked up at something, and turned to reach over to grab an item from the side table. Changmin recognized the small laptop device from the poker game now seated on your lap.

“The money pit from the game was stored in escrow in a Swiss bank. A representative from the bank delivered this to us,” you explained, showing him the screen. It left room for a passcode to be filled in. “To the victor go the spoils, love.”

The nickname made him shudder and he forced himself into an upright position.

“Changmin—”

“I got it,” he countered and stubbornly gritted his teeth through the pain until he was seated against the headboard next to you. He clutched his injury, head knocked back against the wood. “Well? Wanna guess the password?”

You lifted your brows in amusement. “Do you know how many six letter combinations exist out there? For all I know, it was a random keyboard smash.”

He chuckled lowly, leaning his chin against your shoulder. “S.”

We're really doing this? You seemed to ask with the expression on your face. You humored him, though, pressing down on the S key.

“W.”

The letters that followed amounted to S-W-T-H-R-T. You were quiet for a second as you stared at the final combination; you didn't want to press the enter key just yet.

Changmin murmured against your shoulder. “I'm not one for corny messages, but that's a 'sweetheart’ if I've ever seen one.”

You were still quiet as you pressed enter and unlocked the winner's pot. There was no special celebration, no balloons or confetti—just a solid number with too many zeroes for your little heart to handle. Perhaps, in the end, there really was no amount of money in the world that could buy your company. Not if you freely gave it, at least.

Changmin felt his chest lurch. “Yn, sweetheart, say something.” He leaned off your shoulder so you could turn your body to face him, the laptop returning to its place on the side table.

“What should I say?” You asked, your fingers playing with his own in your two hands.

“I'm sorry if the kiss was too much.”

You faltered for a second. “It, uhm, it wasn't too much. I actually thought that it was nice.”

“You did?” He hated the way hope made him feel, how it made his heart sprout wings—maybe he was dead.

A small smile crawled onto your lips and you dug your teeth into your bottom lip. “Maybe I did.” You raised a hand to the side of your face, an embarrassed groan falling out of your mouth. “God, I feel like a teenager with a crush again.”

“Giddy?”

“Pathetic,” you teased. You leaned your head against the headboard again as you looked over at him with the most beautiful gleam in your eyes he had ever seen.

He never understood the romanticizing of someone's eyes—what else had he ever discerned but fear or boredom? But he could hear your laugh just by seeing your smile reach your eyes, and he could feel the warmth spreading in his chest and making electricity zip down his spine from the tenderness in your irises.

He swallowed hard. “If you feel pathetic, then I am literally chopped liver,” he said. A surge of courage, the kind that was a trademark of his reputation, propelled his next words: “I'd like to kiss you again.”

Your eyes darted to his lips and he clung onto that detail as if he were hanging by a thread. “Because you saved the world, Agent 007, you can kiss the girl,” you mused.

You leaned over him slightly and cupped the back of his head, mouth meeting his own in a familiar dance. Even with his injury, he pushed back to meet you, and ignored the throbbing in his stomach, so he could haul you closer, over, around him. Anything to get you pressed up against him.

Real—you were real, and you were alive, and so was he.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed! omg that permanent taglist looks SCARY 😭😭😭

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @vernonburger @maessseongs @ericlvr @mars101 @moonyswolf @your-mirae @richasdiary @deobi0412 @sunramzi @honeyrecommends @synthwxve @dearly-somber @empire-x @kflixnet

[knitwit1912]

Team Tadpole: Modern AU Disney World Edition

A friend and I started riffing on what would happen if Team Tadpole went to Disney World.

Halsin 100% has a different ear headband for every day of the trip

Astarion tries to pretend he's too cool for everything, but is in fact loving it and gets a little emotional when they go for lunch at Be Our Guest

Minthara is just wondering how in the hell she was talked into this for the first half of the trip but betrays her growing enthusiasm by screaming gleefully on Tron.

Wyll gets blushy and nervous at all the princess meet-and-greets (Astarion does not let him live this down)

They go to Mickey's Not-So-Scary Halloween Party and Lae'zel spends the entire time repeatedly riding Space Mountain because it's the one time it's 100% dark and as intense as Disney gets (she whines about going to Universal where they have "real rollercoasters")

Eating around the world: Gale, Halsin Drinking around the world: Astarion, Shadowheart, Karlach

Halsin laughs at all the dad jokes on the Jungle Cruise, Minthara seethes quietly, Astarion mumbles about whether he'd get banned from the park for jumping overboard

Karlach nearly gets the Mad Tea Party ride shut down for decontamination by spinning her teacup so hard the other occupants nearly lose their lunch

Minsc ties helium balloons to Boo until he floats. Otherwise he's carrying stuffies and huge amounts of food ("Gale, my foodie friend! Cheeseburger spring rolls; we must try these!")

Gale organizes the itinerary around dinner reservations (he's still a little sad everyone was like "HELL NO, GALE" when he floated the idea of doing the $425-per-person Chef's Table dinner at Victoria and Albert's)

"Which one would just run off and start causing chaos?" "Oh, Karlach. 100%. Well-meaning chaos, but chaos nonetheless."

Smuggler's Run positions: Pilot: Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Minthara (fistfight narrowly avoided by Jaheira splitting them into two groups) Gunner: Karlach, Wyll, Astarion Engineer: Gale, Halsin, Minsc

After the first 30 seconds of hearing the song on "Journey into Imagination" Astarion, Minthara and Lae'zel start discussing how they would like to kill Figment and settle on disembowelment (we will not discuss how "It's a Small World" goes)

Astarion and Shadowheart are Big Mad that the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique is for children only, because they are pretty pretty princesses. Karlach is sad for the same reason but manages to badger everyone (except Minthara) into getting pixie dusted, meaning they're all finding glitter on their clothing (and elsewhere) for weeks.

Halsin makes everyone take the train to Rafiki's Planet Watch just so he can pet the goats

Crying at "Happily Ever After" fireworks: Astarion, Karlach, Minsc Cuddling their crying partner: Halsin, Wyll, Gale Using the fireworks to ride the rides with no lineup: Lae'zel, Jaheira, Shadowheart, Minthara

Most likely to have watched every All Ears/Mammoth Club/Disney Food Blog guide: Gale, Lae'zel

Mostly likely do have done a reasonable amount of research and preparation: Wyll, Minthara, Jaheira, Shadowheart, Halsin

Least likely to have looked at anything that has the faintest whiff of planning prior to the trip, including the weather forecast: Astarion (therefore also most likely to have to spend $$$ for a spirit jersey because he didn't pack warm enough clothing.)

Most likely to figure out on the first day how to game Genie+ and makes it their life's work to get the most lightning lanes possible and the earliest Guardians of the Galaxy/Tron virtual queue boarding group: Lae'zel and Minthara

Halsin seriously suggests staying on a tent/RV campsite at Fort Wilderness; Astarion votes for concierge-level Grand Floridian

Person who always asks to squeeze in one more ride on Pirates of the Caribbean: Wyll Person who somehow always gets wettest on Pirates of the Caribbean: Gale or Astarion

[retronamic]

Arcane Women and their S/O at a Haunted House

..........yea I gave up on studying anywayssssss

TW: Gatekeeping, Gaslighting and Girlbossing

Gender Neutral! Reader

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Г Vi |

- Was actually the one who suggested that you guys try out the Haunted House. You weren’t so keen on the idea though. I mean running through a dim, musty room with people in costumes, grabbing and screaming at you wasn't exactly your ideal carnival date, but it was apart of Vi's. So being the amazing partner you are, you agreed.

- She could hear the reluctance in your answer. But don't worry, she vowed to protect you, and if you ever needed a strong bicep to grab onto....she's your girl.

- Wellllll what she vowed didn't translate well into what actually happened. Don't get me wrong, she DID protect you and you did have a strong bicep holding you up, buttttttt not in the way you imagined.

- Vi thought the best strategy was to throw you over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes and sprint through the house, ducking and dodging mfs that popped up randomly, and screaming her head off XD

- " (Y/N)?! You ok? Don't worry, we are almost at the end and I got you so- AAAAAHHHH BACK UP! BACK UP! DON'T MAKE ME PUNCH YOU THROUGH THAT WOLF HEAD!" (god you love this woman so much)

- The only thought you had through the whole ordeal was, "Why the hell would you suggest the damn haunted house knowing damn well you couldn't handle it?"

- When she finally let you down, you gave her the hardest death stare you could muster. When she saw your face, she knew she messed up. She felt bad for carrying around like a rag doll and also possibly threatening some of the workers too.

- "Hey (Y/N), I-I'm sorry about that whole thing. I just wanted to kinda show off a bit in front of you, but seems like I just messed that up. I'll make it up to you though, ummm we can go on any ride you want now. How about the ferri-" *Mwah*

- Staying mad at Vi is almost impossible for you. Watching her stutter and scratch at her neck trying to explain. She knew she messed up and let her pride get to her a bit, but when she pouted at you, you couldn't hold it.

- You just leaned in and gave her the biggest kiss on the cheek. You pulled away giggling and telling her that as the best ride you've been on, and you didn't mind being handled like a ragdoll. Plus the conductor was kinda cute too.

