#This exchange is also why I can never decide if I am writing Law in character or not lol

[melkyt]

So I was collecting lawlu clips from the movies, and stampede has a few *nice moments*, what struck me is the difference between Hancock's lines, and Law's lines as well, and Luffy's reaction to them between the languages

In the english dub, Hancock has to ask Luffy to look at her, while Luffy perks up immediately at seeing Law

Japanese!Law: "No need to worry about me."

English!Law, being a little shit lol: "I'll be better when this is done"

[nausicaaandhermouth]

Quandary & Retribution in F#

masterlist

professor!viktor x violinist!reader [6k] [AO3]

minors dni

cw: nsfw, blow-job, piano witnessing oral sex i'm so sorry

summary: being neighbours mean being mindful of the noise you make - though, you'd been set on being a nuisance through violin solos, bringing Viktor to your doorstep to plead for silence. You decide to apologise.

tags: modern au, physics professor viktor, gn!reader, neighbours, nsfw, sexual tension, suggestive physics & music talk, blow job, fat set up beforehand, not betad

a/n never written comedy nor smut but at some point a girl's gotta try (why are both almost equally difficult) - but here ya go (plops down this mess). also, i'm more familiar w music than physics, i 3rd page googled the latter so there's def smth not quite right. if u know physics, no u dont.

and ty to an anon ask for pointing out a mistake in the pronouns. i intend one shots to be gn but i write back and forth from an f!oc fic, resulting in she/her ending up in one shots and they/them on the other :')) entirely on me for not catching those before posting though - but thank you for notifying me, i appreciate you!!

btw requests & taglist are open!

Viktor had repeated it ad nauseam—keep the overtures to a minimum.

His days are a gruelling marathon of lectures and lab work, stretching from the crack of dawn at 6 AM to the academy's closing bell at 10 PM. This self-imposed siege isn't mandated by the university—no, they frown upon such academic masochism.

Rather, it’s Viktor's desperate attempt to squeeze productivity from the fleeting moments of silence. The irony? The moment he shuffles home, key turning in the lock, his apartment transforms into an impromptu concert hall.

Attempting to grade papers? Constructing intricate lesson plans on quantum mechanics? Preparing for the department's annual "Explain Your Research to a Five-Year-Old" challenge? Hah. Another pipe dream of this beleaguered professor.

No, instead, he’s treated to a violin solo that would make Paganini nod approvingly in his grave, some overture to madness waiting to ambush Viktor the instant he dares to sit down and tackle his workload. And the cherry on top? The virtuoso had chosen the room directly behind his study as their personal rehearsal space.

Tonight, Viktor's reaching his breaking point.

One more pluck of that violin string, and he might just snap (hopefully with more panache than his freshman physics students' failed bridge-building projects).

He's hunched over his laptop, a harsh '02:24' glowing on his wall—a neon reminder of how little he's accomplished in far too many hours. And there it is again, that infernal violin leaping across frets, notes ping-ponging between octaves with reckless abandon.

This time, it feels personal. A taunt aimed squarely at his last shred of sanity.

Viktor's fingers rake through his dishevelled hair, tugging in sheer frustration. His other hand thunders against the wall—once, twice, thrice. Stop. Stop. Stop.

For a blissful moment, the last note wavers, then fades.

Silence descends. Relief washes over him.

But his reprieve is short-lived. The melody resumes with a vengeance—louder, closer, more petulant and frenetic. It's as if the laws of acoustics themselves have conspired against him.

God, if you’re there…

Viktor can feel his grip on rationality slipping. Perhaps it's time to conduct an experiment on the effects of sleep deprivation on a physicist's patience. For science.

Your paths had crossed in the hallways, a silent slide of avoidance. You’d exchanged fleeting glances, loaded with unspoken frustration, before hurrying on your separate ways.

Viktor had made the pilgrimage to your door three times, his voice dripping with forced politeness as he implored (bordering begging, not his finest moment) you to relocate your impromptu concerts or, at the very least, reschedule your sonic assaults to more reasonable hours.

You’d exchanged names, plastered on smiles that never reached their eyes—and yet, your solos persist.

In moments of weakness, Viktor's traitorous mind can't help but wonder what camaraderie you might have shared in an alternate universe where you weren’t the bane of his existence.

He finds himself muttering a desperate prayer to the gods of acoustics: "Grant me the strength not to bash my head against this wall." He pauses, another side of his brain kicking in. "Although, the resulting concussion might make for an interesting case study."

A groan escapes him as his forehead meets the desk with a dull thump. (Might you want percussions, he could supply his head banging against his desk)

His mind, addled by sleep deprivation and the constant assault, contemplates the unthinkable—actually standing up for himself. God forbid.

He envisions marching to your door, pride in tatters, ready to beg, plead, perhaps even grovel for a moment's peace.

The image of his students receiving paper feedback that reads like the ravings of a madman flashes before his eyes. No. Nope. This cannot stand. Something must be done.

Then another image invades his mind: your door opens and there you are face to face once again.

He grudgingly admits you’re… aesthetically agreeable. He supposes. Mathematically pleasing. Something about proportion, bone structure, genes, something, something, and—no, there is an undeniable artistry in your relentless dedication. Which he respects.

Even through the wall, he can discern the masterful control of your bow, a testament to hours of practice that simultaneously impresses and infuriates him.

If he could be granted such hours to achieve his own goals, he'd surely rule the world (or at least figure out how to soundproof his apartment).

There'd been one night—one treacherous, sleep-deprived night—when his exhausted mind careened off the rails of rationality into dangerously uncharted territory.

He envisioned himself barging into your apartment, a perfect storm of righteous fury and academic gravity. In this fever dream, he demanded silence with an authority cobbled together from an unlikely triumvirate: his stern Professor alter-ego (complete with imaginary tweed jacket), the ego-inflating gravitas of his hard-earned Ph.D., and the bizarrely suave confidence that only exists in the realm of 3 AM delusions.

But in this warped fantasy, instead of blessed quiet, he encountered something far, far worse—a scenario that defied even the uncertainty principle in its improbability.

Sharp gasps cut through the air. Delicate moans rolling against the nape of his neck that it sent shivers down his spine. And then—oh, sweet laws of thermodynamics—his name. His name in repetition, wearing the throes of... No. Stop. Abort mission.

Viktor's eyes snap open. Heavy breaths. His heart rate approaches escape velocity, threatening to launch his ribcage into orbit.

He shakes his head violently as if the motion could dislodge the inappropriate thoughts from his brain.

"Fuck off," he mutters to the empty room, to his unfaithful imagination, to the persistent violin notes that seem to mock his predicament. Fuck it all. And fuck you. Well… No—(he means yes (no)).

A few times since your initial encounter, Viktor had been subjected to a different kind of midnight sound through the walls. These weren't the familiar strains of a violin, but rather... a more primal composition. Something more akin to pleasure than anything Stradivarius could have conceived. 

The truth was, these… vocalisations had rearranged his synapses, had opened up an entirely new neural pathway in his brain, one he had staunchly refused to acknowledge before. It was a new theorem of attra—intrigue he wasn't quite ready to solve.

Each breath, groan muffled, was a data point on his imaginary graph. To study the patterns, the crescendos, the duration. The other man in him... well, that was a variable he dared not allow to factor into the equation.

He found himself both dreading and anticipating these unintentional (at least he surmised so) performances. He'd catch himself straining to hear, then immediately feel a rush of guilt and self-loathing.

He reaches for his coffee mug, grimacing as he swallows the cold, bitter dregs. Clearly, this is what happens when a brilliant mind is deprived of its required REM cycles. Yes, that's it. Just the cruel tricks of an overworked, under-rested brain. Exactly.

His mind kicks into overdrive, frantically scribbling a mental grant proposal: "The Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Auditory Hallucinations and Improbable Fantasies: A Case Study." Purely for academic purposes, of course. (his mind lingers on improbable)

It's not like he's terrified these forbidden thoughts might return, more vivid and enticing than a perfectly aligned experiment. And it's certainly not because he's afraid he might enjoy—no, no, no. He minds. He minds with the intensity of a supernova. 100%. No, make that 100.1%, just to be safe. Exactly. Precisely. Quantum-mechanically determined.

Now, if only he could convince his subconscious of that irrefutable fact…

His eyes dart to the wall—that infuriating barrier of plaster and wood—separating him from the object of his des... deliberation. No, that's not right. The source of his frustration. Yes, frustration. A frustration so profound it could light up a small city.

He groans, burying his face in his hands.

The things sleep deprivation does to a man. It's enough to make even a rational physicist question the very fabric of reality.

But admiration be fucking damned—his frustration reigns supreme.

Viktor straightens up, a manic glint in his eye. Perhaps it's time for a little experiment in human behaviour. After all, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, right? Let's see how you’d like a taste of your own medicine—played back at 3 AM through a wall of subwoofers tuned to the resonant frequency of your floorboards.

No, no—Viktor, don't stoop. Just knock on their door.

A grin spreads across your face when a comically polite knock interrupts your crescendo. Ah, the sweet sound of success—or is it the dulcet tones of a professor’s patience snapping?

Oh, he's ever so gentle, even when he's one decibel away from a meltdown. You can practically hear his teeth grinding in perfect harmony with your last note.

You settle your violin and bow on the couch like a general laying down arms after a victorious battle. One palm reaches to massage your jaw, soothing the tender spot where your instrument has been resting. Who knew revenge could leave such visible marks?

Note to self: next time, consider a less physically demanding form of payback. Maybe take up the theremin? Start haunting him.

Though you're getting the creeping suspicion he doesn't know what he did—and it's entirely plausible that you just look like a nocturnal nuisance with perfect pitch and an impressive bruise. But hey, what's a little psychological warfare between neighbours?

Besides, it's fun crossing him in the halls, eyes following each other like two notes slowly coming in accordance, like a particularly flirtatious harmony. You're both knowing, sharing a secret thing. Well, as secret as a loud violin solo at 2 AM.

You reach the front door and turn the lock, swinging it open with a dramatic flair.

Leaning on the frame, you plaster on a grin that could outshine the brightest spotlight—and is sure to make the dear professor's blood pressure skyrocket. "Viktor," you greet, your voice a perfect pizzicato of feigned innocence.

As expected, he's the very picture of academic despair: dark under-eyes that could rival a raccoon's, hair ruffled in a way that screams ‘Sleep? What sleep?' (who knew sleep deprivation could be so becoming?), and a brow so furrowed it could host its own mountain range.

Huh. Interesting. Seems like the composed professor facade has taken an unexpected intermission.

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Viktor's face, resisting the urge to conduct a full-body visual scan. Tonight, you're oppositions. Stubborn ostinato. O-ppo-si-tions.

Oppositions don't ogle each other's physiques or linger on sartorial choices. That would be absurd, a complete discord in your carefully orchestrated revenge. Which is why you don’t see that he’s wearing a thin tank top, and why your eyes don’t hopscotch across the vague outlines of his chest.

Viktor grumbles your name with a frown, his accent turning the syllables into something between a growl and a plea. It's music to your ears, really—a different kind of melody, but no less satisfying than your midnight sonatas.

You wonder what else he could do with that voice. No—you don’t wonder. O-ppo-si-tions don’t wonder.

Rather, you flatten your lips, desperately trying to hold back a laugh that threatens to escape.

"Please," he breathes, the word carrying the weight of a thousand sleepless nights.

You cock a brow. "Please?"

He glares, his eyes boring into you with the intensity of a conductor silencing a wayward orchestra. Not finding me funny, you note mentally.

Well, tough crowd. But then again, you didn't take up the violin for the standing ovations, did you?

"How can I help you, Professor?" You smile sweetly, crossing your legs. "You're looking positively... nocturnal," Your eyes dance over his dishevelled appearance, drinking in every delicious detail.

You know that he knows that you know what you're doing. It's a duet of mutual awareness—simple, really—and satisfying.

He squeezes his amber eyes shut, his mouth a taut line of frustration. You half expect his hair to stand on end. Orchestra on their heels after a baton’s click-click-click.

That little mole above his mouth twitches, and you imagine it as a staccato note. There's a twin on his right cheek. You wonder, idly, if they'd dance a jig if you played just the right jaunty tune.

"Why," he begins, his voice a crescendo of exhaustion, "Are you doing this? I can't keep my head in tune with you behind that wall, turning my brain into jelly with your... your..." he gestures wildly at your apartment, as if trying to conduct your imaginary orchestra into silence.

"Oh? And what's wrong with exploring some alternative fingerings now and then?"

His eyes lock onto yours, widening slightly. He blinks, frozen—a maestro who's just realised he's forgotten his baton.

Ah. Are there actual discordant thoughts lurking in that brilliant mind of his?

What's a little push? You lean forward. "Care to demonstrate these unconventional techniques of yours?"

A gulp rides down Viktor's throat. A nervous glissando. A viola quivering. His eyes suddenly find your front door fascinating. "Look, I just want to be able to do my work, finish what needs to be finished, and get some actual sleep. Aren't you tired of this too?"

Your mouth pitches downwards in mock contemplation. "Mm... I get plenty of sleep in the day. Unemployment generally gives you a lot of time. Besides, payback is payback. This is simply the retribu—"

"Payback?" His face contorts into a mask of confusion that would make Picasso proud. Ah. So the maestro doesn't know his own composition. Tsk.

You straighten yourself, arms still crossed sternly. "You—" you sigh, brows pulling together.

"What," he huffs, clearly lost. His mouth slightly gapes open, eyes glancing to the side as if somehow the answer will appear.

lLast month. Seven PM. You're home with what I assume were your students," you gesture at his door. "Don't know what you were doing, none of my business. However, it does become my business when they stay over until four," you hold up four fingers at his face like a metronome gone mad, and he backs away. “In. The. Morning. You try sleeping with rowdy, hormonal young-adults screeching about the universe and quantum-this, quantum-that,"

He brings his hand up and rubs at his neck, looking everywhere but you.

"And I, not having slept in god knows how long at that point, had an audition for an orchestra later that morning," at this point his expression is completely soured, realising where this is leading. "And guess who bombed that and missed a potential orchestral debut?" you point at yourself with both thumbs, "First chair of the Insomniacs Anonymous Symphony,"

He brings his thumb and pointer to the bridge of his nose, worrying at his bottom lip.

You can recall a few times you’d burrowed your teeth in such a manner. Recitals. A particularly tricky passage in a Paganini caprice. On your couch with hand at the crux of your thighs rubbing gently to some fantasy. Nothing specific.

You stare for a moment, mentally composing a scream for the cosmos. How dare he look like a dishevelled maestro when you're trying to channel your inner fury? Not the time, brain. Not. The. Time. File that image away for later...

“I..." he begins, but the words seem to have gone on strike, leaving his mouth hanging open. Forgotten fermata.

A furrow grows on your brow, deep enough to nest a whole string section. His guilt-ridden silence gives you ample time to become distracted. Truly not the fucking time. But your eyes—oh, what rebellious instruments.

But fret not (hah), as you don’t discern much of his arms—not lean, nor precise. Not those fingers either, no. They’re not that long. You didn’t even notice. And not the slow rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic as a metronome in a world where time has suddenly become very, very interesting.

He says your name—it’s a baton raising in the air—and it wrangles your attention. “I truly... I apologise. I do admit... that night was foolish. I'd lost control of my class. I'd invited a few over since they wanted a discussion on quantum entanglement,"

Yeah, I know entanglements. What.

Your brain performs an emergency shutdown and reboot. “Uh-huh," you manage, trying to sound like you absolutely know what that means and aren't at all imagining him demonstrating the finer points of entanglement. Because you aren’t. O-ppo-si-tions.

You shake your head, imagining your thoughts like shaking a tambourine. Focus. Revenge. Missed opportunity. Right. But why does righteous indignation have to be so hard when he's standing there looking like Einstein's hotter, sleep-deprived cousin?

“And the discussion just… I wasn’t careful with the time,” he leans forward, mouth downwards in apology. His fingers tap on his cane, mouth sucking on one side of his bottom lip.

He looks miserable. And worse, genuine. Two things that never sit right with you when they happen at the same time. A string just slightly off tune that it settles as unease in your stomach. It gives you the itch to fine-tune it, put it back how it should be.

You give Viktor a resolute nod, blinking away. “I accept your apology,” you say shortly, gaze lounging on the hallway and making sure they don’t linger on his misery.

But he searches for you eyes first, and by obligation you look back. “And have you, has there been any opportunities after then?” he asks, leaning forward, brows tilted in genuine, apologetic curiosity (your heart decides it’s now a great time to perform an accelerando. 95 bpm, if you’re counting). “Auditions and… orchestral… things? Sorry, I’m not too knowledgeable on these,”

What’s good: he’s genuinely apologetic, which may herald the end of your musical tyranny.

You lean your head backwards, aware of the distance (What’s not good: he seems unaware of the distance he’d taken up). “Uh, no. Well,” you shrug, shoulders bobbing in reminder. “Not since then. But there’s one next week. Piltover Grande Hall,”

His brows raise, seemingly in recognition. “Oh? Highly-esteemed,”

“I know. I’ll probably need a good sleep before then,” you grin, watching his face go from confusion, to apologetic, to relief in mere seconds.

“I also… I assigned some heavy research work last week to my class, which’ll be submitted tomorrow, so I’ll be grading those next week,” he added, now fully leaning on your door frame as if his upper body were trying to slink inside slowly. “We’ll both need much rest before then,”

Your eyes meet his. Face fully facing face. “Mhm,”

Prelude: “An observation of observation of observation”. String section, sweet, curious, and swelling with playful remarks. Interrupted by staccato heartbeats, conflicted by seductive cello whines.

You don’t move. Not an increment. You stay as still as your body allows, suspended in time. So does he. His eyes flicker between your left and right, expressing nothing but obvious observation of you. Your stomach breeds a butterfly when you catch his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes.

Interesting.

100 bpm.

No. I, “Where The Gaze Lands Will Determine The Night’s Fate”. A languid 4/4. A lone marimba begins—blithe. The chirp of a güiro.

“And what do you propose?” you tilt your head up. Are you challenging him? Depends, you suppose. Depends if he tilts his face down.

But he stays in position. Instead, brings a hand out, palm open. “A truce,” his breath brushes against your chin. Hot. Temperaturally. Temperamentally.

Does he know what he’s doing to you? There are desperate sax whines in your head. Supposedly they sound similar to the human voice.

You take his hand and shake firmly. But you don’t let go. “What are the terms?”

A soft huff of a laugh escapes him, eyes slightly narrowing. “But you’ve already agreed,” his fingers tighten slightly around your hand. Warm. Long.

“Confident in the final piece,” you assert, letting your eyes drape with leisure between his eyes and to the bone of his cheek, the mole, the mouth. And you hope he notices.

The sax is breathy. It’s now a smoky jazz riff, painting dimly lit rooms, whisperings of sweet-nothings, a daring foot hiking up another’s thigh.

Your travelling eyes seem to catch his breath.

No. II: “Where Silence Is Relative”. Strutting 2/4, beginning with a sultry glide of an accordion. A conversation between the cellos and violins.

“Does that mean you’ll rest your little concertos?” his head tilts. “Giving me peace, finally?”

You play up a pout. “Shame, I thought you were a fan,”

“As I am of quantum tunnelling through a brick wall,” he responds, the brief questioning curve of his brow indicating this was not a good thing.

“Surely my playing isn’t that bad?” a smirk.

“Not the quality, no,” he gives a small shake. His thumb softly brushes your hand. “It’s the quantity. And the timing,”

You soften your fingers, letting the tips of them brush at his wrist. “I was trying to be helpful. Heard scientists appreciated background music while working,”

A glint of something playful in his eyes. “We do. Just not at 3AM when we’re trying to grade important papers,”

“Grading?” you quirk your brow and smile. At this point, it’s far from grating to him—he’s even looking at it. “I thought silence was overrated in the pursuit of knowledge,”

“Silence is relative when you’re next door,” he gives back. His hand is now shameless, inching your closer and closer to your wrist.

You wet your lips and hum. “Relative, right. Like, whose is that—like Einstein’s?”

“Like the relative pitch of a jackhammer compared to your violin,” his expression flattens sardonically, still maintaining that disarming smile.

“I’m touched,” you lean your head on the door frame. “You think I’m as powerful?”

“Enough to redefine my understanding of ‘noise cancellation’,” he retorts, eyes rolling. What a pretty expression that is. You wonder how else you can evoke that same reaction in other contexts.

“If you ever want a demonstration…”

He laughs. “I think I’ll stick to my textbooks. Much quieter,”

You feign a mask of disappointment, gaze sharpening and hooking his eyes in for your next few words. “Pity. I was hoping to show you how good I am with my fingers,”

His mouth parts. Surprise? Temptation? But he’s hooked in and it’s all you care for. “I… uh,” he blinks, hand still around your wrist. “That’s…”

His face fills with a slight impassive contemplation, thoughts seeming to run amuck in his head as he looks down at your growing, teasing smile.

“You’ve been hearing me practise, no?” you smirk. And you can tell he knows that you know that he knows what you mean. “The violin’s not an easy instrument. Unless you’re thinking of something e—”

He diminishes the space between you with his lips on yours.

No. III, “A Swing in A#”. 113 bpm. A confident, gritty trumpet reels you in.

The door shuts and is immediately faced by Viktor’s back. His neck bends to accommodate the difference in height, his free hand at the back of your neck to press you closer to himself. Your hands find purchase around his shirt, curling around the fabric, pulling and pulling—but as he’s leaning, only his hips jut forward. Good enough.

Your mouths move in tandem. He’s occupied with your bottom lip in a sort of desperation that speaks of practise—or at least imagined practise.

You nudge upwards, hip bone meeting his in soft collision, which coaxes a filthy, back-of-the-throat grunt from him. You smile. And as you feel his other hand snake around your waist, you hear the metallic thnk of his cane against the floor.

You jerk away to look down at it. Briefly, you assess its importance and his dependence on it. “Your leg,” you breathe, breath barely allowing your real voice to pierce through.

He’s nuzzling at the side of your face, gaping mouth at your cheek as he catches some air. “I’ll manage,”

When you turn to him, your heart jumps at the sight of him. Dishevelment caused by your hands, a slight flush from arousal, eyes rounded and trained on your mouth. You don’t look but can’t help noticing the hardness pressed against your lower belly.

“It doesn’t hurt?” you ask.

He shakes his head and finally draws his eyes back to yours. “A… discomfort. But not pain,” he dips in for a kiss, hand sliding up to tilt your jaw towards him.

A smirk becomes of you. “Mm… about the, uh… retribution. I do admit, I took it too far,”

His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Did you? All those unproductive nights, I truly didn’t notice,”

You roll your eyes at his quip. “But I was thinking of how to properly apologise,”

He quirks a brow, thumb tracing at the border of your lip and chin. “And how will you show your remorse?”

“Ah, well, I’m just like you,” a soft laugh escapes you, and you lean towards him to hide the slight embarrassment rushing to blush your cheeks. “Thinking all about… entanglements,”

“Do, please, demonstrate your version,” his accent noticeably makes ‘demonstrate’ even sharper and more pronounced.

“Only if you talk about yours,”

With a swift kiss, you silence him, lips capturing his words. Your hands grip his body, gently guiding him away from the door. Viktor's eyes, intense and unwavering, remain locked on you as you lead him a few feet to the side to the upright piano.

In one smooth motion, your foot hooks around the piano bench, sliding it out. Your hands, warm and certain, travel up to Viktor's shoulders, guiding him down onto the seat with a gentle and firm pressure. His gaze never falters.

For a breathless moment, you tower over him, drinking in the sight of him. He's even more deliciously undone—hair tousled, shirt askew, lips slightly parted.

The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing to just the two of you. You're minutely aware of every shallow breath, every subtle shift of his body, each time the muscles in his neck form a 'v'.

Something all-consuming takes root in your core, to hear his voice wearing your name—not just spoken, but gasped, moaned, worshipped.

“So?” you prompt. “Begin,”

No. IV, “Viktor’s Recitative”. An accented voice searching for focus. Punctuated by gasps.

“It’s, ehm, quantum entanglement. Imagine two dancers, perfectly in sync no matter how far apart they are. When particles become entangled, they share a quantum state. If you measu—”

With your leg you push his knees apart.

“Uh, if you measure one, you instantly know about the other. As if… as if connected by an invisible thread of… mm, cosmic intimacy,”

You kneel slowly, gaze locked onto his as he searches for his next words. “Rather romantic,” you add.

He swallows. And you take it as a suggestion.

“I think so, too. Two particles, forever intertwined,” his eyes fall to your hand as you palmed one knee, your head resting on his other leg. “Fates… linked across the, the vast…ness of space and t—time,” he jerks forward as your hand pressed a little too near his centre.

The sound makes your breath hitch. More. Your cheek’s brushing against the cotton of his pants, your other hand cradling around his calf. The hand on his knee roams further upwards, thumb applying more pressure on the ins of his thigh.

“Regardless of distance, still they influence each other in ways we can’t f—” he breaks off with a whine as your palm grazes the growing swell beneath his pants. It takes every ounce of self-control not to grasp him fully, to feel the entirety of him at once. “Fully…” his eyes follow where you press harder, your mouth curving into a smile. “Comprehend,” the word falls with more breath.

He leans back against the piano, elbows weighing down keys and sending a jarring, discordant chord alongside his sighs.

You straighten, bringing your other hand to the knot of his waistband. Your finger hooks onto it, thumb caressing the single button. Your gaze travels upward, admiring the sight of him leaning back, his shirt riding up to reveal a tantalising glimpse of hair trailing downward.

His breathing slows, becoming deep and measured as your finger grazes the skin of his stomach, the fine hairs tickling knuckles. For a moment, you imagine yourself above him, watching him squirm as his eyes fixate on the point where your bodies would join. Another day.

With a deft movement, you pop the button free. Leaning in, you catch your lower lip between your teeth as your hands gently guide him from the confines of his boxers.

His form arches slightly to one side, living sculpture of desire. Delicate ridges trace his length, and at the apex, his glans gleams like a ripe cherry. Tempting fruit begging to be tasted.

Deep, methodical breaths, you remind yourself. Deep and methodical. And oh so deep. You wrench your thoughts from this enticing path, lifting gaze to meet his. Your eyes seek permission, finding his half-lidded stare heavy with want.

Your palm, warm and inviting, glides along his length with exquisite slowness. The motion elicits a shudder that ripples through his hips, a breath catching in his throat like a trapped butterfly. His head falls back, unveiling the elegant lines of his neck.

Emboldened, you repeat the caress, this time allowing your grip to ascend until it reaches the pinnacle. There, with deliberate tenderness, you gather the pre-cum with a slight swipe. The touch brings a cluster of stuttered gasps and half-formed words. His body, as if magnetised, curls towards you, hands grasping the edges of the bench, white-knuckled, anchoring himself.

Your name escapes his lips in a plaintive groan, lust renewing his voice with a gravelly quality.

Responding to his unspoken plea, you stretch upward, capturing his mouth with yours. A reward. A prelude. Your lips, soft yet insistent, trail a path down to his chin, then along the sharp line of his jaw. He tilts his head back, an offering, granting you unimpeded access to the column of his neck. You accept the invitation eagerly, pressing a kiss to his bobbing Adam's apple, and leaving a trail of lilac.

Your hand torments him with a slow ride down, grip tightening incrementally with each kiss. But there's a yearning for more, craving something more substantial. Not that this isn't intoxicating—the pulsing in your core is evidence enough.

The moment a more desperate whine unfurls from his lips, a ribbon of pure need, drawing you in. It's the tipping point. As if thanking him for the sinful sound, your lips abandon the canvas of his neck, attention now wholly focused on his full, flushed hardness.

You level with the sight of his arousal, standing eager, tip glistening. Your breath ghosts over his sensitive skin, eliciting a shudder that courses through his entire body. You hear the complaint of squeezed leather beneath his grip.

“Show me how you like it,” you breathe, letting the little puffs of air tickle at his reddened shaft.

Seemingly overwhelmed, he remains answerless, eyes resting on your blushed mouth. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, as if reciting an undeniable truth, akin to the blue of the sky or the firmness of his length. His thumb traces the contours of your mouth with gossamer lightness. “Indulge as you please,”

At that, you smile, gently guiding his hand away and pressing a kiss tender on his knuckles. And with a final, heated glance up at his face—flushed with want, eyes dark with need—you lower your head, lips parting.

With a delicate grace, you envelop him, your lips forming a perfect crescent around his crown. Slowly, deliberately, you welcome him into the warmth of your mouth, one hand gliding to his base with tender precision. The other, seeking purchase, finds his chest, gently urging him backward to grant you greater freedom of movement.

He yields without resistance, acquiescence punctuated by a cascade of desperate, breathy whimpers as he reclines against the piano. The instrument protests beneath his bones, dissonant notes plunking out objections at the sin unfolding before it.

You savour him—heady salt and warmth. His velvet glides across your palette, your lips tightening in counterpoint. Your tongue laps and flattens against him in a rhythm that plucks a brief grunt from him. Curiosity compelling you, you lift your gaze to meet his. In that fleeting moment, his eyebrows arch—whether at the feeling or the sight, you prefer the idea of the latter—a wordless expression of awe at the vision before him.

This silent exchange ignites a fervour in you. You increase your tempo, sound of saliva blending seamlessly with his escalating pants. His voice, once controlled, now tumbles in a torrent of incoherent, keening pleas. His fingers now tangle gently in your hair, curling and uncurling in unconscious rhythm. When you dare to take him deeper, his grip tightens ever so slightly.

A deep groan reverberates from the depths of your throat, setting off a cascade of reactions that ripple through both your bodies. The raw sound triggers an involuntary response in him; his hips stutter and twitch forward with barely restrained urgency, cock brushing dangerously far back in your throat.

This sudden intrusion causes your body to react instinctively. Your grip on him tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs, pliant tongue pressing fully against him, cheeks hollowing with increased suction.

The sensation brings tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Yet, you hold them back, your focus entirely consumed by the incoherent, mangled words tumbling from Viktor's lips. His loss of composure only serves to fuel you, ushering more strangled moans from you.

With a deliberate leisure, you pull him out of your mouth, slight, wet ‘pop' punctuating the action. A grin plays across your lips as you lick them slowly, savouring his taste and the way his eyes track the movement of your tongue.

Leaning back in with renewed purpose, you flatten your tongue against the sensitive underside of his length. You drag it upwards, feeling every ridge and vein. As you reach the tip, you linger at the frenulum, that exquisitely sensitive spot just beneath the head. Your tongue dances there, teasing and tantalising, while your hand presses firmly against his abdomen, pushing him back slightly, maintaining control.

This calculated move elicits a pleased hum from him, a sound that vibrates through his body and into yours. Encouraged by his response, you repeat the movement, each pass of your tongue a perfect mirror of the last, building a rhythm that teeters on the edge between pleasure and sweet torment.

You revel—the choked desperation emanating from the back of his throat, the frantic rise and fall of his chest—tempestuous sea. His jaw, slack, burns into your imagination, conjuring tantalising visions of how it might feel nestled between your trembling thighs. Pure masterpiece before you.

A thought dances through your mind: how differently might he approach his little entanglements if it were you sprawled across his desk instead of the mundane paperwork? The notion trails a delicious shiver down you.

The tip of your tongue traces feather-light around his sensitive crown. Slowly, teasingly, you envelop his tip between your lips. Tongue, emboldened, finds its way back to the frenulum and lingers there. Your hands continue to glide in smooth, quickened motions, descending and rising fluidly. His breaths grow increasingly laboured as you continue, his hips jutting and twitching. You apply gentle pressure, guiding him downward.

With a filthy cry that escapes him, you feel the hot release at the roof of your mouth. Encouraging him further, you draw him deeper, welcoming the spill into your throat with a rough hum. His voice breaks as he calls out your name between ragged gasps. It sounds almost like prayer.

Further sinful whines fall out of him as you continue to swallow and lap him from inside.

As you feel his tension finally easing, you slowly withdraw, your tongue tracing the pearlescent spill. His sharp, staccato breaths punctuate the silence, and he brings his hand to your chin, lifting your attention to him.

You smile, swallowing, though proving futile, his release unrelentingly coating the back of your throat.

“Will I get to demonstrate?” he breathes, voice hoarse.

He smirks. The fucker.

You shake your head. “Not tonight. Tonight’s my repentance,”

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt. 29)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Jimin has three secrets, the first is that he’s a psychopath and the second is…

Tags: Flash back chapter, unreliable narrators, controversial characterization, psychopath Jimin, obsessive behaviors, yandere! jimin, morally questionable characters, guns, violence, gore, blood, murder, a brief drug reference or two, crime, first time smoking, depression, anxiety, hurt/comfort, medication for said depression, morally grey characters, Epilepsy,  4th wall breaks, vminkook focused, mild sexual content. 

W/c: 13.0k

A/n: Several people guessed Jimin’s second secret in my ask box! but no one has guessed the third yet! i hope you enjoy it, i’m posting this immediately after getting my wisdom teeth removed~ so wish me luck! if certain parts of this this chapter seems like it’s intentionally vague or intentionally misleading thats the point- i try to write each character differently and jimin’s pov is written mostly in reference to tae- if it doesn’t involve tae (or one of his other loves) why mention it you know? this chapter is stylistic to say the least. 

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

(Before you. Jimin, Tae, and Jungkook)

~-~

Jimin's second secret is that he has always known who Yoongi is.

Hang on, maybe we need to back up a bit.

There is a liminal space between good, evil, and the law. The spot where light becomes a shadow, between things that are right and wrong and non-necessarily unjust. The everyday average person likes to ignore the line for simplicities sake, say that there’s just one or the other- good and bad- but the truth is a lot more grey than that.

The truth is that people find their place on that line- build a home out of the in-between, people conduct whole lives without ever picking a side.

Jimin is one such person, a line rider with morals as grey as his hair.

As a psychopath, Jimin felt as though he was uniquely qualified to decide what was good and bad. If something was good; then it barely crossed his mind. And if it was bad then Jimin’s first thought would be that Taehyung could never know. His soulmate is his moral compass in every meaning of the word.

 There is a lot of bad that Taehyung doesn’t know. Will never find out about if Jimin has anything to say on the matter.

As for Yoongi’s secret- Jimin isn't an idiot.

It stands to reason if some alphas and omegas exist above the law- that whole packs and people like Jimin road that fine line- then there must be betas that lived that way too. Jimin knew that men like Yoongi had to exist, that there had to be a beta at the top of every mafia hierarchy the same way that there was a beta in charge of every fortune 500 company and government from here to the equator.

After all, every kingpin needs their puppet master.  

He just never expected the head beta of the most dangerous pack in the country to be someone he loved. He didn’t expect the highest-ranking member of the mafia- the one who had the final say in all decisions- to also be the man he teased by snapping the band of his underwear every morning.

The most powerful man in the underworld is also the man Jimin see’s pealing tangerines and fixing bookshelves in exchange for forehead kisses. The same man who snuck extra snacks into Tae's workbag and always made sure that jimin’s  jacket was well scented by every member of the pack before that same trip too. the man that owned the name hovering on the edge of Jungkook’s lips whenever he was sad or in need of cheering up.

Jimin tastes the secrets on Yoongi's tongue every time he kisses him, feels them press overbearing on the edge of every rough laugh that the beta shares with them. A blessing and a curse to be loved. To be loved by people like Jimin and Yoongi. Neither good- nor bad, maybe that's why Jimin had never been able to blame him fully for leaving.

Good people can also love bad people, no one knows this better than Jimin.

(Hang on- am I skipping a chapter? Or is it you that skipped events? All I've ever asked of you is to pay attention- hang on- maybe we should back up a bit- No- this will due just fine.)

The older Jimin gets the more he understands the division between himself and others; the things that make him a little less human. Maybe there's a reason why he’s different; if you believe in things like fate.

There had to be a reason why he was born without a conscience and why the world made sure to give him one in the people he loves. Jimin will try to be a good person for them, for as long as it takes the good intentions to stick. Until Jimin learns how to be a real person- he has them.

But before then? Well... Jimin has a job to do.

Maybe I should back up a little bit- see, the thing is- Jimin hadn’t set out wanting to be an assassin but he hadn’t exactly avoided it when the opportunity came to him either. Most sane people would have run for the hills, but not Jimin.

When they graduated high school and Tae went off to university Jimin had been desperate to get out of their hometown and his closet-sized apartment above the martial arts studio. Cut off from their parents after the unfortunate events that had lead to both of them being outed unintentionally to their very conservative parents a week after graduation. 

He’d been too poor to afford college let alone a one-bedroom apartment in Tae’s city. Tae had enough trouble sneaking him into his dorm room for extended weekends when Jimin scrapped enough money together for a train ticket, he could easily get thrown out of school for less than that.

The city of bright street lights and endless indulgences that Tae showed him in pictures was a tantalizing promise of everything Jimin wanted for his soulmate. There were few trees, unlike their home town with all its mountains and animals. A city full of hidden alleyways that Tae says he wants to write about, will one day when assignments aren't pinning down his free time like a butterfly between two peins of glass.

There are whole little worlds lined up neatly in rows of brick houses crammed on either side of uneven cobblestone streets. In Tae’s mind, they could hold anything; secret hidey holes of tawdry spies or magical menageries brimming with adventure and secret societies. Streets full of their fantasies and full of apartments that Jimin could not afford, not making minimum wage, not without a college degree, and not on his own.

It would be easier next year when Tae didn't have to live in the dorms like all the other freshmen- that way he and Tae could go 50/50 on rent (but even that wouldn’t be enough. Jimin’s alpha instincts demand that he should be the one to pay for most of it; he’s Tae’s pack alpha after all). For now, they’re doomed to daily calls and hourly texts, endless selfies, and making the 4-hour train ride back and forth.

Being separated from Tae always hurts, even when it’s just for a minute, it seems silly and too classic alpha- too possessive- but even when Tae goes to the fucking bathroom sometimes Jimin misses him.

A love so all-consuming it leaves Jimin baffled and hoping one day he won’t feel it all so much. a love that goes almost too deep, a love that has him counting the seconds and wanting extra.

(But it won’t get any easier when his obsession increases. If anything, having more people to love will only multiply Jimin’s frustrations. But you understand what it’s like to be in love with seven people so bad you can’t stand it, don’t you?)

Jimin clicks a stopwatch on his phone every time Tae slips from view at the train station. It doesn’t matter if he’s the one riding the tracks back or if he’s left standing alone at the station- being separated hurts either way. The longest they've ever gone without seeing each other is 41 days 18 hours and 32 minutes.

It’s harder than either of them let on. Maybe Jimin would feel better about it, would know to reign in his overactive imagination and heart if it wasn’t clear the distance didn’t bother Tae just as much. If his soulmate didn’t still call him every day and every night. If Tae’s breath didn’t get so heavy when he calls like he’s been dying to breathe, can’t without Jimin’s voice in the air.

