#dweetwrites

[dweetwise]

Random survivor NSFW headcanons

This started with just Jonah and then spiraled out of control. Enjoy?

Jonah thinks in numbers even during sex. He memorizes everything his partner likes: the best spot to bite is 1.5″ to the right of this freckle, thrusting at a 39° angle increases their moans by 20%, if he uses his tongue this way their climax lasts 2.5 seconds longer and so on.

Yui’s nails are press-ons purely for the benefit of the women she sleeps with.

Gabriel has used his engineering skills to create a few vibrators and other fun gadgets for his fellow survivors. He’s very well-liked by the women in camp in particular.

Ace has slept with half of the survivor roster and even a good chunk of the killers. “Blowjob for hatch?” is a commonly heard phrase whenever he’s in a trial.

Sable is a certified monsterfucker and will try to rizz up any killer indiscriminately. Bubba and Demo are still traumatized by her attempts to seduce them.

Ash “isn’t gay or anything” but really likes jerking off with another guy. You know, just bros being bros.

Yun-jin is bisexual but refuses to date or sleep with men out of principle. We stan our 4B queen.

Nea keeps her sex life private and most people think she’s a virgin. In reality, she’s one of the most sexually active survivors and has even slept with all members of the Legion at some point or another.

David is almost exclusively a bottom but you couldn’t waterboard that information out of him.

Jane is so loud during sex that the survivors had to establish a No Fucking Within 100 Meters Of The Campfire rule. Before that, they just pretended to not hear the suspicious noises from the nearby woods.

Dwight was a virgin before the realm and is amazed by how popular he is at the campfire. Many people think authority suits him and he regularly gets propositioned by both survivors and killers.

Felix has a breeding kink that eventually resulted in his girlfriend’s pregnancy. He’s otherwise very vanilla and is ashamed of his kink as he thinks it’s the most depraved thing in the world.

Adam starts mentally reciting Shakespeare whenever he needs to last longer in bed. Sometimes he does it out loud and is embarrassed afterwards, though his partners usually just think it’s adorable.

Zarina’s favorite kink is pegging men twice her size. She has a couple of eager volunteers in the survivor camp but has even enticed a few killers to give it a go.

Alan writes a lot of smut on his typewriter and discreetly distributes it among his regular readers at the campfire since they don’t have any kind of porn in the realm. He also takes writing requests.

[dweetwise]

The first chapters of my new fic are up on ao3!

Happy Valentine's day! 💕🥰

[dweetwise]

[Vittorio X Ace] Language barrier

I've had this fic sitting in my drafts for one and a half years and finally got around to finishing it. I hope you like it 💕 Rated T | 6k words | ao3 link

Ace was whistling as he walked back from another successful trial.

The fully-stocked ranger medkit felt heavy in his hand and he couldn't wait to show off his latest haul. And people said looting chests was a waste of time!

When he approached the familiar glow of the survivors' campfire, however, there was no welcome committee to greet Ace after his spectacular escape from the Spirit's clutches. Instead, everyone was gathered around one of the logs, their postures tense and voices raised.

Ace frowned. Another fight? Damn, he really couldn't leave these people alone for five minutes.

Ace took a breath and steeled himself for facing the ire of whoever was responsible for the commotion this time.

"Children, children!" Ace exclaimed. "There's no need to fight: I love you all equally!"

Predictably, that got most people to shut up and two dozen heads whipped around to look at Ace.

But instead of the eye rolls or disgusted scoffs Ace expected, the survivors looked…relieved?

"Oh, thank god," Élodie sighed. "You're finally here."

Ace arched an eyebrow. The crowd started dispersing, like they had actually been waiting for Ace's arrival instead of being perpetually annoyed by his existence like usual, and Ace felt another tacky joke bubbling up—

And then he saw him.

The man was tall. He was muscular and tattooed, with silver hair and a calcularing stare, standing in the middle of the survivor campsite with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His leather jacket creaked from the movement, bulging biceps straining the material.

"Ace," Élodie said, grabbing his arm firmly. "We need your help."

Ace felt a smirk forming. "He's for me? Oh, Élodie, you shouldn't have."

Strangely enough, the new guy neither laughed nor sneered at Ace's remark. In fact, he didn't react in any way whatsoever, which was a little unnerving.

"Not the time," Élodie hissed. "He just got here, and he only speaks Italian. Please tell me you weren't lying when you bragged about being fluent in seven languages?"

Oh; that would explain the mild panic of his friends and utter indifference to Ace's charms from the stranger.

"Italian?" Ace grinned and shook off the woman's hold. "Say no more!"

He sauntered up to the new guy—shoving the medkit in a clueless Dwight's arms as he passed—and put on his friendliest smile.

"Ciao, stranger," Ace said, effortlessly switching to one of the four—not seven—languages he spoke. "I heard you could use some assistance?"

The scowl finally disappeared from that handsome face as the man perked up in recognition.

"I would be much obliged," Mr. sex-on-legs said.