Г Sevika |

- You were the perpetrator in this one. You practically begged Sevika to go in with you. She told you to forget it since she knows that you are a scaredy cat and will just be screaming and grabbing onto her the entire time (not that she really minds that though)

- You kept on begging knowing that when Sevika had her mind made up, it's almost impossible to get her to change her decision. But you knew one guaranteed way to get her to agree.....exploit her ego (Gaslight. Gatekeep. Girlboss your way into that haunted house)

- "Ok Sev, we can skip this ride, I guess. I understand that you're scared of haunted houses and wanna settle for something moreeee "tamed" like hmmmm the teacup ride :)))"

- The moment she deadpanned at you, you knew you got her right where you wanted her. Next thing you knew, you guys were both in the waiting line.

- The haunted house wasn't soooooo bad. Let's ignore that fact that Sevika was right about you screaming your head off and clinging to her like your life depended on it :))) Sevika was exactly as you imagine, just chill. She treated like it was nothing, well granted being from the Undercity, she's seen worse, trust me.

- The best part of the ride for you was when one of the guys in a zombie costume tried to make a grab at you but then was met with one of Sevika's famous death glares, then immediately backed up and tripped over some props (definitely a core memory for you)

- After the ride, she could see you were still trying to calm down after nearly ten minutes of full on screaming your lungs out. Her heart broke a little when she was you trying to secretly wipe tears from your eyes and quiet your sniffles.

- She pulled you by the waist so you could snuggle your face into her side. "Hey- how bout we go to that booth over there and see how many stuffed animals I can win you? And if it's rigged- we can see how fast I can get the vendor to shit his pants like the wolf dude?"

- When she heard you giggle, her worry cleared a bit. You guys spent the rest of your carnival date shaking down vendors and stuffing your faces with all kinds of food.

- Well the face stuffing was more a "you" activity. Sev just watch in awe and slight fear as you threw back 2 corndogs and a large popcorn in under five minutes.

Г Grayson |

- Like Sevika, not a fan of haunted houses, plus she thinks they are a waste of carnival tickets since most of them (if not all of them) aren't scary. But does that make a difference to you? Nopeeee :)))

- But unlike Sevika, convincing Grayson wasn't thatttt hard, you had a formula to this by now. First, tell her what you want, if she refuses, up the stakes with body contact. Preferably an arm clutch, neck hold or your personal favorite, the neck tuck (basically tuck your head into her neck). And always the cherry on top....the puppy dog eyes. You knew once you unleashed this combo, you had it in the bag.

- And soon as you know it, your gripping onto Grayson's sleeve and ducking behind her every time someone jumped out at you guys.

- Grayson being the calm, cool and collect woman she is, just guided you through the ride even giving you little encouraging remarks here and there.

- "I'm right here darling, no need to rip my sleeves off. We are almost at the e- Sir. I know you're doing your job right now but can't you see my partner and I are having a moment? Thank you. Now where was I love?" (The workers are going thru it)

- She would chuckle every now and then at your reactions. She couldn't help it. She wasn't trying to make fun of you, it's just the way you clinged to her and ran to hide behind her or in her arms was too adorable.

- You definitely got some kisses with cotton candy on the side after this :)))

Г Caitlyn |

- She was the one who pulled up into the line for the haunted house. She's raved about how she has always wanted to try them out. Her mother didn't really allow her to go in the haunted house when the carnival came, cause she was worried Caitlyn couldn't handle it.....and she was right.

- You don't know who was screaming louder, you or your girlfriend who had her hands in front of her face the entire time.

- You had to hold onto her and guide her through the ride, even though she would jump up at the slightest sound. She was so jumpy to the point where she almost kicked a worker in the face.

- They had jumped from behind the wall and landed directly in front of Caitlyn with a fake chainsaw in hand. It was almost like an involuntary reaction when her leg flew up merely centimeters from the worker's face.

- At the end of the ride it was as if a switch was turned on and she just changed back to cool and collected Kiraman.

- "Well that was certainly thrilling, was it? Now let's go find another ride preferably something less.....haunted house-ish?"

- She did her best to make it seem like she wasn't shitting her pants five minutes ago. But if you held her hand you could feel her shaking (Poor babyyy :((( ). You pressed the back of her hand to your lips and gave her a reassuring smile. She bent down a bit and gave you a "thank you" kiss on the forehead.

Something about putting Caitlyn in pink makes me feel like I broke some unspoken law :\

[yangrdn]

cough cough

pairing: peter parker x gn!reader, non-superhero AU

a/n: this is my entry for @worldoftom's lolbrosgetsicktoo challenge! i loved writing sick!peter, it was v v cute. also, whilst writing this i'm sick, also a cold and my throat hurt until three days a go for three weeks straight. writing this was basically me wanting to have a peter to look after me, so i put him in my position. feedback is really appreciated and i hope you enjoy reading this <3

ps: i put the prompt at the end bc i assumed it'd spoil a little of the story if i put it at the start. so if you want to know the prompt first, just scroll down.

summary: peter gets a sore throat.

w/c: 3.8k

warnings: mentions of vomiting, description of taking painkillers, sick and whiny peter

my m.list

request | my taglist

there are a lot of things peter’s good at. he nails every test that is thrown at him. if you asked him a question about physics, he’d give you the right answer right away. basically, peter’s smart. like, really smart. now, there’s always that one thing he is not smart enough for and needs your help for.

taking care of his body.

with that, he could get all the help possible, and would still fail. may already tried her best, telling him to zip his jacket when going out and it’s raining. or you’d tell him how he should’ve stayed at home instead of riding his bike to your apartment right after taking a shower. he had worn only a shirt and a pair of jeans, saying it was hot and that the sun was out.

you, on the other hand, were just pissed your boyfriend had risked getting sick again, because you know you’ll have to take care of him. not because may told you to, nope. peter just didn't let anyone come near him when sick, besides you. although it does make you question whether he does it because he wants you close, even when he feels like melting because of his fever, or that he wants you to get sick, too.

and now, here you are. walking to peter’s flat after may called you and informed you about your “over dramatic” boyfriend. he was asking for you the whole day, and wouldn't let her sit down for even a minute, she said to you on the phone after you agreed to come over. you feel bad for her. She was up everyday, working her ass off, only to come home to Peter complaining about his pain. Taking care of him so she could at least get a day off from a whining Peter was the least you can do right now.

You knock on the door twice and start taking off your shoes. It wasn’t raining, but you don’t want to enter the flat with dirty shoes and leave more work when you leave. May opens the door, a tired smile across her face and a relieved sigh leaving her lips when she notices it’s you standing there.

“Hi, May,” you smile at her and give her a side hug, already peeking behind her and seeing two empty boxes of tissues. You frown and pull back as you enter the room.

“He won’t shut up about his throat. His voice is nearly gone, so he won’t be able to talk that much,” she informs you and closes the door behind you as you make your way to Peter’s room. You nod and turn around.

“It’s okay, I’ll make sure he gets enough sleep anyways,” you tell her. May silently thanks you with two thumbs up as she walks slowly to her room, closing the door quietly.

You knock on Peter’s door softly, not wanting to barg in if he’s doing something or wake him up. When you get no response, you open the door and step in. The room is dark, the only light coming in from the sun shines shining through the blinds. On Peter’s desk, books are piled up and you assume those are all for his missing assignments. A pout forms on your lips as you realize he’ll need to do all his missing work for school once he feels better. You make a mental note to help him as you roll up the blinds, only enough to illuminate the room more. When your eyes cast on the brown haired boy laid on the bed, the pout is quickly replaced by a soft smile.

Peter’s laying on his bed, blanket draped over his body and only covering his hips and left leg, soft snores leaving his lips. He’s only wearing a pair of boxers, his chest glistening with sweat. Your eyes widen as you walk closer to him, placing your palm on his forehead. A quiet gasp leaves your lips once you feel how hot his forehead is. He stirs awake slowly, only moving his head away from your palm and whining. You try to stifle a laugh and make the thin blue blanket cover at least half his body. His eyes open, blinking rapidly as he adjusts to the new light.

“Ugh,” he groans and hides his face behind his hands. Peter’s head is spinning, his eyes only adding more pain when he opens them. You sit on the bed, making sure not to touch him and hand him the glass of water on his nightstand. After revealing his face, he sits up slowly and takes the glass. Drowning it in slow and painful gulps, Peter lets out a hiss after setting the glass back down on the nightstand.

Now that he’s fully awake, you take a second to examine his sick state. His cheeks are rosy, you can basically see that the poor boy is burning up. His head is leaned back against the cool wall and his eyes squeezed shut due to his headache.

“I’m in so fucking much pain,” he whines and opens one eye, squinting and looking at you. You sigh, taking note of the crack in his voice. May wasn’t lying when she said he had a hard time talking.

“May told me. Did you eat today?” He frowns and shuts his eyes again.

“No, I- I-,” he stops talking and coughs, hissing as he feels more pain in his throat. You take the water bottle next to him and quickly fill up the glass again, handing it to him. After another painful gulp, he continues.

“May made me soup, but I didn’t finish it,” he croaks out. You purse your lips and nod.

“You lay back down. I’ll get you some painkillers, make you tea and then come back here, ok?” He nods and opens his mouth.