“There’s this stinky alpha that sits Infront of me in anthropology lecture that I just can’t stand, he smells so gross, like rotting orange peels- you’d hate it.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be there to make it smell better baby” he can hear Tae’s pout through the phone, nearly feels it pressed to his own lips.

“Your sweatshirt barely smells like you anymore.” Jimin traces Tae’s side of his bed, his fingers finding imaginary hovels that could be from the few times Tae has slept in this bed, not like his old childhood bedroom where the foam topper and the room had soaked up traces of Tae’s cinnamon scent so that it smelled like him always. He wonders if his parents threw out his bed and his things, wonders what happened to Tae's book collection too, and if the old books in his collection that smelled like Jimin's scent were likewise discarded.

God- he’s about to go buy some spices just to get his scent a little closer, only his love for Tae would have him huffing a fucking spice rack.

“I'm looking for someone who doesn’t mind getting violent.”

There aren’t many martial arts studios in their small town, just this one and another that specialized mostly in kid's after school activities. The whole reason why Jimin was able to stay in the upstairs apartment was because he worked so many hours downstairs- enough to pay for his tiny room and the use of the showers whenever he might need them.  

He’s been on his feet since opening, taught half a dozen classes even the pup classes which thoroughly took the last of his energy.  Now he’s listing into a mop bucket, cleaning up the smell of sweaty alphas trying not to fall asleep standing because he stayed up too late talking to Taehyung again the night before and was liable to do the same tonight.

“Jimin!” his boss calls from the front, Jimin’s hands are so numb from punching the bag during boxing lessons that he drops the mop. He's blinking dumbly at the man in the front, nice suit, expensive BMW parked out front. (or at least expensive to Jimin, anything that wasn’t falling apart was more than he could afford) 

“I think this man wants to talk to you.”

Jimin’s entrance into the world of private security was as easy as that. It never mattered much to him who he was guarding and if their fears for their safety were real or imaginary as long as they paid.

The pickings were admittedly slim in their small town, with no more than 100,000 people and very few who were willing to pay for something as frivolous as a bodyguard. After the imaginary danger passed with his first client and Jimin was left once again- penniless and without a job.

But he’d learned to use other aspects of himself to get hired. Pretty winks and being attractive was just as much a cultivated skill set as disarming moves and complicated achilleas locks. Jimin would never ever in a million years think of cheating on Tae (literally it's not in his DNA) but fixing that pretty smile on his face that Tae likes so much to charm potential clients is a necessary evil.

Thank God Tae taught him how to employ the delicate cadences of the upper class. How to tame his hair and how to look the part of 'handsome'. His good looks regularly decimate his employer's better judgment and did especially well paired with his cherubic grin that said, "yes I actually am worth that much an hour. And if I'm not at least you have something pretty to look at."

He'd shown Tae his first suit, black and a size tighter than it should have been to give the look of nice tailoring. "How do I look baby, like someone out of a spy movie?"

Tae had been choking on his words, stretched out in his narrow dorm room bed, a sight that any other day would make Jimin stammer and stare. throaty growl coming out like a tiger's purr. "Honey, you put James bond to shame."

It had only taken a few days for Jimin to realize that it was the easiest most boring job on the planet. In all reality being a bodyguard to people who only think they’re important is a lot of walking, a lot of standing, a lot of making sure you look threatening.

And all Jimin has to do to be absolutely chilling is peel back the version of himself that has learned to be normal for Tae. Letting the mask drop is easier then blinking and as thoughtless as making his heartbeat. Most people don't like it when he goes still and quiet, even the simplest of smiles doing nothing to get one in return.

(Most people don’t like it because Jimin grins like a monster showing his teeth, grins like he’s planning on ripping your throat out with his lips, and claim your blood and viscera as collateral for bothering him. He’s intimidating when he’s without Tae to soften his edges).

Jimin can’t blame them for being unsettled, he is a psychopath after all.

Jimin didn’t think much of it the first time he beat up a client’s ex-packmate because he’d slept with another omega. Free of guilt because he’d seen the alpha harassing other omegas multiple times. Was it really so bad to give the man what was coming to him? Was it really against the law to take from people who had so much?

It was easy to take on a little more work, intimidation, and a little bit of thievery here and there. The small things, and it only escalated from there.  

Jimin gained a reputation in no time, a pretty face, and an even prettier pair of hands that you’d just love to see around someone’s throat. Not murder- not quite yet- but the world of the elite will always go soft and fond for a pretty alpha and throw scraps his way.  

“Jimin, I have a favor to ask of you. Of course, I can trust you to be discrete, your recommendation said that you’d be…amenable to requests of certain standards as long as you’re properly compensated.”

“I seem to have lost my limited edition Berkin at my ex’s house, could you fetch it for me, Mr. Park?”

“It’s rather unfortunate that an alpha like that gets such a nice car, can you make it disappear for me Jimin?”

“He looked at my omega a little too long, I want you to hurt his pretty face.”

“Of course Mr. Delabruyere,” Jimin flashes a sympathetic smile, “Whatever your heart wishes Mrs. Schiffe,” a deep bow and his hand over his heart, “Right away Xiansheng.”

At first- when he and Tae were just barely scraping by crime was a necessary evil. Jimin used every extra penny to help pay Tae’s college tuition. After the first time, he’d gone to visit his soulmate after the second semester started all but cemented his decision to partake in a life of crime. He’d never seen bruises like that under Tae’s eyes before, never felt such shame when he learned that Tae had to take on 3 jobs just to pay what his scholarship didn’t cover.

Jimin caught him waking up early one morning, dabbing a bit of concealer under his before he started to work on one of his assignments. Had searched and found the tiny hidden in an empty bottle of shampoo. makeup to hide his tiredness, to make Jimin less concerned about his wellbeing

(at least, that's what Jimin thought- you and I know better).

Jimin hadn’t been able to say anything to him about it, the apology for not being a better alpha lodged in his throat like a too big bite of happiness. Jimin has been so obsessed with the idea of moving to Tae and curing his loneliness that he hasn’t really been worrying about easing Tae’s other discomforts. He’d apologized in the best way he knew how, by fucking the other alpha quietly to sleep, not stopping until Tae was so fucked out he slept for hours without even stirring. The insomnia worn out of him by a few blessed orgasms.

Growing up poor won’t ever quite leave them, the frantic nature to their love and their wanting. Jimin wants it all for Tae, every single minuscule bit of happiness, Jimin daydreams of a world where Tae gets everything he wants gets it and knows nothing of hard work.

But Tae’s lack of sleep also took away points and points off of his exams, so many little notes of “come and see me” “your ideas are a little too fanciful, focus them a little more and you might be able to get an A.” countless other little harsh notes that weren’t meant to hurt Tae- but undoubtedly had. Jimin has considered keying and/or stealing his professors cars as payment for such insults. 

Mean people don’t deserve nice things in Jimin’s opinion, and people who make taehyung sad deserve even less.

After Jimin had seen how close Tae was to losing the little scholarship money he got, paying for Tae’s college became the sole focus of Jimin’s life. Tae loved learning, genuinely never missed a single lecture, and tore through the assigned reading material to ask his professors for more words to consume. Tae has always been a flagrant erudite- Jimin can’t see his dreams crushed, wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Taehyung just believed he’d been selected as the recipient of a very generous scholarship after his first year. 40,000 dollars a semester for tuition, 2,000 for books, and 5,000 for other living expenses which was more than enough to live on.

Or in Jimin’s language, about three or four favors for his clients and maybe a stolen car here and there every 6 months. Jimin wasn’t picky about what crime he committed as long as it was going to help pay to keep Taehyung happy. Jimin will do anything for the people he loves, and that’s part of the problem.

The first time he’d killed someone it hadn’t been on purpose.

Transporting his clients is easily the most dangerous and time-consuming part of his job, with long flights and long drives where Jimin finds it hard to relax. He’s used to it, used to plying his time and waiting until transport stops and he’s awarded a bit of free time which he can fill with texts to Tae.

Usually forgotten about near the back of the plane while his clients harass the stewardesses and get drunk near the front. Jimin always declines their offers of age-old whiskey and Cuban cigars in favor of his favorite drug.

“Send me a picture out the window! I want to see what it looks like from all the way up in the clouds!”

It’s dangerous to fire a weapon inside an aircraft, downright suicide if you want to do it while you’re flying, but luckily they haven’t taken off yet when the gun is being fired. The jamming pressure makes his fingers numb, gunpowder stings his nose. The percussive shock makes the muscles in his arms tingly for a second with the memory of the recoil.

Jimin has never smelled his own angry scent before, but Tae tells him he smells like gunpowder sometimes, something out of a James Patterson novel ‘an alpha that smelled like vengeance’ which was his favorite book for a brief stint in high school before Tae grew tired of the puffed-up adult versions of novels people like his father thought where the epitome of fiction- and found his true favorites in the fantasy and romance section of their local library.

But Tae always liked to imagine Jimin as the face of the protagonists, the good and bad, the morally grey characters, and the sympathetic villains that weren't villains at all.

"But didn't he like, kidnap her Tae?" "yes but! she really needed it, her fiance was like- the evilest dude, you'll just have to trust me Minnie it makes sense for the story, and their banter! its so so good i wish i could write like this."

Any and all love will always share Jimin’s face. Usually, the only time Jimin’s unhappy scent comes forward at all is when people cut them off in traffic or when someone accidentally brushes up against the two of them when they're in public. It feels strange to have it thrown back in his face even now, the smell of gunpowder and blood so thick he might choke on it.

Jimin doesn’t get angry often. But his angry scent smells like this, gunpowder and death.

Firing a gun is messy business even without the blood- Jimin can already feel the powder thick and coating his fingers. Jimin’s memory is a little shoddy, but he remembers the clamor. The scream when one of the flight attendants got stabbed and the crack of her neck breaking when the assassin put his hands on her neck in a way that seemed practiced, just a twitch of his wrists and she was gone. He remembers the knife, it coming at him but not at him as the man ran past him in the direction of his client.

The gun in his hand is hot enough that it burns his fingertips, He’d have to use gloves next time, or maybe he'd file down his fingertips so that he never leaves any trace behind. He’s only had his concealed carry license for barely a month and only gotten it at the request of his current employer, an old director who liked the privacy of the countryside and had apparently earned her fair share of enemies and required it of all her bodyguards.

Jimin had scoffed, writing her off as paranoid. But now he stares down at one of her enemies the whole back of his head blown out from a threw and threw 45 caliber bullet, and finds his assumptions corrected.

The man on the floor is non-descript. Brown hair and brown eyes that stare listlessly at the wall forever now. Assassins never look the same way twice.

This was supposed to be just a trip to an award show- this director's first one in a while. Something about a prestigious award stolen right out from under a competitor's nose He’d heard conversations about it from the director and her posy enough times to know the loose story behind it. Certainly not enough to kill over in Jimin’s opinion- but then again he is the one who’s going to end up killing people for money so who is he to judge?

He hadn’t even second-guessed his decision to fire the gun, hadn't spared an inch of thought before he'd pulled the trigger. But now with the man dead in front of him, terror thunders through Jimin’s entire being.

So this is it, this is how he and Tae are finally separated.

This is worse than what happened in grade school- Jimin is probably going to go to jail for this. Well, maybe not if the self-defense charges stick but at the very least Tae will know. Will realize for the first time that Jimin- Jimin isn’t like him, and then he might not love him and Tae would go off and live alone and- he can’t. He can’t be without Tae.

His chest is heaving with the idea of it, the fear. Tae’s love is the only thing that keeps him human, his one tether as sure as a red string of fate.

The bullet didn't just take that man's life but Jimin’s world with it too.

Jimin can't breathe, can't think through the tightness in his chest, the off-kilter tilt to the world thinking about Tae- TaeTae- always Tae. Not being able to touch him, not being able to hear his voice whenever he needs to, not having Tae in his life at all wouldn’t be a life worth living at all.  

Will Tae still love him? When he finds out that Jimin has taken a life? Will he still want to touch his cheeks stained with the soul of another? Will he still kiss at his bruised knuckles if he knows his hands are soaked with blood?

He looks down at the man and feels no lurching in his stomach, no fear or shame or guilt directed at the life extinguished. There’s a weird sense of impermanence to it, Jimin pulled that trigger- and the man on the other side died. A cause and effect. Nothing more than that.

While Jimin's whole life spirals down the drain, His employer drops onto the couch at the back of the aircraft, wiping out a cigarette and lighting it. She’s equally as unaffected by the sudden screeching quiet but then again- betas are always a little hard to read.

She blows out the first puff of smoke once she really gets the cigarette going and it joins the haze of gunfire. The man on the floor gives a gurgle and then goes truly silent. There is a perfect fleck of blood or lipstick left of her nose. The rest of the cabin is not so lucky, it's wrecked. The ceilings are stained with blood and most of one wall drip with it- but at least the seats are leather. That will be easier to clean.

His heart pounding in his ear is the only indication that anything happened at all. He waits- waits for her to call the police. The echoes of the pilots and the omega flight attendants still ring in his ears. The pilot's commotion is distant. Jimin re-holsters his gun, he feels like that might make them more comfortable.

He wonders if this is what it’s like to be without a soul- what kind of person doesn’t feel anything when they kill another? What kind of monster is he? Jimin waits- willing himself to feel something- anything at all but panic at the idea of being separated from Tae. But there isn’t anything in his chest. He feels absolutely frozen.

He wipes the blood from his face and doesn’t look at the wetness on his palm.

His client just sighs, He waits for her to call the police but she only enjoys her cigarette, finishing the first and lighting another.  Her eyes flicker up to Jimin's impassive, Jimin can usually see past that thin veil of pleasure or pain that most people have, see the hatred or the fear but not with betas.

She waits for a quarter of a moment, or maybe it's a full minute, either way, Jimin holds his breath. Eventually, she sighs, “I guess we’ll have to call the clean-up crew then.”

Jimin splutters, voice startlingly flat. “You have a cleaning crew?”

She scoffs, tossing him her phone. “It’s on speed dial, press 7.”

The conversation is short and perplexing, the dial tone beeps three times before someone picks up. The woman on the other side of the line exhales with a tired sigh, "la Famiglia pizzeria, pick up or delivery?”

"Uhm, are you-"

The woman’s voice grating, long island accent thick and annoyed, "Pick up or fucking delivery kid?"

"Delivery I think?" the tired sigh on the other end, like this woman has dealt with too many newcomers tonight. Too many people that don’t know how to order crime scene pick up and be discrete about it.

"How many are you feeding tonight?"

"one- just-" his boss gestures to the dead flight attendant like she's waiting for Jimin to finish up already. "Two! two actually."

"I recommend our classic cheese, how much sauce do you want?"

Jimin casts a glance around the cabin and its wrecked interior, "alot, as much as one person could physically put on a pizza."

He gives her the address, "our delivery times are good tonight, please wait 3 hours for us to get to your location." He listens to the dial tone for a few breaths. During the time which his boss scoffs again, putting out her cigarette on the leather seat with a faint hiss before she lights another. 

"You could have just asked for the special. Would have taken 30 seconds tops."

"I don't want to know what that means."

Jimin flops down onto the couch next to his client. Tipping his head back against the couch, his nose and his body aching for someone who is halfway across the world and will never know about this.

Tae can never ever know about this.

He holds out his hand, “give me a puff of that.”

That had finally made him nauseous, his first cigarette and first-time smoking anything. He’d coughed and coughed and his boss had laughed when he pulled a face. DNA hadn't mattered she'd told him after she'd poured him a shot, The cleaning crew will take care of everything, and the pilot and flight attendants compensated and threatened to purchase their silence.

When Jimin asked her why, why was she doing this, why was she saving him from near-certain jail time- she'd only shrugged.

"I have 22 hours until I need to be in Los Angeles so you might as well enjoy my good graces while they last." She reaches for the cigarette but Jimin holds it out of her reach, she huffs and lights another. “And I guess you did just save my life so you’ll have it for a good few hours if you’ll lucky.”

They’d spent the next 3 hours getting drunk, Jimin had drunk so much that he hadn’t even realized when he’d blacked out. When he’d woken they’d been touching down in La, the whole plane jostled as they hit the tarmac.

The inside of the plane scrubbed so clean that he’d half questioned if he’d just dreamed it up. but then he looks down at himself and found his shirt missing. his boss laughs at his confused expression, “you had a bit of blood on you, I hope you don’t mind. i’ll have a fresh one delivered for you before we hit the red carpet, do you like Dior or Versace better Mr. Jimin?”

Jimin had tried to scrub away his hangover with the back of his hand. his boss is still drunk, high too from the looks of her pupiles dilated. one of the flight attendants- the only one left alive is passed out in a nearby booth. Jimin hopes her memory is as foggy as his when he wakes. 

“Neither, whichever, do you have any water?” 

He doesn't remember anything about the clean-up crew or the body bags. the only hints that remains of the crime is the faint smell of bleach filling the cabin. Though he does find a business card in his lapel pocket.

Neat little gold writing, ‘Min family group; Business Consulting’ and a number that he doesn’t call because Jimin can have nothing to do with this, not if he’s to stay by Taehyung’s side forever.

The rest of the weekend had gone off without a hitch, Jimin had tolerated the blinding lights of the paparazzi. Waited in the wings of the stage for his client to collect her award, and then babysat her through his pounding headache and another night of debauchery In which she’d tried and been unable to convince him to drink again.

“You’re a lot less stiff when you’re drunk you know? Did you ever punish the dude who put that stick up your ass or where you born with it Mr. Jimin?”

Jimin had kept his voice purposefully dry, “born with it I’m afraid.”

Jimin has a feeling that saving her life had done more to endear his current to him than he'd ever imagined. She still sends him a Christmas gift every year, usually a pair of heavy designer gloves and a simple Christmas card that always said, ‘don't ruin these too quickly.’

Despite his failure to contact the ever allusive Min family consulting group, they’d eventually contacted him. Because anyone who can make such a shot between the eyes at a moment’s notice was worth being on someone’s payroll, and apparently the disposal company regularly handed off the information of their killers in case they were likely to do that on a contract basis.

They’d done their research, and according to their analysts- Jimin’s talents were lost to the world as just a simple bodyguard.

Jimin has to admit that even on a good day his job is boring- but safe. Safety and staying alive for as long as he can for the people he loves matter more to Jimin than just about anything else.

It just matters a little bit less than keeping them all happy and plied with the comforts of life, nice apartments and good food, nesting materials, and courting gifts for Jungkook when he comes into the picture.

Maybe you’re only a psycho if you don’t care who you kill, and Jimin- Jimin cares. If not for the sake of his own soul then for those he loves. Jimin doesn’t believe in heaven, but if he did he’d want to be with them forever. If the gods above decide Jimin is not worth heaven, he will claw his way through the back door. Slither and seep under the pearly gates.

For Taehyung- he’d do anything.

Maybe death won’t be like the pearly gates at all. Maybe it will be more of a weighing of the hearts. And Jimin feels light enough with love to cancel out his own sins- their love makes him feel lighter than a bird.

(But Jimin is not a bird, he is not small and gentle and soft- that would be you. Jimin is something that eats soft and small things, a feather hanging from his mouth with fangs- no- Jimin is a snake. Particular about where he makes his den, a killer- but one who needs the warmth of others to survive properly.)

It’s easy to fit his occasional hits around his usual clientele, especially once he gets hired by the entertainment company and their rookie idol group. He doesn’t kill for them, they’re too pitiful- a bunch of scattered divas to Jimin, but it’s reliable and the simple work lets his mind wander. It's is a fine cover for what he actually does with the amount that they trave).

The weeklong assignments never arouse too much suspicion in Tae either since most of them are interspersed with legitimate trips. Jimin’s even started making enough that he doesn’t have to excuse the extra income and hide it as well as he used to. He’s almost as well-known as a bodyguard as he is an assassin with an impressive list of recommendations.

Jimin has a stare that would top would be stalkers in their path, Jimin’s smile is so creepy that even my dog doesn’t like it, hire him and you won’t regret it. I only feel safe when Jimin is near.

Maybe we need to back up a bit again, third time's the charm.

Every mafia keeps at least one assassin on its payroll and Jimin is only one of five other people that he knows kills for the family. Not just any family but the family, the one who runs 90% of the drugs from Miami to Portland. The one that owns the fighting rings in Georgia and manages the omega trafficking through Washington dc.

Of course, an organization that large and embedded into society would need a killer or two, or 5 regulars. Jimin's only ever heard the name of the others in passing always by alias and never by their real names (That kind of thing is kept under wraps). But he knows enough about the wolf, the spider, the swan, and the bee to make his own blood curdle.

Each of them has their own specialties- their own use to the family. Jimin is nothing more than the muscle; a violent, quick, and efficient killer meant for deaths that don't need to be perfectly hidden or cultivated to happen at the right time; his kill is so occasional and a rarity so simple that the others might as well not dirty their hands with it.

Jimin knows he costs 1/3 as much as the others do, a bargain-basement variety assassin, the on-sale version, the cheap replica. He’s the lowest assassin on the pack's totem pole and he needs it that way.

He won’t kill lay people, people who haven’t done anything wrong or were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s his own morals- however slight but if Jimin cares who he kills it’s just because he thinks it would matter to Taehyung.  The family was surprisingly understanding of Jimin’s own squeamishness; on his entrance interview Jimin had even filled out a checklist of the kind of targets he'd preferred. 

They were terribly organized and terribly corporate, more business-like than anything the media could dream up. Jimin had expected to meet with his potential employer in some back room- not a corporate office in the middle of downtown. There were no racks of guns or rooms full of contraband just rows of grey cubicles and secretaries answering phones.

Women, children, cats, dogs, alphas who were evil, and omegas that weren’t. The man who had facilitated Jimin’s hiring had looked down at the papers jimin had signed, only two boxes checked out of the two dozen descriptions of possible targets. ‘omegas who have committed serious crimes’ and ‘alphas who have committed serious crimes" checked off. He hadn’t seemed displeased at all giving Jimin a small smile, saying “We can work with that.”

There isn’t anything more dangerous than a pissed-off or unhappy employee- especially when it comes to an assassin.

Over the years he's pieced together information about his contemporaries; none of them seem to have the same squeamishness that Jimin does when it comes to killing. The wolf doesn’t mind killing children, or innocents. The swan was better at killing in public than even Jimin and pretty too apparently earning her name.

The Bee was a fan of the quiet kill; the needle in pillowcases, the poison laced into a biscuit at the local coffee shop that a target frequented with a delayed release so that they were miles or countries away by the time a target was dealt with. A drop of a paralytic in a favorite bottle of whiskey. Heart attacks are so excusable these days with the rise of so much toxic food. The kind of kill the coroners didn’t often catch.

And the spider handles mass casualties, gang wars, an expert at all kinds of killing and getting out alive. he handles kills that aren't done with guns at all; the kind that needs a particular flare; that needs to be loud and send a message. Bombs and arson are just so much fun for men like that- men who relish in the bloodletting.

From what Jimin knows, the wolf, the swan, and the spider do most if not all of the pack's contract kills, you get a better price if you don't hire out to hitmen, and they're less likely to talk to the feds too.

Maybe Jimin is a little bit of a psycho but he's not stupid, he compiles a list of everything he knows to cover his ass. The only way to really hide information is if you never write it down but Jimin recites the long lists of facts that he knows about the others before and after every hit.

And sue him, he finds murder impressive, it's his career after all.

In all reality, Jimin isn’t needed most of the time, only when the deaths don’t need to happen quietly or quickly, and don’t need to look like an accident. The rare kind of death that doesn’t need to be a complete secret, the lazy kills that are absent of glamor or notice.

Not an accident, just another casualty of those lawmakers that do too little to keep guns off the street and have too much blood money lining their pockets. How many politicians are in the pocket of the family after all? How deep does the organization go? It could be none and it could be everyone and it wouldn’t make a difference. They’re still all going to get away with it.

The mafia trains him too, gives him weapons, teaches him how to use a sniper rifle, how to use an m12 accurately without actually making a fool of himself. teach him and give him more weapons than he could even dream of keeping at their apartment.

Even if it's not required of him jimin doesn't like to make a fuss. A bullet to the back of the hea while a target sleeps will do most of the time, and if that doesn't work then a knife to the chest in a crowded train station does just as well, or pushed in front of a train period if jimin feels like being messy.

But Jimin prefers the kind of deaths that happen on the long end of his sniper scope. The ones that don’t feel personal and up-close so he doesn't have to feel them before they die.

Maybe his soul isn’t completely damned if the people he kills only deserve it and he doesn’t seek it out more than he needs to. Killing people has always been something to pad the pack's pockets with, getting them through from one busy time to another. It was his first contract kill that allowed him to finally move to Taehyung, get them a pretty apartment with bay windows and built-in bookshelves for Tae’s collection.

Jimin was nothing if not the classic alpha- protect and provide, protect and provide on repeat in his head. and the killing felt worth it when he and tae finally moved back in together again, finally under the same roof where they never had to hide good night kisses or keep a careful distance cuddling on the couch. a place that was just theirs- a place where they where free to love. 

it felt like it was worth it when he got to spin Tae around in circles in their little kitchen. when got to curl up with him on their big king sized bed, neither of them had ever had a bed so large to themselves before- used to squeezing together on singles. Somehow they always find themselves just as close- Tae says he can’t sleep without feeling Jimin all over him. 

And then Jimin came home one morning a day early from his last job and found an unrecognizable pill bottle on Tae’s nightstand- usually tucked away in the safety of his school bag, a place where Jimin would never think of snooping because Jimin respects Tae’s privacy.

Citalopram, 50 milligrams. He snoops around and finds some records, a shitty school psychologist and Tae- struggling to cope with the stress of college. It’s easy to plant microphones in her office. To steal her personal files on Tae. Jimin respects Tae’s privacy enough to not search through his things- but not enough to let it go when it’s clear Tae must be hurting- that there must be something wrong. something that jimin can do to make it better. 

Planting a microphone might be just an edge over the line, but Jimin justifies that it's just for taehyung. Just to make sure he's okay.

“I feel like I can’t be enough for my-” he stumbles the way he always does whenever someone asks who Jimin is to him, alpha/alpha phobia is still too present in society to be entirely transparent about their relationship. “-my packmate anymore, I feel like we barely see each other and sometimes when he goes on his trips, I get so lonely that it hurts. I feel like one day he’s going to leave me behind, I can’t stop thinking about it, him gone and me alone, it keeps me up at night.”

The other notes written in the files are just as concerning; depression, anxiety, childhood trauma, insomnia written in small little writing that Jimin tears up with his fists, it makes him so angry he can’t see through the tears in his eyes, a deja-vu feeling of wetness at his cheeks.

And Tae- always Tae- lonely. Tae- sad. Unforgivable and despicable. If God was real Jimin would tear him limb from limb. No matter how much Jimin wants to tell Tae that he could never- ever in a million years leave him. He can’t let Tae know what he’s done.  

No matter the blood money and his budding crime career, Jimin is a fucking failure. He tries to stay home more often and tries to make the trips as quick as possible. But Tae can only go to sleep on his own so many nights in a row before he can’t sleep at all and planning murders takes 3 days minimum. There is only one solution that Jimin can think of.

Jimin would do anything for Tae to make him happy, including letting another person into their home.

Jimin already owns Tae in every way that matters and Jimin- Jimin is Teahyung’s monster threw and threw. Alphas are supposed to want omegas after all, they’re supposed to need them- that’s the whole point of ruts and heats. Neither of them can biologically sate the itch in each other’s brains, neither of them can make a nest.

Not in the way an omega can.  

Jimin does some research in his spare time and finds that there are even psychological journals and scientific studies on the effects of nesting on alpha physiology. Alphas that have access to omega nests have a reduced likelihood of heart disease and higher self-reported rates of happiness. A slew of other positive effects, less anxiety, longer life spans, and lower levels of cortisol.

All Jimin wants is for Tae to be happy, he can put up with a weak ditzy omega for a while, forever maybe, if it means they put a smile on Tae’s face.

If there's one thing that Jimin's learned about managing his tendencies it's that he needs to work out. Even if he's not working he at least needs something physical to run the rat race of his brain ragged to the point where he didn’t think about getting evicted if he didn’t kill someone next month, or how Tae was even more stressed now in his senior year than he’d been in his junior.

He hadn't been looking for an omega for Tae. But when he first saw the black-haired omega at the gym squatting as much as he Jimin weighed, the smell of honey dripping across his forehead and filling the room with the scent of an omega all he thought was, ‘Tae would like this one.’

But Jeon Jungkook is not a ditzy omega, and he’s not a weakling either. The strength in his arms is both an added benefit and a potential threat. Though Jimin spends more time staring at the muscles in his legs and ass than the ones on his arms. At least maybe, if Jimin's not there and something happens there will be someone to protect Tae.

It’s a little funny how quickly Jimin becomes fixated on the idea of jeon Jungkook. How quick his gaze gravitates toward him and how quickly he starts to fantasize. he breaks into the gym after hours and finds jungkook’s employee files, finds his address, his age, his everything. It’s too easy to run a background check on him after than and find that he’s disarmingly normal, not a single red flag. 

Jimin makes sure to time his workouts with Jungkook’s hours, makes sure not to wear scent blockers and watches as the omegas nose wiggles cutely whenever Jimin hovers near. He knows he smells good when he's happy and it's easy to let his thoughts wander to Taehyung whenever he's around Jungkook.

Its easy to approach him one day, “I'm not sure I know how to use this machine, would you mind showing me…”

Jungkook had licked his lips, eyeing Jimin up and down- “Jungkook- my name's jungkook.”

It's probably bad to admit that his initial interest in Jungkook had only gone as far as his ulterior motives. It had been easy enough to flirt with him after their casual comments turned them from acquaintances into gym buddies. Jimin knows how to be seductive, knows how to charm omegas by bringing Jungkook sugary muffins and coffees just cuz, knows by the way that Jungkook’s scent sweetens whenever he grows near that the omega is attracted to him.

Whenever Jimin holds the bar for him during his squats or the way his hands smooth down his back to correct his posture a faint blush forms on the omegas cheeks, enough that Jimin lets his hands Linger a second longer than they should. The omega jokingly picks him up when Jimin complains his legs are turned to jelly by their squat circuit, nuzzling into his hair before he thinks better of it and gently puts Jimin down. 

“Sorry, my heats soon, you just smell so nice hyung.” Jungkook is terribly transparent. And Jimin knows Tae likes it when people wear their hearts on their sleeve, he’s perfect for Tae.

And Tae does like the omega, he likes Jungkook’s scent when Jimin steals his black sweatshirt under the guise of switching theirs ‘accidentally’ knowing that if Jungkook brought his scent back to his nest he’d think about Jimin for his entire heat.

Tae liked him even more when he accompanied Jimin to the gym one afternoon- because Jimin actually had ended up talking to Tae about the medication, not hurt and not accusing him of hiding anything, just worried about his soulmate.

exercise only goes so far to help depression but Jimin can’t not try, “It will help, I promise if it doesn’t help you fall asleep tonight we don’t have to come back.”

But Tae was honestly just happy to spend time with Minnie, and Jimin might have sent a cautious smile to Jungkook, Jungkook whose heavy eyes flitted from Jimin to Tae, and spread into a tentative smile. Showing his teeth, rounded and not at all sharp, like a kitten with cut claws.

cute

As Jimin had predicted- they hit it off, talked on the treadmills until Tae’s legs had started to shake, talking about game of thrones and other media that they liked. Tae doing his usual “the books are so much better, I'm still holding out for the ending of course, and the fight moves in them are so cool- jiminie likes to act them out when he wants to be sexy for me.”  

And then Tae- noticing his mistake, “not that we’re-“

Jungkook’s smile makes Tae’s heart beat fast, Jimin can tell from the way his alpha straightens up at it; Posturing, however slight. moving to protect jimin from a perceived threat. “It’s okay, my roommate’s an omega and she’s coupled off with another one, how long have you and Minnie been together?”

Tae’s smile is wrapped around their love, “Since forever.”

Jungkook acted in similar approval when the topic drifted to Jimin’s job “you didn’t tell me you were a bodyguard hyung! And you didn’t tell me about Tae Tae either, do you save all your best secrets for last?”

“Guarding rich brats isn’t as fun as it sounds, but if you find it impressive then I guess it’s the most dangerous job in the world pup.”

Jungkook’s eyes flitter up and down Jimin’s body, appraising with a calculating eye, but not a judgmental one. Very few people seem to know the difference between judgment and calculation, and Jimin finds himself unintentionally endeared. If he had to use one word to describe Jungkook it would be honest.

And that might just be an asset where Tae’s concerned- especially given the secret therapist meetings and pill bottles. (maybe jimin’s not as smart as he thinks he is, seeing as the pill bottle was the first time he’d ever considered that taehyung could be lying to him). Jimin could use an ally, especially one he doesn’t have to worry about lying to him.

“I bet I could take you, I might be an omega but I promise I'm strong.” A flirtatious scuffle, where jungkook let himself be pinned, tilted his neck in a practiced way. This omega didn’t mind getting riled up around alphas, didn’t mind submitting, and even wanted it. It made the tiny infinitesimal part of Jimin that felt guilty for using him to make Tae happier just a little bit better.

When Jimin had looked up, he found Tae watching them, eyes wide and pupils dilated, his chest heaving a little, his scent turning from cinnamon to sweet spiciness in the way jimin knows he gets when he's turned on. 

Tae had gasped through an orgasm later while they talked, chanting, “you like him- don’t you Minnie? fuck he's-” and Jimin had growled into his ear while he set a punishing pace. “I like him if you like him Tae,”

Tae’d started going with Jimin to work out after that, but the habit had only stuck long enough for Jungkook to start coming home with them after for takeout. Just like Jimin predicted Jungkook and tae where quick friends, and fast lovers.

Tae deserves legions of people to love, endless attention, and endless kisses, he deserves jungkook, who smiles pretty and wakes up all stretched out and ready for a knot or two when their flirtations finally turn from just that into a real romance.

But jungkook also has more devilish needs, kinky needs that Tae cannot fulfill. And really- Jimin’s good at scratching that itch in him the brutal pace and hurtful words that Tae has always been too gentle for, too unsure of himself to conjure up.

Jimin doesn't mind being a dom for Jungkook as long as he stays around for Tae. Even if it’s selfish, he doesn’t mind putting a pretty little collar on Jungkook’s throat if it keeps him sated. even if Jimin has to admit that sometimes he likes it a little more than he should, that it settles something in him when he comes home and finds jungkook already waiting by the door, his collar around his throat. 

but it's more than that, Jimin doesn't mind the way it feels when jungkook lies his head on his lap and asks for Jimin to run his fingers through his hair. Jimin doesn’t mind the countless little freckles that coat the omega's body and doesn’t find it strange when he stops to count the freckles there because he counts Tae’s freckles all the time.

Jimin dosen’t mind jungkook at all. Likes him even, searches for him around the apartment in a half-asleep stupor on the mornings he leaves early for his classes at the gym.

Jimin even starts to look forward to getting videos of the two of them when he's on his work trips; taehyung cuddled up in Jungkook’s nest on their too large bed which is just the perfect size with the three of them, holding jimin’s pillow to his chest, dead asleep. The omegas soft voice lulling jimin into a sense of security; at least tae is taken care of this time, while he’s gone. at least taehyung has jungkook when Jimin’s not there. 

"took me a second tonight hyung, but operation make Taetae sleep more is a success!"

"Thank you puppy" Jimin's day had been full of planning, walking circles around a target's apartment block and marking out cameras and lines of sight. tomorrow, tomorrow another life will be snuffed out by Jimin's hands. But for tonight there is only jungkook and his love, in a nest two states away.

The video shows Jungkook running his fingers through tae's hair, and Jimin's heart swells with love, it grows thicker when jungkook giggles, watching jimin’s eyes flutter through the phone. "you call me puppy alpha when you're the one falling asleep on me hyung."

Jimin yawns, "Sorry, these hours always kick my ass,"

"Do you miss us alpha?"

"Of course I do pup," it's not a lie. Jimin does miss the two of them, enough that his heart thuds with relief the next day when his plan goes off without a hitch and before he knows it he's on a plane home.

Jungkook serves his purpose well. Jimin was right to choose him for Tae.

Who is Jimin to deny his favorite person more love, especially because Jungkookie is so ready to give it? The nest he makes in their apartment has Tae sleeping a full eight hours for the first time in months, the nest makes him throw away his pills after the 3rd month they court him because he doesn't need anymore. He doesn’t have room to be anxious about anything anymore because as much as Jimin won’t admit it- he’s fucking good at courting and Jungkook will be theirs, it's only a matter of time.

There had never been a need to court Tae because Tae had been his from the beginning. But courting Jungkook becomes something of a game. Jimin creates fake raises, plucks the expensive leather jacket off a Dior shelf, he tells Tae he lucked out at the thrift store and tries not to feel a little proud when Jungkook wears it everywhere. Asks them both to scent it so that it carries them with him wherever he goes so that all those stupid alphas at the gym know jungkook’s spoken for. 

There are other gifts, sugary donuts and coffees brought in just after Jungkook’s first class so that jimin can scent mark him before he goes off to his clients (mostly other alphas). Food sates the itch in Jimin’s skin and takes care of the provide part of protect and provide.

Teasing jabs of “Are you trying to fatten me up hyung?” turns into “I want to make you ready for our pups kookie- have to be healthy enough for Tae and I to breed.” Hissed low during Jimin’s rut. 

A rut that Jimin makes sure jungkook knows he doesn’t have to help him through- Tae’s rut is one thing,  But Jimin has never enjoyed his ruts, how the haze makes his mind all buttery. How his instincts seem too close to the surface, makes him want to write 'mine' with his teeth all over Jungkook and Tae.

Is possessiveness the same thing as love? Jimin’s instincts seem to think so. 

“What are you talking about alpha? Of course I'm gonna stay for your rut? You’re acting weird Minnie.”

Tae had been a good diversion, “Jimin just doesn’t want to scare you off, the truth is- he gets a little crazy in his ruts, just about throws me over his shoulder and sniffs me down like a puppy. Maybe he doesn't want you to see how soft he gets in the after.”  

Jimin's rut does go off without a hitch, and he ends it by lying his body over both of them, one arm around either of their waists, pinning them to the nest with his body so that neither one of them can move. 

Dates that they go on separately and together are also ripe for showing Jungkook what they have to offer as a pair. Jimin rents a motorcycle for an evening and drives jungkook around the city on the hottest night of the summer. Wind whipping in their faces and tearing a wildness from Jungkook's chest, the freedom he hasn't yet seen hasn't yet tasted but shouts to the wind at the feeling. Jimin's body Relaxes a little more with every minute Jungkook’s arms are around him, just a little.