“Ah, ah ah, no talking for you. I see the pain you’re in right now. I’d tell you I told you so when you came over, wet and only with a t-shirt, but then you’d start arguing.” With that, you leave his room and make sure to leave the door open behind you, enough to hear Peter in case he calls for you. You make your way to the open kitchen and take out the water heater, a bag of camomile tea from the cabinet and let the water boil. While it’s boiling, you search through the other cabinets for painkillers, until you find a packet of Ibuprofen. After checking and making sure it’s not past its expiration date and that Peter’s old enough to take it, you place it on the counter and take out a teacup, throwing the tea bag in and waiting for the water to end. After a minute, you slowly fill the cup, careful not to burn yourself. You take the painkillers, turn around and walk back to Peter, balancing the full tea cup in your left hand as you softly blow in it. It should be hot, but not too hot for Peter to burn himself when drinking.

You shove the door open with your foot and step in, placing the cup on Peter’s nightstand. He was already waiting for you, glass filled with water in hand and eyes narrowed at the door.

“Take these,” you whisper, handing him the painkillers and sitting on the side of his bed, only close enough for your thigh to be touching his hip. He plops a pill in his mouth, gulping it down and shaking his head.

“I can’t even swallow pills,” he groans. You lift your hand up, caressing the side of his face with your palm. A content sigh leaves his lips as you let your thumb gently caress his cheekbone. Pecking his lips softly, you ask.

“Do you want to sleep? I can close the blinds again and-” He shakes his head and takes your hand in his. “Can we watch a movie?” He whispers. You nod and help him move to the side on his bed. He takes the blanket with him, lifting it up and patting the empty side next to him.

You shake your head. “You’ll lay on me. I don’t want to put my whole body on you.”

“What,” A soft laugh escapes your lips. “I’m always the one laying on you. Let me take care of you,” Peter’s about to complain, but you’re already comfortably on the bed and patting your lap.

“Next time you-” You shush him, pulling the blanket over the two of you and grab the laptop sitting on his nightstand. He chooses a movie and places the laptop in front of you two.

“You’re lucky we have no school tomorrow. Else you’d be drowning in work,” you whisper into his hair. He sighs and glances at the pile of sheets and books on his desk.

“Already happening.” You giggle at his statement and turn your eyes back to the movie playing.

Midst watching the movie, Peter fell asleep on your lap and started snoring. A small smile displays on your face, watching your boyfriend lay comfortably with you and feel safe. You start running your hand through his hair as he stirs in his sleep, face squished against your stomach.

When he wakes up, he starts groaning and raising his head to look at you. You grin at him and peck his lips.

“Sleep good?” He shakes his head and lets it fall back on your stomach, nuzzling his nose against the fabric covering it and letting out a content sigh.

“I’m still in pain, but I guess it’ll get better later,” he says, his voice muffled. You nod and purse your lips, thinking.

“Wait, Peter.” He frowns at your worried tone and looks up at you again.

“Didn’t we buy those tickets for the concert tomorrow?” You nod to his desk. His head turns to the side you’re looking at, eyes widening and staring back at you.

“Shit, you’re right. Fuck I’m-” he starts and lowers his gaze to your lap,” I’m sorry we can’t go to the concert tomorrow because of me. I know how much you like-” You quickly shut him up by cupping his face in your hands, pouting and shaking your head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, babe. You’re sick and I want to take care of you. We can repeat this another time,” you say gently, staring into his eyes as the frown on his face deepens.

“But you always said how excited you were for this” he protests.

“I am, yeah, but I’d rather stay at home with you than going there alone and letting my boyfriend here. Or worse, dragging you with me,” you tell him. You see the corners of his lips pick up and feel your own eyes lit up as he tries to hide his smile.

“You don’t want me to go!” A dramatic gasp leaves your mouth and you throw your head back.

“What- no! I just- I like it when…” he trails off and leaves you silent. You stare back at him, raising a brow and waiting for his answer. “I said that I just want to spend time with you and I’m kind of happy you’re staying here,” he whispers.

You grin and pull his face closer to yours, noses almost touching.

“You’re so in love with me,” He rolls his eyes and pushes you back, not before kissing the palm of your hand. “Yeah yeah I am. Am I not allowed to?”

You smirk and drape your arm over him as he shuffles closer to you.

~

A week later, Peter’s still sick. Or at least, that’s what aunt May told you. He didn’t leave his bed for hours and you slowly started to worry whether to take him to the doctors or not. You noticed the dark circles under his eyes from hours of studying and doing assignments that were already due last week. Why would he stay up at night, if he was sick? It’s what made you think whether he’s really faking it. He wouldn’t fake being sick and stay up the whole night, right?

“Y/N, did Peter tell you when he’ll come back?” Your head snaps up to the teacher talking to you, frowning and shaking your head.

“He didn’t. He’s been really sick for a little more than a week now, I don’t think he’ll come back this week yet.” The teacher nods and carries on with the class, taking a pen and starting to write something into a brown book.

You feel a light tap on your shoulder and turn around, being greeted with Ned’s worried expression.

“You sure he’s alright? He didn’t text me either,” he checks.

“He did throw up like three times last week,” you trail off, thinking about how your boyfriend called you three times from Tuesday to Wednesday, telling you he threw up and asking if you could come over.

“I’ll go to his later anyways, should I tell him to talk to you?” Ned only nods, lowering his eyes back to the paper in front of him and starting to write down his answers quickly.

~

You knock on Peter’s door after May let you in. She was in a hurry, talking about having a job interview in twenty minutes and being late as she left you in the living room, closing the door to the bathroom behind her.

There’s a faint “yeah” when you open the door, looking through the crack into his room and staring at the figure hunched up under blankets. Your eyes soften as you step into the room, closing the door silently. The blinds are up, different from the other day. His room also looks cleaner. He must’ve cleaned up the pile of clothes that was there last week and tidied his desk. You frown as you look at his bed. Yesterday he told you his head hurt too much and that he felt dizzy when standing up. Must’ve been May, probably, you shrug and walk closer to his bed, sitting down at the end of it.

“Hey,” His voice startles you. There isn’t a crack in it anymore and his eyes don’t squint as much at the bright lighting in his room as they did the last time you were here. You hum and lean back on your arms.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Pretty good.” He peaks up from under the blanket, smiling at you. His eyes widen when he realizes what he just said and starts coughing. You frown and sit up straight, arm stretched out ready to grab the glass of water next to him.

“Uh, compared to last week. Yes, pretty good compared to last week,” he adds quickly and hides back under the blanket. You giggle and shuffle closer to his form, running your hand through his locks under the blanket and earning a sigh from him. He likes it when you touch him, whether it’s hugging, running your hand through his hair, or when you’d cling into his biceps as the headboard hit against the wall repeatedly. There is always physical touch between the two of you.

“Do you want to drink something? I’ll go make you another tea,” you propose and stand up, leaving his bed. He nods and smiles at you. You leave the room and walk into the kitchen. This time, you close the door to his room completely. He’s feeling much better than last week, but also acting suspicious. Peter wouldn’t skip school and act sick. It 's not like him. Like, at all. Right?

The door to his room is closed, so the first thing Peter decides to do when you leave is jump out the bed and walk to his desk, taking his phone and getting back into his comfortable bed. He makes sure you can't hear any frantic steps or movements.

After you left Peter's room the first night he asked you to stay, he started to like the attention you were giving him. It's not that you don't pay attention to your boyfriend. In fact, Peter may be in the center of your attention and you his. You two make sure to show each other the love you feel and that you care.

It's just that with your busy schedules and upcoming exams, spending time together wasn't your top priority anymore. He misses the days when you'd go to Delmar's with him after school, instead of instantly leaving because of an essay that was due that same week. So he decided to do what he does, in his opinion, best. Lie. Act sick.

He did feel bad when he first started coughing every time May was around and she worried for him, but at some point he realized staying at home a little longer wasn’t that bad and he could use some time away from school. Although he could’ve just told May he was in pressure and wanted to stay home for a couple of days, he’d rather use this option.

Peter suits himself in his bed and turns on the phone, already flooded by texts from Mj and Ned telling him the homework they got for today and texts from Ned asking where he was at, and why he stays home for this long. He stifles a laugh at the memes Ned sent into the group chat and glances to the door at the muffled steps he heard. When he’s sure there isn’t anyone close to his room, he returns his eyes to the screen of his phone.

You’re on the other side of the door, side of your face pressed against the door and holding in your breath to not get noticed. You heard a laugh when you were in the kitchen. You left Peter laying in his bed, he was too dizzy to get up and grab his phone. You raise a brow and lean closer to the door, daring to press down the doorknob and silently stepping in, halting in the open doorway with your hand on your hip and an expectant expression.

Peter is sitting up on his bed, covers long forgotten on the end of it and phone in hand. He’s laughing at something playing on his screen, not noticing you standing in the room yet. You click your tongue, pursing your lips and waiting for your presence to be noticed. When your boyfriend throws his head back, letting out another loud laugh, you decide to let him know you’re there.

“oh, ok. so i see you’re better?” you quirk a brow, smirking. his eyes widen and his head snaps to you, watching you through plate-wide eyes. he sucks in a breath and puts his lip in a thin line.

“uhm, you’re back?” he croaks out. a nervous giggle leaves his lips and he shrugs with a smile plastered on his face, biting his bottom lip. “i- i feel better,” you roll your eyes and place the cup of tea on his desk, making him frown.

“you didn’t really think i’d place it next to you? i see you’re better, go get it yourself.” he opens his mouth, only to shut it again. it was true, he looks and feels much better than last week. and peter knows he’s back to his healthy state, he just kept it from you. which is why he’s shocked at first, then frowns and groans.

“come on! yes i feel better, but can you give me the cup?” he asks. you shake your head, balancing your weight on one leg, jutting your hip out. oh, peter knows that look on your face. you’re not happy. not utterly disappointed, but you don’t seem the happiest either.

“no way you made me and may care for you for a whole week straight, when you didn’t feel sick!” you throw your hands up in the air, letting out an annoyed huff. he whines at you in a clearly irritated state and juts out his lip, trying to look as sad as possible.

“no, don’t pull that face on me. i’m pissed off,” you mutter as you walk to him, sitting down on his bed with your back to his figure. “please? i’m sorry i lied,” he starts. you frown, turning around.

“why did you, in the first place. you now have much more work to do. oh, and have fun explaining may why you lied about being sick. she stayed up with you at night, hell, i went to sleep at three for you! peter, we had school at seven!” you cry out.

the boy on the bed with you just shrugs, not exactly knowing what to say next.

“i guess i liked the attention i got.” you huff and take a glance at him. when he stays serious, you turn your whole body to him. “you liked the attention i gave you?” you ask in disbelief. he slowly nods.

“do i not give you attention?” you worry. he quickly shakes his head, arms out to reach for your hands. “no! you do, it’s just, with school and everything,...” he trails off. you nod and squeeze his hand, demanding for him to look up at your face.

“i know we don’t spend as much time together as we used to, anymore. but peter, you know i’m in so much pressure because of school! besides, don’t you have to focus on school, too? and may also told you you should look for an internship because you didn’t get one last year,” you reason. he lets go off your hand, clearly not amused.

“i told her i don’t want one. what will it do?” “uh, look good on your college applications?” you say, as if it was the most obvious thing on earth. he chuckles.

“besides that. i’ll find one, i just want to spend time with you for now,” he says softly as he scoots closer to your warm body. you put your arms around him, laying your head on his placed on your chest.

“i do too, pete. but i promise that in,” you stop and cran your neck to look behind you at the calender he’s got hung on the wall, “in five weeks we’ll be able to cuddle and watch movies like we did before again. now, we need to focus on school and you on your missed assignments,” you sigh. you feel him tense under you.

“what?! five weeks!” you smirk against his hair and squeeze him tighter.

“i was joking! two actually. but, until then, you’re stuck with me anyway studying so it won’t be that big of a problem if i stay away from you for one day,” you laugh and kiss his temple. he nuzzles into your chest, inhaling in your sent and sighing. “as long as we spend that time together, i don’t care how long it is until we finish all exams,” he whispers against you.

Prompt: Non-Superhero AU. Peter gets a sore throat! Which is very ill-timed, because him and the reader had plans to go to a concert, but they ditched in favor of the reader taking care of Peter. Days pass by and Peter is still "sick". Spoiler, he's just faking it at this point because he's enjoying the extra attention he's getting from his partner.

taglists

permanent

@bi-lmg @aayaissaa @fandomxreaders

peter parker

@samscaptain @emistrash @hermayone

[cupcakeshakesnake]

I rate different versions of two POTC characters

Recently I found out that Pirates of the Caribbean has a manga series of its own. And some comic books. And a LEGO game, though that wasn’t as big a surprise and was honestly more pleasant than not.

ANYWAY here I will rate the different Cutler Becketts because it was quite a ride for me.

I will also rate the different Norringtons if I end up feeling like it while writing the post. (Note: I did end up doing this.)

Movie Beckett

The original. 2/10.

Might be a good character story-wise but overall very hateable. Smug asshole.  Everyone loves to hate him. (Which means the actor did a great job.)

If he existed IRL I'd want to be 50000 miles away from him. Apparently his past is really messed up but you don't find out about any of that through the movies. Might have been a better person if he had a better childhood, but then again the same goes for a lot of villains.

On the list of characters I consider interesting, he is right down there in the burning trash dump with Cave Johnson. Maybe even lower. At least he accepted defeat when the time came and went out with some dignity.

Manga Beckett

AbSoLuTe fUcKiNg CyCLe pATh.  0.5/10.

Might as well be the reason I started this post.

Why is he like that. Why does he have eyeliner. Why is he so... anime villain-y.

He's supposed to be someone who keeps his face straight. Why does he seem to be constantly expressing with every single facial muscle that he is batshit insane.

Movie Beckett at least drinks tea like a normal person. This guy looks like he'd shove the entire teacup into his mouth and just munch it whole while staring directly into your eyes. Also his version of Mercer lacks eyebrows for some reason.

He gets half a point because there are some characters who were, unfortunately, butchered even more than him.

Lego Beckett

Gremlin. 5/10.

He's kinda goofy compared to the other three and also absolutely tiny. He literally strains just to see the camera half the time. You cannot help but laugh at this man. He is also considerably less harmful, given the... nature of the Lego world... and that the worst he can do is order that a bunch of fruit (plus the occasional livestock) be thrown at people.

The only regret - quoting @nebbychan - is that they didn't make his wig taller to compensate for height.

That one comic book Beckett 

The not-Beckett. -10/10. Note the minus sign.

That's just not him. There's no way you can convince me that's him.

It feels a bit like the artist went out of their way to emphasize the characters' appearances but this here is not how caricature works. Maybe they were looking at a different person.

That's not him. That's Pirate Extra #23 in a wig.

That being said, Norrington looks pretty horrible in here too - more on that later.

Alright, now for Norrington.

Movie Norrington

The original. 10/10.

An honorable man. People love to love him. Did not deserve what he got.

Not much to say.

Manga Norrington

Evil Twin Nottington (quoting @dirgeofcerberus111). 3/10.

Why does he look like a one-off side villain from the Hobbit movies. He deadass has that evil grin stuck on his face throughout most of the book. And that up top is NOT what he said in the movie.

Instead of anger stemming from the sense of being wronged and losing everything, this man right here is fueled by bloodlust. Dude looks like he'd murder Will Turner in cold blood without the slightest quiver in that manic grin. Set this guy up on the Dutchman and he could throw Davy Jones overboard.

Losing his ship didn’t just make him a wasted drunk; it turned him into an entirely different man on a molecular level.

What is this man.

Lego Norrington

Carrot man. 6/10.

Sorry my dude, it might not be your fault that you were mistakenly delivered a carrot on your promotion day, but I am going to remember you as 'carrot man' because of that nevertheless.

For some reason, he lacks hair save for when he is not wearing a hat. Unlike Beckett’s, his wig is a magic wig that disappears when placed under a hat.

He looks unnecessarily mean-spirited in Dead Man’s Chest. When he gives Davy Jone's heart (which, by the way, wears a miniature hat. Yes, the heart wears a hat) to Beckett, he's not a wrecked man trying to regain some honor and a smidge of his past life. He's like 'Oh yeah give me that admiral sword, hand it right over.'

But he also slaps Davy Jones with a fish and kind of almost survives if it can be called that, so he gets some points.

That one comic book Norrington

Tames Jorringnon. 0/10.

Barely recognizable. Makes me wonder if they kept the wig because otherwise it would be nearly impossible for readers to understand that this is indeed James Norrington, the wig man.

They did somehow remember to take his prominent nose into consideration, but said fuck it to everything else.

Who is this.

No.

-

I tag those who suffered with me: @dirgeofcerberus111, @casual-dark​ @directorhachi​ and @nebbychan​.

[shadeyjade]

i. DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

RIVAL | Levi Ackerman

levi ackerman x oc

chapter 2...

full story on wattpad / ao3

ACT ONE ( season 1 )

•••

"That's it? That's all I have to do?" She asked. "Protect the boy?"

"If he survives, you'll finally get what you've always wanted."

The eery silence of the room ringed in her ears. Quiet but booming. The heavy tension of her decision falling on her shoulders. From the other side of the room, a clocked ticked, chiming with a faint click. She was hesitant, though, she didn't show it. What gave her away was a clench of her jaw, subtle but there.

She crossed her leg over the other, laying her hands on her lap, and hating the confined space of an office. A desk in front of her, the man waiting as he sat from the other side. Soft breeze came from the open window. Through there, she saw a glint from the sky. Moon and stars, blanketing the surface above, painting it to be night. It was a lovely evening.

Jail. She was surprised she hadn't ended up there that the thought almost had her laughed.

"I want a lot of things in life, blondie. What makes you think you have what I need?"

"That's for you to find out."

"How lovely." Sarcasm dripped off her tongue as she didn't bother to hide her distaste.

"There's no use in declining."

The teacup in her hand was nearly finished, only a few droplets of burning liquid of tea left inside its contents as she settled it down on the small plate ok the table. "Doesn't mean I'm accepting."

"Protect Eren Jaeger and you'll have your freedom."

•••

the secret of happiness is freedom and the secret for freedom courage

•••

episode 14: can't look into his eyes yet; eve of the counterattack, part 1

CHAPTER ONE DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

•••

Rumors.

"A Titan on our side has appeared!"

"Is there really a Titan that sided with humanity?"

"You can even say he's our savior!"

They were supposed to be nothing but rumors. A whisper in the crowd, murmuring nonsense to one another. Full of faux blabbers and gossip. She couldn't ignore them. They were loud. Engaged as they discussed further. Perhaps her curious side leaned further into the story from the people around her. She couldn't help but listen to them. It was interesting really. Not a lot of things had caught her attention. She rarely paid attention to her surroundings, rarely cared. However, hearing rumors of a Titan siding with humanity had any stranger be curious, especially Freya Nightwalker.

"Nearly there."