Later jungkook will confess that that moment is when he fell in love with Jimin. Drawing a satisfied smirk to the alpha's face. “Really? A little bit of adventure is all it took?” the same kind of teasing that always makes Jungkook melt.

The thing is, Jimin didn't expect to incorporate another obsession into his life. 

It hadn't taken him long to learn Jungkook's favorite take-out orders, to learn that he might be capable of looking after himself but he didn't necessarily want to all the time. to learn the way he liked to have his clothes folded, to stare and stare at the way his hair curled over his forehead while he napped and nested. 

He hadn’t expected to obsess over another person, to have his brain filled with images of jungkook and Tae kissing, Jungkook and Tae playing with each other's hands on the couch, jungkook nuzzling into Tae’s neck while he was still asleep, or sitting in his lap over breakfast, and the way that the blush on his soulmates neck had traveled slowly down every time they kissed. 

Jimin obsesses over the kiss of Tae's pink-tipped cock nudging at Jungkook's soaking hole. Obsesses over the sweet honey slick dripping in slow motion. Wants to take photos to better remember jungkook lapping up Jimin’s cum from Tae’s stomach and the way the omega had let out a visible shudder at the taste of both of them on his tongue. He savored the way jungkook looked after cumming once on Tae’s knot once and twice on Jimin’s.

He devours jungkook sneezing, Jungkook’s cute little nose scrunch, the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other when he's under stimulated, that time he’d gone to pack his lunch and found an entire bag of carrots in there- earning him the pet name of bunny. Jimin's bunny and Jimin's taehyung. jungkook with his soft bunny soul that Jimin will keep safe forever. 

Jungkook- Jungkook- Tae and jungkook- jungkook and Tae. Tae- Tae Tae-

Tae and Jungkook are Jimin’s two obsessions. Jimin's mantra of Anything for Tae easily became anything for Tae and Jungkook. 

Jungkook, who stands up one morning, teetering on his feet, dizzy enough that Tae has to catch him, a few days before their relationship was bound to change forever- in more ways than one. the first time he’d had a seizure and the firs time they’d meet their future alpha. 

"sorry, I stood up into one of the machines yesterday and banged my head a bit,"

taehyung had been more concerned than Jimin, "Are you sure you're okay bunny?"

"Yeah! there's not even a lump, I'm just clumsy hyung."

If they had to pinpoint the start of the seizures, maybe it would have been there. 

Jimin was used to fucking Jungkook into overstimulation and regularly rung as many as 5 or 6 orgasms from him in a single session. jimin will never get used to it- this need- this need to make his packmates cum and cum so much that they're begging for less and not more. jimin likes to hide the fact that it strokes his ego when Tae and Jungkook call him the best they've ever had- but he has to live up to that each time.

He didn’t notice the first twitch- writing it off as just another peak to the many highs he was giving the omega. But then the second twitch happened, and then a third, Jungkook’s eyes rolled into the back of his head that made Jimin realize the twitching wasn’t... predictable- that it wasn’t normal.

It takes Jimin a handful of seconds to realize it's a seizure- that the trembling in his limbs doesn't time itself with Jungkook’s body clenching on his knot, Taehyung had reacted quicker, jumping onto the bed and screaming at Jimin to help him turn Koo on his side so that he doesn't choke on his tongue.

No- no- not jungkook- not their kookie. Neither of them can live without him. and he’s dying, face turning blue and teeth mashing together. limbs not moving right- not moving the way they do when he’s alive and. 

And then he’s still- but breathing, cheeks going from blue to sallow white then pink, and Jimin is screaming his name. 

He remembers looking down at kookie in his hospital bed after an enigmatic man named Dr. Kim had told them an overnight stay was necessary to monitor Jungkook for any more unusual brain activity. 

(Dr. Kim was a little annoying in Jimin’s opinion- maybe it was the fact that Jimin’s instincts just wouldn’t shut up around mind you, every time the man looks at him Jimin’s internal clock feels like it’s being spun, like time is going too slow and too quick all at once, seriously it's so annoying). 

He'd been hooked up to censors, neat little white tabs under his hair, and the beeping machines an uneven lulaby. It's not the first seizure and not the last according to doctor Kim after a preliminary brain scan and Jimin watches them- waiting for another to happen. 

He remembers being surprised at the tears that fell onto the back of his hands, touching his cheeks and finding them wet. Jimin rarely cries, he doesn't have enough human in his body for something as simple as tears but his hands are shaking and he's sobbing, stifling his tears by biting the back of his hand so he doesn't wake them.

Jungkook looked grey-faced in the hospital bed, in need of his rest; Jimin’s love- sick. Jimin’s lovely little omega- nearly dying. Tae had already cried himself to sleep sprawled across Jungkook's lap, his eyes puffy. Holding Jungkook around his waist softly, puffy cheek pillowed against the thin sheets. His skin turned grey with sadness, face pinched with pain.

Jungkookie can't go- they can't take him from them. He can't go he can't go-he can't. He and Tae, they have to stay here, they have to stay by Jimin's side or else- or else he wouldn't know how to function.

Jungkook had stirred, his mumbled words not making much sense but Jimin had soothed him effortlessly with a scent gland pressed below his nose. The omega had settled back under the covers, and for the rest of the night, Jimin had remained firmly between them and the door, their protector- their pack alpha.

Until that moment, Jimin hadn’t really been sure if he really loved Jungkook or if his heart just automatically gravitated to what Tae loved. But no- he’s thoroughly doomed. His brain repeating the same words over and over again- holy fuck- not two- I can't love two people. It’s too much. Jimin’s heart breaks from the love overflowing it.

But he can’t protect Jungkook the way he protected Tae, there are no bullies with fingers to break- only blood money in his pocket and expensive treatments that might keep him alive and operating at full bunny capacities for as long as he can. Jimin gets the first hospital bill and immediately doubles his yearly kill count.

And so two became three. jungkook moved in fully immediately after the seizures, since he needed someone around his basically constantly to make sure he didn’t die. Gone where the days of bringing him donuts and takeout to the gym just cuz, and here where the days where Jimin and taehyung poured over articles and tried recipe after recipe to help jungkook adjust to his new lifestyle. 

Jimin found him one day, sat on the floor in their bedroom an empty bag of chips in front of him crying, scared out of his mind, but it had been so hard to resist- to accept that his life had changed. the omega had been crying- “hyung don’t hate me- please don’t hate me i know i’m so much work for you and tae- i know i’m not the same but-” 

Jimin did his best to kiss away jungkook’s tears, “it’s okay kookie- im not mad, im not upset we’re just worried, here, here come sit in the nest, let’s just lie here for a little bit okay? Why don’t you call Dr. Kim he always makes you feel better baby,”

with tae done with school, killing people became a way to pay off Jungkook’s copious medical dept, and a way to search for a cure (even though there isn’t one). 

Jungkook didn’t have insurance when his epilepsy started and now that it qualifies as a pre-existing condition it’s nearly impossible for him to get it. Jungkook has to get monthly brain scans, an MRI, and a CT scan each- just to make sure that he’s not getting long-term brain damage.

Jungkook and the whole pack still think they’re gifted assistance by the government for that, They don’t know that it's blood money that keeps Jungkook alive and healthy. They don’t know that Jimin has been paying it off slowly- going straight to the hospital to reduce the medical bills greatly, a private donor.

Each visit costs at least ten grand not to mention the occasional overnights that he has to go in for when his seizures are bad and last too long. In the beginning, Jimin had to do a hit once a month just to keep them from going underwater.

The same words are a mantra in his head; anything for Jungkook, anything for Tae. Jimin's shoulders ache with that responsibility- because if he thought looking after one packmate was too much, having two will be twice the responsibility.

But he doesn't have to worry for long because Dr. Kim- Namjoon will take that weight and help him bear it too. 

Jimin was ready to accept the medical professional into their lives in the same way he’d originally sought out jungkook for Tae. It helps alleviate some of the anxiety when Jimin has to leave- that he's not leaving his two special people unattended. Dr. Namjoon is simply the best person for jungkook to be around- the safest person for jungkook to love. 

The fact that namjoon considered jimin as also his isn't something he considers, not for a long while.

When they first merged packs with Namjoon, and it became clear that Yoongi's scent and genetics were able to keep Jungkook's seizures at bay ever so slightly jimin was happy to accept them into their ranks. Jimin is happy to bend to Jin’s will when he keeps his two favorite people happy.

Jimin's a little pissed off when his initial reaction to the omega is to roll over and show his belly, his stupid instincts having much the same reaction that they’d had to namjoon. no wonder why they where so close, why namjoon’s hand seemed permanently glued to jin’s lower back. 

but jimin can’t help but let out a small happy grumble when the older omega runs his fingers through Jimin's hair and comments dryly. "Now- you're nothing more than a pup, I don't know why Joonie called you intimidating you're just a cutie."

Cutie, jimin’s never been called a cutie by someone before. 

Jimin hadn't been able to stop his blush, most people find him creepy, but not Jin. not Jin who fusses with Jimin's jacket every time they leave, scolding him for not wearing a thicker one. Not Jin who sends them off with trays and trays of seizure-friendly food who takes to cooking for jungkook as easily as namjoon takes to loving him. 

Jimin asks why the other omega is doing so much for them, and Jin replies so naturally, "you spend so much of your energy looking after your pack jiminie, who looks after you? who takes care of you?"

Beyond Taehyung and Jungkook, no one has ever wanted to take care of him. not even his parents loved him like that. Jimin is not someone who anyone should invite in, not some pretty stray pup (that would be Hoseokie) but a snake hiding outside the back door searching just for a little bit of warmth to hide in. 

And yet- Jin is so so giving. Really, he should be more careful with whom he gives his love to. If he doesn't have enough sense to be careful with his heart than Jimin will be the sense for him.

Of course, Jimin had been nearly irate when his obsessions expanded, because if having two people to look after was too much then having five was defintly too much for one alpha to do. Jimin never expected to find other obsessions the same way it started with Tae, but it's possible apparently, for a snake to find 7 separate dens to sleep in.

Jimin finds himself kissing off Jin’s pout because he wants to, finds himself craving Namjoon’s scent because it makes him feel all gooey inside, safe in a way that Jimin didn’t know he needed to feel safe. He finds himself picking Yoongi up and kissing him silly on the countertops just to taste his chocolate scent a little closer. To get them all in him and not just outside of himself.

It’s easy to love all of them. It's easy to love Hobi when he comes along, it's easy to get just as obsessed with them as he is with Tae. Jimin recites each of their favorite things in his head much like he recites the facts of his contemporary assassins. learns them the way he'd learn targets and escape routes.

Namjoon loves plants almost as much as Hobi does, the gentle alpha sniffs the ones by the roadside when Jimin walks him home which he also really really likes, Namjoon might be a pack alpha but he loves remembering that the pack bond goes two ways. He always acts happy when Jimin takes pictures of them and sends them to his group chat when he’s away. And likes it even better when he takes an interest in their health and backs Namjoon up with his concerns.

Jin- Jin likes it when Jimin cleans up after dinner without having to ask, likes it even better when he takes the initiative and sets out the banchan on nights when he’s missing his family. It helps the sadness at their passing feel just a little farther away. Jin likes hearing his opinions on things and having a second voice in his head to decide, not because he doubts his own point of view but because he values Minnie's different perspective.

Jin might not nest as much as jungkook does- but he certainly likes nesting materials and having ample amounts readily accessible. Pastels preferably. he's more color-focused than jungkook is.

Hobi- Hobi likes to feel included and in on special secrets, likes it when Jimin takes him on special one-on-one dates. Likes it when Jimin tells him small little secrets of how they operate. “Don’t tell Jungkookie- but it really makes Tae crazy when he steals his cream cuz he uses it everywhere not just on his face. And Jin knows so he always makes sure to buy an extra container so that when jk uses all of it, Tae doesn't have to scold him.”

And Yoongi, Yoongi likes it when Jimin doesn’t ask too many questions, likes it when he just pulls the beta onto his lap for some cuddling, scenting him. Likes it when he teases him for small things and praises him too, "your knees are do pink hyung, do you ever get any sunlight? Hasn't Namjoon given you talking too about vitamin D."

"Yes but he also teases me about the other vitamin d" he likes the way that Jimin can get possessive sometimes. The way that their sex life is half a joke and half Jimin staking his claim on the beta.

"Well, we should make sure you've gotten your daily requirements huh?"

Yoongi likes the softer sex more than he likes the rough stuff, likes it when jimin rocks slowly into him or laps at his cute little beta cock, “you’re our special packmate, don’t you know that hyung? I don’t know what we’d do without you baby.”

Maybe Jimin's just greedy. Maybe he wants as much love as a regular person so he's fooled them into thinking that he's good enough for them- that he's worth their love. He’s lied and bartered and killed to be here so fooling them into thinking that the hands they touch and cradle aren't covered with blood isn't much of a stretch.

Jimin knows if they knew, they wouldn't love him, but he needs them too badly to be truthful. Couldn't risk losing them even if-

Even if every time he kills it gets a little harder, that every time he fires his gun he see’s their faces. He's always worried that somehow the death on the other side will hurt them. Jimin doesn't have anxiety- couldn't have it he's just not built that way-but when he shakes awake in jin's arms, the omega cooing at him and telling him it's going to be alright, that he just has to breathe- Well, the Shoe fits. 

Jimin doesn't want to be a killer, even if he is one.

But once you’ve earned your name in the underworld it’s hard to distance yourself from it. It’s hard to stop killing once they’ve made you start. Jimin doesn’t need the money as much as he used to anymore. Doesn’t need it period by the time that their packs join for real.

He Lets his other contemporaries pick up enough work that his unwillingness is barely noticed by the main family. For all they know Jimin is just lazy and in love. He does maybe three or four murders a year- nothing more.

Snakes take a long time to digest their kills and Jimin is no different. But Jimin’s bosses aren’t the kind of people you can say no too. he cannot dodge their requests or turn down contracts indefinitely, his will must bend to theirs.

Every time he kills he gets a little closer to losing them- he doesn't know why it feels that way but he knows, everything has an expiration date. It's an unfortunate truth but- 

Jimin will be a killer for them until the day he dies.

~-~

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[darkacademicfrom2021]

Flufftober - Day 27

27 - “I’m cold” - “Here, have my jacket”

Pairing: Loki x reader

Word count: 3K (I wRiTe DrAbBlEs)

Written for @flufftober2021 's event.

A/N: You know, that this is “flufftober” doesn’t mean I’m actually writing fluff. I have no idea what this is, it’s like a… story, at least. I don’t even know where I get these ideas from. Just by looking at the tags your confusion may grow bigger.

Tags: a refrigerator, a tall man hiding like a cat and defying the laws of physics, Sif and the warriors three being in midgard for no reason at all, Loki being uncomfortable all the time, implied choking kink (this is nowhere near smut), a lot of misused sarcasm, a The Nanny reference because why not.

The day you lost your job was both the scariest and best day you've had in your life.

It all began with one man —as all problems do—. A man you thought you'd never see again. He walked into your cafe as if escaping somewhere else, straightened his back and arranged his clothes, and with a deep breath he faked a smile and walked around the place, as if searching for something. You let him look for whatever he was looking for —he didn't seem to harm anyone anyways—, until after some consideration on whether to actually talk to him or not, you asked,

"Good morning, sir. Can I help you with anything?".

He looked taken aback by the question, as if he wasn't used to how coffee shops worked, and he also looked somehow apologetic, as if he was about to bring chaos to you by only being there.

"I… uh…", he looked around again, misplacing his attention in every detail of the place. "You… I'm aware this will sound odd, to say the least", he whispered in a gravel voice, gathering courage. "But is there any chance you could tell me where I am?".

"Of course. You're right here", you took out a map of the neighborhood and pointed at the street you were in. He frowned and took the map, observing it up and down.

"Is this anywhere near New York?".

"This is… wait, what?", you chuckled, thinking this was some sort of a prank. The man pressed his lips in a thin line and asked you for a newspaper. He checked the date, the weather and the country, and furrowed his eyebrows, as if trying to remember basic geography.

After a while, he decided on sitting and asked you for a black coffee, looking nervously through a window. Was he in a run? Was he in danger? Did he need medical attention? He seemed quite lost, but quickly acquainted to whatever situation he had gotten into.

He finished his coffee after two hours of staring at the window anxiously and scribbling down nonsense in a napkin, overpaid it, and left without giving you time to give his money back.

He came back the next day, this time way more relaxed and way less lost, sat on the same table by the window and pulled out a book. He drank his coffee graciously, read the book too fast to even process it, overpaid his visit and left after two or three hours. He did this every day for five weeks.

In these five weeks you managed to know very little of him by his words and his actions. He was elegantly dressed every day, with either a black tight suit or expensive dressing shirts in black tones. Part of his outfit was, of course, a marvelous silhouette that couldn't go unnoticed. He was taller than most, and talked as if he would run out of words at any given moment; he barely exchanged a word or two. Perhaps it could be because he could also express whatever he wanted to say with a limited and calculated facial expression. A small smile, a smirk, a raised eyebrow, a low chuckle.

The man was even sitting with manners. He crossed his long legs elegantly, back straightened and somehow still a little hunched over the table, and all of his attention to a book he held with one hand, between slim fingers —without a ring, you thought. It was a silly thought, but you couldn't figure out who he was. Why did he come to your small cafe every single day; ordered the same thing, read a new book, and smiled at you like that —every single day.

One day after five weeks you thought you could finally get an answer. A man even bigger than him, brute like only a beast could be, beamed into the place with some friends behind him, making a scandal out of an order.

"A beer for every one of us, please!", he chanted at you from his table. You thought it wasn't that strange, possibly they could be going to some bizarre costume party, and he was just very well fed as a kid; but the man in the dark suit soon hid under the table and pulled the tablecloth further down to hide every inch of him.

You served the clients casually and eyed him from time to time. He hid everything he had over the table too, as if leaving no clues that there was a man with a book, black coffee and the jacket of a suit in there. The table looked perfectly arranged, as if he wasn't there to begin with.

You frowned in confusion, and once you knew they wouldn't see you, you walked discreetly towards the man and kneeled to match his height.

"Do you need help, sir?", you whispered, and he smiled politely, as if hiding there was anything wrong at all.

"Thank you, the coffee is perfectly fine. I shall drink it from here and leave, as always".

"I'd normally let you be, but you're under the table".

"Don't your clients do this? Absolutely normal behaviour back home, to me".

"Sir", you chuckled, amazed at his grace and wit even that nervous. "If you need a place to hide I can help you. The kitchen, for example", you pointed at the room behind the counter.

He looked over it, assessed the situation with the group of people, and finally nodded. You walked to the big blond man, trying to create a distraction by asking if they needed something to eat, and as soon as you looked back at the table, he wasn't there anymore.

You hurried your steps towards the kitchen, and closed the door behind you as soon as you got in, finding the man picking at his palm and tapping his foot incessantly on the floor. Apart from that, he seemed extremely calm —if not even having fun at the situation—, and you couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was going on.

“So, are you gonna explain or am I supposed to hide a man on a run just for the kicks of it?”.

“If I’ve learnt anything in my life, it is that we all do things for the kicks of it. And, don’t deny it, this is the most interesting thing to ever happen to you at this dull work of yours”, he said. You thought this might’ve been the longest answer you’ve ever gotten from him.

“No, I’m doing this because I’m a nice person and you need help”.

“Neither I need help, nor you’re so nice. Midgardians think so great of themselves…”, he began saying, and you frowned in confusion, but didn’t have enough time to ask about what midgardians meant, as he grabbed you by the arm quickly and ran up to the huge refrigerator, closing the door behind him. You wanted to scream, but he put his hand over your mouth gently and shushed you, gesturing that one of the friend group was entering the kitchen.

You should’ve screamed for help, but you didn’t. Instead, you waited until the tall and menacing woman stopped searching for you, and walked out by saying something to the group, like “we should keep our quest going, friends. Loki will not be found and brought home by himself”.

The man by your side listened carefully, until they'd gone away, and just then sighed out in relief. You looked at him quizzically, puzzled by all of this, and he moved his head unconvincingly, trying to find the right words.

“That was my brother. I can’t go back… home, with them”, he explained. You frowned and nodded.

“Alright… that might explain about a ten percent of all the weird things happening in here. Listen, how are we supposed to get out now? Are you aware this is a refrigerator?”.

“This is… not a room?”.

“It’s a refrigerator. We will freeze to death if we don’t figure out how to get out… what’s your name, again?”.

“I’ve never told you my name”.

“Well?”.

“Don’t you just have some sort of a key, or something?”.

“That is not how refrigerators work. We’re stuck here until my shift ends, and my co-worker walks in and hopefully hears us, and opens the door from the outside”, you sighed, sitting on the cold floor, already chilling and trembling out of coolness. He hummed and sat by your side, unworriedly.

“It seems like all we have to do is wait, then”.

“How are you not worried? My shift ends in an hour. We will get sick by then. And I’ll lose my job if he thinks too much into the fact that I’m stuck with a handsome client in the refrigerator”, you said without thinking. He smirked.

“Handsome?”.

“And how are you not freezing? Christ, this is terrible. I’m gonna lose my job and I won’t be able to pay rent and…”, you began overthinking. He grabbed your hand confidently and looked at you in the eyes with an assured look.

“Don’t worry. I’ll solve it out if this gets you in any trouble”, he said, and you even believed it for a second. How could he be so sure of that? “I always find my way”.

“Fine”, you sighed, giving up on panicking. It wouldn't help at all, and the first thing you had to think about now was the terrible cold you’d catch the next day. You shivered and tried to do some friction with your hands, but the heat of your own body seemed to have hidden from you. He observed you and took off his jacket, placing it around your shoulders. You were taken a bit aback, and quickly took it off, giving it back. “You’ll freeze yourself”.

“I don’t feel cold”.

“Don’t lie. It’s freezing here. Water turns into ice in less than an hour”.

“I’m really not cold at all. I can even prove it to you. Here, look”, he said, surrounding your neck with his palm and fingers. You almost choked on air at the gesture, blushing from head to toes, and soon realized he was showing you how hot his hands were. Suddenly you weren’t feeling so cold, and you didn’t think it was only because of the heat from his hands… wait.

“How the fuck are you not freezing?”.

“Honestly? I have no idea”.

“How come every time you say honestly I think you’re just taking up time to think of a lie?”.

“Why are you so grumpy?”, he rolled his eyes.

“I’m cold!”.

“Here, have my jacket”, he insisted. You finally huffed out and accepted it.

After a few minutes of silence, you tried to make conversation.

“Why are you hiding from him?”.

“From my brother? I don’t want to go with them”.

“Why?”.

“They’re… not great. Not as fun as they sound to be”.

“Well, they dress funny”.

“They have no idea how to camouflage in different cultures. I, at least, did a little research before falling into this place… I had no clue where I was to begin with, I just asked Heim… er, my friend, to drop me wherever he thought properly, and he just sent me to the most obvious and less hidden place from my brother”.

“Siracusa?”.

“Midgard. You see, he thinks he’s guarding the place, and it’s ridiculous, you clearly don’t need protection”.

“What are we even talking about? I feel like we’re from different worlds, not different cultures”, you laughed, and he swallowed in nervousness.

“Anyway. I have to hide from him because I’ve been too secluded from them lately, and mother has asked them to make me join them in their stupid hunts”.

“Hunts?”.

“Right? Brutal things, I do not enjoy them”.

“And why can’t you just say no?”.

“It’s a hierarchy thing. I can’t deny him if he wants me to participate in a traditional event”.

“Hierarchy? Isn’t he just your brother?”.

“Have I not told you? We’re princes”.

You chuckled, and nodded in understanding.

“Listen, this whole thing is really funny, but pull the camera off wherever it is and help me out of this. I’m gonna get fired for a stupid thing for, what, YouTube?”.

“My tube? No, listen, here’s the thing. I could get us out of here, but it’d be… too weird to explain”, he said, and you frowned.

“Then get us out! I don’t need explanations, I need solutions!”.

He sighed, and reluctantly grabbed both of your shoulders. You didn’t question it much, and let him do whatever he had planned. He closed his eyes, concentrated, and frowned a little bit. He grabbed you tightly and around you an aura of green lights and sparks moved everything that surrounded you, making you dizzy; teleporting you to the other side of the door.

The coolness of the refrigerator wore off instantly. You blinked twice, trying to process the information, yet couldn’t.

“Okay, I might need an explanation too”.

“Listen”, he said, pulling his hands away from you and arranging his clothes. “If there’s any way I could compensate for being so nice with me…”.

But he couldn’t finish what he was saying, because the voice of your boss walking into the kitchen interrupted him.

“There’s a huge line of clients, and nobody’s been there for half an hour… Were you here all of this time?”.

“Oh, I can explain, actually, we were…”.

“With a man hiding in the kitchen? With his jacket? What, were you cold?”, said your boss, and Loki stepped forward.

“Hey, that's not a way to talk to your emplo…”.

“It’s fine, please”, you cut him off, grabbing him by the wrist. You really, really needed the job.

“No, it’s not”, said your boss. “You can’t be having sex with clients in the middle of your shift. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re fired”.

“We were not…”.

“You can’t fire me”, you said, gathering courage and taking your apron off. “Because I quit!”, you said dramatically, walking off the kitchen. The prince followed you with a smirk, but you soon walked back in. “No, you fired me. That way, I’ll be able to collect unemployment”.

Once you were out of the building, the prince found you sitting on the sidewalk with tears in your eyes. He sat by your side and rubbed circles in your back.

“I’m really sorry”, he said with sincerity. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do that in the first place”.

“I’m not worried about it, I actually wanted to leave this hellplace”, you said, sniffing. “But I have to look for another job or else I won’t be able to feed my pets and pay rent”.

“I have a solution”, he said. “Remember how I told you I was a prince?”.

You chuckled.

“What? You’re gonna propose and make me your royal companion?”.

“Well, maybe not yet. We should have a date first, for that”, he chuckled. “Perhaps you would like a job at the Palace. Although, you know, you wouldn’t have to worry about rent because you’d live there too”.

“If this is a running joke you have, I’m not liking it”.

“I swear it’s not. Come with me to Asgard”.

“Asgard”, you repeated. “Asgard the… oh”.

“You know mythology, right?”.

“I… well… I know mythology, but...”, you said, trying to process what he just said. Now everything started to make a little bit of sense —even if only a little.

“What do you say? Yes?”, he raised his eyebrows, expecting the answer like a content puppy expecting for a treat. You sighed, not knowing what the hell you were getting into.

“Yes”.

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[van-zieksy]

Hi anon here! I have another question for you regarding our good ol Reaper. If you were to make suggestion on making van Zieks Investigations game - where he would get back to prosecuting again (similar to how Miles Edgeworth’s) what would you like to see the most to be covered in cases/story? I personally would like to see more interactions between him and Kazuma and ofc Herlock and cant forget Iris (maybe even reveal for Iris that Barok is her uncle). Yet I would also like to see a food antagonist who would match Barok’s wit abd help to develop his character even further. I would like to see your ideas on this. Have a wonderful day~

Hello anon,

Welcome back! I am always happy to hear from my „good ol’ Reaper“ anon. <3

Thank you so much for your patience. As previously mentioned, this week has been quite busy, and next week is going to be even busier with that procedure I have coming up. Thanks for allowing me to answer this ask! It was a joy to think about your questions.

I do have a few general ideas of what a game centered around Barok as the protagonist could look like. Personally, I do not think it is necessary to fully retain the Edgeworth template. Not to mention that DGS1 and 2 already took some liberties with the established AA formula, so this game may as well be a breath of fresh air, as long as it retains the essence of AA.

The duology provided closure to the Japanese side of things. Ryunosuke and Susato are going back to Japan to open up their own law firm and to do what they can to reform the judicial system in their own country. A game focused on Barok (and Kazuma) should at least acknowledge that at the beginning of the game since they played an integral part in the first two games. I do have something written out, but my answer won’t focus on this. The British side of things received some closure, but not as much as it could (should) have, which is why a game focused on our British prosecutor(s) could be beneficial.

A few stressful months after DGS2, we see Barok sitting in his office, reflecting on the Professor case, the Reaper curse, and the many changes that have occurred since then, as he writes in his diary. Kazuma is sitting next to him. They exchange a few words and come to the consensus that they have already accomplished a lot since that particular trial and must keep moving forward. Looking back does not change the past. They decided to not publicise what really happened ten years ago, as it was never publicised to begin with. The general public has always been in the dark about it. They realised that the people who need to know the truth are now enlightened. The past deeds of third parties should not hinder – even harm - present day people in their path forward, as they are invaluable to bring about positive change. Yet, of course, the case has caused some turmoil within judiciary circles and led to Stronghart’s conviction, who was sentenced to receive the most severe punishment, along with Jigoku, who „passed away“ in his cell before his departue to Japan where he was supposed to face his own trial. Stronghart’s involvement in the Reaper organisation has been made public, which absolved Barok of any guilt. However, we all know that old habits die hard, so it will take some time for the public to finally stop shunning Barok. Many government officials were released from their duty thanks to the shared efforts of Barok and Kazuma. Kazuma pushed hard, and even appealed to the Queen, to get Barok the vacant position of Lord Chief Justice. The prosecution trainee prepared a speech, for which he practiced every night, and he was able to give it flawlessly (well done, Kazuma. Ryuu would be proud!). Kazuma knew that Barok is the most ideal choice for this position, because despite the corruption that has plagued the judiciary for so long, the darkness was never able to touch London’s top prosecutor, even if it brought him pain. He has always stayed true to his principles, remained humble and fought fair. Barok reluctantly accepted the position under the condition that he is still allowed to appear in court as a prosecutor and retain Kazuma as his student.

The game should wrap up the past early on so that we can focus on providing a fresh game. The main aspect Barok takes away is that even though everyone around him either betrayed him or actively hurt him, he must not let that hold him back anymore. Barok’s arc in DGS was that of trust. If we take a moment to reflect on that, we realise that it makes sense for Barok to not trust anyone: Stronghart used him and others, Gregson went along with painting Barok as the Reaper and committed crimes in his name, Klint developed a dark side and went on a murder spree, Genshin killed Barok’s brother instead of lifting him up and subsequently tried to struck a deal with the dark forces that brought his friend to his knees, Kazuma – the apprentice he accepted - wanted to send him to the gallows over crimes he didn’t commit, the public ostracised him etc. In the end he lost everyone he was closest to. Not only did they pass away, they also weren’t who he hoped they were, even if he had his doubts about some of them. Kazuma’s arc was about him realising that he’s not the white knight he always thought he was, that he still has a lot to learn about emotions and not letting them cloud his judgement. The new game focuses on the further development of the two characters, because the game ended abruptly for them. The relationship of those two is the main focus. Barok learns to trust Kazuma and that he can rely on him to achieve their shared goals. It also allows him to realise that it’s time for him to open himself up again to other people. He develops new relationships. Kazuma, on the other hand, internalises the importance of humbleness and that self-righteousness has no place in court, as well as learning what it means to be a prosecutor. Their relationship thrives but is far from perfect. Both are quite stubborn, and Kazuma has this urge to always have the last word. But Barok is able to tame Kazuma with his calmness and down-to-earthness. Their interactions are serious but hilarious.

I want to see Kazuma be annoyed by Barok practicing his legslam in his office, almost breaking the desk a few times. Kazuma rolling his eyes at Barok moving around his barrels because he doesn’t trust anyone else to do that very important task. Kazuma shaking his head when new shipments of chalices arrive at their office about once a month because Barok breaks so many in court (thanks to imbecilic defence attorneys and their incompetence). Kazuma being speechless about his mentor’s court antics that have gotten even more theatrical, who expects Kazuma to play along, and Kazuma secretly enjoys the silliness but would never dare to admit it, of course (imagine Barok finally using that sword around his waist to open his bottles; sometimes using a metal chalice because he wants Kazuma to actually do something in court, so he may as well have him pick up his chalice when it ends up on the ground; Kazuma desperately failing at the leg slam, so he instead decides to join Barok in sitting on the desk showing off their *assets*). I want Barok to be annoyed by Kazuma’s thick-headedness. When they investigate crime scenes, Barok is reminded of someone else when Kazuma comes up with unbelievable scenarios that sound more like the ideas of someone whose imagination is larger than his common sense. Kazuma really shouldn’t have taken up residence with the „great detective“ Herlock Sholmes.

The game is heavier on the investigation side and introduces us to new areas of London. It would consist of five or six episodes, because that’s neither too little nor too much. In the first two games Barok trusted the police force to investigate properly, but as it turned out a little too often, they didn’t do a good job, which ended up hurting Barok’s case. So he decided to be more involved in the investigation itself. Barok and Kazuma gather evidence using some forensic techniques that Sholmes introduced. Of course Barok isn’t happy about that, but because those techniques are now officially recognised by the government, he came to appreciate them. Iris is Herlock’s new official partner in crime. The prosecution builds their cases using the evidence they are able to find. Gina is the new detective and has grown much more serious over the past few months, but is still as direct as ever. Maria took over her mother’s position as coroner. Gina and Maria look up to Barok as a great „boss“ they can learn from. And Barok treasures them as colleagues who take their respective jobs seriously. While it is easier for a defence attorney to be playable in the courtroom, as the burden of proof always rests on the defence (all the prosecution has to do is find ways to counteract those claims), it would be quite fun to play as the prosecution even in the courtroom.

Iris. She definitely learns that Barok is her uncle. Being the smart, sneaky little girl she is, she was able to combine the dots herself. A week after the big trial, Barok shows up at Iris’ doorstep as promised. She sent Hurley away because he’d only get in the way lol. They are casually enjoying Iris’ famous tea, cookies and scones discussing current affairs, science, literature and tea blending. Barok is having trouble containing his joy. There is one family member of his that is still alive after all. He expects to wake up soon to realise it was all only a dream. Yet looking at Iris also brings him pain. She looks so much like his sister-in-law and brother. She has Lady B’s hair, nose and beautiful face, and Klint’s eyes and charm. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go on knowing that he won’t be able to tell her about their relationship. Fortunately for him, Iris finally breaks the ice: „So, Mr. Barry prosecutor, please tell me more about my mother and father, since you were so close to them.“ Her eyes fill with tears, her lips now a thin line. Barok is shocked. How did she find out? Iris comes to his rescue again. „Remember that one time in your office? When I saw that huge portrait on your wall, I just knew he’s my father.“ Her lovely, blue eyes are now completely wet. „And the first time I’ve encountered you, I sensed a connection. I’ve always felt drawn to you, as you must recall. You do recall, don’t you, Barry?“ As she looks at him with anticipating eyes, her small body shivering, he can’t help but wrap his large arms around her, embracing her in a hug.. Engulfed in her warmth, Barok becomes painfully aware how much he has missed being close to other people. How he’s still alive after all those years is beyond him. His eyes are now filled with tears, too, and a little smile graces his lips, for the first time in over a decade. „I will always love you, Iris. As my niece, as the only tangible memento of my dear brother and sister-in-law, as a beautiful reminder that life must go on, as the priceless treasure that I will cherish for the rest of my life. I promise you that I will never abandon you.“ For a moment his voice leaves him. He has to clear this throat before he can continue. He notices that his niece’s body is trembling, so he holds her even closer. „You have my word that I will always be there for you, Iris. I will protect you. And pray forgive my being forward, but I will treat you and love you as my own daughter, if you allow me to do so.“ He slowly releases her from his arms, then takes her small hands into his and places a warm kiss on her forehead. Iris - seemingly caught off-guard by that unexpected showcase of affection by this big, dark man – stares at him wide-eyed. Her light-blue, almost turquoise, deep eyes are a true sign that she is a Van Zieks. They stare at each other for a few moments without uttering a word. „Thank you Mr. Barry, ehm, I mean uncle Barry...no wait, daddy Barry. I love you, too“, young Iris shyly exclaims, when suddenly a big grin appears on her face. „Now that I am a Van Zieks you need to invite me over to your castle and treat me like the princess I am!“ After hearing that all Barok manages to do is giggle. The man who has been an outcast for much too long, the kind man who lost everything in life, now has a future that is brighter than ever before.

A few days later Iris announces that she wants to change her last name from „Wilson“ to „Van Zieks“ in order to show her true heritage. Barok files the paperwork to have her officially recognised as a heir to the Van Zieks’ estate. He’s now even contemplating to finally get married so he and his partner can give birth to a new, beautiful life (literally and metaphorically). He thinks that Iris deserves to have brothers and sisters. Iris is proud to now have two fathers, who she mischievously plays against each other. Barok and Sholmes are forced to be around each other more often but eventually manage to become friends. While their friendly „rivalry“ continues in their professional endeavours, they are now much closer than ever before for Iris’ sake.

As far as a rival for this game is concerned, while I do think there definitely needs to be a rival defence attorney, this person shouldn’t be a main focus. DGS broke the tradition of a defence attorney and a prosecutor having a shared past, and Barok didn’t have to grow as a prosecutor anymore like the other prosecutors before him, so they had to find something else to make him feel antagonistic. The true „rivals“ in the game were actually Barok and Kazuma, as they have a shared history. So for this game it should be someone who Barok has a history with. I really haven’t worked out the details in my head yet. The only shared thread between those two that I see for now are related to Barok’s past as the Reaper (e.g. a family member of one of his „victims“ became a defence attorney, yet that would be too close to Kazuma’s backstory) or his late brother. Doing so would hold the game back and force us to go back into a past we should move away from. The game represents a new start for Barok and Kazuma. They are standing for the change the judicial system was in desperate need of. Hence maybe the antagonistic defence attorney is someone who tries to stand in their way. Someone who uses underhand tactics and reminds them every day that there will always be dark forces infiltrating the courtrooms. A reminder that they need to fight every day to retain what they have achieved.

Another thought I also had is that Kazuma – to me – is more of a defence attorney than a prosecutor. I personally adored Kazuma in 1-1; he was magnificent. He quite understandably lacked as a prosecutor in 2-4 and 2-5, though. While he will learn from Barok to become a better prosecutor, the reason he studied law in the first place was to prove someone’s alleged innocence. The reason he stood next to Ryunosuke in court as a legal aid was because he believed in his innocence. He’s not so much concerned about punishing criminals as he is about helping people in court. He doesn’t speak about reducing crime or making the city a safer place to live. He’s not that ambitious. His ambition lies with making sure defendant’s voices are heard. Where am I going with this? I think for the last case Kazuma could go back to being a defence counsel. It would be an unexpected twist. Barok supports him in his endeavour because that’s just who he is. He’s not someone to stand in the way of someone’s dreams. They end up facing each other in court for that one case. Kazuma finally realised what he wants to do with his life. With Barok at his side, he has grown up so much and is now ready for a new life with a real purpose, providing closure to his story.