The announcement had her look down at her hands that rested calmly on her lap. Her gaze intently stared at them as if they were foreign. A strange sight for her to look at. It felt wrong to look at them free. No restrain. No metal cuffs wrapped tightly around her wrists. Hands that were unbound to do anything. Each finger from her left hand decorated with silver rings glinted from the sun. She started to twist the thin jewelry on her left pinky, turning it again and again until there was that familiar burn enclosed around her soft skin. This was a test, maybe. She was at a free state of doing whatever she wanted. They were just waiting to see if she would risk it all for that small price of liberty.

The carriage she sat in lessened its pace. Waiting for the ride to end seemed like an eternity for her. How long has she been enclosed in a wooden case, she forgot. She didn't bother with time anymore. It was futile anyway. But looking out the window, fingers peaking out the curtain, it was midday. With a long, heavy sigh, she leaned back with a slump. At least for her, the seat was comfortable enough. She merely forgot the circulating rumors of the people in Wall Rose.

"We've arrived."

Then it came to a halt. Her back straightened when she heard the coachman call to hop off. She didn't have the time to open the door as someone else did it for her. Her lips immediately pursed into a thin line when a Military Police officer stood in front of her, waiting for her to climb out. The sight of their green stallion logo made her want to scoff. However, she didn't want a reaction coming from herself to be seen so soon. An aisle waited for her, a straight line leading towards an entrance door with Military Police cadets lined left and right.

She smiled faintly at the position they were in. To go through cautionary measures for her to not escape. Even someone who wasn't as skilled as her could just about runaway. But she didn't intend for that, yet.

Her black boots clicked as they touched the stone pavement. It was only a few feet away from the large mahogany entrance. From what she could tell, they were no longer in the middle of the city. Deep within and standing in front of some court building. Was this her trial? It couldn't be. The choice was clear enough. Anyone would want judgement upon her. Straight to execution. She narrowed her eyes, struggling to understand the point of all this.

She began to walk. The rattling of metal caught her attention when she heard them. It was then she noticed guns firmly planted to each cadets' side, their finger resting on the trigger, only to be raised if necessary, pulled without hesitation. She silently scoffed under her breath. Their guns shook, rattling from pressure, fear. This was one of the reasons why the Military Police had no effect to someone unfazed as her. Cowards.

She stopped her movement in front of one cadet, however. They all tensed. But him, he went frigidly still. She chuckled lightly at the appearance. The uniform was normal. Face scared and unsure. But it was his hair that made her laugh. Jet black hair trimmed into a bowl cut. Ignoring the muscular feature he had on his face, he reminded her of a child. That being thought of, he did look new. The corner of her lips raised up slightly, "How does it feel?" She asked out of the blue in a light and thoughtful tone.

"H-Huh?" The man looked as if he regretted squeaking a single sound. He flinched when she brought her hand up, causing others to lightly bring the barrel of their guns an inch high. But her movements were flawlessly graceful that no one could imagine this interaction to be deadly. After all, they were the Military Police. They never thought ahead.

"How does it feel to be one of them?"

A subtle nudge of her head towards the lined cadets in green clad uniform. Softly, she brushed her fingers on his shoulders, dusting away a piece of hair that lay. It wasn't his. A strand of short curly blonde locks. She wondered. And so did he.

"Keep moving." A Scout Regiment cadet cut them off. Two of them followed her from behind.

"Buzzkill." She muttered with a roll of her eyes as she felt a harsh nudge behind her shoulder to start walking.

Automatically, the two grand doors were open for her, the two Scout cadets still lingering behind. The entrance way was a back pathway for her to come in, almost as if she didn't want to be seen by the public. Expensive carpets lay before her. Large hallways and corridors. She was slightly convinced that she might find herself lost as if she was entering a maze. An empty maze.

"Don't tell me this is a Tribunal." Freya guessed as her soft steps pattered on the ground, eyes roaming as she didn't want to miss a single detail from her first time coming into a large officiating place. Military Tribunals, she never experienced watching one happen in front of her and from all the cadets lined outside, probably more within, it was the only conclusion she could come up with for the time being. A court trial full of soldiers, she wondered what was the issue having them all gather today, with a bounty hunter in the crowd no less.

"It's not for you." One of the cadets huffed behind her. He was an old man, old enough to be a commander, but he wasn't.

"That's something. I'm flattered." She chuckled softly. It must be important for them to suddenly be far less concerned of her presence. A part of her didn't like that notion.

"Quiet." The other was relatively young. Dark red hair and freckles dotting across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

A set of stairs led her to another level. A turn from a corner, door after door, it was confusing really that after awhile, the two cadets took the lead as she was left without a choice but to follow them with a reluctant sigh of boredom. With their slow pace and movements, it seemed like time wasn't much of a problem.

Immediately, they stopped in front of another door. The same interior and design as the rest. Staring at their backs, Freya noticed the sudden shake of one of the cadet's hand as it hovered over the brass handle of the entrance. The other, silent without a peep from his mouth. It seemed as if it was fear taking course of their actions as they hesitated with what was on the other side of the surface. Unbothered by that detail, she rolled her eyes and shoved the two apart, pinching the material of their uniforms and pulling them back for her to step forward. Without a thought, she pulled open the handle and nonchalantly stepped in. She didn't like wasting moments.

From where she stood, she was in one of the high balconies, overseeing what was the ground floor. There were about a large balcony on each side as well, filled with cadets. With the exception of the two guards by standing outside, she was alone. A sea of brown jackets, furrowed brows, and convicting faces. The west side was filled with Scout and Garrison cadets. The east, Military Police. South, just right below her, merchants murmuring to themselves. And in front, where judges usually sat, was empty. How she was able to distinguish which Regiment grouped was how she trained her sight on the symbol adorning the back side of their jackets. Eyebrows scrunched into confusion, her facing morphing into a perplexing feature as she gnawed the inside of her cheek.

There was a lot of missing pieces to this puzzle, but the big question she wanted to find the answer for was why a bounty hunter such as herself was needed to be present for a Military Trial. A Trial that she wasn't honestly aware of.

She stopped for a moment, peering behind her shoulder, asking, "How does this matter to me?"

"It doesn't." The young cadet answered her quietly, avoiding any form of eye contact.

"Not yet, at least." The other muttered before scoffing. He looked angry, almost in disbelief at something that she didn't know.

She looked back down at the crowd below her, taking a few steps forward and resting her elbows on the concrete railing. She sighed. "This is a waste of time." The door was slammed shut behind her, both cadets hovering a few meters away.

The door opening behind the judge's counter opened, out coming a man who folded the ends of his white dress shirt sleeves. Everyone grew silent, the heavy weight of quietness falling over like a blanket. The man who suddenly entered had receding grey hair, slicked back with circular spectacles resting on the crook of his nose, neatly folding his coat and laying it on the mahogany table, back going straight as he took a seat.

The old man cleared his throat, voice gruff as he asked the audience. "Shall we begin?"

Freya clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, familiarity wafting as she narrowed her eyes on the man. "Dhalis Zachary, how convenient."

He was no stranger to the people and everyone. The only reason why most respected him was due to the fact that he controls three of the Regiments. All that power and command within a man who had shown and tired eyes. While Freya took notice of his existence the day he ordered to hang up posters of her face in each district, each wall, and everyday, fining up for a bounty; dead or alive. Seeing as she was standing here today, watching, she was slightly smug of her half filled victory. Half cause of her current predicament she got herself stuck in.

"You are Eren Jaeger, a soldier who has sworn to give his life for the people. Is that correct?" Zachary read aloud, eyes scanning an unrolled piece of parchment.

"Yes." A voice replied. The name had Freya stare in interest.

"Given the extraordinary circumstance, this deliberation will be held as a court martial. Hence, regular law will not apply, so to speak. I have full decision-making authority on this matter, which includes determining whether you should live or die. Any objections?"

"No, sir." Eren Jaeger. She leaned in closer, squinting her eyes down towards the boy that kneeled on the floor. Both his wrists were bound in metal cuffs, restrained by a large pole behind him, with hundreds of scrutinizing eyes focused on his movements. With his back turned towards her, it was difficult for Freya to fully take in his appearance. Dark hair that reached the back of his neck, a lean body, and ragged long sleeve shirt. Yet, judging by the nervous stutter and high tune of his voice, he seemed relatively young. What could he have done to be in a Military hearing?

Her eyes widened by the slightest. Rumors. Nothing but the word Titan bouncing back and forth in her head like an echo. She rested her chin on the palm of her hand, elbows on the railing, lips tilting into an invested smile.

"Your astuteness is appreciated. I'll get right to the point." Zachary stated. "As expected, concealing your existence has proved impossible. Unless we publicly disclose your existence in one fashion or another, we risk the outbreak of a new, non-Titan threat. It falls on me to decide which regiment should take charge of you; The Military Police Regiment or the Scout Regiment. Now, let's hear what the Military Police Regiment Proposes."

"I, Nile Dawk, Commander of the Military Police, offer the following proposal. We believe that, after a thorough examination of Eren's body, he should be disposed of immediately." A man from the west side of the court started, a script in hand. "It's true that his Titan ability helped thwart this latest incursion. However, his existence is now stirring up rebellious ideas as well. As such, after he has provided us with as much information as possible, he will be made a fallen warrior of humanity."

News of the battle in Trost Disctrict went spreading almost immediately the day it happened. Freya didn't hear much of it, occupied with business that left her running. But she remembered details, a few that she didn't believe until hearing this proposal confirmed her thoughts; a Titan did aid in concealing a blast from the Walls. A quarter of the Garrison soldiers gone. And a weapon that nobody was sure of how to use was just in their grasp.

"There's no need!" A cry of reluctance yelled by a black robed Pastor. "He's vermin that had defiled and infiltrated the walls built by God's great wisdom! He should be killed at once!"

"Pastor Nick." Zachary calmly paused the intrusion. "Please remain quiet."

"Him again?" Freya questioned in disdain. If she had the chance, she would've taken his life away without another thought. Though, she was never given the opportunity. They're existence wasn't known to many back then. No one saw the importance of a Pastor with the Church of the Walls. She didn't really understand their purpose, leaving her to not really question it. Much like her, she silently questioned why they were here. "I thought he died."

"Unfortunately, no." She heard the cadet behind her say.

"Next, let us hear the Scout Regiment's idea." Zachary proceeded.

"Yes, sir." A commander stepped in from the west side of the court. Meticulously blonde hair brushed to the side, doe like eyes, a stoic face, his hands was firmly set by his sides as he spoke, "I, Erwin Smith, 13th Commander of the Scout Regiment, offer the following proposal. We intend to accept Eren as an official member of the Scout Regiment and utilize his Titan ability to retake Wall Maria." A pause. "That is all."

Freya blew a breath, face falling with a small frown as she silently rolled her eyes. "How inspiring."

Zachary raised a grey eyebrow. "That's all?"

"With his help, we can reclaim Wall Maria. I believe our utmost priority should be clear." Erwin Smith stepped back into the stands, confident with the answer.

"I see." Zachary hummed. "Tell me, from where would you launch this operation?" He turned to another man. "Pyxis. The wall has been completely sealed in Trost district, correct?"

"Yes." An old man answered from the Garrison audience. Feeble and old, but a fight left within him. A red rose patched behind his brown jacket. "I doubt its gate will ever open again."

"We hope to depart from Calaneth District and head to the east. From there, we would approach Shiganshina.. by establishing a new route." Erwin added.

"Wait a damn minute!" Someone in the crowd protested. Freya darted her eyes to the south side of the court. Below her, a round man yelled, a merchant who disagrees. "Shouldn't we be sealing all the gates now? The gates are the only part the Colossal Titan can break! If we can just reinforce them, we'll never get attacked again."

"Shut up, you merchant dog!" Someone unknown pegged him down. At that, Freya had to contain a snicker within. The one who cut him off continued, "With a Titan's help, we can return to Wall Maria."

The merchant responded, temper rising. "We can't put up with any more of your childish heroics!"

"You have a big mouth on you, pig." Dark, deep, someone forced the argument to a halt from the Scout Regiment audience. Brooding, uninterested, familiarity ran in Freya at the sound of a man's voice as he continued. Her eyes searched the crowd, scanning where it came from, suddenly intrigued at the comment. "How can you be sure that the Titans will wait while we seal the gates? The 'we' you speak of are only those you wish to protect, your 'friends' who help line your pockets. The people who starve because there isn't enough land to sow don't even figure into the thoughts of you pigs."

Timidly, the merchant defended, "We just thought that we could survive by sealing all the wall gates—"

"Silence. Impious traitor!" Pastor Nick shushed him. "Mere humans altering Wall Rose, walls that were a gift from God? Can you truly see those walls, God's work far beyond human capabilities, and not understand? Humanity is not fit to lay a single finger on those walls. Heresy!"

A stifled yawn escaped Freya's mouth, tired with their antics as she has still yet to find the voice.

"I'll have you be quiet, priest!"

Embarrassed, Pastor Nick questioned the audacity. "What?"

"Silence." With multiple booming taps on the mahogany desk, Zachary overpowered their banter. "You may discuss your personal philosophies and opinions elsewhere." He returned his attention to the kneeled boy. "Jaeger, I wish to confirm something. Can you continue to serve as a soldier, using your Titan powers to benefit humanity?"

A simple nod of his head, Eren confirmed. "I can."

"But the report on Trost's defense says this..." The man returned his attention to the unrolled parchment in his hand, "'Immediately after turning into a Titan, he swung his fist at Mikasa Ackerman.'" He pushed back his circular spectacles up the bridge of his nose, facing the crowd in question, "Is Mikasa Ackerman present?"

"That's me." Black hair chopped into uneven lengths that fell above her shoulders, and lips pursed, Mikasa Ackerman called attention to herself within the west side of the court, standing within the front row.

"Is it true that, as a Titan, Jaeger attacked you?"

The girl hesitated, turning her eyes towards her right and left, mouths moving into a quiet discussion between a blonde boy and platinum haired woman. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, a reluctant answer coming, "It's true."

A murmur within the crowd. "I knew it... He's just another Titan."

"But on two previous occasions, Eren saved my life in Titan form. The first time, mere seconds before a Titan would've had me in his grasp, he stood between us, protecting me. The second time, he saved Armin and me from an HE shell." Mikasa added, quick to defend. "I would like these facts to be considered, as well."

"I object." Commander Nile from the Military Police cut in. He raised a documented file in hand, reading. "I believe these comments are greatly colored by her personal feelings. At an early age, Mikasa Ackerman lost her parents, and was taken in by the Jaeger household. Our investigation has also revealed a surprising fact about the underlying events."

Freya hummed at the small information. Colored by personal feelings. She was amused by the fact of someone capable enough to harbor feelings. She did find it silly, though, they were young, she assumed. "Surprise me." She mumbled to herself. Her restlessness was getting to her and she didn't have the ability to be concerned over such matter. She sighed out of boredom.

Commander Nile cleared his throat. "At age nine, Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman killed three robbers who tried to kidnap her. Even if it was self-defense, I must question their fundamental humanity. Is it right to entrust humanity's fate, resources, and lives to him?"

"Well... I am surprised." Freya told, both her eyebrows raised in amusement and satisfaction. She then asked the two cadets with her. "Aren't you?"

The young man was caught off guard. "I– uh.."

The other only grunted. "Ignore the criminal."

She hummed, absentmindedly starting to twirl a strand of her hair that framed her face, a blank smile on her lips. "I'll take that as a yes."

"So is she!" The same merchant from moment prior yelled, pointing a menacing finger to Mikasa from the opposite end. "Do we know that she's human? Just to be safe, we should dissect her!"

"Wait!" Wide eyed, Eren shot straight up, head whipping to turn at the merchant. "I may be a monster, but she has nothing to do with it. Nothing at all!"

"We can't trust that."

"It's true!"

"If you're covering for her, it means she's one of you."

A riot between the two. A back and forth match full of protests and despair. Freya admitted that she didn't listen, finding that there wasn't a point to choose a side. Her political or military view didn't matter. Much like the people of the public, she was just another witness, someone who had to keep an opinion to themselves.

"No!" A bang of metal rippling against metal. Eren forcing his wrists free, but bound in cuffs. Anyone could tell how much he wanted to be released. But his current state forced him to stay. The sudden rile of anger had silence fall once again. Fear taking over, and the worst thoughts forming into heads of strangers. The boy inhaled a breath. "I mean... you're wrong." Teeth grind together. "You're coming up with theories that fit whatever it suits you to think."

"What did you say?" A stranger questioned.

"Besides, all of you people... you've never even seen a Titan. What are you so afraid of? What's the point if those with the means and power don't fight? If you're afraid to fight for survival, then help me. You..." Jaw clenched, eyes wild. "Cowards!"

"What?"

Frustration towered, before it collapsed on him. "Just shut up! And bet everything you have on me." A second passed. Another. The crowed was filled with shock. Eren's confidence was unexpected. Others viewing him to be brave, the rest as naive. Through the color stained windows, the day was falling quick.

Commander Nile staggered in surprise, without a second thought, he ordered, "Weapons ready."

Freya held in a laugh. Her mouth forcing to stay shut from bursting as she bit her bottom lip. The small speech was inspiring, she had to give the boy that. But even a few simple words weren't enough to sway an entire crowd, what more if an army.

"Yes, sir." The cadet responded to Commander Nile's order, pulling out a sphere like weapon, point directed to Eren.

Then out came nowhere, a man. Leg raised, poise direct. He was a blur of dark color, suddenly appearing in the center of the room. The end of his boots came in contact with skin. Bones cracking. Freya swore she heard them, the all too familiar snap of skin tearing open and breaking. She could hear the gasps of people from the quick attack. The force from the kick had something flying out. It was small, clicking on the ground as it flew a few feet away on the floor. Squinting, Freya's mouth parted slightly as she realized a blood soaked tooth landed still.

Her gaze zeroed in on the man who caused the scene.

A sly smirk grew on her face, eyes darkening as she leaned in further on the railing, hands fumbling with rings in anticipation. Not once was she going to let the man out of her sight as she stated. "Now, this... is getting interesting."

A second later, another kick. Leg shooting straight to the boy's stomach. Eren yelped in pain and in shock. A move that no one had anticipated happening. From the ache in his torso, he coughed, blood spewing out. The man gripped a handful of the boy's hair in his grasp, roughly tugging their face forward, nose coming to collide with their raised knee. Another grunt from the Eren. Another and another. With each hit, it had Freya leaning forward from the railing. She might as well topple over it, but the scene in front of her had her intrigued, her fingers now tapping a rhythmic beat on the surface, her smirk not once faltering.