However, I could also see this going differently. Sure, while I prefer Kazuma as a defence counsel, I could also see Ryunosuke and Susato come back to England for the last case, so Barok and Kazuma can „fight“ them one last time (the prosecution „wins“ this case). At the end of DGS2 Kazuma said that they’d face each other in court again one day. This could be that encounter. This would also allow Barok to interact with his newly-found friend Ryunosuke again.

At the end of the game we have a Barok who relearned happiness. He has a new social life, a new purpose and a large, positive impact on his country’s judicial system. While he will never be identical to he person he was 10+ years ago (of course not, experiences change people; we should always strive to reinvent ourselves if it’s beneficial), the armour engulfing him for over a decade has almost completely crumbled away. He’s able to show his true face without darkness looming over him: that of a kind, generous, selfless, beautiful soul. He especially treasures his friendships with Kazuma, Ryunosuke, Susato and Herlock, and of course his relationship with his niece/daughter Iris.

We have a Kazuma who overcame his inner demons. He’s now a fully-fledged legal counsel (whether that be defence or prosecution) who made it his goal in life to always fight for what is right. During his time as a mentee, he realised that right is not always what we initially assume to be right; and that the truth isn’t always what we think it is. Only through self-reflection, intersubjectiveness, impartiality and an open mind can the truth be established. He’s still hardheaded, but he wouldn’t be Kazuma if he weren’t. Overall he’s a little softer around the edges, though, and definitely much more mature. Kazuma is now the person Ryunosuke always thought he was. Their friendship has been revived.

Those are just some of the aspects I’d like to see. What I am convinced of is that there’s more that can be done with the DGS cast. While the duology overall is a great, self-contained story, there are more stories that can be told. The cast is super lovable, too, and not all their stories have been completely told. I didn't want to make you wait longer, so I just figured I'd respond with what I could come up with given the limited time. I hope you like it.

Thanks again for the ask and have a great weekend!

With my fondest regards,

Zieksy

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

John Munch / Simple

Prompt: “Suck it” “oh i’m gonna suck something” 

Word Count: 3,887 

Warnings: canon typical situations and violence, discussion of rape (non-graphic), hurt/comfort apparently, fin and munch are literally some of my fav characters to write for lmao, some discussion of the psych evals from 1x22

A/N: what is this? how did this happen? I don’t know - i blame @laneygthememequeen​ mostly, but also my friends for enabling me beyond belief lmao. 

“Am I allowed to come in or must I bow and show my allegiance before I am deemed worthy?” and you didn’t need to look up from your desk to know who it was. Your pen still moved, scribbling notes in the margins of the answer that was given to you by Roger Klessler — more hassle than law. 

“No need for allegiance, Detective Munch — I know you only give that to your squad and your string of conspiracy theories,” you finish with the page, sparing him a glance, “only compliance is needed — the one thing you didn’t do on the last case.” 

“Your hands aren’t exactly clean yourself, counselor,” he shuts the door behind him, slipping his hands into his pockets, “what did you do to get that warrant again?” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Are you questioning my integrity?” 

“Funny, I didn’t know lawyers had any,” 

“They don’t, but I can try, can’t I?” you lean on your elbow, “what do you need?” 

“We have a suspect in holding who just invoked, we thought they might be a little more conducive to having an A.D.A. in the box with them,” he tilted his head. 

“Alex isn’t available?” 

“Alex told us to get you,” you held in your sigh, “don’t you lawyers talk to each other?” 

“No, we communicate through telepathy,” you reply drily, grabbing your coat and bag, “Let’s go.” 

~~~

“Counselor, you should remind your client that his options are running out,” to say this meeting was going poorly would have been the understatement of the century, “and my patience is running thin.”

A serial child and women abuser — with videos abusing so many children and women over the last twenty years, videos that made your stomach turn — and to make matters worse, he had made into a business, selling these children and women and their pain for profit — and now it was time to make his pain your profit. 

“You have no evidenc—” 

“We have a witness who saw your client, we have his DNA being run against the blood that was found at the scene, and when it comes back it will match and your client will be facing life in prison—” your teeth grit,  “And I’ll be sure he gets it. Or, give up your sick buddies. And maybe you’ll have the possibility of parole in the far off future.” 

“You fucking bitch—” he spits at you. 

“Is that the best you can do?” you raise an eyebrow, as you see Munch tense out of the corner of your eye, “Mr. Bradford,  I’m not scared of you. I’m not a defenseless child or battered woman you can intimidate—” you cross your arms, “not so easy picking on someone who can fight back, is it?” 

 Bradford lunges,  but Munch shoves him back into his chair, “Do we need to add assault on an A.D.A. to your laundry list of charges, Bradford?” and you blink, slack jawed, a shiver going down your spine — if Munch was a second later— “Try that again and I’ll have you—” 

There’s a knock on the window, and your eyes snap over, “Control your client, counselor, or I’ll have him locked up in solitary,” your jaw is set — you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing you waver, “the offer had 24 hours — it now has an expiration date in ten, so look forward to hearing from you in one.” 

The door shuts behind you, your fingers white knuckling the handle of your briefcase. Liv frowns, “Are you—” 

“I’m fine,” you wave them off, as Munch emerges from the room as well, “tell me when he caves to my offer. And when you’re setting up the sting to get the other guys — I want to be there to make everything go smoothly. No screw ups this time.” 

“All due respect, counselor, but we don’t need a babysitter,” Fin says. 

“All due respect, Detective, maybe you do,” you swallow the lump sitting on your throat, “we need to nail these guys — we have all of New York, 1PP, and the D.A.’s office all breathing down our necks — it needs to be airtight,” you scan all of their faces, “unless all of you would like to take the heat?” 

“I don’t think any of us want that, counselor,” Cragen cuts in, “we appreciate your help. We’ll let you know when we decide to go ahead with the sting.” 

You nod curtly, intent on leaving the precinct as quickly as you could — the image of Bradford lunging at you still fresh and stinging — but nothing was that easy, “Counselor,” Munch was at your side, standing beside you at the elevators, as you pressed the button, “in a rush?” 

“To go home? Yes,” 

“I just wanted—” 

“Wanted what, Munch? What do you want?” you sigh exasperatedly, fighting a losing battle for your voice not to break, “I’m not in the mood for a verbal sparring match, so why don’t we take a rain check?” 

The elevator doors ding, and you step in, hoping to spare yourself the agony of a response, but he follows, the doors shutting behind him. 

But surprisingly his voice was soft,  “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” 

“I’m fine,” you cross your arms, hoping that it would hold you together, until you got to your office, “I’m not scared of him, Munch—” 

“I know you could kick his ass, counselor, I’m not asking you if you’re ready to go seven rounds in the ring with him—” he leans against the wall of the elevator, “I’m just asking if you’re alright.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “John Munch asking me if I’m alright? No sarcastic remark?” 

“I know, I’m surprised myself, I might have to ask Skoda to do a psych eval on me,” and you crack a smile, shaking your head. 

“It was scary,” you admit, something you didn’t want to, “I’ve been threatened before — messages, verbally, even had a guy say he would kill my family—” you bite your lip, “but I never had someone try something, physically before.” 

“It’s okay to have been scared, y’know,” the elevator doors ding, and you step out, shaking your head, “no one expects you to be strong all the time, counselor.” 

And you pause, looking back at him, “But I do,” you blink away the tears, “good night, detective.” 

~~~

“It’s too risky!” you ignore Munch, continuing to fix your makeup, “You saw how you acted when Bradford lunged at you — why—” 

“I would do anything to make sure these men get put away,” you finish your makeup, grabbing the outfit Liv had handed you, “and that includes this.” 

This being an undercover operation designed to get names of victims, ages, and dates if possible, before arresting the group for exchanging pictures and videos of their crimes. 

“Putting yourself in the middle of this chaos? You’re being reckless—” 

You slide past him and into a bathroom stall, “I know what I’m doing,” 

“Do you? Do you know how many things could go wrong?” he continues, “I could list them for you for posterity — assault, battery, rape, and let’s not forget murder—” 

“I don’t think Liv will let me get murdered when she’s in the room with me, and I would you, Fin, Stabler, and the Captain wouldn’t either—” 

“Things go wrong on these ops, counselor — the field isn’t as safe as a courtroom — court officers, a metal detector right outside—” 

His words fail when the door swings open, a skin tight bodysuit clung to your figure, crimson, just as his ears nearly were, his eyes raking over your outfit, before finding their way back to your raised brows, “You were saying?” 

He stumbles over his words, “I was saying that—” you cross your arms, waiting and he finds himself distracted all over again, before he shakes himself from his stupor, “I was saying that this is too dangerous—” 

“Munch—” you cut him off, “I appreciate your concern, really I do, but I’m going to nail these guys anyway I can, so you can’t change my mind,” your hand finds his shoulder, squeezing, “but I can count on you to have my back right?” 

He simmers, sighing, his eyes softening, “Of course,” and you squeeze his shoulder, and he calls after you as you head towards the squadroom,  “I just hope they taught you taekwondo in law school,” 

“And I hope you know by ‘having my back,’ I meant more than my ass,” you flash him a smile over your shoulder, shaking your head, and flexing your fingers. 

It would be fine. 

You would be fine. 

~~~

It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t find you. 

“Where is he? Where is that son of a bitch, he took—” 

“Munch, calm down,” Liv starts, and he’s shaking his head, his finger in his face. 

“You were supposed to watch them, you were supposed to—” 

“Hey, Munch,” Elliot cuts between him and his partner, his hand on his shoulder,  “we all were there, Bradford slipped out during the raid, there wasn’t anything we could do. We’re going to find them.” 

Munch brushes him away, finding Fin, “Where are we on Bradford?” 

“Got him sneaking out during the takedown,” Fin points you out in the crowd, “looks like he had a knife pressed against counselor’s back, just out of view.” 

“How the hell did that scum sucking, gangrenous low life of a—” 

“Looks like he stole it off one of his buddies he was setting up,” Fin rewinds the tape, and points it out, “lifts it right from his pocket.” 

“Where does he go?” Fin fast forwards, until he gets to the cameras outside, shooting from the van itself. 

“He steals a car down the street, must belong to that brownstone,” Fin shoves the equipment at another officer, “Let’s get the license plate and get a bolo out.” 

Liv and Elliot join the two of them, handing a report to Fin, “We got a list of places that Bradford was known to hang out at—” 

“What are we waiting for?” Munch brushes past them to the car, rounding the car to the driver’s seat, pulling it open, before Fin stops him. 

“I’m driving,” Fin says, holding his hand, and Munch opens his mouth to rebut, “do we really have time to argue right now?” 

Munch glares at him, before handing him the keys, “You better not abide by any traffic laws,” 

“Do I ever?” 

~~~

“Can we go any faster than this? I swear my great uncle could drive faster than this,” Munch expects his partner to be angry, but he’s only sighing and shaking his head, “what?” 

And Fin side eyes him, “If you’re in love with—” 

Munch gapes at him, “I’m not—” 

“--then why don’t you just say something, man?” Fin scoffs, “you can deny it all you want, explain it away with one of your crazy ass conspiracy theories, but it’s there, John.” 

Munch pulls off his glasses, running his hand over his face, fingers resting right below his nose, “You know every time I got married, I thought I was in love,” 

“I know, and then your ex-wives screwed you — what about it?” 

“This is different,” he sighs, “and I don’t want to admit that to myself.” 

“What’s so bad about that, Munch? You want to try again,” and Munch is shaking his head. 

“You know a psychiatrist once told me that the reason all my marriages failed was because I chose women who were spoiled, beautiful, and not my intellectual equal?” 

“Meeting some of your ex-wives, I could believe that,” Fin’s eyes fall back to the road, “what’s your point?” 

Your name slips from his lips, “this is different — this is someone’s who's my equal — smarter than me, beautiful— it could — we could be—” he cuts off, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose--” and he cuts off, sighing, “I don’t know.” 

“Well that’s easy, John,” Fin pulls over, the car screeching as it does, “we won’t,” and he jerks his head, “whose car does that look like?” Munch calls in the car, unbuckling himself and slipping from the car, “We have to wait for back-up—” 

“I’m not waiting—” before he adds, “you don’t have to come—” 

“I’m not letting your bony ass get shot again,” Fin is already shutting the car door, pulling his gun out, “let’s go.” 

~~~

“Are you scared now?” Bradford asks, circling you — a predator gauging its prey — no, he was simply playing with you now. Your wrists flex against your restraints, the wood grain of the chair digging into your skin the more you struggled, the rope around your wrists ungiving, “are you, counselor?” 

It was rhetorical — judging by the tape stuck to your lips and the fact he continued to speak, and his fingers fist into your hair, pulling your head back, “Come on, no smart remarks now?”

Are you that stupid that you’ve forgotten that you taped my mouth over? 

No, wait he was that stupid. 

And he slaps you — the sting of his palm against your cheek dazes you a moment, and then his fist lands a blow in your stomach, choking on the same air you breathed, tears burning before slipping down your cheeks. 

“Do you think this is bad?” and now he’s holding your face between his fingers, nails digging into your cheeks, and he grins, a shiver going down your spine,  “just wait.” And he disappears a moment, his shadowy figure rifling through a bag on a table. 

Your eyes darted around, looking for something that could help you, something to help you escape, but nothing was within reach. Your chest squeezed — what if you died here? What if you never saw your family again? What if you never saw your friends again? What if they never found your body? Fear claws up your throat, eyes burning. 

What if they found your body? 

What if Munch found your body? 

You had promised him you’d be careful, but you were careless. You didn’t watch Bradford close enough, you didn’t stick with Liv, you were stupid — so stupid. 

And you wondered if he’d rape you before he was done — if they would find your body like so many victims that came across your desk. You wondered if he’d kill you at all — or just let you live with the memories of his torture. 

And you didn’t know what was worse. 

But then something clatters in the distance, and his head is whipping around, there are footsteps, and he’s grabbing a knife, cutting your restraints free,  “Come here bitch,” he mutters, hurrying to cut the ropes, at your feet before moving to the ones at your wrists,  “they aren’t taking me before I get a chance to slit your throat.” 

Blood roaring in your ears, you know you have to do something — he’s almost done cutting the last rope at your wrist. You couldn’t wait for help. 

You rear your head back, before smashing it into his, hard. His groan gets caught in his throat, as you lunge for the knife, the handle within grasp of your fingers, and you’re trying to crawl away, a deep ache in your skull. You’re stumbling to your feet, but his fingers close around your ankle. 

“I should have fucking killed you from the start,” and you kick him with your free foot, hearing him scream and the satisfying crack of his nose breaking, gripping the knife in your hand and pushing yourself to your feet. 

And you rip the tape from your mouth, “Get the fuck away from me!” you point the knife at him, heart pounding against your ribcage, as he lays clutching his bloody nose. 

But he’s still getting to his feet, “You better hand over that fucking knife—” 

“You better not take another step before I blow your brains out,” and suddenly Fin and Munch are there, Fin stepping forward to arrest Bradford, as Munch is beside you. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” and he’s trying to ease the knife out of your fingers, but you won’t let go, “let go of the knife, it’s okay,” he’s murmuring in your ear, slipping the knife from your fingers, “you’re okay. I got you.” 

Your knees are buckling, and he’s holding you, your head buried in his chest, “I thought he was going to—” 

“I know,” he says softly, “I know, but you’re okay.” 

“Because of you,” And he’s helping you up, and police sirens in the distance, as he helps you out of the building, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he whispers, “I’m sorry,” 

“For what?” and his arm around you squeezes you gently. 

“For not saving you sooner,” And suddenly EMS and police are flooding the scene, Fin is shoving Bradford into a car. And you spot him, glaring, but Munch steps between his view, his arm around your shoulders, “don’t bother with that scum. He’s not worth it.” 

And he wasn’t — you knew he wasn’t, but you know that you wouldn’t be able to prosecute him now. But, you craned your neck to watch him be taken away, you wanted to see the bastard get put away at least. 

It’s over, you tell yourself as you rest your head against Munch’s shoulder. 

It was over. 

~~~

“I just want to go home,” you shake your head, but he pulls you along regardless, protesting all the same.

“Just let them look at you, please?” he asks, “if only for my sanity.” 

And you scoff softly, “I thought you lost that a long time ago,” 

“There’s that wit,” he replies, and you go with him, fingers intertwined with his. E.M.S. examines you, insisting on taking you to the hospital for a possible concussion. But you don’t want to — you just want to sleep, you want to take a shower, you want to forget this ever happened— 

“Please just let me go,” you’re pleading with him, tears slipping down your cheeks, “John, please let me go home.” and he’s wavering for a moment, before his hand is on your shoulder, gently pushing you back down. 

“I can’t, and you know that, counselor,” he never wanted to see you cry like this, he never wanted to see you as a victim — because you aren’t just another victim at his desk or in photos spread across his desk — you were you. 

But you were also a victim now. 

“Why not?” you lie against the pillow in defeat, tears slipping down your cheeks, and he’s leaning down to your level, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Because you’re hurt, and you need to be seen. I don’t trust doctors as much as the next conspiracy nut, but you still need to see one,” he tilts his head, “do you want me to come?” 

And you’re blinking back tears, before nodding, “I’m sorry, I’m—” 