The last hit had Eren falling face first. Nose crushed on the floor, mouth and eyes wide as the man's foot held his head down from behind. It seemed like an eternity. Everyone too caught up to comprehended the violent action. Gasps and breaths catching. The man finally spoke, voice low and clear. "This is a personal opinion. But I believe pain to be the best way to train someone. What you need is to be trained like a dog, not a man. It's easier to kick you while you're kneeling, too."

Freya tilted her head to the side, observing.

"Wait, Levi..." Commander Nile called out faintly, still in shock.

"Levi..." She tested his name, rolling off her tongue, a perplexed look on her face.

"What is it?" Levi questioned, unbothered.

"It's dangerous... What if he gets angry and turns into a Titan?"

"What are you saying?" He challenged. With enough energy, Eren tilted his face up, peering through his fallen hair with angry eyes directed at the man who gazed down at him. He was given another kick to the face. "Aren't you going to dissect him?" With a fistful of hair, the man forced Eren's head to stare at the crowd. Droplets of blood ran down his nose and mouth. Freya lightly chuckled at the beating. "When he turned into a Titan last time, he killed twenty other Titans before collapsing. If he's an enemy, his intelligence makes him a more formidable foe. Still no match for me, of course. But what will you do? Anyone persecuting him should also consider that fact. Do you really think you can kill him?"

"Levi." She murmured his name once again. Her eyebrows furrowed as she got lost in her thoughts. The name did sound close to her. His way with words, nonchalant and brooding character, he gave her a sense of familiarity. A dark and heavy weight settled in her chest the longer she gazed at him. Dark hair, grey eyes. It was difficult to determine the color of his irises. The color a shade near black that she wasn't sure if they had any tint all. Lips pursed into a line, often a frown, and eyebrows knitted together, almost as if the gears in his head was always turning. Her stomach churned at the face and name.

Commander Erwin raised a hand. "I have a proposal."

Intrigued, Zachary asked, "What is it?"

"The details of Eren's Titan power remain uncertain. Making it dangerous. Thus, I propose to have Squad Leader Levi take responsibility for Eren's control, and embark on an expedition outside the walls."

"With Eren in tow?"

"Yes, sir." Erwin confirmed but there was a glint in his blue eyes that told he was holding information back. Based on the look, Freya had an idea about what it was about. She clenched her fists. "Based on the expedition's results, I'd like you to judge whether Eren can control his Titan power and whether he's a boon or bane to humanity."

"Control Eren Jaeger..." Zachary pondered. "Can you do it, Levi?"

Confidence radiated from the man, but no arrogance. "I'm certain I can kill him. The only problem is I doubt I can do any less."

Zachary held a gravel, banging it on the table in finality. "Then my decision is made." The crowd conversed in conversation.

"Levi..." Freya trailed off. Her smirk only grew as her thoughts clicked, memory resurfacing, a thrill in her igniting. "Humanity's Strongest Soldier."

"One day," The old man cadet leaned in close, whispering as he pointed to the beaten down figure of Eren, the boy still being held down by a foot behind his head. "That's gonna be you."

Stray strands of hair fell over her eyes as a dark look settled on her face, eyes flashing. She leaned in even further. Then came their eyes meeting. His grey stare peered up, almost as if he knew someone had their gaze on him this whole time. Face nonchalant, furrowed brows, lips straight, he blinked at her. The stare was undeniably cold that words wasn't needed to even describe the look he gave. Disdain and petulant. She could only give him a sinister smirk that was filled with mischief.

She replied to the old cadet, not even breaking eye contact with the man. "A girl can only hope."

The old cadet scoffed and backed away. "A lunatic, I say."

•••

"That was quite a show. When's the next one?" The hallways were quiet considering that the audience dispersed the moment the trial ended. It was a win on the Scout's side, landing property of the Titan ability. Not a single individual in sight. Although, she realized that it wasn't entirely something to celebrate about, neither knowing if it was a benefit or a price of ineffectuality. The door was slammed shut behind her the moment she entered a room, and seeing who she was facing, she couldn't help but grin.

The two cadets that had been following her around the moment she arrived were gone, finally departing from her the second she was led to a private room in the court building. The room was empty, except for a small bench, desk and chair. She now faced three Scout individuals.

"This is her?" One of them asked. He leaned against the wall opposite from her, arms and legs crossed, sniffing the air in all seriousness. Tall with facial hair, his nose seemed to be stuck up and inhaling deeply.

Freya tilted her head, unamused when she noticed him holding his breath as if he caught scent of something foul. "I wouldn't talk like that if I were you."

The woman beside him was preoccupied, mesmerized by something wrapped around a white cloth that she didn't notice Freya's presence of entering. She had brown hair tied in an unkept ponytail, rectangular rimmed glasses sitting atop her nose, and a carefree smile unlike her companion who did nothing but frown.

"I better deliver this to him." The woman blurted out excitedly. Without even glancing up, still caught up with the white cloth, the woman brushed her way past Freya along with the man who glanced down at her. Although, Freya did get sight of what had the woman in a gleeful mood. A single tooth, red stains from blood. She gave them both an odd look as they left, softly closing the door.

"I'm pleased you can make it." Erwin Smith stood up from the bench from the far corner of the room, walking before halting in front of her. The two were alone, a private discussion that Freya loathed.

Looking away and stepping up by the small window that oversaw nothing but buildings, she mumbled, "It's not like I had a choice."

"Certain circumstances forced me to." Erwin told, folding his hands behind his back. "Have you thought about it?"

She scoffed. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"And?"

"Eren Jaeger." She hummed in thought. "He's definitely something."

"Is that a yes?"

She glanced at him with a sudden glare. His posture didn't falter, back still straight, calm as always. There was no way she could refuse. Her options were running thin whether she would admit it or not. It was the only offer out there on the table. At some point, her luck did run out, leaving her with a single choice. Declining would be irrational, her life might as well depend on how she would play it out. Painfully, she gnawed the inside of her cheeks, biting down hard from stating something rudimentary. Losing the upper hand, she hated that. Being controlled, she despised it even more. Though, the moment she stepped in, she knew what she was walking herself into. Besides, what else could she lose?

"I'll do it."

"Welcome to Squad Levi."

•••

[vangoghmusings]

status | kiego takami x reader

a/n: hello! this is chapter two of my hawks multi part fic. i hope you guys are liking it so far! also, ruisu is an oc inspired by my lovely bb @lilacskyura

previously: chapter one

pairing: kiego (hawks) takami x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: cursing, sexual innuendos

links: playlist | wattpad

taglist: @mixfi​ @lilacskyura​ @katsuhoee​ @star-mum​ @moonlightinsanity​ @domhoni​ 

                       ⫷ chapter two: amateur ⫸

"So, we have a special someone who is joining us for the campaign!"

Y/N sat still with her eyes closed while the makeup artist worked on her. It was Friday, the day of the Chanel cologne campaign.

"So its a collaboration?"

Ruisu asked, looking up from her phone. Her black hair was tied back, accentuating her freckled cheekbones. If Ruisu wanted to, she could probably become a model too. However, with her analysis quirk and impeccable sense or organization, she found joy being an assistant, especially to as someone as kind as Y/N.

"Yes, he should be here shortly," The campaign directed replied.

"I should've known, it is a cologne campaign after all," Y/N mumbled while the makeup artist applied the false lashes to her lids.

"He's probably super hot," Ruisu giggled, crossing her legs and turning to Y/N. She simply rolled her eyes in response, sitting up and sipping from her iced tea.

"You know I don't like mixing my love life with work."

"What love life?" Ruisu questioned with a cocked brow. Y/N scoffed and placed her hand on her chest as if she was in agony.

"Ouch Ru, sorry I haven't found anyone up to my standards."

The hairstylist came in and greeted Y/N before getting to work.

"I just think you should put your self out there."

"I'm basically on every other billboard in Japan, how much more out there can you get?"

"I don't know!" Ruisu sighed. "I guess you're just intimidating."

Y/N took a sip from her tea and smirked.

"Good."

The stylist proceeded to brush Y/N's hair and add large amounts of gel to it, in order to attempt a "slick wet" look.

The shoot was supposed to give the look of a sensual shower scene. Glass panels, mirrors, blue lighting, and a steam machine were all prepped. The only thing that was left was semi-nude Y/N and the elusive special guest.

Once the stylist finished with her hair, Y/N stood up, tightening her robe and tossed her empty teacup in the garbage.

"He's here!" The director exclaimed and called Y/N over, Ruisu following.

Walking in and standing next to the director was a tall, tan, and fit blonde. Each step he took radiated with confidence. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. She recognized him right away, and to say she was angry was an understatement.

"Y/N, this is the Winged Hero Hawks!"

Hawks stepped towards you and extended his hand.

"Please, just call me Keigo," He said, his voice like velvet.

Y/N pursed her lips and shook his hand politely.

"I don't work with amateurs so I hope you can keep up," She said tartly, turning on her heel and walking towards the set. Ruisu sighed and faced Keigo.

"Sorry about her, she's not too fond of heroes."

"I can tell," He replied with a slight chuckle.

Kiego was ushered to a change. The staff dressed him in tan boxers that matched his skin, the idea was to look as nude as possible. They began to apply makeup and the artists gushed at having the no. 2 hero in their presence.

Y/N eyed him and scoffed. Ruisu walked over and handed her a bottle of water. Y/N cracked it open and drank.

"You doing okay?"

"Not really," She mumbled while closing the bottle. It wasn't known amongst the media but anyone who was close to Y/N knew she had a deep-seated hatred for heroes.

When Y/N was 12, her little brother drowned at the beach. At the time, She had a broken ankle from soccer and was left with no option other than to call for help. She was sobbing and screaming, unable to help her brother. She was quirkless after all. No heroes came. Eventually, the police came, but it was too late, he had already passed. Y/N constantly beat herself up about the death of her brother. He was only 7 and was gone so quickly. As she got older, she placed more and more of the blame on heroes. No one saved him when she needed their help the most. She had no adults to help her either, her and her brother were adopted by a woman who was well on in her years. By the time Y/N was 18, her adoptive mother was already 74. Ruisu and her mother were the only people she had. Despite her fame, she was incredibly lonely.

Kiego eyed Y/N, who was ranting to Ruisu, while the stylist did his hair. Sure he had seen her on the television, news, practically every billboard in Japan, but he had never truly seen her. He would be lying if he said he wasn't excited when he was told he would be working with her. It appeared to be true what all sources had said about her. She was serious, intimidating, and meant business. But most of all, she was devilishly attractive. Being one of the top models across the globe would make that obvious, but to Keigo the shoots and photographs didn't capture how truly beautiful she looked. It would be safe to say that she was his celebrity crush. He watched as the makeup artist stepped towards her and touched up her skin. She spoke to the staff so kindly and thanked them for every little thing. She was known for being a delight on set but always willing to do her best. That kind of ambition was something Kiego admired. A lot.

"You're all set," the stylist told Kiego. He stood up and walked towards the set. The makeup artist walked over and began to apply oil to his body.

"Oh heh, that's kinda cold," He mumbled. He had done several photoshoots in the past, but nothing as sensual as this. He would be the face of this cologne, a lot was riding on his shoulders- er, wings.

Y/N glared at him and turned to Ruisu.

"This is exactly why I don't like amateurs."

"Oh c'mon be nice-"

"Does it look like I want to be fucking nice right now? They're making me shoot with this moron of a hero-"

Ruisu raised her brow and gestured to the water bottle in Y/N's hand. She sighed and rolled her eyes, opening the bottle back up and chugging.

"Just, be professional. You don't really want hero hater publicized around the world."

Y/N nodded and placed the cap back on.

"I know, I know."

"Okay, everyone! We start shooting in 5."

"Thank you 5!" The staff, Ruisu, and Y/N cheered. She handed Ruisu the water bottle and slipped off her robe. Underneath was a sheer tan two-piece, giving the slight illusion that she was in the nude. Keigo's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at the sight. She turned to face him.

"You ready?"

Keigo nodded, his usual cocky confidence coming back.

"Of course."

The two stepped onto the set. The photographer came forwards to give his instructions.

"Okay so we want seduction, we want sex, steamy, but make it gorgeous. Yes? Yes."

Kiego nodded slowly, the photographer's French accent making it difficult to understand what he was inferring.

The photographer began to pose the two models. He had Y/N press her hands and chest against a glass panel. He then had Kiego press his chest against her back. He tried his best to hide his blush.

One of the staff members turned on a speaker, playing music to add to the atmosphere of the set. The lights were dimmed and the blue lights were amplified.

"And, ACTION!"

The photographer began shooting, Y/N adjusting her poses slightly. To say she was a professional was an understatement. Behind the camera, she was pure art.

"C'mon Hawks get in there! She won't bite!"

Kiego nodded and placed an arm above her, giving a dominating effect. Y/N posed by resting her head on his chest, her lips parting slightly.

'If this is what she looks like posing, I wonder how she looks-'

"HAWKS! FOCUS! Give me more sex, more arousal! Be the alpha!"

Returning from his daze, he nodded.

"Gladly," He growled lowly.

He lowered his head and bit down on her neck, causing Y/N to gasp from shock.

"YES YES!" The photographer cheered, snapping pictures rapidly. "You own her Hawks! Your scent drives her crazy!"

Y/N tried to stay focused and ignore the misogynistic chants from the photographer. She continued to pose while Keigo became more self-assured, running his hands along the curves of her body. He was beyond happy to be paid to lay his hands all over her.

"Y/N turn! We need a new angle."

She nodded and turned to the side, giving a profile of her curves. Kiego was mesmerized, she was glowing under the blue lighting. She made it all look so easy. Y/N raised her hand to cup his cheek, posing and pressing her lips against the side of his mouth.

"YES YES YES!" The photographer cheered.

After 30 more minutes of posing, the photographer gave them a break. Ruisu tossed Y/N her water bottle as she stepped off the set.

"Hey, do you want to grab drinks after this-"

Kiego's proposal was stopped by Y/N holding up her finger as she drank from her bottle. She let out a cool "ah" and closed the water bottle.

"No." She answered curtly.

[thedisenchantrix]

The Persistence of Memory

Each one of us has a past. We all have memories to put the events of our life in order - not always chronological - in our minds. Every so often, we visit the archives of our minds to paw through days and lives gone by. Sometimes we reflect and apply those memories to our lives. Time, the destroyer, has yellowed many memories; some have been all but terminated. We think back as far as we can go…shattered fragments of color depicting a skewed scene.

I try to think back to my first memory. I remember staring out the window from my crib, smearing peanut butter on the TV, the apartment I lived in when I was two, and a number of other random image flashes. The memory scanner stops on what I feel to be my first complete memory. I zoom and focus, within a few moments…I remember…my great-grandmother…

Grandma, my great-grandmother, was the most powerful woman I have ever known, though she stood at only four feet, nine inches. The epitome of the first generation Italian-American stereotype, she was born in East Boston in 1913. For the first sixteen years of my life, the sun rose and fell with my Grandma. I remember how tasty her chicken cutlets were, and to this day, I can still smell her cooking them. Her daily words of wisdom will always ring through my head. She taught me to “Love many, trust few, and always paddle your own canoe.”

In the fall of 1984, I was four years and some change old. I lived with my great-grandmother in Salem, New Hampshire. Grandma and I were getting ready to head over to my preschool. That day, we were going on a fieldtrip to a petting zoo that had amusement park rides. She always made sure I was dressed in the best Osh Kosh could provide. My blonde hair was up in a cute ponytail. She sat me down and whipped up a ham and cheese omelet to die for. While I ate, Grandma reminded me, “Make sure you stay next to Grandma today. If you wander off, someone might snatch you and take you away from me. You remember what I told you bad men do to little girls.” I remembered all of the long conversations and role-playing we did involving the “bad men” and their methods of destroying kids. Moments after breakfast, we hopped in Grandma's silver Audi and headed over to the school. I was nearly ecstatic that Grandma was going to be a chaperone on my adventure.

After checking in with the school, we all began loading the bus. Soon, we were on the road headed north to the place whose name has been lost to the folds of time. Holding my Grandma's hand, I looked out the window for the entire trip. When the suburban Salem area began melting away, I found myself in awe. There were so many trees, so much color! Reds, Browns, Greens, Yellows - it was as if I had become part of a famous painting. Pumpkins, horses, cows, apple trees, farms - it was all so amazing. Everywhere I looked there was something bright and new to me. I wanted to savor it always, and I have.

When we arrived at the farm, we were split into smaller groups. I still clung to my Grandma's hand. We walked around to pet some of the animals. I came to a revelation that day. The world was bigger than I thought it was and there was so much more to see and explore. We were then allowed to go on rides with a buddy. After being bored to death by the merry-go-round, teacups, bumper cars, and other such lame rides, I began focusing on one that I would love to go on. The little, blue helicopters seemed to really fly through the sky. I didn't want to ride any other stupid ride; I wanted to fly. I snuck away from my grandmother in pursuit of my dream.

I got to the helicopters just in time to get on the next flight. I was seated next to a slightly older, blonde boy. The ride began. I soared through the air without a care in the world. The little helicopter brought me so high that I thought I could touch the sun, whose warmth washed over my entire being. Feeling the wind on my face, I transformed into Wonder Woman flying through the air. It was all so invigorating. I was on top of the world and nothing could touch me. Suddenly, my stomach crashed straight to the ground. "TARA!!! TARA, WHERE ARE YOU? HAS ANYONE SEEN MY GRADDAUGHTER? TAAAARAAAAA!!! There she is. STOP THIS RIDE RIGHT NOW!" I knew that I was in something beyond trouble. The ride operator promptly brought the ride to a halt, and my little helicopter came down from its home in the sky. Just as quickly as it had begun, it was all over. Feeling like the weight of the world lay on my shoulders, I got off the ride and sheepishly descended the ramp.

Within seconds, Grandma grabbed me by the arm and whacked my butt so hard that I nearly fell over. I burst into a torrential downpour of tears. Knowing that I probably deserved worse, I hugged my grandmother and sobbed. "I-I-I w-won't ev-eve-ever do i-it again. I-I'm sssooo sorrary." Grandma comforted me and said, "I told you never to wander away from me. I was so scared. I don't ever want anything bad to happen to you, facia bella! I love you." I quickly returned to my place by Grandma’s side, clinging to her hand for the rest of our fieldtrip. I never wanted to let go of her hand again.

The curtain closes, the memory replaced in its box. My great-grandmother, the wind beneath my wings, passed away almost ten years ago. When she died, I got off that tiny helicopter forever; but sometimes I can still feel the force of my Grandma’s worry when I sit down. More often than that, I wish I still had my Grandma’s hand to cling to.