“Don’t apologize,” he’s wiping your tears away, “don’t ever apologize for this.” 

~~~

You don’t remember much else — it’s a blur of testing, until finally they let you sleep. And you don’t know how long you sleep. But you don’t dream, and for that much, you’re thankful. You awake to the low hum of hospital machinery, and quiet voices in the room. And you blink, the fluorescents much too bright for you, and your eyes flutter shut again, before not before voices creep in. 

“—been asleep?” 

“It’s been a few hours,” Munch whispers, assumedly trying to keep from waking you, but that was out of the question already, “docs gave something for sleep.” 

“Have you said anything yet?” and it’s Fin asking. 

“When? In between the ambulance ride here and the C.A.T. scan and the fifty other tests they ran?” Munch replies drily, sighing, “it’s not the right time,” 

“You know there’s never going to be a right time, John,” and you’re grateful that you’re turned away from them, your brow furrowed, their voices growing louder, “you have to say something or is counselor a mind reader now?” 

“Well—” 

“Don’t spout another conspiracy theory or you’ll be the one in the hospital bed,” you could almost see Fin crossing his arms. 

“You know that psychiatrist also told me I could make a conspiracy theory from a five-year-old’s lemonade stand,” 

Fin raises an eyebrow, “Well now that I believe,” 

“What am I supposed to say?” Munch asks, “‘hi, I know you almost just died, but I think I’m in love with you?’” 

And your eyes snap open, the air sucked straight from your lungs — “It can be that simple,” 

He was in love with you? John Munch was in love with you. Your heart squeezed at the thought — you hadn’t a clue that he was. You knew he cared — but you didn’t know he… loved you.  

“Nothing is ever that simple,” and you turn around, the words leaving your lips without a thought. 

“It can be, John,” and both him and Fin’s gazes snap to you, a small smile on your lips, “if you let it be.” 

Munch is staring at you slack jawed, while Fin is grinning, elbowing him, “I’ll leave you two alone,” before he adds, “remember that there is an officer at the door—” 

“Fin—” and he’s gone, disappearing out of the door, and Munch is wiping a hand down his face, his cheeks flushed red, “so how much of that—” 

“All of it,” and he’s covering his hands with his face, “for someone who claims to be so evolved, you’re very cute when you’re embarrassed,” 

“I’m cute?” he repeats, and you hold out your hand to him, and he’s staring a moment — as if he can’t believe it — before taking your hand, “how cute?” 

You snort, “Just cute enough, don’t go getting an ego,” 

“You’re sure it’s not just the concussion? And the almost dying?” and you roll your eyes, tugging him closer, by his coat’s lapel, and he’s whispering your name. 

“How’s this for an answer?” and you kiss him — his lips barely brush yours a moment, but he’s already pulling you back in, parting and meeting until you hold him there a moment, fingers twisting in the hair resting on the small of his neck, “John—” you breath against his lips. 

“I don’t understand why…” he whispers, your foreheads brushing. 

“Why...?” 

“I don’t understand why me,” his fingers cup your cheek gently, as if you’d disappear between his fingers, “you could be with anyone — why would you choose this paranoid, old detective?” 

“Because it’s you,” you softly chuckle, and you draw your lips to his again, “and I wouldn’t want you any other way,” before you add, “except maybe sharing your feelings more so I don’t have to overhear any other conversations to know how you’re feeling.” 

“I could say the same to you, counselor,” 

“Excuse me, I said how I felt first,” you gape at him, in mock offense. 

“Only after hearing how I felt,” but you shrug, smiling as your noses brush. 

“Still, I was the first, so suck it,” you reply, and he laughs, a warm sound that makes your chest stir. 

“Oh,” his lips brush yours, a smile on his lips,  “I’m gonna suck something.” 

[reidingandwriting]

"Deja Vu"

Word Count: ~2300 words

Ship: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader (ex/platonic?), Peter Parker x Michelle Jones

Warnings: A curse word or two, slightly OOC moments but it is fan-fiction so :)

A/N: I'm in love with this song and had to write this. Popped this baby out in 3 hours, and I'm pretty happy with it. Side note: I created my own timeline for this lmao. Morgan exists, but they don't live in the cabin. Reader is mentioned to be fem once or twice, but reads neutral besides that! Reader is Tony's kid but it could be read as adopted/his bio kid.

“One strawberry ice cream, just for you.” Peter said as he set the cup down in front of MJ, a single spoon dipped in the light pink dessert. MJ immediately started to eat as Peter took a seat beside her, and you and Ned were seated across from the couple at a local ice cream shop you had discovered. The one where you had taken him, where you had convinced him to try the strawberry ice cream instead of the vanilla he always got. You scooped a spoonful of your rocky road ice cream a little too aggressively, unable to eat your favorite ice cream flavor anymore.

“Thanks, Parker, it’s really good.” MJ said and Peter nudged her shoulder.

“Mind if I steal a bite?’

“Of course I mind.” MJ deadpanned and Peter blanched before MJ smirked at him. “Go ahead, loser. Just one.” MJ gave him a look and Peter saluted.

“Scout’s honor.” Peter took MJ’s spoon before he took a bite, and you barely held back the scowl as you looked over at Ned. He gave you a sympathetic smile and tapped his foot against yours under the safety of the booth. You brushed your shoulder against Ned’s while Peter and MJ were too entranced by each other to notice.

“If you get any ice cream on my jacket, I’m burning yours.” MJ’s words were menacing, but you all knew she was (mostly) kidding. Peter scoffed and held his hand against his chest in mock offense, the sleeves of MJ’s jean jacket comedically too short on Peter’s arms. MJ was dressed in Peter’s Midtown hoodie, the same one you had worn just a few months ago.

You thought it would have been funny to switch jackets, knowing your jacket would look funny on him, while you wore Peter’s oversized hoodie. And now here was MJ, wearing the same sweatshirt, while Peter wore her jacket. Have any original ideas, Parker?

“Earth to Y/N.” MJ waved her hand in your face, and you snapped back to the present. “You okay? You zoned out there for a minute.”

“Yeah, sorry. Morgan decided she wanted a sleepover last night, so we just had to build a pillow fort in my room, and that felt fantastic on my back. Almost as great as her practically laying on top of me all night.” You chuckled. “And you know I couldn’t move her, she’s got me wrapped around her finger.”

“And she knows it.” Peter said and you smiled over at him.

“Speaking of Morgan. She’s been asking me all week about if you want to come over sometime this weekend. She’s in a big Lion King phase, and she wants ‘her Petey’ to come have a pajama party with her and have a sing-along. She’s Nala, of course.” Ned snorted and Peter’s face fell.

“I can’t this weekend. MJ and I are having a Glee watch party this weekend, can you believe she’s never seen Glee?” Peter asked and you felt a pang of jealousy in your stomach.

“Oh, really?” You asked. Much like you hadn’t seen it either, until six months ago. “It’s pretty iconic, but also the worst show ever. Singing along is pretty fun, just being annoying. Really fun.” You thought back to when you and Peter were in your room, doing the same thing.

“Don’t stop believing!” Peter stood on your bed, using the remote as a microphone to serenade you. Peter looked at you expectantly, and you rolled your eyes before singing the next line, just as enthusiastically as he did.

“Hold on to the feeling!” Peter cheered and you couldn’t help but laugh at him. “You’re so annoying, Parker.”

“As annoying as this show?”

“Almost.”

“Then I’m not quite done yet.”

“Raincheck next weekend, maybe?” Peter asked and you shrugged.

“I’ll have to check with Madame Secretary. She’ll likely be over The Lion King by next weekend, it’ll be ‘baby stuff.’” Your phone buzzed and you excused yourself before checking the text.

Iron Dad: Hey, kid. Are you busy?

You: A little. Why?

Iron Dad: Pep and I have an emergency meeting for work, and Happy’s sick so he can’t watch Maguna

You: I’m on my way. Give me five to say goodbye

Iron Dad: Thanks, Y/N/N. We owe you one

You: You owe me several. Love you

Iron Dad: Love you tons

“I’m sorry, guys, duty calls.” You smiled, albeit a little sadly, at your friends. “I’ll see you Monday at school?”

“We better. We have a project in chemistry due on Monday.” Ned said and you flipped him off.

“Science is my best class, you know I’ve had the project done and Dr. Banner approved since the project was announced in class.” You winked at Ned before waving at MJ and Peter. “See you later, lovebirds.” You internally cringed when ‘lovebirds’ came out more bitter than you intended. With goodbyes exchanged, you left the ice cream parlor, and you bit back the tears you felt beginning to build up. Did he feel it, too? Did he remember that you did that, too? Was he ever going to tell her all the ‘unique’ things Peter’s done were reused, that you had found them first? You wiped at your eyes before you hailed a taxi, and you shoved all your feelings down to be at your best for your little sister.

--

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” Morgan barreled down the hall when you stepped out of the elevator, and you barely bent down to catch her in time as she collided with you.

“Morgan, Morgan, Morgan!” You scooped your sister up into your arms and peppered her face with kisses until she was laughing, and your mood immediately lifted at the sound. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

“Mom’s at work, Dad’s in his room. He’s leaving us.” Morgan pouted and you copied her expression.

“Oh, no. You’re stuck with me tonight. Too bad I’m not tall enough to reach the juice pops in the freezer.” You gasped. “Oh, wait. I am!” Morgan thrusted her fist into the air with a cheer, and you set her down. “I need to go talk to Dad real quick, then we can do almost whatever you want.” You emphasized the almost, knowing she’d ask for something you definitely shouldn’t do, then argue that you said ‘anything.’ You definitely saw a career in law for her when she got older.

“Kay-kay. I’ll go get coloring books, then we get juice pops?”

“Deal.” You offered your pinky out, and she linked pinkies with yours before she ran off to her room. You shook your head fondly before you walked off to your dad’s room, and you knocked on his door before coming in. “Dad?”

“Hey, kiddo. Come on in, I’m just packing a few things for Pep.” You walked over to the bag your dad had packed, and you began to inspect everything. “Have I been approved?”

“I think I need a hug before giving approval.” You opened your arms and your dad happily pulled you into his chest, and he held you close, as if he could sense your feelings.

“Are you okay? Do I need to stay?” Tony rubbed your back and rocked you gently, and you buried your face deeper into his chest, your eyes watering and you gripped his shirt tighter, a habit you developed when Tony first took you in- you always grabbed onto him like he was your security blanket, and Tony quickly learned there was no use in getting you to let go until you were ready.

“No, I’m okay.” Your voice was muffled but you made no effort to move yet. “Mom needs you.” You paused. “You’ll be back soon, right?”

“Luckily we’re just headed to the New York headquarters. I hope we’re home by midnight, but I’ll tell you when we find out for sure.” You nodded and let go of your dad, and he brought his hand up to cup your cheek, and he wiped your tears away with his thumb and the action almost made you cry again. “Ben and Jerry’s and sad movies when I get back, or should I get a few punching bags set up in the gym?”

“Ben and Jerry’s.” Tony nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you patted his arm, telling him he could continue packing. “ Don’t forget Mom’s favorite lipstick. She always keeps one on her, but you can never be too safe.”

“Lifesaver.” Tony said before he went back to packing.

“I should go check on Morgan, let you finish getting packed.” You said and Tony smiled at you, a softness in his eyes reserved solely for you, Morgan, and Pepper.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best big sister?”

“I do my best.” You smile back before leaving. Fingers crossed she hadn’t made a mess already.

--

You laid in bed, scrolling through your camera roll with tears streaming down your cheeks. You pressed play on a video and let out a choked sob as you watched. You and Peter were seated at the piano in the living room, and your fingers moved gracefully across the keys, playing one of your favorite songs that Peter had begged you to play for him. The familiar sounds of Billy Joel’s ‘Uptown Girl’ filled your ears, and you sang along as you played. You turned to Peter, nodded at him, and he began to play the same song after you. You hugged him at the end of the song, grinning since he had finally learned it, and you began to play it again, Peter joining you in singing along. Not even that was reserved for you and him anymore, as you had learned recently.

“I didn’t know you played.” You said as MJ took a seat at the piano, Peter seated beside her.

“Oh, I just learned. Peter taught me the one song he knows how to play.” Your heart sank and now Ned was curious.

“What song?” Don’t say it, don’t say it.

“Uptown Girl.” MJ began to play, and you felt your lip begin to tremble. Your song. The one you had taught him. You looked away as Peter quickly pressed a kiss to her cheek after the first chorus, and he whispered something into her ear. You turned to Ned and dove deep into a conversation, refusing to cry in front of them.

You jumped when you heard a knock on your window, and you grabbed the baseball bat you kept by your bed. You would have called for Bucky or Sam, but the pair were off on their own mission. You got out of bed, wiping away your tears, and you walked to the window, bat at the ready. “FRIDAY, who’s getting knocked to next year with my bat?”

“It appears Peter Parker is the one outside your window.” Peter? Of course it was.

“Lights on dim, FRI.” You set the bat down and opened the window, and Peter popped into view. “Peter? What the hell? You almost gave me a heart attack, dude.”

“I’m sorry, I know, sorry. I didn’t plan on coming out here, but I needed to talk to you.” You gestured for Peter to come in, and you suddenly realized how you had to look to him. You were in a shirt you had stolen from Thor- what? His shirt got mixed up with yours, finders keepers. You were in an old pair of sweatpants that were covered in various stains- paint from Morgan, some grease from Tony’s lab, and a bleach mark from where you and Peter were goofing around in the lab and you spilled some mystery chemical on your pants. And let’s not even talk about your puffy eyes and the tear marks on your cheeks from a night of crying.

“About what?” You sat on your bed, eyes not meeting Peter’s.

“About earlier at the ice cream parlor. You seemed really… spaced out. Not yourself. And I caught you scowling once.”

“I didn’t scowl.” You tried to defend yourself but you sighed, knowing he was right.

“And ever since MJ and I started dating, you’ve just seemed different. You’re not, like, jealous, are you?” And you couldn’t help but laugh. Truly laugh, which caused Peter’s brows to furrow. “What’s so funny?”

“You think I’m jealous! Why should I be jealous?” Peter frowned at how you weren’t taking him seriously, and he was confused.

“You know, we had… a thing. Not that we dated, but I mean, we were really close you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Like a switch, your emotions flipped from sad to frustrated in seconds. “And I’m seeing all these ‘things’ we had all over again.” It was Peter’s turn to start getting irritated, and he crossed his arms.

“Oh, really? Like what?”

“Strawberry ice cream at the parlor, you can’t act like we didn’t do that. Trading jackets, we did that shit too. Teaching her piano when I taught you, how do you not get deja vu?” Peter opened his mouth to talk and you held your hand up. “You’ve got a different girl, but there’s nothing new. I discovered those places you take her, I showed you Glee, I taught you the jokes that you tell to her. When are you gonna tell her? She thinks it’s special, but it’s all reused. I know I get deja vu, don’t you?” You had started to cry again, and Peter started to defend himself until FRIDAY spoke.

“Y/N, your father and mother have returned home. You may want to continue this conversation later.” You looked at Peter who wordlessly nodded. He walked to the window, and he paused before he spoke.

“We’ll talk Monday after patrol. Bye, Y/N/N.” You whispered goodbye before he left and you shut the window before you dropped to your knees, letting out broken sobs.

“I get deja vu when she’s with you…”

[thanksjro]

Bayverse: Treating These Movies with More Dignity than They Deserve or Contain, Because I’m a Goddamned Professional - Part One

TRANSFORMERS (2007) - UNCOMFORTABLE SEXUAL TENSION BETWEEN TEENAGERS THAT I DIDN’T NEED TO SEE

So.

This is a little different than what I usually do.

Clearly.

God, how did we even get here?

Oh, I remember.

The date was September 17th, 2020, and I was in a stream with nine or ten other people watching the first Bayverse Transformers movie. Why we were watching it doesn’t particularly matter- sometimes you just gotta watch garbage so you can refresh your palate for the good stuff, I suppose. Also, a couple of folks wanted to make goo-goo eyes at Blackout’s rotors.

...It’s not my thing, but I’m glad they’ve got something to make the journey worth taking.

I made some sort of comment about only using my brain for this blog’s content, and someone (you know who you are :)) suggested that I take a proper look at the film. Being who I am, I immediately latched onto this idea, despite it being technically outside of what I write about.

And then I quintuple-downed, because winners don’t quit.

Good to know that my BA in Film Production wasn’t a complete waste of time.

Fun fact, I broke my television trying to watch Transformers for this. I think the universe was trying to stop me, by making me perform surgery on electronics, and also aggravating my carpal tunnel.

This movie came out when I was 13, and it was the first Transformers thing I saw after Cybertron. Yes, the anime one. No, not the one that’s objectively terrible.

Anyway.

How did I feel about Transformers when I saw it the first time? Well… it was okay. I liked the robots. I thought Mikaela was pretty, not that I knew what that meant back then. I watched it a few times, if only because my oldest younger brother kept renting it at Blockbuster. It was fun.

Now I’m older, and wiser, and know feminist theory, so my opinion is less “this exists” and more “blind, murderous rage”.

Our film opens up with some claptrap about the Cube™, a MacGuffin of ultimate power that allows the Transformers to create worlds in their image and populate them. Which means this is how they reproduce.

It always comes back to baby-making, doesn’t it?

The narration goes on about how the Cube™ is very powerful, and some folks wanted it for good, and others for evil. The criteria for being “good” and “evil” isn’t established, and I’m not exactly sure how one would define such a thing, when all the Cube™ does is create life, but, well, we’ve only just begun. Maybe we’ll get some answers later on.

Haha, I doubt it.

So, the Cube™ is the catalyst for our 4 million year war this continuity, and that sucker was lost in the shuffle a while back. This is a problem, because, again, the Cube™ is how the Transformers reproduce. Now everyone’s in a mad scramble to find the thing so their species doesn’t die out.

Three guesses as to where it ended up, and the first two don’t count.

Smashcut to the shit nobody cares about- the humans. We see an Osprey fly over the Qatar desert, carrying a buttload of American soldiers. We get a taste of some good old-fashioned xenophobia, as several soldiers mock a guy for not speaking English and loving his mother’s cooking, going full “funny haha gibberish language” on him. We’re two and a half minutes into the film, and I already want to stab something.

Ed Sheeran breaks into the conversation, I guess because he was feeling left out, revealing that he is the New Yorker stereotype of the film, for some reason. The fellas ask their captain, Lennox, what he’s looking forward to most about getting home from their tour, and he reveals himself to be a family man. While he’s been away, his wife had a baby, who he hasn’t so much as held yet. His men respond by mocking him.

For loving his child.

We’re three minutes into the film, and the toxic masculinity might actually make me have an aneurysm.

The Ospreys land, the lads disembark, and we get a snapshot of what downtime during deployment looks like to Bay. There are a lot of kiddie swimming pools involved. Two men play basketball. We watch multiple men take outdoor showers. A young Qatari boy brings Lennox a camelback water pack with a smile on his face. This lets me know that he’s a prop and not a character in this film. I can’t wait to see how many horrors he’ll be put through to simulate pathos.

We get a shot of a helicopter flying over the desert, one that the US military doesn’t recognize as their own. They send a couple of planes to check it out, and said planes get their shop wrecked. The helicopter is revealed to be the same ‘copter that was shot down several months prior. That’s… not good. Ghost helicopter?

No. Not at all, actually.

Lennox gets on a video chat with his wife and daughter, who is wearing one of the most ridiculous baby outfits I’ve seen in a hot minute. And I used to work in childcare, so I’ve seen a good amount of those. The writing implies that normal bodily functions are unladylike and therefore undesirable… in an infant… and that’s when all hell breaks loose, thankfully saving me from more of Bay trying to make me give a shit about these characters.

The helicopter lands, we get a shot of the mustachioed pilot, who glitches (gasp), and the line “have your crew step out or we will kill you” is uttered. Not even trying to hide the nationalism, are you?

This film hit theaters in 2007, when the xenophobia from 9/11 was still heavy in the air of the general populace, so things like this were more tolerated, and in fact approved of. Of course, it’s not like America has really improved on that subject, or ever really had a point where we weren’t terrible about it, since we live in a world where the military-entertainment complex exists.

See, the Department of Defense and a good chunk of American entertainment industries have a little deal going, and have for the last few decades, and it goes like this: The DoD will allow the use of their vehicles, personnel, and bases, or the likenesses of such, for free, in exchange for their operations being shown in a positive/morally justified light. This is why you never see the armed forces portrayed in a way that makes them out as anything less than heroes- nobody would be able to afford the sets/likenesses without the DoD’s aid. This is also why you see straight-up advertisements for the military branches on televison, in cinemas, and online, and why both the Army and Navy have flirted with having Twitch channels.

It’s all a ploy to get you to join the military, kids. It’s propaganda.

But enough about that, it’s time for our first transformation sequence!

We get a lot of moving parts with this, since it’s realistic CGI in a live-action movie, and it still holds up. It’s hard to tell what’s actually happening, but it, if nothing else, feels alien, surreal, and horrific to behold. They even included the original sound effect in the cacophony, which is nice.

Our ghost helicopter reveals itself to be a Transformer, not that we get that terminology at any point in this film. This specifically is Blackout, a Decepticon. The soldiers start firing on him the moment he starts transforming, then are surprised when the thing they started shooting with several guns retaliates. This is the point where everything ever in this military base explodes, brilliantly and repeatedly, because it wouldn’t be a Bay film without it. There’s a lot of shouting and bright lights, and I’m positively certain that a great deal of people died during this fight.

It’s just a shame that I don’t care.

Blackout rips the top off of a building like it’s a tin of anchovies, and then snags all the hard drives he can, downloading everything. This is a problem, but it seems like nobody was prepared for a giant alien robot hack-attack, because in order to shut down the power to the servers, you need to be able to unlock the breaker box, and no one seems to have the key. They solve the problem with a fire ax.

Lennox is leading the Qatari boy through the base towards safety. I should mention that it’s night now, and several hours seem to have passed since the Ospreys landed, so I don’t know why this kid is still here. He’s got, like, a house and family to go home to.

We get some more tank-throwing action, Sergeant Epps almost gets flattened under Blackout’s foot, then the movie decides it’s going to try to make things more interesting by having each shot cut flash, for whatever reason.

Someone shoots Blackout with a rocket launcher, I think, and this is the point where he throws his tiny little man off his back to go do his job. Yes, Blackout’s got a baby, and that baby is Scorponok, his symbiotic pal who likes to dig into the ground and be a sneaky little bastard.

Blackout blows up a ton more military equipment and personnel, and then it’s time for another smashcut.

Now we’re in high school, just like all those dreams I’ve had where I’ve forgotten my homework. This is where we meet Sam Witwicky, our main character, and also the stand-in for our target demographic. He’s insufferable, and I don’t like him. Mikaela Banes, our love interest, is also present in this scene, but we don’t get to know about her character for, like, another 20 minutes, because who gives a shit about women, right? They’re just props, right?

Right???

RIGHT??????????

RIGH-

Sam is presenting on his great-great-grandfather, Archibald Witwicky, for his family genealogy report, in front of a class containing maybe three actors who are age appropriate.

I know child labor laws are a good thing, and that hiring adults to play teenagers is just the lay of the land, but I swear some of these students look like they’re old enough to be on their second mortgage and third kid.

Anyway.

Archibald Witwicky was an explorer, one of the first to traverse the Arctic circle, and apparently his crew was made up of folks from 2007, because I swear the clothing for a few of these dudes isn’t period-appropriate. We get a seamen joke, because of course we do, and a sextant joke, because of course we do. Sam is also hawking all this crap he’s brought in for the presentation, because he is a little bastard who has no idea what his peers would want to buy, or really how to relate to them at all. He’s selling these “priceless” artifacts so he can get a car. Mikaela finds this charming, for some fucking reason. Also, her boyfriend is weirdly stroking her shoulder blade with his knuckles the whole time this is happening, and I hate it.

Archibald Witwicky went mad after his expedition, talking about an “ice man” so often that his family ended up locking him in a mental asylum, likely to be forgotten about. Which is sad. But we won’t be getting into the medical mistreatment of the mentally ill in Bayverse, now will we? That’s just Too Deep™.

Sam’s teacher didn’t very much appreciate having his class be turned into an episode of Antiques Roadshow, but still gives Sam an “A” on the project, despite it being a very poor report that lasted all of two minutes. I suspect the teacher has tenure, and therefore no longer gives a shit about academic integrity. This “A” means that Sam’s father will buy him a car.

Which is nice, I suppose, if I gave a damn.

Sam’s father, Ron, picks up his son in a car he probably bought at the crux of his midlife crisis, in a green that reminds me of a school gymnasium floor, then plays a prank on his child by pretending to pull into the Porsche dealership. Sam isn’t getting a Porsche, which is good, because he doesn’t deserve one. As Sam gripes to his father, a yellow Camaro drives by oh so conspicuously. Wonder what’s up with that.

Instead of the Porshe dealership, they head over to the used car lot, which is being run by Bobby Bolivia, who spends his time yelling at his employees and wanting to murder his mother. Sam is incredibly ungrateful about the fact that his dad is helping him get a car, even though it’s his FIRST car, and nobody gets a nice one the first go around. Or, at least, they shouldn’t, given the statistics about accidents with young drivers.

“No sacrifice, no victory” is uttered by Ron, which is the family motto, or so he claims. Archibald Witwicky said the same thing when he had multiple people dying trying to get to the Arctic Circle, so there’s precedence for the phrase, but we’ll see how it holds up throughout the film.

Bobby Bolivia shows Sam and Ron the cars he has for sale, and Sam is immediately drawn to the yellow Camaro in the lot, though there’s a small problem- it’s too expensive for what he and his father agreed to. Also, nobody knows where the hell it came from, so paperwork might be an issue. When Bobby tries to show Sam the yellow Beetle they have right down the line, everything explodes, because this is a Bay film, and fuck the original material this movie was based on. Bobby lets them have the Camaro for a lower price, suddenly fearful of whatever strange powers have just visited his place of business. “The car picks the driver” is suddenly more than a bullshit line to spout off in order to sell cars, and I’m certain that’s shaken the poor man.

Over in Washington, D.C., the Secretary of Defense prepares to address just what the hell happened in Qatar, lamenting on how young the audience he’s going to be speaking to is. In particular, he’s referring to the two dweebs and the hot chick sitting in one of the rows. All the women in this movie who aren’t someone’s mom are made up to be very pretty. And not even in a realistic way. But we’ll get to that in a bit.

So, the military network was hacked. That’s bad. Nobody knows who did it. That’s also bad. The only lead the US has is a soundbite, which is the signal that hacked the network.

Everyone here at the briefing is going to be helping to figure this mess out. This is great, if you like looking at Rachael Taylor for a few seconds at a time, and can compartmentalize hard enough to make that worth the effort of watching this godforsaken film.

Back at the Witwicky household, we meet Mojo, a chihuahua with a cast that doesn’t seem like it’s actually doing anything. I wish he was the main character instead of Sam.

Sam arrives home from the dealership, and says “alright, Mojo, I’ve got the car. Now I need the girl.”

As if ownership of a person is something to aspire to.

As if women are property to be owned.

As if women aren’t people, but rather commodities.

We’re 17.5 minutes into this film.

We’re introduced to Judy, Sam’s mother. She’s shrill, and annoying. This is by design, because none of the women in this film are actually people, but rather archetypes to bounce off of the male characters.

Sam and his father have a moment of what some might consider banter, then Sam gets huffy with his mom over gender roles for the dog. I, for one, think Mojo looks positively dashing in his bedazzled collar, and to hell with whatever Sam says to the contrary.

Sam drives off to go be a misogynist, with the promise to be back by 11PM.

Over in Qatar, the soldiers and that little boy are running from the attack on their base, as Lennox’s wife watches a public announcement on the matter back at home. The Secretary of Defense lets us know that we’re at DEFCON Delta at this point. Lennox Jr. cries, and all I can think about is how they probably pinched that baby to make that happen. They pinched a baby for Transformers (2007).

The soldiers in Qatar talk about shit they have no idea about, Sergeant Epps going on about somehow having been able to see a forcefield around Blackout through his super special binoculars. I don’t know how, or why, he knows this. I don’t know anything anymore.

Ed Sheeran has his doubts about this whole thing, and Lennox is also present in the scene, because I guess he’s important. Through a bit of dramatic irony, Fig- the guy everyone was making fun of for being bilingual at the start of the film- says that this probably isn’t over, as the shape of Scorponok shifts through the sand just beyond them.

Epps is having a minor crisis over the fact that Blackout saw him, but we don’t have time for that, because we’ve got to get to cover. The lads decide to head to the little Qatari boy’s house. Again, I wonder why he was at the base at all, considering that it seems like they’ve been traveling for a good portion of the day.

Back with Sam, he’s picked up his friend Miles, and together they’re going to a lake party. Are they invited to this party? Yes, but also no. It’s public property though, so it should be fine. As they park, Sam notices that Mikaela is here, which is great for him.

Mikaela’s boyfriend, Trent- whose name I had to look up- is a massive tool, and starts pestering the two boys for daring to exist in his airspace. Miles climbs a tree. I’m glad he’s having fun, at least. Sam makes a joke at the expense of people with brain injuries, and this for some reason? Warrants a shot of Mikaela making the blank “pretty girl” face? In response?

Mikaela saves Sam from becoming a wet stain on the grass, which is very kind of her, and more than Sam really deserves. Trent, his boys, and Mikaela start to head off for another party, to get away from Sam and his tree-loving friend. Mikaela offers to drive, and Trent says that she can’t handle his truck, because she’s a ~girl~. This causes Mikaela to ditch him, and start walking home.

The script knows enough about misogyny to know that this would be a nice “take that”. Michael Bay, however, likely fails to see why everything he did with said script involving this character is a goddamned problem.

Because Mikaela, bless her heart, has a lot of problems.

Let’s start with the outfit: a croptop, a jean skirt that BARELY covers her ass, and a pair of wedge heels that are at least four inches tall. On a character that is, at oldest, freshly 18.

Look, I’m all about self-expression and the freedom to choose how you dress for yourself and yourself alone, but this clearly isn’t that. This is a character, not a person, whose wardrobe was designed for the straight male gaze. She’s wearing fucking STRAP HEELS to the lake. This is about oogling. This is about reducing a whole-ass person to the same status as a piece of meat. In fact, who was on wardrobe for this? I’d like to have a few words with-

A woman? Okay, well, what else has she worked on?

You can’t be fucking serious.

ANYWAY.

Miles just called Mikaela an “evil jock concubine.” I don’t like Miles anymore.

As Mikaela walks down the road, strutting hard enough that I’ve got sympathy pains in my hips, the radio in the Camaro turns on, playing “Drive” by the Cars, and giving Sam a hell of an idea; he’s gonna drive Mikaela home, so she doesn’t have to walk the 10 miles to her house. Why he knows how far she lives from the lake isn’t addressed.

Sam kicks Miles out of the car and goes to give Mikaela a ride, which she accepts after a bit of self-deliberation, and also him making an ass of himself. The shot here is framed with Sam like he’s a normal-ass person, and Mikaela from her breasts to the top of her waist. Because of COURSE it is.

She hops in the car and then goes off about her taste in hot guys. Which is weird, and out of left field. Sam is about as confused as I am, then continues to make a fool of himself. This is his nature as a person. Mikaela has no idea who Sam is, even though they’ve gone to the same school for the last 10 years and have multiple classes together. And the fact that she was staring him down all through his genealogy presentation. And at the lake.

This movie isn’t very well thought out, I feel.

It’s at this point the the Camaro turns the key on itself and starts to sputter out and die, as “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye pops on the radio.

I don’t like how this car is trying to get Sam laid.

I don’t like how this car is trying to get Sam laid with a girl who didn’t even know his name five minutes ago.

I don’t like how this car knows what sex is.

The Camaro breaks down on a cliff, and Mikaela hops out to work on the engine, and also to get the hell away from Sam’s sputtering.

As Mikaela admires the sweet engine in this Camaro, showing off her knowledge of cars, we get several shots of her from her breasts to her thighs, while Sam is treated like an actual person. Don’t bother trying to play it off as an artistic choice, Bay, this is blatant horndogging. This adds to NOTHING, other than my ire.

Sam says more stupid shit, and Mikaela, who must be the nicest fucking person in the world, just tells him to fire up the engine so she can try to sort out the problem. Then he asks why she goes for jackasses like Trent, and she decides that she’s hit her limit for today, opting to walk the rest of the way home. Good on you, Mikaela. Don’t take Sam’s bullshit.

Sam, realizing that he’s put his foot in his mouth for the 80th time today, pleads with his Camaro to do him a solid and work, and this actually works out for him. Great. Sam, victorious, once again offers Mikaela a ride, which she, once again, takes.

He drops her off without further incident, and she thanks him for listening. Even though they didn’t really talk that much. I dunno, maybe they had a super deep conversation offscreen. Mikaela asks Sam if he thinks she’s shallow, because clearly all women need approval from the men around them, and Sam says that there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Which made me groan aloud.

Anyway, she gets inside without a problem, and Sam professes his love for his new Camaro for allowing him to talk to a girl. Or at least talk at her.

Back in Washington, D.C., at the Pentagon National Military Command Center, we’re making weirdly racist calls on who hacked the military.

Up with Air Force One, a conspicuous boombox transforms into a robot, and then runs off to hack shit. The President of the United States requests some snack cakes. A flight attendant goes down to storage to retrieve said snack cakes, and finds that boombox in the elevator with her. Considering this is Air Force One, you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing, but this is Bayverse, and we don’t think here.

The flight attendant brings the boombox down with her and places it on the counter as she goes to get the presidential snack cakes. The boombox immediately disappears. Now, you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing, but this is Bayverse-

The flight attendant opens up the snack cake package, for some reason, and drops the cake on the floor. She then proceeds to eat it, and then act shocked when it tastes like floor. There’s a robot in her fucking line of sight, and you’d perhaps expect her to immediately be suspicious of such a thing-

She leaves to go feed the President floor cakes, and our little robot friend gets to work stealing government secrets. He, if nothing else, looks pretty cool doing it. He’s a very pointy lad.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie- Rachael Taylor’s character- can hear the hacking. This sends everyone into a panic, because, well, that shouldn’t be happening. The hacking noise is a direct match to the one from Qatar, so that’s obviously a problem.

Back on Air Force One, our little robot friend is looking for “Project Iceman”, which he very quickly finds, and downloads everything they’ve got on it, and also plants a virus. The process seems to be… doing things to him. It’s weird. This movie is weird.

The Pentagon cuts all the system hardlines, stopping the process, but it’s too late- he got what he wanted, just about. Two security personnel come into the room, and the robot kills them both with some spinning blade disc nonsense. Air Force One is forced to land for the safety of everyone on-board. More security detail comes in to deal with the little bastard, but he transforms into a boombox and sits on a shelf to avoid suspicion. Now, you’d perhaps expect-

With the plane grounded, our robot is able to walk his little ass over to a cop car. And when I say walk, I do mean walk; this fucker is in multiple folks’ line of sight and nobody notices a thing. When he enters the car, he’s greeted by the mustachioed driver- the same driver who was operating the helicopter at the beginning of the film. This mustache man is a holographic avatar, one that’s being used by all the Decepticons.

We get our first real taste of Cybertronian language, as our robot- it’s Frenzy, his name is Frenzy- lets everyone know that he’s found a clue to the location of the AllSpark, and, through the power of the internet, knows where to find the guy who’s gonna give them what they need.

Three guesses to who it is, and the first two don’t count.

Back at the Witwicky household, Sam’s car does a runner in the middle of the night. Sam, horrified that his property is being stolen, pursues on a bike, screaming at his dad to call the cops. Sam also calls the cops, as he tears through the neighborhood.

The Camaro breaks into an abandoned building, Sam follows, and we finally get a shot of our audience appeal character. Sam watches in disbelief as a giant yellow space robot shines a beacon into the sky, then makes a video on his flip phone recording the experience. He apologizes to his parents for owning pornographic magazines, and goes to face his probable demise.

However, death does not come from above, instead manifesting itself as two of the strongest junkyard dogs in the known universe, who break their brick-inlaid chains to get at this little dip of a man. Sam is chased through the yard, climbing on top of a couple precarious oil drums, even though there’s a ladder, like, right there. The Camaro rolls in, scaring off the dogs, and Sam bolts, throwing the keys to his ride at his ride. When he gets outside, the cops have arrived, and immediately arrest him.

Back with the US government, the Secretary of State is having a conversation about all the bullshit that just went down with Air Force One. He and his fellow cishet old white men discuss their options, until Maddie comes in to set them straight on some of the facts. They act all indignant about it, because women can’t be smart, right?

Right???

RIGHT??????????

RIGH-

Anyway, we get a weird little deflection of Maddie’s role in everything, because a woman is nothing without the men around her, then she brings up the point that the bullshit that happened on Air Force One went down in just a few seconds, which isn’t something that anyone can actually do. She brings up quantum mechanics, which everyone blows off as nonsense- not that I wouldn’t as well- and theorizes on a DNA-based computer, which is technically a thing, if not trapped in the realm of speculation. It’s at this point that the Secretary of Defense tells her to come back when she can back these wild claims up, and isn’t just clearly spitballing.

And then he snaps his fingers at her, and any point he might have had leaves my brain so I have more room for being enraged.

Back with Sam, we’re at the police station talking to the cops. His dad is here, and Sam is trying to explain that his car is a dude. Even though he took at a video (one that was likely crap, given how quickly he spun his phone around to show off what he was seeing) the cops, understandably, don’t believe him. Then one of them, not so understandably, starts… threatening Sam? With his sidearm? And daring him to try something? This isn’t any sort of statement on the corruption of American law enforcement, it’s just bizarre.

Back in Qatar, our soldier buddies have found a telephone line, and are going to try to use it to get in contact with the rest of the world. It’s just too bad that Scorponok’s decided to make an entrance, and knock said telephone line the hell down. Ed Sheeran has next to no reaction to this, despite it happening maybe ten feet behind him. Fig speaks Spanish, and Ed Sheeran makes a point to be an asshole about it.

Scorponok is about to stab Lennox with his very pointy tail, when Epps notices- finally, someone with peripheral vision- and starts shooting. Then everyone starts shooting, kicking up enough sand to blind themselves, as Scorponok scuttles away, buries himself, then reappears behind Ed Sheeran.

Ed Sheeran does not survive this experience.

The others bolt, not wanting the same to happen to them, and for the fourth time I wonder just why the hell this young boy was at the base in the first place.

Off in the distance, the community of a nearby town wonders just what the shit is going on out in the desert. Our soldiers run into the town, and everyone gets their guns and start firing on Scorponok, who retaliates, because why the hell wouldn’t he?

Lennox demands that the young boy take him to his father, and proceeds to borrow his phone. As shit goes down outside, we have a sort-of gag where Lennox is trying to contact the Pentagon, while a telemarketer tries to get him to buy a phone package. In order for this call to go through, he’s going to need a credit card. This is where the well-known “pocket” scene comes from, as Lennox searches Epps’ pants for his wallet as he fires on Scorponok. It’s probably the best-written thing in this whole film.

With the credit card acquired, Lennox finally gets through to the Pentagon, and tosses Epps the phone so he can talk. Maybe he’s got anxiety about speaking on the phone, I dunno.

Scorponok shows off his disregard for historical architecture, blowing up several buildings, and the US government just watches this all go down. One of the actors in this scene looks like my dad, and it trips me up every time he’s on screen. Anyway, now the Pentagon knows about the giant space robots running around in Qatar. They send over some air support about it. All this manages to do is piss Scorponok off.

So they try it again.

This time it works, sort of.

At the very least, he’s left now.

Tail fell off, though.

Also, Fig’s been grievously wounded. The others, for once, don’t make fun of his native language while they help him hold his blood inside his body.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie’s looking to prove that the bullshit that’s been going on is of the sci-fi variety, and in order to do that, she’s going to need a little outside help. She takes the information from the Pentagon, slaps it into an SD card, hides that shit in her blush compact, and then runs out the door to Glenn Whitmann’s house. Or, rather, his grandma’s house.

Glenn is a hacker, and shouldn’t be seeing anything that Maddie’s brought him, but everyone knows that confidentiality is for nerds, so whatever.

Back at the Pentagon, Maddie’s immediately been caught. It’s almost like slapping the military network onto an SD card maybe wasn’t such a hot idea. But what do I know?

Glenn takes a look at the soundbite and figures out that there’s a code embedded in the thing in about two seconds. Good to know our tax dollars are being well-spent on the US military, that some dude in his jammies can figure this shit out faster than a whole team of analysts. They figure out that “Project Iceman” is involved with this somehow, and also the existence of Sector Seven. It’s at this point that the FBI busts in. Good. I kind of want Maddie to go to jail for this, because she was about as stupid as she could be handling the situation.

Glenn’s cousin goes through a closed glass door- don’t worry, it’s tempered- and there’s a weird cut before that exact same shot continues, and he’s tackled into the pool. There was no reason for that to have happened, but here we are.

Back with Sam, we’re treated to him in his boxers, shooting basketballs in his room. He goes into the kitchen, where Mojo is standing on a stool. It’s a very tall stool, the sort you sit on, and he’s just… there. I don’t know how he got there. There’s no one else in the room besides Sam, and I know he didn’t put him there.

Clearly this must mean Mojo is God, and being on that stool is his divine will. I will be approaching the rest of the franchise with this in mind, because it’s clearly the only answer.

Our merciful Lord Mojo jumps up on the kitchen counter and begins growling at something through the window. Sam looks out… the opposite window… to find that his Camaro has returned to him, and is less than thrilled about it, to put it lightly. He drops a jug of milk- luckily it was mostly empty, given the sound it makes when it hits the floor- and gives his buddy Miles a call. You remember Miles, don’t you? If you don’t, it’s fine, because he reestablishes his quirkiness with a single shot, as he sits in a swimsuit and bathes his huge-ass dog in a kiddie pool, and answers the phone with a headset he just happened to be wearing. He must get a lot of calls during Dog Washing Hours.


After giving us one of the most intense voice cracks I’ve ever heard, Sam books it out of his house, hopping on a bike to escape his murderous Camaro. He’s not seen the thing commit any murders, mind you, but he seems pretty convinced that it would do the job, given half a chance. Also, this isn’t the bike he rode the night before; that one is likely being chewed on by those strong-ass junkyard dogs. No, for some reason, the Witwickys have a pastel pink girl’s bike, with the fun little handle tassels and the basket and everything. As far as I can tell, Sam is an only child, and if you think Bay’s going to allow for a teenage boy to have the vulnerability to own a pink bike, you’ve not been paying attention for the last 48.5 minutes.

The Camaro gives chase, rolling after Sam on his bike at a brisk 7 MPH down the friggin’ sidewalk, one of the only scenes in this travesty of a film to actually get me to crack a smile. Sam races through town until city planning puts a stop to him, through the magic of using chunks of cement to decorate the mulch around their trees. He crashes his bike, faceplants into the concrete in front of Mikaela, and promptly dies, thus ending the film.

No, he doesn’t die. I just told a fib. I’m sorry.

Instead, he does a flip and lands on his back, likely receiving a concussion, in front of Mikaela and her friends. Her friends laugh, because everyone hates Sam, as they should, and Mikaela says that what he just did was “really awesome.” Don’t try to be nice, Mikaela, this is Sam we’re talking about; you could stick the dude in the freezer overnight and he still wouldn’t be even remotely cool.

Sam gets back to the whole “running away from a car” deal, and Mikaela decides that this is the sort of thing she’d like to do with her day, so she ditches her friends in the middle of their scheduled Burger King™ time to go see what the hell Sam’s on about.

As Sam is chased by the Camaro who is being chased by Mikaela on her motorized scooter, a cop becomes involved, tearing through the streets to join this ridiculous game of tag. Now, we’ve seen two different flavor of cop so far- the mustachioed avatar cop car that picked up Frenzy from the airport, and the dude who threatened a teenage boy with a gun after accusing him of being under the influence of drugs. Either way, I don’t think this is going to turn out well for Sam.

Sam’s cornered himself under one of those really wide bridges where people can park their cars, which wasn’t terribly smart, but it’s Sam, so this is about par for the course. The Camaro manages to miss him, but the cop car does not. Sam is actually pretty cool with the cops being here, as if they could do anything about “Satan’s Camaro.” I guess he didn’t see the decal on the side of this car that says “to punish and enslave…”

Sam attempts to approach the car for help, and gets clotheslined by a car door for his troubles. He hits his head on the pavement, certainly exasperating the brain injury he received not ten minutes ago. Still, he continues to try to talk to the holographic avatar through the windshield, revealing that the bike he’s been riding is his mother’s. Mystery solved, I suppose.

The cop car doesn’t much appreciate being slapped on the hood, and begins to rev violently at Sam, threatening to run him over several times. Then it explodes into being a robot. Sam, who’s seen a lot of really weird shit in the last 24 hours, nopes out of the situation. It’s at this point that I realize he’s wearing a shirt for the band the Strokes. I don’t know why that stuck out to me, but it did. Guess my brain needed something to latch onto during all this.

Sam is running as fast as his little legs allow, as our newest robot friend takes up a leisurely jog to keep pace. Then he kicks Sam. He kicks Sam’s body like the football. This, of course, instantly turns Sam into a bag of jelly and kills him, thus ending the film.

No, he doesn’t die. I just told another fib. I’m sorry.

Sam somehow survives being punted by a giant metal leg and lands in the windshield of a car that doesn’t turn into a robot. Then he gets yelled at by the cop car. This is Barricade, a member of the Decepticons, and Sam’s got something he wants. Or, should I say “LadiesMan217” has something he wants.

LadiesMan217 is Sam’s Ebay username. This is both stupid because no teenage boy existing beyond the year 1985 would have ever called himself that, and also because it’s just stupid.

Barricade wants the glasses Sam presented for his genealogy report, and he wants them NOW. Seeing as the thing he wants is for sale, and nobody had been bidding on it, one would wonder why Barricade and his associates didn’t just try to purchase them like upstanding citizens. Perhaps Decepticons don’t understand the concept of money, or perhaps they don’t have a stable address to have the glasses shipped to. Or perhaps nobody considered that angle when the script was being put together. Who can say?

Sam gets back to running away from Barricade, we see where Mikaela got to, and the two of them collide. Sam rips Mikaela off of her scooter, and they both fall to the ground. Mikaela, who did not buckle the clasp on her helmet, asks Sam what his fucking problem is. Then his problem shows up, and they take a very long time to get up so they can run. So long, in fact, that the Camaro has to swing in to save them. After much pleading from Sam, Mikaela gets inside Satan’s Camaro, and the two of them are whisked away to safety. Barricade pursues, and then the butt rock starts.

There’s a lot of screaming and yelling, the Camaro busts through a window and several shelves in an abandoned building, there’s some drifting, and then suddenly it’s nighttime. Barricade somehow got in front of the Camaro, and is circling like a shark. The Camaro locks the two teenagers inside itself, though I suppose they could climb out through the still-open windows if they really wanted to. The Camaro cuts the engine off, then cuts it back on and bolts for the exit, and this somehow tricks Barricade long enough for them to get past.

The Camaro dumps Mikaela and Sam out one of the doors and then transforms into that yellow space robot we saw a bit ago. It’s Bumblebee! Nearly an hour in, and we finally get a proper look at the little bastard. I guess that’s what happens when you spend the first 20-something minutes on being xenophobic and appealing to the focus groups that think it’s fine sexualize high schoolers.

Bumblebee- no, he’s not introduced himself yet, but I just can’t keep calling him “the Camaro” anymore- comes out of his transformation ready to square the fuck up. Barricade throws himself at Bumblebee, they roll around on the ground for a bit, then things start sparking and exploding, because this is a Michael Bay film. Frenzy jumps out and starts chasing down Mikaela and Sam, while Bumblebee and Barricade murder death punch each other. Frenzy manages to grab Sam by the ankles, drag him to the ground, and rip his pants off. Not sure how that happened, considering he’s still got his shoes on.

While Sam’s busy being chased by a sentient pile of safety pins, Mikaela’s taken it upon herself to be proactive about her survival, and is raiding a nearby building for power tools. She sprints out holding an electric jig saw and saves Sam by decapitating Frenzy. If you know anything about Transformers, then you know this doesn’t actually kill Frenzy, but good on her for being a badass. Why couldn’t Mikaela be our main character again? Oh, right, because she’s a ~girl~.

Sam punts Frenzy’s head, like, 50 yards, which seems like something he shouldn’t be able to do, given that he’s a massive weenie, but there you are. With that out of the way, Sam takes Mikaela’s hand and they run off to go watch the giant robot fight. The bottom of Frenzy’s head turns into a spider and he crawls his way over to Mikaela’s purse. He’s gonna steal her gum, the fiend!

Mikaela and Sam have, unfortunately, missed the giant robot fight, which means that we, as the audience, have also missed the giant robot fight. Which is unbelievably stupid, seeing as everyone who has ever watched this movie came for the GIANT GODDAMN ROBOTS.

Mikaela asks just who the hell the yellow robot is, I guess because she’s finally had a second to process what the hell’s going on. Sam claims that he’s a super-advanced robot, “probably from Japan.” Whether or not this is a reference to the Japanese origins of the original toy line isn’t clear, though somehow I think it’s more xenophobia. Sam also makes the claim that if Bumblebee had intended to hurt them, he would have done it by now. This is quite the jump from a few hours ago, when he was calling the poor guy “Satan’s Camaro.”

Sam finally, finally asks Bumblebee what his deal is, and we get our first taste of the Bayverse Bumblebee Gimmick. The Gimmick here is that, due to an injury to his vocal processing, Bumblebee cannot communicate through traditional means, i.e. speech. Because of this, he instead strings together sentences by flicking through the radio frequencies and choosing key words. This can lead to some interesting audio design, like describing his fellow Autobots to “rain down like visitors form heaven, Hallelujah!” because a radio sermon fit what he was trying to say best.

This gimmick is one that has been used in other pieces of Transformers media, at least in part. Bumblebee is unable to speak traditionally in Transformers: Prime, and instead communicates in beeps and clicks that his teammates can understand, but not so much the humans, save for Raf. In Bumblebee (2018), the idea was used whole-cloth, with the injury resulting in his inability to speak happening on-camera within the first 10 minutes of the movie, and the idea of “expressing oneself through music” being introduced by his human companion Charlie Watson.

All in all, I rather like the idea going on here; it’s an interesting part of his character that opens up for a lot of interesting and creative moments.

It’s just too bad it was introduced in fucking Bayverse.

But yeah, anyway, the other Autobots are coming to Earth. Shit’s gonna be lit.

Bumblebee turns back into a Camaro, and Sam uses the power of FOMO to get Mikaela to go in the car with him. We get a shot of Barricade fucking dying on the side of the road. Frenzy murders Mikaela’s phone, and then steals its identity, including the little bejeweled heart stickers. Good thing Mikaela remembered to go get her purse, otherwise he probably would have felt very silly doing that.

Mikaela refuses to sit in the driver’s seat, seeing as she now knows Sam’s car is sentient, and sort of feels weird about this whole thing. Sam suggests that she sit in his lap instead, as the camera angles to give us a peek at the cup of Mikaela’s bra. When asked why the hell she should do such a thing, Sam says it’s a concern about her safety, given that the middle console of the car does not have a seatbelt. Sam either fails to recognize that seatbelts going over two layered bodies won’t save either of them in the event of a crash, or he’s just trying to make an excuse to have a pretty girl in his lap.

Given what movie this is, I’m going to guess it’s the latter.

Mikaela has a similar line of thought, but scoots over anyway, saying that the seatbelt line was a “smooth move”. It wasn’t, but if I picked apart every single bad line Sam had in this film, I’d be here all day.

Mikaela questions Bumblebee’s taste in alt-mode, which offends him to the point of dumping both her and Sam out in the street and driving away. He returns, moments later, as a sleek new Camaro, that I’m sure some car aficionados would call “sexy.”

Bumblebee’s alt-mode is a 2009 Chevrolet Camaro, of which there were none during the time of filming. It was put together for this movie in roughly five weeks. Sam is blown away by the fact that he now owns a car that does not currently exist in his universe. Mikaela is impressed, or at least she would be, if women were allowed to show that emotion in a non-horny way in a Bay film.

Judy doesn’t count.

As Bumblebee breaks into yet another restricted area, we get a shot of the Earth from orbit, as several objects rocket towards the planet. Sam and Mikaela watch the Autobots burn up in the atmosphere, and Mikaela tries to hold Sam’s hand as they do, and it’s at this point that I have to address how much I hate these two’s dynamic.

I don’t give a single solitary shit about this romance, because A) it’s poorly written, B) Mikaela could do infinitely better than Sam, C) I dislike Sam so very much, D) Mikaela, who is a way more interesting character, got placed on friggin’ love interest duty because ~girl~, and E) it’s useless padding to try and make me care about what’s happening here, and I just DON’T. I do NOT care about whether these two get together or not.

We see the Autobots crash-land, three out of four of them causing massive amounts of property damage and possibly killing at least one person. Their stasis pods crack open, and they each climb out, completely naked and in desperate need of clothing to hide their shame. With a quick scan of nearby vehicles, they’re once again decent to be seen in public.

Bumblebee drives the kids out to what I can only assume is the warehouse district he sent that beacon out in, as our collection of good guys finally come together at long last. A massive Peterbilt semi-truck stops directly in front of Mikaela and Sam.

We’re over an hour into this film, and we’re just now getting to the quintessential Transformer, Optimus Prime himself.

In the original cartoon, Optimus’s alt-mode was what’s known as a cabover truck, one where the cab- where the driver sits- is seated directly over the engine. These were popular during the days when maximum truck-lengths were much shorter than they are currently. This is why when you look at height charts for Optimus over various continuities, his G1 cartoon counterpart much shorter than his other iterations.

Modern trucks are longer, and don’t need the cab to sit on top of the engine to save on space. The designers chose to use a Peterbilt to make sure that Optimus would have an imposing stature when compared to his fellow Autobots.

Because heaven forbid we not have heightism come into play in this film.

Our Autobots transform, and say what you will about these bastards being visually incomprehensible, the transformations themselves are cool as hell. My personal favorite is Jazz’s, where he does a cool windmill into his root mode.

Optimus crouches like he’s looking at a cool bug on the sidewalk and addresses Sam by name. He doesn’t even acknowledge Mikaela, which I find to be a bit rude, but whatever. He then introduces himself as the leader of the Autobots.

Peter Cullen is back as the voice for Optimus Prime, sounding wonderful as always. He almost wasn’t brought on for this project, because Michael Bay didn’t want him. If the fans hadn’t thrown a hissyfit, who knows who we would have gotten to be our space dad for the next hour and a half?

This is actually an issue that’s recurred several times in the last few years, and not just with Cullen; Frank Welker, the voice of Megatron, as well as many other Transformers, has been refused roles within Transformers properties. In general, this is because both Cullen and Welker are union actors, and Hasbro would prefer to hire sound-alikes than pay more money for the originals. This isn’t to shame the non-union actors, goodness no, just to merely point out less-than-fantastic business practices.

I realize there have been a lot of tangents, but you have to understand that I am suffering as I do this.

Optimus then introduces his team- there’s Jazz, whose first line is “What’s crackin’ little bitches?”, Ironhide, who incorrectly quotes Dirty Harry, and Ratchet, who calls out just how obnoxiously horny Sam’s character is. We also finally get Bumblebee’s name.

Mikaela asks the very good question of why the fuck the Autobots are here on Earth. Optimus explains that the AllSpark is here, and they’ve got to get to it before Megatron does. He then goes on to explain who Megatron is, stating that he “betrayed” the Cybertronian empire.

No, how exactly he did that isn’t addressed. We’ll just have to take Optimus’s word, I suppose.

If you’ve sussed out by this point the the AllSpark and the Cube™ are the same thing, congrats! You win. Megatron followed the AllSpark to Earth, where he promptly was neutralized by the cold of the Arctic circle. This was 110 years prior to the events of this film, and where Archibald Witwicky came in to the story.

When the expedition was happening, Archibald fell through the ice during a collapse, and ended up finding Megatron’s frozen body in an ice cave. He went poking around on this strange metal giant, and ended up activating Megatron’s navigation systems, which imprinted the coordinates of the AllSpark onto Archibald’s glasses.

Don’t ask how that works, it just does.

So, the Autobots need the glasses, so they can find the AllSpark before the Decepticons do, so those guys don’t use it to build an army out of Earth’s machines, which will destroy humanity.

Sounds simple enough, let’s go get that vision correction device!

Back with the military dudes, everyone’s taking a gander at the tail that Scorponok left behind. They theorize that the metal that makes up these giant murder-robots reacts to extreme heat, but elaboration on that point will have to wait, because the tail has begun to flail. They quickly strap it down, then call the military to let them know to strap anti-tank guns onto anything that’s going to be approaching any giant robots.

Meanwhile, in an interrogation room, Maddie and Glen have been left to sweat a bit. Glen takes to stress-eating, while framing it as a psychological tactic to subconsciously prove his innocence to the FBI.

This is a fat joke, with the added nasty layer of Glen being a black man about to be interrogated by one of the most intimidating white cops I’ve seen in a hot minute.

Glen immediately folds, pinning all the blame on Maddie, and claiming that he’s been a perfect angel his whole life. We get some weird purity culture out of him, before Maddie lets the FBI know that she needs to talk to the Secretary of Defense, NOW.

Over at the Witwicky household, Sam’s parents are watching the news, trying to find out what all those loud crashes were about. Optimus Prime drives down their residential street, the rest of the gang in tow, then they all park to wait for Sam to go get the glasses.

For about 20 seconds.

Sam has to physically hold the door shut to prevent his father from coming out and seeing several very tall robots from outer space tip-toeing around his freshly-landscaped yard, I guess because they got antsy. Optimus plods around on the grass and breaks a fountain, and our benevolent god Mojo comes out of the house, assuredly to smite the leader of the Autobots.

Mikaela runs onto the scene, and Sam chastises her for not controlling the robots who didn’t even acknowledge her existence, outside of pointing out Sam was sexually attracted to her.

Mojo pees on Ironhide’s foot, which prompts Ironhide to threaten to shoot the creature. This is why Ironhide isn’t getting into heaven. Sam, one of Mojo’s chosen few, claims that the mortal shell of his god is seen as a beloved pet by many humans. Sam runs into the house, before Mojo can incur his divine wrath on the Autobots.

While Sam goes to get the glasses, the Autobots decide to do a little peeping on the house, watching his parents watch TV. Sam tears his room apart trying to find the glasses, and Optimus thinks that it would be helpful if he brought Mikaela up to help look. It’s at this point that I realize that Sam has an utterly bizarre fish tank.

I mean, legitimately, what the fuck is this? No filter, no plants, might not even have any rocks on the bottom. Is this a comically oversized bong Sam threw a couple fish into? What the fuck.

Mikaela starts looking for the glasses, running into what is likely a box of porn mags, then they both look out the window to find that the Autobots have decided to hide in plain sight by transforming... in the middle of Sam’s backyard. Amazing work, gentlemen.

Sam finally convinces the Autobots to go sit in the alley and wait, only for Ratchet to run into a power line and trip into a greenhouse. The resulting impact is interpreted as an earthquake. Judy does not have the reaction one might expect from someone who’s lived in California for at least ten years.

Ratchet’s fine, by the way.

The power cuts out, and Ron goes up to check on his son, because he’s at least a halfway-decent father. Ratchet’s shining a light to aid in the search for the glasses. Sam’s parents notice this bright light, and bang on Sam’s door to see what’s up.

Sam quickly hides Mikaela and then attempts to salvage the situation, answering the door and trying to control the narrative. Unfortunately, Ron is far too inquisitive for Sam to do this, and then Judy asks if Sam was masturbating.

Judy, is privacy just not a thing to you? Because if not, it really ought to be.

She keeps going with it too, trying to come up with code words, until another one of the Autobots trips and causes Ron to panic again, climbing into Sam’s ancient claw-foot bathtub to protect himself. He looks out the window to check on his beloved yard, lamenting that the earthquake tore it up.

Ironhide is strongly considering killing Sam’s parents. Optimus tells him that they don’t harm humans, and also begins to wonder if he made a mistake bringing this guy along.

Back in Sam’s room, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that Sam is an absolutely terrible liar, and Mikaela reveals herself, if only to prevent Judy from trying to talk about self-pleasure again. Of course, now she gets to be subjected to both of Sam’s parents objectifying her, so this might be a lose-lose situation.

Sam is reminded that his backpack is in the kitchen, just in time for the government to show up at his house. Mikaela makes a comment about Judy being nice. I suppose on a surface level, yes, being told that you’re gorgeous by someone’s mom is nice. I do have to question the context that compliment took place in, however.

Sam’s about to hand the glasses over to the Autobots, when someone rings the doorbell. It’s Sector Seven, and they’re here to talk to Sam about his stolen car being part of an issue involving national security. Ron and Judy are more concerned about their yard being torn up, Judy yelling that they “need to get their hands off [her] bush.”

We still have another hour of this movie.

The agent leading this mission asks Sam to come with him for questioning, which his parents are very much against. Mojo also voices his displeasure, but it would seem that Agent Simmons is not a follower of the Tenets of Mojo. Sam gets geigered, and his readings are high enough for Sector Seven to take him and everyone in this house into custody.

As Sam and Mikaela are riding in the back of the car, Simmons brings up Sam’s Ebay account, and also the phone video he took of Bumblebee earlier in the week. Mikaela is rather unimpressed with Sam at the moment, probably because he’s gotten her arrested. She still tries to help him out though, because she really is just the nicest fucking person on the planet.

Alas, the combined efforts of these two teenagers isn’t enough to fool the long arm of the law, especially when it’s a branch of said law that deals with extraterrestrial activity. Simmons threatens to lock up these literal children for life if they don’t start talking. Mikaela isn’t taking the bait, so he goes after her father’s parole hearing instead.

Yep! As it turns out, Mikaela and her father stole cars to get by, and she’s got the record to back that claim up. Simmons calls her a criminal, then says that criminals are hot. Mikaela looks like she’s about to cry, and I don’t blame her in the slightest.

Optimus, I suppose because his dad senses were tingling, takes the opportunity to place his leg in the road for the car to run into, then grabs said car like an unruly cat and lifts it until the roof rips off due to stress. The agents in the other cars pile out and point their guns at the giant space robot. The rest of the Autobots quickly relieve them of their weapons.

Optimus notes that Simmons doesn’t seem surprised that a bunch of giant robots just took all his guys’ guns, and demands that he exit the vehicle, posthaste. Simmons obliges, after a bit more prodding. Mikaela undoes Sam’s handcuffs, and he gets fucking pissy about it, as if this girl he’s had a grand total of three (awkward) conversations with should have told him something as personal as “hey, so my dad’s in jail and I’ve been to juvenile detention.”

Luckily, she doesn’t let him get away with it, calling him out as the spoiled, self-centered, privileged little shithead that he is.

Of course, we don’t get any sort of real acknowledgement from Sam, having to move on with the plot. Perhaps, if we hadn’t spent the last hour and 20 minutes faffing about on drivel, we could have had Sam get an actual moment of self-reflection, and potentially even character growth. However, this is Bayverse, and everyone knows that personal accountability is for fucking sissies.

Mikaela and Sam ask several questions, but get no answers from Agent Simmons. And then Bumblebee pees on him.

I hate that I had to write that. I hate it very much.

Anyway, I don’t know why that had to happen, but it did, and I’m nothing if not thorough.

Optimus tells Bumblebee to cut it out, and with that the Sector Seven agents are cuffs and left on the side of the road. Mikaela orders Simmons to strip, as punishment for threatening her father, then cuffs him to a street lamp.

...Yes, that does sound like a bizarre sexual fantasy, doesn’t it?

Unfortunately for our teen heroes, they forgot to confiscate everyone’s phones, and Sector Seven knows what’s up, thanks to the power of speakerphone. More cars and a couple of helicopters show up basically immediately, and the Autobots decide it’s time to dip.

But not before Ironhide fires off a pulsewave into the ground that causes a five-car pileup.

Optimus, I suppose because he knows he chose a ridiculously flashy alt-mode that is in no way practical, just picks the kids up in and places them on his shoulder like a couple of parakeets, then takes up a leisurely jog to get away from the eyes in the sky. He runs through the city, racking up what is likely millions in property damage, as the helicopters pursue. He passes by a “Legalize LA” billboard, which feels odd to see, given what movie this is.

The ‘copters somehow manage to lose Optimus, despite him being relatively slow, and having a notable radiation level that they’ve been using to track him. He hides inside the scaffolding of a bridge, only for Mikaela and Sam to slip off of his polished body to their deaths, thus ending the film.

No, they don’t die. I just told another fib. I’m sorry.

Bumblebee snatches them up just before they hit the ground, the impact of his metal body catching them at 75 mph, killing them instantly and ending the film.

Nope, that doesn’t happen either.

Mikaela and Sam are fine, some-fucking-how, but Sam’s dropped the MacGuffin glasses. The helicopters swing back around, having noticed the sound of a car crashing into the ground and the screams of two whole adolescents. They break out a fucking harpoon gun and fire on our kid appeal character.

Repeatedly.

They wrap up Bumblebee in a series of cables, as he screams like a moose. Mikaela and Sam are held at gunpoint by what is honestly far too many dudes, and are then arrested for the second time in ten minutes. Bumblebee is smoked... because he’s a bee? Sam, not liking this one bit, finds the strength in his weenie body to push a cop off of himself, run at one of the dudes with the smoke guns, throw him to the ground, and then start smoking him. He’s immediately tackled, but points for trying.

Sam and Mikaela are placed back into custody, and the rest of the Autobots regroup with Optimus to see what the plan is. Optimus says that they can’t save Bumblebee without hurting humans, so I guess Bumblebee is just a POW now. Well, at least they got the glasses. That’s cool.

Back at the Pentagon, things are getting dicey, as the other world powers are starting to suspect that something’s up. The Secretary of Defense is approached by a man with a mustache and a briefcase. He’s from Sector Seven, but the Secretary gives not a fuck about mysterious organizations. All the computers in the room suddenly go down, the virus from earlier working its magic- only this time, the blackout is global.

Mr. Mustache opens his briefcase, while explaining that Sector Seven is something known as a “special access” sector of the government, which is why nobody’s ever heard of it; it’s beyond top secret. Commissioned by President Herbert Hoover 80 years prior, it deals with alien life.

When the Beagle 2 spacecraft was lost on the way to Mars in 2003, the mission was declared a failure. This was a lie. The Beagle 2 recorded several seconds of Mars before being crushed to death by a Transformer. This tidbit is pretty funny, given that the Beagle 2 was rediscovered on Mars in 2014, seven years after this film released. Not a terribly mysterious death anymore, is it?

Comparing the footage from Mars to the footage from Qatar has Sector Seven thinking that these are the same species. Which they are. God, it’d be so fucked up if there were two species of giant robots in this film.

Mr. Mustache theorizes that because the Transformers now know that they can be harmed by human weaponry, they’re being proactive about their safety and shutting down all forms of communication technology with that virus that keeps popping up. It’s only a matter of time before the shit hits the fan for humanity.

Mr. Secretary tells his guys to try going analog with comms, breaking out the short-wave radios, to tell their ships to return home.

Over at an Air Force base, Lennox and the gang have landed, only to be scooped up by a bunch of dudes in suits.

Back with Maddie and Glen, the two of them have fallen asleep in the interrogation room, Maddie still wearing her friggin’ four inch pumps as her legs are propped up on the table, crossed in a way that seems rather uncomfortable. Glen gets to sleep like a normal human being, with his head resting on his forearms. Why this place doesn’t have a holding cell for these situations is beyond me.

Mr. Secretary comes in to bring Maddie on as his advisor. Glen can come too, I guess, considering he’s the one who actually figured out the sound file virus.

We get a little military glorification, and then it’s revealed that Mikaela and Sam, as well as Maddie and Glen, are aboard this helicopter. Their paths cross at last. Our heroes are transported to the Hoover Dam, where Bumblebee is also. They are still smoking him.

Meanwhile, the Autobots are figuring out where to go, with the power of Archibald’s glasses. Ratchet, who I guess is omnipotent, senses that the Decepticons have also figured out the location, and that this is going to be a race against the clock. And I mean, he’s right, but the phrasing is a bit odd.

Jazz wants to know when they’re going to save Bumblebee. Optimus says that they aren’t, and that Bumblebee’s sacrifice is noble, and that he would want the Autobots to leave him and complete the mission. As this is said, we get another shot of Bumblebee getting smoked and trapped in a lab. Yep, this is totally what he would want. He absolutely signed up for this, giving himself up to the government and not at all fighting like mad to not be captured.

I don’t think Bayverse Optimus actually knows what martyrdom is, which is bizarre, given that it’s a major trait in a lot of other iterations of the character.

Ironhide isn’t even sure why they’re bothering to save humanity, given that humans are violent and awful, his point being hammered home as Bumblebee is tortured for scientific reasons. Ironhide seems to have forgotten that Cybertron has been at war for literally millions of years. Optimus has faith in humanity, however, stating that we’re “young”.

And then he says that he’s going to end his own race, by destroying the Cube™, which is how they reproduce, because that’s the only way to end the war.

Which is arguably one of the most hardcore fictional applications of eugenics ever conceived.

Being advocated for by Optimus Goddamn Prime.

We still have another 50 minutes of this movie.

Optimus then proves that he does, in fact, know what self-sacrifice is, stating that, if all else fails, he’ll shove the AllSpark into his spark, which will destroy them both. He’s pretty chill about it, too.

Up on top of the Hoover Dam, Frenzy has fallen out of Mikaela’s bag.

Mr. Secretary is also at the Hoover Dam now, as is Lennox’s team. Oh, and Agent Simmons, who is thankfully wearing pants. He offers to buy Sam a coffee, as repartitions for threatening his family, arresting him, and being a complete creep to a teenage girl. Sam gives not a fuck about caramel macchiatos with extra foam and chocolate drizzle, however. He only cares about his car.

Mr. Mustache, who is also here, needs Sam to spill the beans on all these friggin’ giant robots that are running around. This is where Sam realizes he has the upper hand for once, and he starts making demands. One such demand is having Mikaela’s record scrubbed clean, which is an actually very nice thing for him to have done for her. We’ll see if his intent comes to fruition. For now, it’s time to talk about Bumblebee.

We get a shot of all these folks heading into the secret base hidden inside the Hoover Dam, and it’s at this point that I notice that Maddie’s shirt is basically see-through.

Inside the Dam, we see that Sector Seven′s been keeping Megatron this entire time, keeping him neutralized with cryo-stasis since 1935. Cryopreservation was invented in the 50′s. This isn’t a nitpick, I just thought it was a neat little fact.

Megatron being on Earth has resulted in most modern technology. This sort of plot point always bothers me, because it takes away agency from the entire human race. We didn’t use our own ingenuity and work ethic to advance society, we plagiarized from a more advanced species. I dunno, it just rubs me the wrong way.

We get the part of the movie where info is hashed out, so that everyone is on the same page, Sam spouting off Autobot propaganda. We can forgive him for this,considering he’s 16, and no one is immune to propaganda, especially when they have zero way of doing their own research to form their own opinion with.

Sector Seven also has the AllSpark, kept in the room next to Megatron’s, like the chumps they will soon find themselves to be. It’s about ten stories tall and the reason the Hoover Dam exists. With so much concrete suppressing its alien energies, surely no one will ever find it!

Except for Frenzy, who came in through a mouse hole. Whoopsie-doodle!

The AllSpark zaps the nasty little man, restoring his body with its weird MacGuffin powers. Frenzy tells all his coworkers that he found what they were looking for, and everyone starts heading over.

Maddie asks Mr. Mustache what exactly he means by “energies”, perhaps worried that this whole thing has been some elaborate ploy to get her to invest in magic healing stones. Mr. Mustache brings everyone into a testing chamber, since the best way to explain how the AllSpark works is through a demonstration.

There’s a big fish tank in the middle of this testing chamber, in which Agent Simmons places a donated device from the crowd- Glen’s Nokia phone, specifically. Simmons makes a geologically-confused comment. When this is pointed out by Maddie, Mr. Secretary hushes her, simply saying that Simmons is a strange man. The tank is locked down, and then the show starts.

Cube™ energies are shot into the tank, and the phone explodes into life, transforming into a gorilla-shaped gremlin creature. Happy birthday, little dude!

Little dude starts shooting at the tank walls, cracking the glass until Simmons pulls the trigger and ends it. Happy deathday, little dude!

The Decepticons are making tracks towards the Hoover Dam, but Starscream- yeah, he’s in this now, don’t worry about it- arrives first, because he is a very fast jet. He transforms, showing off his ridiculous Dorito body, and fires on the base’s generators. The resulting explosions can be heard all the way down in the testing chamber, and Mr. Mustache calls upstairs to see what’s up. Looks like Megatron may be getting warmed up, seeing as his ice bath has been cut off. Lennox asks if there’s an arms room in Sector Seven, which sort of feels like asking a bakery if they have any flour.

Frenzy has entered the room that houses the controls for the cryo-stasis and set that whole system to “no, thank you”.

Mr. Mustache runs through the base, screaming for everyone to get to the Megatron chamber. Off in the distance, the Autobots approach. Could probably used some fliers on your team, huh Optimus?

Back with Frenzy, he’s decided to just straight-up raise Megatron’s core temperature directly. Hope he doesn’t do it too fast; rewarming hypothermia victims recklessly can do some serious damage.

Outside of the base, Lennox and the boys are loading up with weaponry, along with what’s the entirety of Sector Seven′s cannon-fodder department. Oh, and all the main cast. Yep, just got a couple of teenagers chillin’ in the munitions room.

Sam wants Simmons to take him to his car- he hasn’t used Bumblebee’s name in a hot minute, not sure what’s up with that- even though Simmons is currently busy loading a very large gun. Simmons doesn’t want to do that, because he’s got no idea if what Sam mentioned earlier is even true, and he doesn’t want to pin the fate of humanity on a single Camaro. Lennox takes this opportunity to tackle Simmons, despite likely not knowing that Bumblebee is one of the “good guys”. A Sector Seven guy very much doesn’t like that, and points a gun at Lennox, which prompts all of his guys to also start threatening folks with guns.

Mr. Mustache walks in on the scene, but doesn’t do anything, since he isn’t armed and knows better than to tangle with someone who’s packing. Simmons tries to intimidate Lennox, because he must have missed the day of boot camp where they tell you that guns kill people. Lennox is fully committed to shooting this dude in the lungs before Mr. Secretary suggests he give the people what they want, before things get ugly.

Simmons takes everyone to the robot torture department of Sector Seven, where they are still smoking Bumblebee. Geez, you’d think they’d have something in place for if they ever came across another giant robot after Megatron, but I guess not. The gang gets everyone to stop smoking Bumblebee, which allows him to stop moose-screaming and strongly consider murdering everyone involved with his forced captivity. Unfortunately, revenge with have to wait, as we’ve still got to deal with the AllSpark, and the fact that the Decepticons are here.

They take Bumblebee to the AllSpark, where he makes direct contact the thing, causing the AllSpark to transform, compacting itself down into a far more reasonable size that Bumblebee can carry in one hand. It doesn’t seem to weigh more than a grown adult, if his body language is saying anything. I’d make a joke about the conservation of mass being ignored, but since this is Transformers, I can’t really say much. Conservation of mass doesn’t exist for this franchise.

Bumblebee would really like to get this show on the road, and Lennox agrees, quickly formulating a plan to get away from Megatron and taking the AllSpark to Mission City, which is relatively close to their current location, so that they can hide it there.

Lennox, I know this plan is a first draft, and we don’t have a ton of time for revisions, but the whole point of building a whole-ass dam around the Cube™ was because it was very difficult to hide, given its magical MacGuffin powers. Regardless of this flaw, Mr. Secretary agrees. Lennox also asks that the Air Force be involved in this, I guess because the U.S. military wanted more screentime.

Of course, that whole “global blackout” thing is still going on, so we’re going to have to get creative with how we’re going to contact the Air Force. Mr. Secretary and Simmons make a break for the WWII-era radio Sector Seven has, while Lennox and the boys head out to shoot things, and Mikaela and Sam hop into Bumblebee with the Cube™.

This is about the point that Megatron wakes up. The first thing he does is introduce himself, which I thought was very polite of him. Then he breaks out his flail and starts bashing shit around. Not so polite, that.

Over with Bumblebee, we’re shown that the AllSpark, all-powerful object that can create life and is the whole reason this conflict is even happening, is just chillin’ in the back seat by itself. It’s not even buckled up.

Megatron escapes the base, and it’s actually super easy. He just transforms, goes through the tunnel, and he’s free. I feel like we could have at least attempted some security measures for in case the cryo-stasis failed, given that we’ve had this dude in containment for the last 70-something years, but okay.

Starscream comes over to say hi to his boss, not that Megatron gives a shit. He just wants to know where that fucking Cube™ is. When Starscream tells him that the humans have it, Megatron makes a comment about how Starscream has failed him yet again. This is their first interaction in this movie, and Starscream’s been in the story for a grand total of five minutes at this point. I know that this is a reference to their dynamic in just about every installment of the franchise up to this point, but it doesn’t feel earned in the slightest. Even if it’s going to be expanded upon in future sequels, this is a shit-tier way to set their (awful) relationship up.

Not that anyone should ever bank on getting a sequel anyway, but that’s a discussion for another time.

Megatron tells Starscream to retrieve the AllSpark, and then we cut over to the radio plotline. The radio, which is so cobweb-covered I feel like Sector Seven needs to have a serious discussion with their custodial staff, has its nobs and buttons fiddled with by Simmons until it crackles to life. But where are the microphones? Everyone starts looking for the mics, as Simmons pushes Glen into the seat, I guess because hacking modern computers and using Depression-era radio tech are similar enough.

Maddie asks Glen if he can hotwire a 90′s-era computer to transmit a tone through the radio, so that they can send a Morse code message to the Air Force. Which sounds ridiculous to me, but I don’t know enough about radios or computers to know if that sort of thing would be possible. Maybe it’s fine. Or maybe it’s Hollywood bullshit. Who knows?

Back over with Bumblebee, we get a bunch of car commercial shots, of both him and the other Autobots. Aww, the gang’s back together again! Nobody tell Bumblebee that Optimus was completely cool with leaving him to his fate.

Optimus and the gang whip around to join the convoy, and everyone makes their way towards Mission City.

Back at the radio subplot, someone’s bangin’ on the door, trying to get in. The others try to block the intruder, while Glen does his hacking stuff. Mr. Secretary breaks a case and pulls out a gun that’s about as old as he is.

Glen gets the computer working, and Mr. Secretary gives him the Super Secret Military Codewords™ to use to talk to the Air Force. While he does that, Simmons finds a flamethrower and starts burning Frenzy as he attempts to enter the room. The Air Force receives the message for an air strike. Oh, goody.

Over with the convoy, it appears that the Autobots and Lennox’s boys are being pursued by the Decepticons. It’s difficult to tell, seeing as the cameras have gone full Bay-mode, but I’m guessing that’s what’s up. One of the Decepticons flips over a minivan, likely killing a family of five. another causes a multi-car pileup.

Bonecrusher transforms, then Optimus transforms. Bonecrusher iceskates across the highway, slamming into a bus so hard it just straight-up explodes. He is on fire. He tackles Optimus, and they proceed to fall off the side of the raised highway they’re on. Then they beat the shit out of each other, until Optimus decapitates Bonecrusher with his arm-sword.

Yeah, space dad is a little intense in the Bayverse.

Back at Sector Seven, Frenzy’s decided to leave the door alone, and instead is crawling through the ventilation shaft. Mr. Secretary and Simmons fire off shots into the duct above them, as if bullets would do anything against this nasty little pile of needles.

Frenzy bursts through the bottom of the duct and crash-lands into a glass case, taking cover behind a pillar and fires on the humans on the other side of the room. While this shootout is happening, Glen receives a response from the Air Force, just in time for Frenzy to accidentally decapitate himself with one of his own spinning blades of death. This time, he does not survive losing his head.

The Air Force will be sending fighter planes to Mission City, and to establish this, we get several shots of what some might call “military porn.”

Over in the city, the convoy has arrived. Lennox hands several short-wave radios over to Epps, telling him to use them to direct the Air Force when they arrive, so they can take the AllSpark... somewhere, I guess. Above, an F-22 zooms across the sky. It is not one of the Air Force’s F-22s.

Ironhide recognizes Starscream, and gets ready to throw down. Bumblebee grabs a nearby Furby truck and hoists it up to use as a shield. This marginally works, as the missile that hits the truck doesn’t immediately kill him, though it probably did all those Furbies inside.

The resulting explosion throws all the humans around, Mikaela getting weird heaven lighting as she lies unconscious on the pavement. Sam gets it too, though, so I suppose I can’t complain too much about this particular shot. They touch hands. I really wish that I could take this moment of vulnerability as being anything other than an attempt to set up a romance between these two teens who have known each other for maybe half a week. This movie has so starved me of genuine human interaction I'm jumping at the smallest of scraps.

Bumblebee actually didn’t get out of that missile-strike unscathed, his legs having been blown off. All those Furbies died for nothing. Tragic. Sam asks Bumblebee if he’s alright, and immediately tells him to get up. Sam then remembers that Bumblebee’s legs are off, so he yells for Ratchet.

Over with Lennox and Epps, they’ve realized that the plane they saw wasn’t one of theirs. Which, you know, has already been established, but points for getting caught up, fellas. Sam is crying and still telling Bumblebee to get up. Bumblebee is dragging himself across the pavement and whimpering. It’s awful. Where the fuck is Ratchet? This is basically the only reason he’s in this film, and he’s nowhere to be found.

The actual Air Force calls on the radio, asking for their location. Brawl, who is a tank, starts firing on Lennox’s gang. Jazz and Ratchet race through the city streets. How they were separated from the rest of the team is anyone’s guess.

Sam takes a little sit on the pavement to be with Bumblebee, while Mikaela decides to problem-solve and heads for a nearby tow truck. Bumblebee hands Sam the Cube™ because, as the designated protagonist, it’s his job to handle it in the climax of the film.

Ironhide is shot at several times by Brawl, narrowly avoiding being hit each time. This, of course, means that the people he drives by in this shot are almost assuredly dead, since they’re right next to the explosions. He transforms and does a flip, as the film goes slow-mo on a shot of a woman in a low-cut dress watching him flip. She screams. Ironhide screams. I scream, though probably for a different reason.

Jazz jumps on Brawl, managing to kick off a couple pieces of kibble before Brawl grabs him and throws him into the side of a building. Ironhide, Optimus, and Ratchet descend on Brawl, and so does Lennox’s team, Brawl losing a hand and getting thrown into his own building as a result.

Mikaela breaks into the tow truck and starts to hotwire that shit. Wow, a relevant back story that culminates in her being able to save the day, thus completing her arc and staying on-theme for her character. Why isn’t Mikaela the protagonist again?

Oh, right, because ~girl~.

Megatron lands in a nearby alleyway, and Ratchet, knowing this dude is bad news, tells everyone to head for the hills. Jazz isn’t fast enough, however, and gets shot for his troubles.

Mikaela drives the truck over to Sam, who is still sitting there with the Cube™, and tells him to get his ass in gear.

Jazz gets taken to the top of a nearby building and is ripped in two by Megatron, who acts like a bird of prey the whole sequence. Down on the ground, Brawl is starting to get back up from his smackdown. Blackout appears on a nearby skyscraper. Things are looking grim for humanity.

Mikaela and Sam hook Bumblebee up to the tow line as Lennox approaches them. Sam has left the AllSpark out of his line of sight, like a fool. Despite seeing this, Lennox still gives him the flare to let the military know where to pick up the AllSpark. Doesn’t even acknowledge Mikaela. He tells Sam to head for the white building with statues on top of it and set the flare on top of the roof. Lennox can’t leave his men, because he’s the head of his operation. Why he can’t send literally anyone else who isn’t a 16 year-old boy isn’t made clear.

Sam really doesn’t want to do this, probably because he’s a child, but Lennox has recruited him to the military against his will, so he must. Lennox then attempts to make Mikaela leave for her own good, but she tells him to fuck off, because she’s gonna save Bumblebee. Clearly, this is a win for feminism.

Epps radios the choppers coming from the Air Force to let them know they’ll be picking up a package from a teenager, thus locking Sam into the job. Ironhide and Ratchet vow to protect Sam from the Decepticons on his way to the pickup point. Not one single person has pointed out how fucked up this is.

Sam starts to run off, when Mikaela stops him to let him know that she’s glad she got in the car with him roughly an hour ago. They don’t kiss goodbye, which, honestly? Good. This fucking movie hasn’t earned that. Sam for sure hasn’t earned that, even if he did clear her juvie record. No word on that having actually been done, by the way. Sam never got confirmation, and I feel like he’s not really the type to follow up on things.

Brawl fires off some shots and makes things explode. Ratchet and Ironhide provide cover fire as Sam sprints down the road. Yep, they’re making this idiot WALK to the pickup point. Sure hope the elevators are working today, otherwise this is going to take forever.

Sam carries the AllSpark like a football, and in a better movie, this would have been foreshadowed by Sam having actually been a football player prior to the events of the film, perhaps removed from the team for some character flaw he’s since grown from/accepted. However, this is Bayverse, and well, men don’t have to justify their existence in the story with things like themes and having even an ounce of thought put into their character.

Back with Mikaela, Lennox has refused to learn her name, calling her “girl” as he screams at her to get Bumblebee hooked up to the tow truck. Which she was already doing when he got here. Lennox, dude, you’ve got a daughter now, you’re super extra not allowed to treat women like this.

Optimus Prime pulls through an alleyway and crashes into a pile of garbage. I can forgive him being late, seeing as he is a big rig, and probably had to take the long way into town so he didn’t get stuck in too-low tunnels. Don’t worry about how we briefly saw him during the Brawl take-down. This is his for real entrance into the climax.

He whips around and transforms, ready to throw the fuck down. Megatron spots him from his perch and descends.

Y’know.

Like a vast, predatory bird.

Megatron shoots at Optimus in his alt-mode, and Optimus catches him like a frisbee. Unfortunately for Optimus, it would appear that the horsepower on a Cybertronian flightcraft is hella intense, and he’s carried away. The two of them crash through an office building, then roll around in the streets punching each other in the face, debating the worth of humanity as they do so. Wish I actually gave a shit about either of these people, but alas! The film spent most of its runtime objectifying women and insulting minorities. I know nothing about Optimus, and even less about Megatron.

Megatron transforms his arms into a laser gun, and Optimus does the same. They shoot at each other. Optimus gets thrown into a building, then lands on the sidewalk below, definitely crushing a dude underneath him, but I guess we didn’t check that the shot was clear for where the CGI was gonna go, so he’s fine.

Sam’s still running through the streets, while Blackout murders, like, so many people behind him. Starscream lands in front of Sam, running into roughly 30 cars as he skids to a halt. Ratchet and Ironhide fire on him, as Sam takes a breather behind a car. Starscream transforms and blasts off. He was here for about 15 seconds. Sam begins running again.

Megatron is now following Sam, because he wants that Cube™. Sam is hit by a car- not an evil one, just a regular car- and trips. The impact makes the AllSpark activate, which grants several machines in the vicinity the gift of life, including the car full of bitchy women that just hit Sam, who are upset that hitting a human being might have scratched the paint.

I get it, you hate women, can we PLEASE stop beating this dead horse?

Sam finally gets to the pickup building, which turns out to be abandoned and fenced off. Good thing the gate was open, otherwise things could get really complicated. He heads inside, Megatron crashing through a floor-to-ceiling window shortly behind him. Megatron makes the claim that he can smell where Sam is. I’m going to choose to believe that he isn’t lying here, since Ratchet did something similar earlier.

Sam finds the stairs, and Megatron calls him a slur.

He doesn’t, really, but the voice modulation certainly makes it sound that way.

While this is happening, Mikaela is driving the tow truck down an alley, dragging Bumblebee behind her with the tow cable. She stops for a moment to have a short breakdown, seeing as she is a teenager in what is currently a warzone.

Sam is still running up the stairs. Outside, the military shoots at one of the Decepticons. It is, of course, doing absolutely nothing to the giant metal space robot. Mikaela concludes her moment, looking back at Bumblebee, who gives her the okay to keep going with dragging his ass across the pavement. She whips the truck around and tells Bumblebee “I’ll drive, you shoot.”

Mikaela then proceeds to speed down a main road of this sizable city backwards, running into cars and more or less shoving Bumblebee along to his destination.

The military has finally realized that their efforts have been pointless, but it’s okay because Bumblebee is here with his superior firepower. Bumblebee proceeds to shoot Brawl in the chest, which kills him. After this, he tries to act cute, lifting up his battle mask in a very “did I do that?” way, as if he’s not the same guy who ripped Barricade apart earlier.

Sam, meanwhile, has finally reached the top of this dilapidated building. Helicopters are approaching his location, but will they make it to him before Megatron does? Honestly, I’d be more worried about Starscream on the building just due East.

Sam is just about to hand the AllSpark over, when Starscream fires at the ‘copter, causing it to crash and nearly chop Sam to pieces. Optimus Prime runs towards the scene, on a roof that I refuse to believe could actually support him. Megatron punches thought the roof from the bottom and asks Sam some philosophical questions. Sam can’t answer, given that he’s hiding on the edge of this building, his flimsy grip on one of the angel statues being the only thing keeping him from falling.

Megatron tells him to give him the AllSpark, and in exchange he might not kill him immediately. Sam tells him to fuck off, and Megatron flails the chunk of building he was hanging on to, causing Sam to fall to his death, thus ending the film.

I’m lying to you. Michael Bay is making me into a liar.

No, Sam is, instead, caught by Optimus, very likely breaking several ribs on impact. This is the point where I realize that they’ve given Optimus fingernails. Sam clings to him like a baby koala, as Optimus parkours down the sides of two buildings, Megatron in pursuit. Megatron actually lands on Optimus 2/3rds of the way down, causing the both of them to fall onto the pavement below. How Sam survives this is a mystery.

Megatron recovers from the fall first, flicking a human away from him for having the audacity to exist in his space. The flicked person hits a car, and is almost assuredly dead. At least, I sure hope so, given that this is the director cameo by the Bayman himself.

Feminist icon Megatron?

Feminist icon Megatron.

Optimus comments on the fact that Sam almost fucking died to get the AllSpark out of dodge, and we get the return of “No Sacrifice, No Victory”. Which, I mean, I guess he’s allowed to say that, since he’s actually had to do something that warranted it. His dad doesn’t get to, though.

Optimus then tells this teenage boy, who has already had a hell of a day, to kill him by shoving the AllSpark into his robot-soul-heart, should he be unable to defeat Megatron.

I dunno, I just feel like it’s a bit of an ask.

Sam climbs off of Optimus so the Prime and Megatron can rumble. He runs through the ruined infrastructure of the city, so he’s less likely to be crushed. Optimus tells Megatron to square the fuck up, stating that “one shall stand, one shall fall.”

Then he gets ragdolled around a bunch, so maybe he should have saved the talk for later in the game.

The military is running around some more, stopping in an alley to see Blackout transform to root mode. Yes, the goo-goo eyes were indeed made by several members of the watch party that started this whole thing. People went wild for Rotor-Cape Johnson.

The fighter jets from the US military are arriving in a minute. Epps warns them to aim for the robots that aren’t evil. Lennox and the gang spread out, reminding each other to aim for the underboob, since Transformers’ armor is weak there. Epps marks Blackout with a little green light, which Blackout almost immediately notices. Blackout fires on the military.

Lennox has stolen a motorcycle and is driving through the streets to circle back around and jump off of the bike, sliding on his back to shoot Blackout directly in his underboob. Wonder what his uniform is rated for for road rash.

Sam is watching as Optimus gets his ass handed to him. Up in the sky, Starscream commits identity theft, and then attacks the Air Force. The Air Force can multitask however, and light Megatron the fuck up. Sam has, for some reason, come out of hiding, and Megatron uses this to his advantage, trying to take the AllSpark from him.

Optimus tells Sam to put the AllSpark in his chest, but Sam has a better idea. He shoves it into Megatron’s chest, which has been basically shot open at this point. Megatron makes a Space Invader noise, convulses a bit, then falls over dead.

Congrats on your first murder, Sam.

Optimus tells Megatron’s corpse that he got what was coming to him, then implies that they’re brothers. What flavor of brother isn’t established, but neither was basically anything between the two main faces of the franchise in this film, so it’s fine.

Ironhide walks up holding the two halves of Jazz. Optimus informs Sam that he now has a life-debt to this child. Whether or not Sam is absorbing any information at this point is up in the air. Mikaela shows up, with Bumblebee in tow.

In tow.

In tow-

Sam stares at her blankly. Mikaela stares back, making the pretty girl face. Man, what a great dynamic these two have.

Jazz is dead. That sucks. Optimus is handed his corpse to hold, while he thanks his new friends for helping out.

Then Bumblebee talks and he’s fucKING BRITISH.

Sam is obviously shocked by the fact that Bumblebee is British able to talk now, since not talking has been his whole thing up to this point. Optimus doesn’t let it phase him. Neither does Ratchet, despite having been working on Bumblebee’s throat injury for centuries at this point.

Bumblebee wants to stay on Earth with Sam. Optimus is just like whatever. Sam agrees to have a sweet Camaro from outer space.

Optimus pulls what is left of the AllSpark out of Megatron’s chest. I’m sure that’s not a setup for potential conflicts, not in the slightest.

Over in Washington, D.C., the US President has ordered Sector Seven be terminated, and all the Transformer corpses be disposed of. And by “disposed of” they mean “thrown into the ocean.” Dang, sure hope Earth signed some sort of agreement with the Transformers so that they never come to Earth again. You know, just be proactive about our galactic safety.

The Linkin Park kicks on, as Optimus gives us our bookend narration, telling us what the Autobots plan to do now that their race is at a genological dead end. As he does, we see Lennox reunite with his wife and child, who I had genuinely forgotten were in this movie.

Optimus is pretty chill with Cybertron dying out, because now they know about Earth. We get a shot of Sam and Mikaela making out, a shot that becomes more and more horrifying the further they zoom out, because they’re making out on top of Bumblebee. Who they KNOW is a sentient creature at this point.

And then it gets even worse, because the shot changes, and oh hey! Turns out that the rest of the Autobots were just chillin’ off to the side while this went down. Optimus continues his monologue, just walking around in his root mode as he tells all of Makeout Point how they’re “robots in disguise” now.

The monologue is actually a transmission he’s sending out into space, inviting any of his leftover pals to come kick it on Earth with them, because Earth is pretty cool.

And that’s where they leave us.

IT TOOK THREE PEOPLE TO WRITE THIS SCHLOCK.

So. Bayverse 1. A film showcasing xenophobia, misogyny, and toxic nationalism. It’s rough. Is it the worst film I’ve ever seen? Not even close, but it’s bad, and it was a huge deal at the time of release. Everyone was seeing it, everyone knew the actors and robots, everyone had a scene that they liked. Everyone was exposed to Bayverse, and as a result, a lot of people entered the Transformers franchise thinking that it was all like this.

And really, how far off would they have been in 2007?

When a franchise refuses to introduce female characters until years after being established, when all those female characters have the exact same body type, when a franchise hires misogynists to write stories, when it allows shit like “Prime’s Rib!” to be published- no wonder Michael Bay was approached to direct.

What a mess.

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

COMING SOON:

TRANSFORMERS: REVENGE OF THE FALLEN (2009) - MEGAN FOX I AM SO FUCKING SORRY

TRANSFORMERS: DARK OF THE MOON (2011) - WILL YOU JUST STAY DEAD

TRANSFORMERS: AGE OF EXTINCTION (2014) - SHUT UP ABOUT THE LAW SHUT UP ABOUT THE LAW

TRANSFORMERS: THE LAST KNIGHT (2017) - ACTUALLY, FUCK CONTINUITY

[holykillercake]

Coin Stealer

Trafalgar Law x psychic!Reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: Law does not believe that you can see dead people, so you crochet him the strange-looking beanie of the strange-looking man that walks around the Polar Tang. 

highlight: ¨I´ll give a chance to the uniform, and I´ll only address you as Captain when you behave as Captain.¨

warning: You are entering Trafalgar´s room. 

notes: Bello, ma people! This is the 3/3 part of a lovely anon request in which the s/o makes them a thing with crochet! This time is Dr. Heart Stealer edition!! I really enjoyed writing this, and it got a little long, but I did not want to cut off important things. Anyway, I hope you like it!

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞!

¨Hey, Bepo! Have you seen Law?¨

¨Y/N! I don´t know where he is... I´m sorry.¨

¨Oh, it´s ok!¨ you patted the mink´s shoulder, giving him a warm smile. 

You were never a big fan of his constant apologetic personality, but you couldn´t deny that you missed it during your time apart from the crew. 

The Heart Pirates had parted ways a long time ago when your Captain decided that the time to put his life-long plan in action had finally come. The crew split into three parts, and each one followed a different path. 

After the sudden disappearance of the Strawhats, the Paramount War, the Rocky Port Incident, and Law obtaining his title as a Warlord of the Sea, you were the first to depart, remaining in Sabaody Archipelago, waiting for the owners of the Thousand Sunny to return. You fought alongside a fishman called Hacchin, a weird guy that reminded you of Black Leg and other allies to protect the ship. 

Next to leave was Law, who sailed to Punk Hazard, where he formed a partnership with a crazy scientist bastard. Then the rest of the crew went on their own towards the island where you would meet once the plan was concluded.

The trajectory was not smooth by any means, but you did it, all of you. And now you feasted along with the Strawhats, celebrating whatever it was that you did not understand. Maybe they were like that, or maybe they didn't understand the risks you would take from now on. 

Anyway, the crew seemed to be in need of some music and fun, and you were too busy looking for your Captain to care about that.

In the midst of the evening breeze, the crackling of the fire, and the barrels of beer crashing in celebration, you saw the answer you were looking for.

Of course.

¨If I didn´t love you...¨ you growled as you made your way out of the island to reach the Polar Tang. And let´s face it, that was a detour.

You went straight to your room, where Law would probably be sipping coffee, napping, or just running from the crowds. And just like you, it has been months since he stepped on his own ship and slept in his own bed. 

So maybe you could cut him some slack. 

However, as you approached the room, there was no smell of coffee. No smell of coffee and no light snoring. Just a stillness carried with heavy emotions and your boyfriend, sitting in the dim light holding tight the crochet piece you gave him years ago. You swayed in place, expecting that thing you made to provoke him to be at the sea bottom.

¨Wondering why I kept this?¨ he asked. 

¨Not really.¨ you replied. ¨But I am surprised. Am I disturbing?¨

¨You never do.¨

You jumped on the bed, sitting beside him and resting your head on his shoulder.

¨YN-ya... do you know how he...¨ the question struggled to come out.

¨Peaceful.¨ 

¨Hm.¨ he nodded.

¨I don´t like when he smiles, though. It creeps me out.¨ His body bounced slightly as he joined you in a chuckle. 

¨Remember when you gave me this?¨

¨Of course, you almost kicked me out of the ship!¨ you giggled with the memory.

¨You were really annoying back then.¨

¨Hey! Objection!¨

¨Objection rebuffed.¨ he smirked and moved on the bed, pulling you to lay down on his chest.

You told him to shut up before cuddling in, not falling asleep immediately. None of you said much. Instead, you enjoyed the calming and comfortable silence of each other´s company. 

It has been a while since you had that. 

You remember every moment of your early days as a Heart Pirate. You and Law hadn´t started on the best terms, but he needed you - well, your skills - and you were given a good deal. 

The pivot of your history together began on a chain of coincidences. The first one being both of you docking on the same island. The second one was him finding a rare coin for his collection, the same one you would later slip into your pocket. 

You wandered around towns using the beautiful art of distraction to get anything you wanted from anyone. Watches, necklaces, wallets, and, well, coins? It was all he had in his pocket, and since it was a cute one, you decided to keep it. 

Some called you a thief. Some called you a burglar, and some may even have called you a big son of a bitch. But the thing they all had in common was that none of them knew exactly who they were calling those names. 

The thing is, you messed up the first rule and made eye contact with him. Well, it was more of you not being able to take your eyes off of him. He stood out in the crowd, and you had gotten cocky. So when he later found out about the missing coin, it did not take him long to connect you to it. 

A lot of things went through his mind. He felt frustrated because his Haki failed him, annoyed for the trouble he would have going after you, and intrigued by the touch so light he did not feel at all. 

Or that is what he kept telling himself. 

Yes, he was interested in someone with skills like yours, but maybe there was something else he would not admit. The way you looked at him as if you had deciphered his entire life and found the missing pieces of his puzzle. Even the ones he tried to hide. 

That night he went out for your head. Or better, your heart, literally. 

You were enjoying the comfort of your hotel room, eating some snacks, and playing with your new commemorative coin when he materialized himself by the bed. You instantly knew something was about to go down.

Oh, fuck.

That situation got pretty tense pretty quickly, both ends asking things, and no one willing to offer any answers. The stakes were high, glares cutting the air like blades. It did not help to ease the mood when in the sway of his hand your heart popped out of your chest. 

Long story short, his plan was never to drag you to the Polar Tang. Law wanted you to go willingly, joining his crew in exchange for your heart. However, the unfortunate variable he did not consider in the equation was that you would not go down without a fight. So by the time he reached the ship, he noticed the gentle fresh breeze ruffling his hair. 

You know, since his hair was usually covered by the hat. 

...

THE FREAKING HAT!

The next morning when he returned, you were waiting for him with a satisfied smirk bending your lips, the hat on your head, and the coin dancing between your fingers. 

At some point, you had stolen it, and once again, it passed unnoticed by him. That was not a good night for the Heart Pirates. And that was also the night Trafalgar Law realized a couple of things. The first, he needed you on his crew. And the second, you were going to be the death of him. Or maybe the aneurysm of him, he would not give you such credit. 

¨You´re late.¨ you said, amused, and his grip tightened around the sword.

¨What´s your name?¨ he repeated the question you dodged several times during your last encounter. 

¨What´s with the dog?¨ you pointed at the tall, white polar bear wearing a uniform. Law pursued his lips, breathing heavily through the nose.  

¨I am B-¨

¨Bepo-ya don´t talk to he-¨

¨Your name is Bepoya?¨ you ignored the man, bumping into his shoulder as you walked towards the mink ¨Hi, I´m Y/N! Nice meeting you.¨  

The polar bear looked back and forth at you and his Captain, not knowing how to behave in this situation, so he apologized and stepped farther back. 

¨Alrighty, now that we are all introduced, shall we go?¨ 

¨What?¨

¨Come on, Law, focus.¨ you snapped your fingers multiple times, teasing him. ¨You came here to pick me up, right?¨

¨No. I want my hat back.¨ He tried to grab it, but you ducked in time, holding the hat on your head with both hands. It was so soft. 

¨How about a trade? The coin for the hat.¨

¨How about my hat for your heart? Do this, and I won´t...¨ his words died in his mouth as he clutched his pockets. 

¨Looking for this?¨ You held your heart, wrapped in a cold and gelatinous box that you retrieved when you bumped into him minutes earlier.

How could you fool him again? He kept seeking answers that explained why it was so easy for you to outwit him, and his expression showed. 

¨You´re getting close, Law. Put your little trash can to work.¨ you tapped your temple, smiling mischievously at him. 

¨YN-ya, you know I can kill you, right?¨

¨Yeah, but you won´t.¨

¨How do you know?¨

¨I got a sixth sense for these things.¨ 

The rest of the conversation did not take long to come to an end. Amid sarcastic comments and threats to each other's lives, what should have been the pinnacle of the moment became a random passage in the Heart Pirates´ logbook.

¨So, YN-ya, do you want to join us? You´re gonna have to wear a uniform and address me as Captain.¨

¨I´ll give a chance to the uniform, and I´ll only address you as Captain when you behave as Captain.¨

Law sighed, giving himself a carotid massage ¨Ok. Let´s go.¨

He walked a few steps ahead of you and Bepo, wondering why he spent so much effort on an arrogant thief that wouldn't even call him Captain.

You quickly became friends with the polar bear, even apologizing for calling him a dog. He strangely apologized for your apologies, culminating in what would almost make the notorious Surgeon of Death suffer a stroke.

¨What the hell is that?!¨ you shouted when the Polar Tang entered your field of vision ¨That´s not a ship!¨

What if I am claustrophobic?

The ya thing is a schtick?

Death? That´s a little borderline controversial for a doctor.

Trafalgar more like Trafraude!

On occasions like that, Law wondered how peaceful and quiet would be the sixth level of Impel Down. From a current perspective, your initial interaction served as a vaccine, creating the necessary antibodies Law would need to deal with future pirate alliances. 

The crew got attached to you very quickly. Your adventurous spirit, your stunts, and street trades fascinated them. Losing bets against you seemed acceptable, your card tricks and the thing of guessing the numbers they thought was like fuel for a good day at work.

Law didn't seem to mind that much. After all, you wouldn't get him on his nerves if you were busy with them. However, one day, you let slip something that caught his attention. 

¨YEAH! That´s exactly what she looked like! How did you do this?!¨ 

Law heard Shachi´s roar, followed by a wave of surprised ´ooh´s coming from the kitchen, where the majority of the crew hunched around the dinner table. 

The doctor leaned against the door, silently observing what could possibly be more important than keeping the ship working. He had been drowning in files all night, and now he decided to have a coffee break. That mess early in the morning did not make him happy. 

No one seemed to be too intimidated when he cleared his throat, announcing his presence. Everyone greeted him with smiling 'good mornings' and turned their attention back to you.

 ¨What is going on here?¨

¨Captain did you know Y/N can see dead people?!¨ 

The coffee left a bitter aftertaste on his mouth.

¨What?¨

¨Yeah, Captain!¨ Shachi yelled on Law´s face, earning a death glare ¨She just described my mom!¨

¨Really, Y/N-ya? Now you´re a magician and a psychic?¨ he asked, taking the seat across from you. 

¨The perks of being me.¨ you shrugged. 

¨Do you see more dead people here?¨ 

Yes

¨No. But you sound a little skeptical, Law.¨ 

It was way too early for that discussion, but your biological clock didn't seem to care. Whenever Law came with his teasing, you would be ready to strike back.

He gave everyone a lecture about empathic accuracy and how good you were reading cues communicated by words, emotions, and body language. Or some crap like that. 

¨Ok, let me see if I got this right.¨ You shifted in the chair, hands moving in the air ¨You can pull organs out of people´s bodies, cut them in pieces without killing, switch their souls, but you do not believe that I can see dead people?¨

He tilted his head, but not giving you an exact answer.  

¨Do you wanna know what I think?¨

¨No.¨

¨I´ll tell you anyway. I think you have something you don´t want people to know, like a soft spot or a tragic past.¨ you sought the answer in his eyes ¨I´m guessing a loved one who died?¨ 

Overall, he was not wrong. You were a master in reading people´s body language, but you were not a jackass. So when the slight twitch of his mouth cleared up your doubts, it was time to stop. 

You knew how it felt, soft spots, tragic pasts, or late loved ones. There was no need to go further and throw more salt on his wounds. Hopefully, that taught him a lesson. 

An awkward silence ensued while everyone watched the scene, uncertain how to act, fearful that an extra spark would make everything explode into massive destruction.

¨Whatever.¨ he sighed ¨Show´s over. We´ll be reaching land in a few days, and we should be preparing to dock.¨ 

When everyone left the kitchen to go about their businesses, you remained alone with the figure that constantly wandered the submarine. He didn't do it in a creepy way. Despite his extravagant makeup and the intimidating aura, he was not a bother.

And it wasn't like he was there all the time, definitely more than anyone else. His passages were guaranteed on the days when Law was more sensitive. For bad or for good. He would look after him from the distance like a parenting figure. 

¨Who are you?¨ you murmured under your breath. 

For the next few days, Law made sure you were too busy to foster discussions about dead people or paranormal abilities.

When your services stealing rare supplies or getting answers to your Captain's questions you weren't required, you would help him with mountains of paperwork.

Only this time, he had outdone himself.

He managed to assemble the annual check-up of the crew, the inventory packing list, and the update of the logbook at once. This last one could easily wait until after you docked. But that freaking workaholic sadistic surgeon would not let this opportunity slip. So you pulled several all-nighters writing, signing, and stamping, all without exchanging a single word.

When you emerged, a few miles from land, you barely enjoyed the fresh breeze and sunlight. The crew hopped around, getting ready to put their feet on the continent as you sat in the kitchen profusely grouchy.

Your brain was fried, burnt, carbonized. 

¨You´re not coming?¨ Penguin asked, and you shook your head. ¨It´s been a while, Y/N, you should come.¨ you shook your head again. ¨I guess you´re not buying anything for the Captain´s birthday as well.¨

An incohesive question came out of your exhausted being. Penguin couldn´t help but feel sorry for you. ¨By the time his birthday comes up, we will be underwater, so everyone is preparing.¨ 

¨Do I have to?¨

¨No!¨ he chuckled ¨He doesn´t really like it, but we still buy him something.¨

¨Why?¨

¨´Cause he is a good Captain!¨ he said and sprunt out by the voice of someone calling him, waving goodbye at you. 

 It wasn't that you didn´t think Law was a good Captain. It was just an inherent nature of yours to clash every time you looked at each other. 

But on such occasion, you could combine the useful with the pleasant. After all, you were grateful because he gave you friends. Of course, he was the unfortunate by-product that came with them, but you could handle him. 

So fighting against your will to stay and sleep, you forced your way out to the solid ground, hoping to find the most random store someone could wish for, a haberdasher. 

Much to your delight, you did it. You picked a burgundy color wool and the first hook you put your eyes on and returned to your soft bed. 

The chances of you having scared your crewmates by staring at the blank for hours were high. In reality, you wanted to memorize and come up with a pattern for the strange-looking beanie that man wore. 

It had no pompom at the top like Penguin´s. Instead, two long pieces of fabric ran down from each side with heart-like things hanging.

When the sixth day of the tenth month arrived, Law´s desk was cluttered with presents. You had decided to wait until you were done with work and heading to bed to give it to him. 

After conquering that task, you locked yourself in your room, where you stayed until you had it finished. For some reason, you bothered to buy a box to put it in. Whatever.  

On the sixth day of the tenth month, Trafalgar Law could not focus on work. Every slight movement of yours, every bathroom break got him jittery, rehearsing words that wouldn´t make you hate him more. 

Not that you ever hated him, but you didn´t talk, so he didn´t know. After some time starting small talks and being ignored, you just gave up trying. 

By the end of that night, he had given up too. So when you placed the golden-yellow box on his desk, he couldn´t vocalize his feelings. It became just another silent night. 

Chests tight and hearts clogged with unspoken words. 

Law did not work for the next couple of days, and if he left his room, no one saw. The gifts on his desk were not even opened. Everything was left the way it was. 

Maybe you had crossed a line. 

As you marched up to the room at the end of the hall, several paths popped into your mind. You could act like you didn´t care, so what if you left? You had been alone for so long, it wouldn't make any difference! Still, something was begging you to apologize. To ask to stay, because being there was good, everything you never knew you wanted.

You were ready to pack your bags and have your title as a Heart Pirate retracted when you woke up one morning, finding a note on your desk telling you to meet him in his room. Your nails dug into your sweaty palms. Where did this tightness in your chest come from?

When you set foot in the room, your eyes hovered around. It was the first time you saw Law's room. It was exactly how you thought it would be.

Keeping your gaze locked on his was more difficult. He was sitting in an armchair near the foot of the bed. From afar, his appearance remained neat, as always, but as you approached you saw the circles under his eyes even darker. A thing you didn't think was possible.

For the first time, you didn't know how to read his expression. And seeing him vulnerable like that made your stomach drop. So you prepared yourself for the worst. However, to your surprise, all he did was ask you questions. 

No snarky remarks. You just talked.    

That day something changed. And from that day on, Law had found someone to help him carry the unbearable weight he had on his shoulders, and you found a place to call home. 

                                                             ...

¨Y/N-ya.¨ he called you, who was a cuddle away from sleeping.

¨Hm?¨

¨Before you left, in Sabaody...¨

¨Uhm.¨

¨You stole the coin again, didn´t you?¨ 

You giggled and pulled the commemorative coin from your back pocket, snuggling closer to his body and feeling the vibration of his chest as he chuckled.

Extra notes: I hope you had enjoyed it! It came out a little too long, but I have been feeling like I´m limiting myself when it comes to the number of words... I don´t know, I´m confused. 

Anyway, is that pink and red that I see on the horizon?

[silverflame2724]

A cute prompt for you to make up for the angst: Merman Au. In a world where humans and mer are acquainted communities (trade and navigation partners), Mer-WWX sees human prince Lan Zhan and tried to get his attention! Splashing to draw eyes, making acrobatic jumps to impress, wearing his best jiaro silks, leaving cute trinkets on his windowsill in the hopes that he will like them, and singing enchanting songs for his Prince, all hoping that Lan Zhan will sing back and court him (mermaids court with music and gifts so write a completely smitten WWX and go nuts!)

Oh thank you!! I absolutely adore merman/jiaoren!WWX!! And this prompt is so nice! I really appreciate you giving me such a happy prompt since my grandaunt died two days ago from Covid.

_______________________________

It was a complete coincidence that brought them together. Wei Wuxian swam to the surface, intent on exchanging the jiaoren goods for coin and food, when he noticed the bright decorations around town.

As he handed the stuff over, red tail swishing every now and then, he asked the vendor, “What’s going on? Is there a festival I don’t know about?”

“Ah, Young Master Wei! You’re just in time! The second prince is coming here!”

“Second Prince? Why is he coming here?” 

“It’s just a yearly inspection.”

What? Wei Wuxian hadn’t heard about this in all the years he’d been here!

“Why haven’t I heard about this before?”

“Ah....the Second Prince doesn’t like crowded places or making a big deal about his arrival, so he takes some sort of alternate route to come here. Though, this year, that route was flooded.”

“I see.....”

“Do you want to see him?” The vendor asked upon noticing Wei Wuxian’s thoughtful look. “He’s rumored to be a beautiful person, second only to his brother, the Emperor. We can get a few of my friends to carry a tub over so you can see him!”

“Oh! I couldn’t bother you all that way.” Wei Wuxian politely refused. “I have other errands to do, unfortunately.”

“Oh....”

The real reason he was thoughtful was because of his and his people’s prior horrible experience with royals. They had fled Lanling, where the king had captured many of his people for the pearls they cried in place of tears. Gusu had been reportedly better, its Emperor laying down a law that bans the harm of mythical creatures such as the jiaoren. But Wei Wuxian didn’t want to risk any sort of attention to his people after they had just escaped. 

Wei Wuxian waved goodbye and dove back under the water. When he arrived at his home after going through a series of underwater caves, he found out his parents knew of these yearly visits from the prince and that it was fine to wander around since the prince doesn’t usually stay for long.

Wei Wuxian nodded along and decided to do make sure to distribute the food and coin around his community. 

Before he knew it, the sun had set. Wei Wuxian returned to the surface, considering he wanted to have some spicy human food for dinner. After eating on the edge of the dock, tail partially in to keep himself from drying, he heard music from afar.

Curious as to the owner of such a beautiful sound, he submerges and follows the sound towards a more secluded area of the dock. There, dressed in shades of blue, was a young boy, seemingly around Wei Wuxian’s age, playing the guqin with nary an expression on his face.

Something itched within Wei Wuxian and he had the urge to tease the boy into making a new sort of expression. As quiet as a mouse, he snuck close to the boy and burst out of the water, shouting, “Boo!”

As he expected, the white-clothed human became startled and nearly jumped in shock. Wei Wuxian cackled until he came face with a sword. He held his hands up in surrender even as his heart beat fast.

“Who are you?” The boy demanded.

Wei Wuxian lifted his head from the sword to come face to face with the most beautiful boy he had ever seen. The boy in front of him had the most entrancing pair of golden eyes. The boy narrowed his eyes and repeated his question, though the sword at his neck faltered a little.

Wei Wuxian took the opportunity to swim a little farther from the boy and pouted. “Gege, I just wanted to surprise you! You looked so serious sitting by yourself! You should look happier on such a beautiful night such as this!” The boy didn’t change his expression. “Also! Isn’t it rude to point your sword at a stranger?” 

“You do not know who I am?”

He’s probably some noble considering not many people own swords, but him specifically? “Nope! Should I know who you are?” He’s probably new or something. I haven’t seen him around before and nobles don’t usually come around these parts. ....Hmm, perhaps he’s here to see the prince?

The boy seemed to relax a little and put away his sword. “.....I apologize for pointing my sword at you. I was....unsure if you meant ill.”

“Why would I voluntarily bring harm to a stranger?”

“...” The human turned away and turned to his guqin, checking for damage.

“Hey, hey! Beautiful human with gold eyes! Don’t ignore meeee! Look at me, look at me!!”

The human merely sighed in exasperation.

Wei Wuxian’s pout became more pronounced and his tail splashed in irritation. The human’s eyes went wide with curiosity and shock and Wei Wuxian realized his mistake. “..Uhh....”

“A jiaoren?”

“Yeah! Do you have a problem with that?” Wei Wuxian said, guarded.

“No. I have never seen one before.”

“I see.” 

The atmosphere became awkward with the ensuing silence but Wei Wuxian could never stay quiet for long.

“So what brings you around these parts? I’ve never seen you before!”

“......I came with the prince’s entourage.” There was something odd in his tone.

“I see. You know, I’ve never seen the prince before. Is he as beautiful as the rumors suggest?”

“Vanity is against the rules.”

“Whose rules?”

“The palace’s.”

“Hmph. Well, this isn’t the palace. it’s fine to say something, hm?”

“....Gossiping is against the rules. Talking behind someone’s back is forbidden.”

Wei Wuxian threw his hands up. “Well, if I can’t talk about the prince, then tell me about you! That’s not against the rules, isn’t it?”

“........”

“A name! At least tell me your name! Mine’s Wei Wuxian, but Gege can call me Wei Ying since we’re already so close!”

“Shameless!” The boy hissed, ears red. 

“Oh come on!! I told you my name, it’s only fair that you tell me yours! Don’t be rude, Gege!”

“.....Zhan.”

“Hm?”

“Lan Zhan.” He repeated.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian murmured and Lan Zhan nodded. Hmm. It’s a birth name, not a courtesy name. Is he trying to hide his identity? He’s not doing a very good job though, considering ‘Lan’ is the name of the royal family. Perhaps he’s a relative of the prince’s? I wouldn’t expect a prince to be out here by himself without guards so he must be a guard or something. Hmm. It’s something to think about later. It doesn’t seem like he means harm even after knowing what I am. Regardless, it’s not like he could follow me back to my home even if he did mean ill. Humans can’t hold their breath for that long. “Well, Lan Zhan, now that we know each other’s names, you’re now my friend!”

“........We do not know each other.”

“That’s what we’re talking for, silly! We’re getting to know each other, right?”

“Hm.” Lan Zhan packed his guqin away. “I must go. It is late.”

“Late? We’ve hardly talked though! Don’t leave me here, Lan-gege!” Wei Wuxian whined.

“Not.....Not.....gege.”

“Hm?”

“I have an older brother.”

“Hm? Oh.....oh! Okay, I understand! Lan-er-gege!”

Lan Zhan looked away, gripping his sword. “I will come back tomorrow night.”

“Huh?” Then he connected the dots. “Oh! Okay! See you later, Er-gege!”

Lan Zhan nodded and left. It was only when he couldn’t see him anymore did Wei Wuxian realize he could have just asked where Lan Zhan lived. If it was close to the water, he could just swim to him. That might put him close to the prince and other people from the palace which wasn’t a very comforting thought. He still didn’t know whether to trust the Gusu royals, despite possibly conversing with one.

.......................

The next few nights passed by in a similar fashion, with Wei Wuxian trying to get Lan Zhan’s attention and Lan Zhan hardly giving the jiaoren an inch.

Wei Wuxian, however, saw this as a challenge and began to do many things to get Lan Zhan’s attention. The most effective one was splashing him, though it earned him a glare as well as Lan Zhan predicting it and being able to dodge more often than not.

He moved onto trying to impress Lan Zhan by performing difficult acrobatic tricks. Lan Zhan looked amazed at this and Wei Wuxian was extremely smug, quickly turning an embarrassed red when Lan Zhan praised him, with a, “Beautiful.”

Wei Wuxian wailed, hiding his face in his hands, “Lan-er-gege, you can’t just say that!”

“Why?”

“It’s too embarrassing!!”

“Wei Ying calls me beautiful all the time.” Lan Zhan deadpanned.

Wei Wuxian peeked at him from in between his fingers, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” He demanded. “You can’t just tease me like this! Where did the Lan Zhan who got so easily flustered go?” 

Lan Zhan said nothing, but Wei Wuxian could see the faint upturn of his lips that made his overall expression smug.

And Wei Wuxian didn’t know why, but it made his heart beat faster/

.......

It escalated. Because of course it did. Wei Wuxian wanted to hear Lan Zhan praise him again and see that faint smile again - no matter if it was smug or not.

He wore his best jiaoxiao silks - ones he personally weaved -, danced, and....and even sang to him. Lan Zhan even joined him sometimes, playing on the guqin.

He returned every night, sighing into his parents’ embrace about his Lan Zhan and his parents shot him increasingly knowing looks until they laid down the truth. 

“You’re courting him, aren’t you, A’ Ying?” His father asked.

“C-Court?”

“Yes, A’ Ying.” His mother patiently said. “You wore the most beautiful jiaoxiao silks you weaved, danced a well-known courting dance, and even sang for him. If you aren’t courting him, if you aren’t in love with him, then I call bullshit.”

Wei Wuxian clutched his burning cheeks. “Courting?” Am I really courting Lan Zhan? I mean.....I like it when he praises me and calls me beautiful and plays his guqin for me and even plays an accompaniment when I sing!

......Oh god. Oh heavens! I really am courting him!!! How could I not notice???!!!! Ahhhh!!!!

.......................

The nature of Wei Ying’s gifts and music changed, Lan Wangji noted absently. 

When Lan Wangji first met Wei Ying, he was unsure of what to think but was quickly captivated by his smile and intelligence. It made Lan Wangji reluctant to return to the palace. Or maybe even bring Wei Ying with him.

He shook that thought away quickly. He couldn’t just take Wei Ying away from his family!

Back to the point, Lan Wangji noticed the shy looks Wei Ying shot him from time to time and how his songs gained a sort of.....longing tone. The gifts too......they were pearl bracelets and hairpins that had to be made from Wei Ying’s tears. Lan Wangji may be shy but he was not oblivious to what it meant to receive a jiaoren’s personally made songs and pearls. 

Perhaps.....Wei Ying might share his feelings after all?

That thought made his heart beat faster. If he remembered correctly, jiaoren court through songs. And Lan Wangji had the perfect one in mind.

.....................

Lan Zhan had to leave today. He had to leave!!

Wei Wuxian wanted to cry, somehow. He hadn’t finished courting Lan Zhan! 

Fortunately, Lan Zhan seemed reluctant to leave too. “I can ask my brother to send me here soon.”

“Really? Really, Lan Zhan?”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian’s tail propelled him out of the water and forward so that he could wrap Lan Zhan into a hug. “I knew you liked me! Oh! Uh-- I mean--!”

Lan Zhan’s arms came around him. “Mn. Like Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian squealed happily. Lan Zhan liked him back!! He pulled back to give Lan Zhan a bright smile which, surprisingly, was returned!!

Wei Wuxian’s tail swished happily, “Keep smiling, Lan-er-gege! It’s really pretty!!”

Lan Zhan huffed out a laugh and Wei Wuxian grinned. 

.

.

“Wei Ying, there is something I must tell you.”

“Hm? What is it?”

Lan Zhan hesitated and Wei Wuxian sat up, sensing it was serious. 

“What is it?”

“Wei Ying, I have not been entirely honest with you. My name is Lan Zhan....... courtesy name: Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian took a moment to let that sink in. Where had he heard that courtesy name before?

“Hey, Mom.” Wei Wuxian asked as they crossed the border between Lanling and Gusu. “The Gusu royals. Are they good people?”

His mother nodded. “I was acquainted with the current king’s uncle until we had a.....” She winces. “A fight. They are good people, regardless of our past differences. The current king, Lan Xichen, and his little brother, Lan Wangji, have implemented a law that ensures the safety of creatures like us.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” 

“You’re the second prince?!” Wei Wuxian gasped, dramatically flopping into the water. The prince?! He was courting the actual prince of Gusu???!!!

“Mn.” Lan Zhan confirmed as soon as he surfaced, shoulders tense.

“Well, shit. I didn’t know, but it’s not like you’re going to punish me for my rather shameless behavior, right? I know humans have different customs for courting.”

“Mn.”

“Okay! Now that that’s out of the way, Lan Zhan - I can still call you Lan Zhan, right?” Lan Zhan nodded. “Then, Lan Zhan, now that I know you’re the prince, I know you must have a lot of business and I can’t push you to come here often. But do try to visit, okay? I’ll miss you a lot!”

“Mn. Will miss Wei Ying too.”

__________________________

Then, a few years down the line, the two of them get together because this is a happy universe and they know how to communicate!

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Huge shoutout to the lovely @perseusannabeth​ who obsess over Pride & Prejudice as much as me. After very politely threatening asking  me to write more of Nessian as P&P (I’m so glad Sarah made it canon that Nessian’s relationship is Darcy and Lizzie’s) she told me about THE lake scene in the BBC version. I watched all six episodes and fell in love, so I highly suggest you all watch it too.

Also, huge shoutout to @firebirdofscythia​ (I stole your Azriel line lmao) and the rest of the gc for being so supportive!! Enjoy

Pemberley’s Lake

Cassian was so tired it was a wonder he had not fallen from his horse, which made him realise that Azriel may have been partially right in telling him to take a break and go back to his state to rest.

Although he suspected that Azriel kicking him out of his office and practically throwing him in a carriage to Pemberley had more to do with the fact that Azriel had gotten sick of his mopey mood more than anything else.

“I shall never show my face in society again” Cassian had told a bored looking Azriel one afternoon, laying on his office’s floor as if it was the end of the world “I shall work until my eyes grow tired and my beard and hair are so long they reach the ground.”

“Stop with the theatrics brother. It is not becoming of you.” Azriel had answered as he shuffled a deck of cards.

“Theatrics!! Azriel for Cauldron’ sake I have no idea how I can keep on living after that refusal” he sighed from his place on the carpeted floor “There is not another woman alive who could hold my heart. It's lost forever. And now I shall live in regret and shame of not being enough for her.”

Azriel rolled his eyes so hard at his brother’s words it was a wonder they did not stay permanently like that.

“I shall grow old and drown my sorrows in the finest beers and wines, turning fat and bald. And after I have passed, my cursed ghost shall roam our country crying in despair over my terrible life”

That had been enough to make Azriel pack Cassian’s belongings and get his brother the fastest horse available.

“If it were not for the laws of this land” Azriel had mumbled after he had bid his brother farewell, wishing a good trip and forbidding him to appear in his office again until he had fixed that mood of his.

Breathing in the clear and fresh air of his home, Cassian was able to momentarily forget his troubled heart. But one look at the blue sky and he was reminded of the gray-blue eyes belonging to the lady who had made him, General Commander of the British Army, who had enough condecorations to fill his whole coat and who had made enemies tremble in fear when faced against him, wallow in self pity and misery.

Lady Nesta Archeron.

Her name alone was enough to make his chest tighten in longing.

Feyre’s oldest and most notorious sister, if not by her breathtaking beauty and intellect but by her ruthless and dismissive regard to the oposite sex. Whereas Feyre had surprised society by marrying before her older sisters  — and securing herself the best of matches of the season at that with his brother Rhysand, which was nothing but a Duke  — and Elain had enough suitors to fill a ballroom, the oldest Archeron did not seem inclined to marry at all. Oh she did catch the eyes of more than one gentleman  —  Cassian could vaguely reckon that she had had a long courting with Sir Thomas Mandray, although it had ended rather abruptly — but no one had been able to snare her heart.

That had been what had initially peaked his interest. He had briefly seen her at Rhysand’s wedding, attempting some small talk that was easily and diplomatically dismissed by her. He had then relentlessly engaged in conversation with her in any opportunity he could find, being it from the few occasions in which she frequented Feyre’ small reunions over tea or when he coincidentally met her during her daily walks around town to visit Lady Emerie, a modice whose popularity was raising tremendously after Feyre’s bridal trousseau and wedding dress were all designed by her.

It was not until Feyre’s first official gathering as Duchess that Cassian realised the depths of his feelings for the sharp eyed lady.

He had been watching the ballroom from the sidelines, trying to escape the mob of scary mamas who wanted to throw their daughters at him, a glass of champagne in his hand.

Rhysand and Feyre had already danced the opening song, so the floor was now free to hold more partners. Both Cassian and Azriel had danced once with Morrigan — Rhysand’s cousin and a dear friend of theirs — and Elain had enough names on her card that they’d have to wait a fortnight to dance with her. Nesta on the other hand…. she had refused all invitations, although one could not help but wonder why by the way she seemed to glow whenever a new song was played.

“Lady Archeron” Cassian had greeted, bowing deeply and throwing at her his best smile, one that usually had young ladies fainting and old ones blushing.

But not Nesta Archeron. No, she had only deigned to make a polite bow and look ahead.

“I could not help but take notice of how entranced by the music you appear to be, my Lady” he had offered her his hand “Would you do me the honour of allowing one dance?”

That had caught Nesta’s attention, and she turned towards him, her gray-blue eyes finally meeting his hazel ones.

“I do not think why I should. I am perfectly satisfied to watch from the sidelines” she raised a perfect manicured eyebrow, glancing in the corner where the mamas and their daughters were “I am sure many other young ladies would rather have my place”

Cassian knew she was lying. Knew she desperately wanted to dance, but something was holding her back.

“It is said that dancing is the best way to encourage affection. Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable” he had nonchalantly said

“I beg your pardon” Nesta had exclaimed

“The lady has nothing to fear. I will not let you suffer ridicule because of your poor dancing” he had said in a patronizing tone, if only to see that fire in her eyes ignite.

And to see her accepting his offer with a murderous intent.

They had moved to the center of the ballroom, shocked faces all around them, both from the fact that Nesta was joining the dance floor and her partner being him of all gentlemen.

Cassian had never been proved more wrong once the first string from the violin was drawn and Nesta moved. He had been sure she knew how to dance, had only said those words to get a rise from her. But to see Nesta Archeron actually dancing… it was something straight out of a dream.

Cassian knew the waltz. His mother had insisted that all three sons have the same education, even though only Rhysand was set to inherit the duchy.

However, when paired with Nesta Archeron one could not be called nothing but a simple object to display her talents. Even the most notorious dancer would pale in comparison to her.

And Cauldron, she knew that. Nesta knew she was Terpsikhore, greek Muse of music, song and dance.

What a fool he had been, what a complete and utter fool he had made of himself. His only consolation was that some good had come out of his childish behaviour.

Nesta Archeron was dancing, and when she danced she threatened to bring empires to their knees, for her beauty got inhumanly enhanced, her delighted smile sending an arrow straight to his chest.

Cassian realised he had fallen hopelessly in love with Nesta Archeron. If he was to be true with himself, he had been for quite some time, since their first exchange of words when she had all but dismissed him as a pesky bug.

And as the last note was drawn, as the whole ballroom breathlessly took in Nesta, in complete awe of her, Cassian decided he was going to marry her.

Was going to propose to Nesta Archeron right at that moment.

Using the excuse of getting some fresh air after the tiring dance, he walked them to Rhysand’s extensive and well lit garden, quiet enough that they would not be interrupted but not so isolated as to risk her reputation.

They had walked only a few minutes in the garden when Cassian declared his feelings. He all but tripped with his words, hoping Nesta could see past his fool’s act.

She had not.

She had refused his hand in the most brutal way, her words so articulately poisoned that Cassian felt himself a young boy again, desperately trying to achieve perfection so his father would dare to spare him more than a passing glance. Would not regret having adopted him into his household and given him a home.

He had uttered an apology, saying how sorry he was that his feelings had caused her such pain and disgust, reigning his temper enough to walk her back to the ballroom.

Cassian left town the same night, and had stayed in his office and headquarters training the new milicia since then, burying himself with work until Azriel grew tired of his awful mood.

Sighing, Cassian brushed his horse’s neck, eyeing the lake.

Maybe a dive in the cold waters of Pemperley would help clear his mind.

~•~

Pemberley was, in Nesta’s opinion, the most beautiful state she had ever seen. Even more than her newly married sister’s dukedom.

“However this house’s lady is, she sure is happy” Emerie commented as the head maid showed them to the music room.

“As if someone could be unhappy with this much money” Gwyn whispered back, eyeing the grand piano.

Nesta was inclined to agree, even more after having seen the library. She could not help but envy the lady. Her husband must be a very cultured gentleman.

“May I show you the external grounds? I am sure the gentleman will find it quite delightful” the head maid said, looking at Balthazar, the only men among their group of four.

“I am most grateful for your hospitality” he answered, and they promptly moved outdoors.

Their party of four had been travelling through the countryside for almost two weeks. It was as much as a vacation for Emerie and Balthazar — with Emerie’s shop the season’s current sensation and Balthazar being her current business partner  — as a time out from the ton, which Gwyn — the most required opera singer of the season — had announced to be in desperately need of a vacation from.

As for Nesta, she had always wanted to travel, but as a single woman of marriageable age without a male relative to escort her, it would have been a nearly impossible feat to accomplish.

When Balthazar had offered to escort both her and her friends Nesta had wanted to shout in delight.

Secretly, she also wished to avoid a certain gentleman, one whose heart she had mercilessly and regretfully broken.

Nesta shook her head as she walked through the garden, distancing herself from her party to think and remember.

Remember how she had enjoyed dancing with Lord Cassian.

How her body had sung and heated where his skin touched hers.

How she had found herself smiling and agreeing to take a stroll with him, using the excuse of feeling overwhelmed in the crowded ballroom.

How his smile had faded once she tore at him, throwing every hateful word his way to refuse his proposal.

Nesta had not seen Cassian since her sister’s ball, but she did not want to risk an encounter.

That trip could not have been more well timed.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice her hair getting caught in a low tree branch, ruining her intricate updo.

“No one is around” she muttered to herself as she took off the pins holding it in place “A few minutes with my hair down will not hurt”

So Nesta took each pin off, massaging her scalp as she walked in the direction of the state’s lake, the sun shining over its  clear waters.

And that is when she spotted him.

Cassian.

Cassian was at the lake.

Cassian was shirtless, dripping wet by the lake’ shore.

Nesta knew she should turn around and forget what she was currently seeing.

But she could not take her eyes off of him.

Seeing a shirtless man in person was indeed a far cry from what her imagination conjured when reading romance novels.

Especially the way the water was running down Cassian’s tanned and hard torso, all the way down his pecs and stomach — was that a six pack or were her eyes playing tricks on her? — until it collided with his pants, which were hanging so low on his hips that Nesta could not help but feel a weird sensation low in her stomach.

Her legs stopped obeying her, and she swore her knees got weak when Cassian noticed he had company.

“Lady Archeron?” he exclaimed, as if he could not believe his eyes.

“Sir!” was all she could say, feeling her cheeks warming.

Cauldron what was wrong with her? It was just a body. A very nice, very wet muscled body and—

“What may you be doing here?” Nesta quickly inquired, cutting her errand thoughts.

“I am the owner” he simply answered

“Of the lake?”

She wanted to smack herself. How could have she blurted such a stupid and rude question?

“Yes, of the lake. And of Pemberley” he answered, amusement lacing his words.

“I didn’t know. The head maid said all the family was not home— we should not have presumed—”

“I returned without prior notice”

“Excuse me, are you and your sisters in good health?” Cassian added, and Nesta dared to think that he sounded a bit nervous.

“Yes. Yes they are. Thank you, sir” she managed to answer, her eyes firmly placed upon his face and not anywhere else.

“I am glad to hear that” he licked his lips and Nesta could not help but wonder if they would be cold due to the lake’s water or if Cassian’s unbothered face meant he was not cold at all.

Was she really inquiring of how his lips would feel against hers? Against her skin? If kissing Cassian would feel as dreamily as her novel's kiss appeared to be?

Nesta hated him.

Did she not?

“I had never seen you with your hair down”

Cassian’s words took her out of her reverie, and Nesta suddenly felt self conscious.

“Do excuse me for showing myself in front of you with such an unsightly appearance” she felt mortified. To have Cassian of all people seeing her like that, hair in complete disarray….

Nesta quickly turned around, fumbling with the hair pins in a vain and desperately attempt of redoing her hair.

“It’s beautiful” she heard Cassian saying in a breathless voice, and thanked the Cauldron her back was turned so he would not see how her face warmed considerably, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Let me help you” he quietly added, and she gasped at the proximity of wet, shirtless Cassian, who touched her hair softly.

“How come a gentleman such as you knows how to hairstyle a lady’s hair?” Nesta asked, feeling his warmth on her back, a tingly sensation between her legs when his fingers brushed her neck.

“I frequently helped my younger sister, Georgiana, fix her own hair in the occasions she played a little too far from what would be deemed proper for a young lady” she felt his hot breath against her neck as Cassian laughed “She favours outdoors activities such as horseback riding, although she’s quite accomplished in arts and music.”

“Your sister sounds lovely” Nesta said, turning to face him once she felt he was done fixing her hair.

“She is my brothers’ and mine whole world. There’s nothing we would not do for Georgiana”

Nesta felt her heart warming at his words, at his devotion and love towards his family. She wondered if he would do the same with his wife.

If he would have acted the same way towards her had she accepted his proposal.

Unbeknown to her, Cassian was imagining the same thing.

He was picturing how he could have helped her every morning with her hair if she had agreed to marry him. Instead, he would have to live with this one memory forever.

He was lost in her eyes, their bodies so close they were sharing breaths and Cassian was holding back by a sliver thread of self control to not hold her against him.

If it were not for the appearance of three people — Cassian supposed them to be Nesta’s companions — he very well could have done that.

“Excuse me” Cassian abruptly said, bowing deeply and leaving Nesta alone.

Although soon her friends joined her, Gywn and Emerie bombarding her with questions seeing her ruffled state.

Their party was getting ready to depart when Cassian appeared again, having ran inside to get changed and appropriate.

“Lady Nesta!” he called before she could get inside the carriage “Please allow me to apologise for not receiving you properly just now. You are not leaving?”

“We were, sir. We have already imposed too much” she said, spine straight and looking every bit the regal queen she was.

What he did not know was that was her way of maintaining a cool exterior and not blush remembering his naked figure.

“You are not displeased with Pemberley, are you?” Cassian asked, anxiously brushing his hair back.

“No. Not at all”

“And you approve of it?”

“Very much” Nesta said softly, a dreamy smile on her face as she remembered the library “A few would not approve”

“But your good opinion is rarely bestowed and therefore more worth earning” he said, and his smile was enough to make Nesta’s heart skip a beat.

Why was she feeling in such a way, she wondered. Why did her body feel hot and strange all over whenever Cassian was involved?

“Thank you. That is very kind of you”

“I shall not hold you back any longer” he said, helping her in the carriage, his calloused hand a stark contrast against her soft one “I will call on you and I hope you can introduce me to your companions. Perhaps we may go fishing tomorrow? My property is blessed with an abundance of them”

“We would be delighted to. Thank you, sir’

After the farewells were bid and Nesta’s carriage was only a distant dot in the horizon, Cassian got inside, smiling broadly at his head maid and butler.

“You are very chipper, sir'' the old woman said with a knowing smile, the butler agreeing with her. Their lord had been mopey for quite some time now, so it brought joy to their hearts to see his mood so high.

“I had a very good evening Mrs.Pots” he declared, thinking about how he should swim more frequently in the lake.

A few miles from Pemberley, Nesta stared at the scenery lost in thought, Cassian’s touch lingering in her hand all the way back to the inn.

•

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[nonbinaryeye]

Divorce Number What?

Written for @lonelyeyesweek

Day 1 - Divorce

Another day and another divorce papers signed. It hardly means anything anymore. If it ever really mattered...

Read on AO3

…

When Peter enters the institute Elias knows he has about five minutes before his husband arrives in his office. Of course if Peter took turn right he would only have to take one set of stairs and he would be right in front of his office. However Peter never takes the right turn. He claims it to be because of the unnerving look of the painting of Jonah Magnus hanging right next to the stairs. Elias would be offended but he must admit that the painter really gave the picture a somewhat menacing look. Which might or might not be the reason why he lets it to be one of the first paintings being seen upon entering his institute.

Alas this silly behavior always means Peter gets lost immediately and ends up in variety of places which are not his office – everything from the library, research department to artifact storage or occasionally even archives.

At least it gives Elias enough time to prepare for his arrival. He has been in the middle of his lunch break so he has no real work to busy himself with but Peter can hardly tell difference whether he is going over the budgets or just staring at a blank excel page.

Five minutes and forty three seconds later Elias hears steps approaching his office and a bit of fog sneaking into corners of the room. He turns his eyes (at least the pair he has currently in his head) to his monitor, away from the doors. Just in time for the doors to be barged through.

“Elias! Divorce! Now!”

“Why, happy afternoon to you too, husband dear,” Elias starts to click random keys pretending he is writing something, “What brings you to my institute at this hour?”

“I just said it.”

“No, Peter, you just chanted three random words. Use a full sentence if you wish to tell me something.”

His husband looks like he is considering grabbing him by the neck and rather than with divorce ending their marriage with ‘till death do us apart’. In the end he does as what he has been asked for as he always does.

“I want a divorce.” Elias looks up at him with his best expression of shock.

“May I inquire why?”

“You know goddamn well why!”

For a fact Elias does not know. It could have been a number of things. Peter might have discovered some of the hidden eye imaginary he carved on Tundra. Or maybe he stumbled on some of his old correspondence containing few words exchanged with few of Peter’s ancestors which seems to be still a bit sensitive topic to him for some reason. Or it also could be about forcing him to attend whole two social events this year so far. Or maybe he simply feels they were married for too long.

“You’ve donated money in my name to a cause of saving… some fish!”

Ah. This thing. Elias would almost forget he has done that.

“Ah yes the rescue fund for Atlantic Halibut. Fascinating fish indeed. Do you wish to know more about it?”

“NO!” Peter slams his hands on the table and leans closer. Elias does not show any signs of being bothered by it. “Why did you do that?”

“You are all about stopping extinction aren’t you? Every little thing counts…”

“They send me a letter of gratitude Elias. They said they put my name on top of the list of donors on their page… whatever that means!”

“It could have been worse. I passed the opportunity to let them name a fish after you…”

“Elias,” Peter lower his voice to dangerous level and very well then. He might indulge him then. He takes a key out of an inner pocked of his suit and unlocks the middle drawer of his desk. It is full of pre-filled divorce papers. He takes one set of them out.

“I see something about my actions seemingly upset you. If you are certain you do not want to discuss it and save our marriage-…”

“I am very sure!” Pater grabs the papers out of Elias’ hand, steals one pen out of his pen jar and makes few unreadable scratches which are probably supposed to be his signature. “And also make them put my name down! Wherever it is!” Elias probably won’t bother knowing how vague Peter’s understanding of internet even is. He takes papers away from him.

“Don’t you want to read them?”

“It is not the first time I am holding divorce papers in my hand Elias.”  

“And yet you have never read what all does it say.” Elias points out as he is adding his much more elegant signature next to his soon-to-be-ex-husband’s. Peter does not seem to be interested in prolonging their interaction in any way. He takes off his wedding ring and turns his back at him; disappearing into the Lonely without a word of farewell or a goodbye kiss.

“Enjoy a single life them,” Elias calls after him, “or at least the illusion of it…” he adds with a more quiet voice. He takes freshly sign ‘divorce’ papers, carefully folds them and throws them into a bin next to his table.

Elias picks up Peter’s ring and takes of his own as well. He takes stash of his fake divorce papers revealing a little box and marriage certificates under them. As soon as rings are safely closed in the box and hidden under fake documentations he locks the drawer again.

He sometimes wonders if Peter is really that much out of reality to think one scribble on a paper is all required for process of getting legally divorced or if he is in on the joke their divorces actually are. Not that it changes anything…

They got married in 1997 and have stayed ever since. Only three more years and it will be twentieth anniversary. How lovely! And he is not even counting the wedding they had when he was still James…

Elias does not really care about their marital status. One could easily read more romantic reason behind it but he is just being pragmatic. After all he managed to get Lukas tied to him like this. He can amuse him with little game on marriage and divorce but he is not that naive as to let him go legally. It would be too complicated and overall not worth at all. What is the point to go through the whole legal process when Peter will propose again in matter of months?

Plus… what if he one day decides not to? Elias is realistic. Sooner or later Peter gets bored of the game and tries to let him go as a good servant of Forsaken. That day will come, he has dealt with enough of the Lonely avatars during his long lifetime to know what to expect. And in such a moment nothing will bring Elias more joy than to inform Peter in that moment they are still tied together by law.

So it is just him being practical. Realistic. In inevitable case of their last divorce he wants to be the one to have the last word! That is all…

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

What if...

Peter Pettigrew had been caught at the end of Prisoner of Azkaban? I imagine that The Ministry would still not believe Sirius' innocence and they would make a proper trial. Dumbledore would've helped Sirius out of guilt, because he didn't do it before. They would win the trial of course because of a thing called Varitaserum. And Remus and Sirius would talk with Peter before he is taken to Azkaban and get the real reason why he betrayed them. They would've found out that the Peter that they used to know is no longer there.

Now, even thought Sirius is a free man, many wizards still don't trust him and many don't believe his innocence thinking he got out because of Dumbledore. But Sirius is free and tries to relive his life as before. This trial would happen while Harry is at the Quidditch Cup with the Weasleys. He would be worried but relieved when he finds out that Sirius was set free.

Remus and Sirius talk with Harry through letters about the posibility of him living with them. Harry of course is thrilled with the idea. But Remus and Sirius tell him that he has to wait and spend the rest of the summer at The Burrow, because they had no jobs, no house, no money to substain him.

During the events of Goblet of fire, Harry exchanges letters not only Sirius but also Remus, getting to know more about them, asking them for advice, and telling him about his worries throught The Triwizard Tournament. Harry becomes really attached to both Sirius and Remus. They are the only connection he has with his parents. I repeat WITH BOTH, not only Sirius. Sirius and Remus visit Harry secretly during this year to support him and try to find out who put the name in the goblet.

And Peter is not the one that helps Voldemort get his body back. That's Barty Crouch Jr. Because it doesn't make sense to me why Peter didn't just run away as far as he could and hide, instead he went to find Voldemort when he didn't even follow Voldy because he wanted, but because he was scared.

After the events of Goblet of Fire, Cedric's death and Voldemort returning, Harry needs his uncles more than ever. They start living together at Grimmauld Place since they don't have other place and since it would be useful for the Order (Dumbledore's orders). But at least Harry doesn't have to back to The Dursleys.

Remus, Sirius and Harry decide to go camping or to the beach for the summer to relax a bit and bond for real this time. Harry takes this opportunity to ask them all the questions he has about his parents and they answer of course. Harry gets to know about Sirius' family, and he gets an inside on how really is a life for a werewolf without the Wolfsbane Potion, and how much Sirius takes care of him. They assure Harry that this is what James did for Remus as well, and Harry feels proud of his dad.

But midsummer, Harry and his uncles have a discussion. Even though they were transparent about their past, they weren't telling him what was going on now. Members of the Order came now and then but Harry didn't understand why. And he was writing to Ron and Hermione and none of them answered.

So Harry gets angry out of the house and walks along, until he bumps into his cousin Dudley and his friends. They were drinking and Harry had never drunk before. But he felt like an adult not a child anymore and he wanted to proof that, he ends up getting drunk for the first time with his cousin Dudley. Dudley in his drunk state, confesses that he misses Harry and that he wasn't very good to him. And Harry and Dudley drunk bonded for a bit until they got attacked by Dememtors.

Harry gets a trial for using a Patronus Charm in the presence of a muggle, like in the original timeline. But this time not only Mr. Weasley goes with him, but Remus and Sirius go as well. Some wizards use the opportunity to say that living with a "criminal" and a "beast" was corrupting Harry, but Dumbledore intervienes again and he is freed.

Sirius and Remus apologize to Harry and the rest of The Order tells him a bit of what's going on, even if Molly insisted he was "just a boy" like in the original books.

When Harry gets to Hogwarts and Umbrigde teaches there, Harry hates her even more. Because he knows she approved the law agaisnt werewolves rights. Harry has become so close to Uncle Remus (now he calls him that) over the summer so he wants to protect Remus like his father did. And Harry gets into much worse trouble with Umbridge because he relates with a "criminal and a beast".

The events of The Order of Phoenix are practically the same, except that Snape's Worse Memory doesn't affect Harry too much, because Sirius and Remus explain what happened that day and how James was a good man. Also they explain how his parents fell in love. So Harry doesn't doubt about that.

In the Battle of The Deparment of Mysteries, Sirius doesn't die. He gets seriously injured and gets in a state of comma. Harry and Remus are there for him, mostly everyday terrified of losing Sirius. "I can't lose him again, Harry" Remus confess with tears in his eyes. And Harry loves them even more. Sirius and Remus are family.

Sirius wakes up after weeks and he is perfectly fine. Remus and Sirius confess they are still pretty much in love with each other because before they were trying to be be friends and go slow.

Sirius and Remus are there for Harry for the rest of the books and participate in The Battle of Hogwarts. Both of them surviving. Sirius and Remus get married.

My point is that I get perhaps why Harry had to grow up with the Dursleys. Love blood protection and shit... But I think that when Remus and Sirius came into his life, they should've been Harry's parenting figures during the rest of the series. The reason why JKR killed Sirius is because she didn't want Harry having a supporting system when he had the possibility. And I don't understand why Harry always treated Remus like a professor when he had the possibility of being more, I mean he was right there!

So I am changing the canon :) And this works either if you ship Wolfstar or not. I mean Sirius and Remus can still be Harry's parents and Remus can still marry Tonks or whatever.

So yeah, that was pretty much it thank you.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Goodnight

Prompts: TODAY IS LESBIAN DAY WE NEED WLW SIDES - anon (who is correct)

Hi, I just wanna say I love how you writing is a perfect blend of angst and fluff.

If you want, could you write a story of Remus (or Janus) comforting Logan after a nightmare. No pressure.💚 - anon (who is also correct)

I mean we gotta appreciate the lesbians

Read on Ao3

Warnings: literally this thing is so fluffy imma use it as a pillow

Pairings: introloceit, implied background dlampr

Word Count: 1437

 Just because she’s Logic doesn’t mean she doesn’t get nightmares.

Logan’s footsteps are silent save for the few creaks in the floorboards. Despite the fact that they are decidedly not physical, it seems the laws of physics have no trouble extending to a metaphysical level. She keeps her eyes out for anyone who might be awake. She has to keep them safe, they have to—

 They’ve just got to be safe.

 She rounds the corner into the Dark Sides’ living room and pauses. Remus—Remus isn’t here. Remus is always here. She doesn’t sleep, not like the rest of them do.

 Logan feels her blood run cold.

 Remus. Where is Remus?

 She breaks into a run, looking for the one light under her door, under Virgil’s door, under anyone’s door. She rounds the corner and—

 Janus’s door is cracked, a soft glow spilling into the hallway. As she edges closer, she hears a faint tapping coming from inside.

 She hesitates, then reaches out and knocks twice.

 The tapping stops.

 “Come in.”

 Breathing a sigh of relief, Logan pushes the door open to see Janus sitting at her desk. She looks up and smiles softly. 

 “Hi, sweetie,” she murmurs, “what’re you doing awake?”

 “I could ask you the same question.” She glances at the door. “May I come in?”

 “Of course, sweetie, come in. Sit down.”

 Logan glances one more time at the hallway. Janus catches it and frowns.

 “What’s wrong, sweetie, did you hear something?”

 “No, I’m alright, I just—“ she swallows— “haven’t seen Remus.”

 “I’m in here too, Pocket Protector.”

 Logan’s head jerks around. Janus gestures to the bed and sure enough, there’s Remus, her legs kicked up behind her. She waves.

 “Get over here, Lolo,” she calls, “sit down. Jan-Jan’s gonna be protective since you’re up so late.”

 “You’re both up late too,” Logan mumbles as she does as bid, closing the door with a soft click and perching awkwardly on the end of the bed. Janus frowns, turning around.

 “Did you want something?”

 “Huh? Oh no, I’m perfectly alright.”

 Janus hisses gently.

 Logan pushes her glasses further up her nose. “May I ask what you’re working on?”

 Janus and Remus exchange a glance before Janus sighs. “A plan for a new test Remus wants to do. Hopefully, it should increase effectiveness and control the reverse-osmosis-torque factor.” She frowns at Logan when there’s no response. She waits for a second before standing and coming to crouch in front of her “Alright, what’s happened?”

 “What?” Logan blinks. “Nothing, nothing, everything’s fine.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow.

 “Mmm, what the hell is reverse-osmosis-torque factor?”

 Logan’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Remus huffs and scoots a little closer.

 Janus softens, reaching up to fix Logan’s glasses. “Why did you come in the middle of the night?”

 “You’re still awake too!”

 “Insomniacs, sweetie. Why did you close the door?”

 Logan stutters into silence, mouth trying to form words. Janus stands, reaching to gently cup Logan’s cheek. “Sweetie, what happened?”

 “…you won’t believe me.”

 Before she can blink, Remus is sprawled across her lap, toying idly with the hem of her nightshirt. Janus sits on the bed next to her, still cupping her face, another hand stretching out to turn off the computer.

 “Lies are my job, Logan,” she murmurs, “I’ll believe you.”

 “I had a nightmare.”

 She waits for her to laugh. Nothing except an encouraging tap under her chin.

 “It was…bad.”

 “What happened,” Remus asks quietly, “can you tell us, Lolo?”

 She swallows heavily. “I couldn’t remember who you, or Patton, or Roman, or Virgil, or—or Remus were. You—I didn’t know what to do, you—”

 Janus lets out a soft noise as she swallows again.

 “…you didn’t remember me either.”

 “Oh, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, pulling Logan’s head into the crook of her neck, “shh, we remember you, of course we remember you, you’re so important, sweetie.”

 “You’re not going anywhere, Lolo.” Remus turns over to plant her face in her tummy. “You’re ours. You’re never getting away.”

 Despite everything, the corner of Logan’s mouth quirks up. “What did I do to deserve this?”

 “You’re you,” Remus says simply, “that’s enough.”

 Before Logan can respond to that—or even work out how—Remus rolls off and starts tugging her hand. “Come on.”

 “Where are we going?”

 “You’re gonna sleep, Lolo, and we’re gonna take care of you.”

 “What about—“ she gestures toward the computer.

 “Mindless scrolling, Logan,” Janus says softly, “now come on.”

 Logan lets Remus tug her up, only to squeak in surprise when she suddenly has an armful of green.

 “What are you doing?”

 “I’m hugging you, you big doof.” She looks up at her, placing her chin flat on her chest. “You look like you need a hug.”

 “What are you gonna do, just cuddle me all night?” Remus nods. “N-no, you don’t have to, I’ll be alright—“

 “You don’t have to do that, baby girl,” Remus says, still trying to get Logan to lie down.

 “Let us take care of you, sweetie.” Janus does up behind her to wrap more arms around the two of them.

 Logan knows when she’s outnumbered. As Janus goes to turn the light off, she lets Remus pull back the covers and snuggle into bed near the wall. She lies down next to her, trying to get comfortable in the darkness.

 Only for Janus to try to lie down on top of her.

 “Janus, I—ah! You’re squishing me!” She’s met with a chuckle as Janus’s weight settles atop her. “Get off me!”

 “You’re in my spot, sweetie.” She slings one leg over hers so they’re flush. “You move.”

 “I cannot move with you on top of me!” She pushes lightly at her chest to demonstrate. In the dim light, she sees her grin turned wicked.

 “Really?” Her hands begin to slowly trail up and down her sides. “You can’t move? At all? Mind if I test that?”

 Her eyes widened. “Don’t.”

 “Too late.” She smirks and starts tickling her, smiling as she starts to giggle and squirm, trying to get away. “Seems like you can move fairly well to me.”

 “St-stop! Pl-please stop—no!”

 “But your laugh is so cute, giggle bug,” Remus says, the traitor. As her giggles turn silent, Janus kneads her sides one last time before stopping, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

 “You okay, sweetie?”

 “No…more. Please?”

 Janus chuckles and runs her hand over her stomach. “Want to move out of my spot?”

 She pushes herself up, giving Logan room to roll out of the way before collapsing back down. The second she lies down, she wraps her arms around Logan’s waist, pushes her legs between her, laying her head on her chest.

 “Are you certain this is not an excuse to cuddle me?”

 Janus lifts her head up, running a hand through Logan’s hair. “Why did you come to me, sweetie?”

 At Logan’s silence, Remus chuckles and snuggles against Logan’s shoulder. “She gotcha. Now she’s not gonna let you go for a week.”

 That…doesn’t sound like the worst possible outcome.

 Remus smirks. “You know you’ve just given me the green light to protectively cuddle you at any time, right?”

 Janus plants an exaggerated kiss on her forehead, hushing her whine of protest. “You love it, sweetie. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

 “So do you.”

 “Of course.” Janus winks. “Just don’t ruin my reputation.”

 The room quiets. Remus drifts off first, whistling snores in Logan’s ear. The noise itself isn’t enough to keep her awake, but she stays doggedly alert, her eyes opening every few seconds.

 Will the nightmare come back? What if they realize that it’s true, that they don’t need me? What if this makes them decide they don’t want me anymore?

 “Sweetie,” Janus whispers, moving up to tuck Logan’s head under her chin, “shh. That’s not true, you know it isn’t. We love you, sweetie, you’re important to us.”

 In her sleep, Remus grabs onto her, turning her face into her shoulder.

 Oh.

 Oh.

 “Go to sleep, sweetie,” Janus soothes, running her hand through Logan’s hair, “we’ll be here when you wake up.”

 The hand in her hair is doing wonders to send her right to sleep. She opens her mouth to clumsily mumble: “thank you.”

 “Of course, sweetie. Now goodnight.”

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[archived-mononokeland]

ask : Yes!! show us any drawings you have. Would love to see any fan art. Do you still open your writing request? If so I want to request headcanon of the brothers reaction when they found mc fainted and sick because this mc is rather hard working and pushover one.

Currently, I have no Obey Me fanart, but I am working on an Asmo piece so I hope I get finished with that!

And yes, my requests are open until I make an announcement that I’ve closed it. Sorry I was late to do this though! I kind of get too carried away and so each character is very lengthy ;;

The brothers’ reactions to finding you fainting and sick from over-working:

[] —— lucifer  —— []

Lucifer is very surprised and concerned when he finds you passed out in one of the House’s hallway one afternoon with a temperature hotter than usual.

He picks you up bridal style and carries you to your room and sets you down on the bed.

He notices that you have dark circles under your eyes, more prominent than Belphegor’s occasional ones.

He goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water, making sure that no one sees him.

Just as he was about to leave with a note telling you to text him when you wake up, your eyes open groggily.

Once he let’s you get a grip, he asks you on what made you pass out like that.

Diavolo wouldn’t like to hear that the exchange student fainting like that, surely. But he was very concerned himself.

After you explained that it may or may not be because of the work and tasks, Lucifer felt guilty. When he thinks about it, each favor he’s asked of you, you never really did decline.

He made a note to lessen your work from now one, and that you can tell him if it’s too much for you, “Because it’d be quite the trouble if this happens again, no?”

He insists that you shouldn’t go to school and take a break because, “seeing the exchange student on less than healthy conditions wouldn’t look well.”

But of course it’s more than that, and you knew.

And he does try to take care of you, now doing his paper work in your room on your desk and looking after you.

[] —— mammon —— []

Poor boy, when you collapsed in his arms, hotter than usual, just as you opened the door for him, his first reaction is panic.

He freaks out for a good five minutes before setting you down on the bed.

He thinks you’re going to die, so he just goes out bawling for a while.

Until you wake up, very confounded to see a crying Mammon by your side.

He clings to you and rambles at lightning speed once he found that you actually weren’t dead, leaving you more dumbfounded than ever.

“Wait, Mammon, s-slow down—”

Of course he eventually does, followed by a little tangent on how, “the Great Mammon d-doesn’t care for a little human like you, no, not at all!”

You ignored all that and asked him to explain.

Once you heard his story, you admitted that maybe you’ve been overworking a bit, and that’s why you’ve declined on hanging out with him—or anyone for that matter—and why you’ve passed out.

It took a few minutes for Mammon to finally work it all out, which at that point he huffs and begins to ramble about how stupid Lucifer’s giving you too much work.

You managed to calm him down before he goes and yells at his face on your behalf, and convinces him to help nurse you back to good health.

Which he agreed in less than a second, all red and stuttering.

And while you were sick, he’d go get you anything! Just ask for it and give him a few minutes and he’ll bring it back to you.

And he’s now glued by your side, spending the night with you. He’d even begin making excuses that you were still sick so you two can be around each other.

He also won’t let anyone else come close, cause he was your first, who needs the others to take care of you!?

But oh, when you’re halfway through the healing process, he will drag you to Lucifer to complain that he’d putting too much on the human without you even managing to slip in anything.

In the end, it is thanks to this idiot demon that you were now working less than before.

[] —— leviathan —— []

When Leviathan found you just fainting mid-game while you two were hanging out, he had negative ideas on what to do!

He paused the game and just put you in his bathtub bed, making sure that there was enough pillows at the bottom so that it’s comfortable.

He sees the bags under your eyes and came up with a possibility that you passed out from tiredness. After all, one-too-many late nighters also gave him that experience.

He’d just sit there by the side of the tub awkwardly, not sure what to do.

When you finally did wake up, he’d just look at you with unspoken panic while you get a grip on reality first.

Seeing you wince in pain was also adding to the panic in his mind, so he asks you how you’re doing.

You confessed you had a headache and your throat was dry, so Levi went and got you one of his many bottles of water from his supply of ‘being a shut-in’.

He asked you if you’ve bee sleeping well, to which you answered that you may or may not have been swamped with tasks and work recently.

You can hear him mutter under his breath something about your stupid tasks and why you can’t just chill and play games.

But he quickly snaps back and decides a break would be good for you.

He sets up a comfy place and just have you lie there. Maybe if he finds you awake he’ll let you borrow some of his games. He’ll probably convince you to play something relaxing like the new Animal Crossing.

If you’re in need of food or drinks, Levi will just give you some of his stock of snacks and drinks.

[] —— satan —— []

Satan’s very surprised to find you fainting whilst you were looking for some books in his room.

He sets you down on his bed and immediately looks through his books on human health. After all, something about the circles under your eyes were telling of what you may have.

He reaches the conclusion of lack of sleep and stress, something along those lines.

Uh-oh, detective time! He might gather the information more of why you weren’t getting enough sleep. You did come to his room in hopes to find books of Devildom history and Devildom laws. And sometimes he would overhear you complaining a bit of your tasks and schoolwork, and you did seem to be doing most of Lucifer’s cooking duties…

In the meantime, he prepares a glass of water for you, and a pot of tea for the both of you.

When you wake up, he asks how you’re feeling, and suggests that you take a drink.

Once you’ve finally realized what happened, he finally tells you his theory and whether he was right or wrong.

You nod. He asks if it’s something about Lucifer giving you too much work. Another nod.

That answer alone earns a sigh from him. He tells you to go to sleep and get some rest.

And once you do, he makes sure you’re asleep and goes to confront Lucifer about it.

You stay in his room mostly, the smell of books comfort you. And most of the time, if you’re in trouble of getting to sleep, or just because either of you feel like it, Satan will read you a story with a nice cup of tea.

[] —— asmodeus —— []

Seeing you passed out in front of his door isn’t a scene that he imagined. Picking you up bridal style, he decides to set you on his bed.

The dark bags under your eyes were noticed in a second upon laying his eyes on you. That enough is concerning to him. After all, sleep is crucial to your skin!

He would’ve cuddled next to you, but he needed your consent.

… However, he isn’t that much knowledgeable of how to treat a human like this.

He will probably set up some light fragrance candles for when you wake up.

And also a glass of water, cause hydration is also important.

And when you do, the first thing he does is to scold you for not taking care of yourself.

“Sleep is important for your skin! You can’t be walking around with dry skin, can you?”

You chuckle and explained to him that yeah, you might’ve been too busy with work and school to get enough sleep.

He will have a long talk with you on how to take care of your skin, and yourself in general for a long time, until you promise him that you would.

Other than things related to beauty and looks though, he doesn’t know much about the human body. So if you need something, you have to tell him.

And he will get it for you.

He’ll try all he can to get you back to health.

If you don’t have anything contagious, maybe like a headache, he could cuddle with you to try and soothe it.

He might’ve took a picture of your while asleep. Who could blame him, you’re just too cute!

Once you’re back to your feet though, he will drag you to a salon to pamper yourself properly before you can get to work.

[] —— beelzebub —— []

It happened during Beelzebub’s late night fridge raids. You came into the kitchen to get a glass of water, then just… fainted.

The sheer amount of shock and concern was enough to get him to stop eating and check on your body. Then, he’ll bring you to his room and lay you down on his bed.

Of course, his stomach couldn’t survive for long so he’d grab as many snacks as he could and emptied the fridge, then came back to check on you.

When you woke up, Beel hurried to your side, relieved that you weren’t actually dying or anything.

He asks if you were okay, and you just answered that perhaps you were tired.

The bags under your eyes were no stranger. After all, with Belphegor as his twin, sometimes he’d see them on him.

He pressed a bit further, and that alone was enough for you to tell him that you were tired from working too hard. And the fact of how humans are such fragile creatures dawned upon Beel again.

It took him a while to convince that it wasn’t something that Beelzebub could protect you from with his strength, and that all you needed was sleep.

He’ll let you sleep on his bed as long as you’d like. He’d try to position the pillows so that it would be as comfortable as possible.

And it seems that each time his hands come near you, they’re very gentle. Like he’s afraid that too much pressure might break your bones.

He will try to make soup to help you. Try. There’s no guarantee that he might eat half of the ingredients during the process.

Similar to drinks and food that he brings. Probably about half of what was supposed to be your portion gets fed to Beel.

You promised him that you won’t get this much tired from overworking again.

From then on, you can find him sending texts through your D.D.D., making sure you weren’t overworking again.

[] —— belphegor —— []

He found you in the planetarium with a mind that seems to be half-working, your eyelids drowsing to sleep every few minutes.

And sure enough, just as he arrived to get to his usual napping spot, you passed out.

He took a look of your face. It was an easy assumption for him to make that you didn’t sleep as long as you should’ve.

And so he let you. He would’ve put you in either your or his room but… that was too much energy. So he used the pillow he had all the time and shared it.

Sleeping with you under the stars were a surprisingly elating experience for him. Who knew a human’s presence could do such a thing.

He’d soon follow you in sleeping until you woke up.

In the end, it’d probably you dragging him to your room, his room, or the attic for a more comfortable space to sleep in.

In the matters of food and drinks, Belphegor would probably rely on Beel more, as he’s too lazy to leave your side.

Sleep is the best medicine, so he’ll most likely just convince you to stay in bed and sleep as long as you’d like.

He’d probably slip in with you. To which cuddles would most likely proceed next.

A bit sad once you’re back to your usual self, now that he can’t just spend his day sleeping next to you.

However he will make sure that you aren’t overworking yourself again.

And he will tell Lucifer of your problems via text.

[plaidbooks]

Flirt it Out

A/N: I got a request from @ghd76 that was: could you write a one shot about Sonny getting super flustered by a female criminal (just a thief or something not a rapist) and he tries to continue the interrogation but she just keeps messing with him with dirty talk etc. And so I did! Hope you all enjoy <3

Tags: none, just flirting (though, I do mention homeless a lot, so if that’s a trigger, beware), also, the briefest mention of rape and pimps--blink and you miss it

Words: 1618

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @redlipstickandplaid @reading--mermaid @mrsrafaelbarba @averyhotchner @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

You had always been a good person: you kept your head down at work, you’d give money to every homeless person you saw, you often volunteered in a variety of things around the city. But it wasn’t enough. How could it be? With more and more people losing their homes, it just seemed never ending. Which is why you decided to help in a different way.

Big chain stores were popping up everywhere, and it drove you mad. So, you started shoplifting—only at the corporations, never a small, mom and pop shop. And you only stole food and sometimes baby formula, to give to the homeless or women’s shelter. You were just trying to help people. Plus, stealing from huge stores like that wasn’t exactly hard. And you sort of liked the adrenaline rush, anyways.

You were currently distributing food to a pack of homeless people when you found a body. The girl couldn’t have been older than 15 or 16, and she was beaten and bruised. Miraculously, she was still alive. You quickly called 911, giving them a place and description, before heading off. You didn’t want the cops questioning you.

 ********************

It had been a few days since you found the girl, and you saw in the news that she had been beaten and raped, most likely by her pimp. They were asking for the witness who called in about her to come into precinct 16; Manhattan SVU. But you didn’t want to be involved, not when you yourself were a criminal. Not that you would admit that willingly. But you’d seen law shows; the defense always had a way of digging up personal info on eyewitnesses, and you didn’t want to take the chance.

Shaking it off, you went to Walmart, bags at the ready. You filled the bags with boxed foods, pretended to go through the self-checkout, and headed towards the doors. This particular store didn’t have the person checking recipes, so you just casually strolled out. No one batted an eyelash at you; you wore nice clothes, held your head up high, and exuded confidence. Soon enough, you were carrying the bags down the street, heading for an alley that you knew was a makeshift “home” for multiple families.

It wasn’t until you rounded the corner that you noticed this was the alley you had found that girl in. Two detectives—a greying man and a blonde woman—were talking to a homeless man when you entered the alleyway.

“Oh, that’s her right there,” the homeless man said, pointing to you. Both detectives looked to you, then started coming towards you slowly.

Your first instinct was to panic and run, but you stopped yourself. If you did that, then they’d think you were guilty of something. So, you held your ground, ignoring the detectives and starting to pass out food. The detectives were stopped by the homeless gathering around you, and you fought a smug smile.

“Excuse me, Miss?” the male detective called.

You glanced at him before turning back to your task. “Can this wait? I’m a little busy right now.”

“No, it can’t,” the blonde said. “Were you the one that found the girl here a few days ago?”

Lie? Or go with the truth? It’s not like you knew anything anyways.

“I found her, yeah. But I know nothing about it; I don’t know who she is, and I didn’t see anyone else,” you answered.

The blonde gave you a look before asking, “We got a few more questions if you can just give us a moment—”

“I already told you all I know. I found a girl, I called 911. I got no other information for you.”

The detectives glanced at each other. “Can you come down to the station with us, please?” the blonde continued.

“I’d rather not, no,” you replied, wondering why this woman was trying so hard to get more.

“Don’t make us force you in.” Even her partner gave her a surprised look at that.

You scoffed. “For what? Giving you all the information I have?” “Uh huh; wanna show me a recipe for all this food you’re givin’ away?” she asked, a small smirk on her face.

There were still a few homeless people between you and them, so you took your chances. You turned and ran. You heard the woman detective curse before there was a scuffle, then two sets of footsteps following you. You turned this way and that, seemingly at random, but you knew these streets. You were trying to lose them in your home turf. What you didn’t know, was that this was their home turf, too.

The man, who had impossibly long legs, caught up to you fairly quickly, his partner a few steps behind.

“Leave me alone! I didn’t do anything! I don’t know anything!” you yelled, trying to push yourself to go faster. But the man overtook you, grabbing your shirt and pulling you to a stop. The three of you were panting as you tried to come up with something to save yourself. There’s a trick you learned early in your thieving career; when in doubt, flirt it out.

“We just have a few questions for ya,” the man said, letting you go. Him and the woman had you pinned against the wall anyways; you had nowhere to go.

“Look, Mr…?”

“Detective Carisi,” he replied before nodding to his partner. “Detective Rollins.”

“Look Detective Carisi, I was literally handing out food to the homeless when I found that girl. I have no other information for you.” You batted your eyes at him, giving him a soft smile, and you felt the pride at your display when you saw his cheeks turn pink. “I can’t help you anymore….”

“We still have questions for you,” Detective Rollins said harshly, stomping all over your attempt at flirting out of this. But you weren’t giving up that easily.

You continued giving Detective Carisi bedroom eyes as you said, “well, I don’t want to go to the precinct. How about you and I discuss this over a coffee? Or maybe something a little harder?”

He visibly swallowed before Rollins sighed heavily, pulled out handcuffs, and turned you against the wall.

“I’m takin’ you in. For shoplifting and for wasting our time,” she said, giving Carisi a glare. He gave her a sheepish look before they led you to their squad car. You sat grumpily in back, but you were glad that their voices were loud enough to hear through the window.

“God, Carisi, are you really that single that you’ll let a criminal sweet-talk you?” Rollins asked.

He gave her a look. “Hey, just ‘cause I don’t go to bars lookin’ to get laid doesn’t mean I’m desperate. Besides, she’s stealing food to give to the homeless; is she really a criminal?”

“It’s enough to take her in for questioning on the rape. And Carisi—you’re so totally desperate.”

 *******************

You sat in the interrogation room, no longer cuffed. You were waiting for what felt like forever for the detectives to come in. To your surprise, Detective Carisi came in, alone.

“Hey, sorry to make ya wait so long. If you’re ready, we can get started,” he said, sitting across from you.

You smiled at him. “I’m glad to be out of handcuffs. But you seem like the kind of guy that would rather see me in them.”

That cute blush reappeared on his cheeks, but he rolled with it, giving you a smirk. “Do you always try at flirt your way out of trouble?”

“Oh, I’m hardly in trouble. I’m a good girl.”

A little huff of a chuckle, a shake of the head. “Let’s get started, shall we? Where were ya at 8am on Monday?”

“Am I under arrest?” you asked, slowly rising from your seat.

“No, but you will be if ya don’t cooperate.”

You sat back down, leaning back in your chair. “Ohhh, you like to tease, don’t you, Detective sir?”

He cleared his throat. “Where were ya, 8am—”

“On Monday? Shopping.”

“Shopping? Or—”

“Yes, shopping. I do buy groceries for myself, you know.”

He gave you a long stare, like he was trying to figure you out. “Do you have any proof that you were shopping?”

“I have the charge to my card, and the recipe at home. Would you like to come over sometime, Detective? I could show you the recipe, among other things…” you grinned, and his blush deepened.

There was a knock on the one-way mirror, and Detective Carisi looked slightly annoyed, but also a little ashamed of himself. He stood and left the room, and you had to hide a smile. At least he’s cute, you thought to yourself.

 *********************

After Carisi was removed, a new detective came in—Detective Tutuola. He was no nonsense, and you quickly answered his questions, desperate to leave the precinct. True to their word, you were released afterwards, with a stern, “stop shoplifting.” Not like that would affect you.

As you were leaving, you saw Carisi sitting at his desk. He glanced up as you went over to him, and his ears turned pink. You gave him a smirk before taking one of his cards.

“Maybe I’ll give you a call one night, when I’m feeling lonely,” you mused.

The pink turned red as he looked at you. “You can give me a call any time you need me.”

You smiled brighter, and he gave you a nervous smile, his eyes darting around to see if anyone saw the exchange. You blew him a kiss before turning and leaving the precinct. But you swore you could feel his gaze on your ass as you swayed.