And that was how Ace was roped in to play translator between the rest of the group and their newest arrival.

The man introduced himself as Vittorio Toscano: because of course, even his name was attractive.

Vittorio had apparently been wandering the fog a long time before finding his way here. This was only validated by the fact that he didn't seem at all phased when Ace—at the others' insistence—went over the basic “sorry you were kidnapped by some Lovecraftian god and are now gonna be hunted for sport for its amusement.”

"That doesn't exactly surprise me," Vittorio said. "After the things the fog has shown me…well, I concluded as much."

Ace should probably have been more curious about the…fog visions, or connections to the Entity, or whatever else Zarina and the others were screaming in his ear about once he translated that piece of information for them.

But he had a hunch. And after a lifetime of relying on it to survive, Ace's intuition was usually pretty good.

"So where exactly are you from? Before you got taken?" Ace asked.

"Gordega, Italy," Vittorio said. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry. I used to be a well-read man and be better at languages, but after so long, most of the knowledge has faded."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. Any of these people would tell you there's little I enjoy as much as running my mouth—and now there's actually someone who listens!"

"Nevertheless, I appreciate the help." Vittorio glanced around at the group still gathered around them, patiently waiting for new information. "So ask away. I know you all have questions."

"Yeah, speaking of…" Ace said. "When are you from?"

Vittorio smiled ruefully. "1391."

Though Ace had suspected it was coming, the admission still took him by surprise. Here this man was, looking like he’d jumped right out of some modern alternative fashion spread, casually telling Ace that he was actually over six hundred years old.

And the weirdest part was that Ace believed him.

"What? What did he say?" Meg bounced restlessly in her seat. 

Because Ace being stunned speechless was actually a little worrying, all things considered. He didn't even know how to begin to convince the others of Vittorio's past.

"Thirteen…" Jonah spoke up. "The 14th century!?"

But fortunately, Ace didn't need to. Because while Italian and Spanish were different languages, there were enough similarities for certain math nerds to understand numbers.

"What!?" Élodie exclaimed, then looked at Ace for confirmation.

"Yeah, uh," Ace said. "Our new friend seems to be of the vintage variety."

That was when the arguing started again.

And after the shouting matches were done, when Yui was glaring at Vittorio and ordering Ace to “tell him we don't trust him”…

Ace only smiled at the new survivor and said, "She says she's jealous of your stylish outfit."

Vittorio huffed a dry chuckle. "Is that so?"

Ace was happy to learn that sarcasm apparently existed in the 1300's.

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

Unsurprisingly, Ace ended up talking to Vittorio a lot over the next few days.

Yes, there was the shared language. Yes, Vittorio was ridiculously attractive. Yes, everyone was still harassing Ace about using their new time capsule friend to find out more about the Entity and the fog.

But more than that, this was the most interesting thing to happen in the entire six years Ace had been stuck here.

The others weren't thrilled that Ace used most of his time simply getting to know the guy, whether that was blabbering on about his family's Italian roots or bugging Vittorio for fashion advice.

"So you picked up all the accessories in the fog too?" Ace asked. "Pierced your own ears, cut your hair, the whole thing? Damn, and here I've had the same haircut for six years."

"I suppose I could try a different style," Vittorio said, fiddling with one of his necklaces. "Maybe the jewelry and neckline is too much for someone of your time?"

"Don't you dare change anything," Ace said. "Have you seen some of the atrocities the others wear? You'll be dressing like an elf or rocking fedoras if you try to copy us."

Vittorio huffed out an almost-laugh at that. Tactfully, he didn't comment on Ace's flamingo sweater.

"What about you?" Vittorio asked.

"What about me?" Ace grinned. "I mean, my uncontested status as a fashion icon notwithstanding…"

"You seem content to talk about the past," Vittorio said. "But I'm curious about the future. What was your life like before the Entity?"

Ace's smile only widened. "Tell me, my friend, did you have poker in 1300?"

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

It was easy to befriend Vittorio. 

Ace never would have guessed someone from that era to be so open-minded when even people in the 21st century had plenty of prejudices.

But Vittorio was happy to prove him wrong. It was amazing how easily he kept up with Ace's banter and picked up on concepts previously foreign him. Ace chalked some of it up to the man's calm disposition and interesting life both before and after falling into the Entity's clutches, but more than anything, Vittorio was just that goddamn smart.

Still, six centuries in the fog didn't come without baggage.

"I've seen them," Vittorio said one day, his voice quiet and eyes distant. 

He was staring at a group of girls sorting bandages: Claudette was giggling and Yui was rolling her eyes while Nea talked animatedly with her hands and messed up the bandages.

"Yeah?" Ace asked. "In trials? You've met them before?"

"In the visions," Vittorio clarified.

Because apparently, that was a thing. This group of survivors wasn't the first one Vittorio had come across, though the timeline and his memories were hazy.

But in between centuries of sporadic trials, Vittorio had spent most of his time wandering the fog, not confined to a campfire like the rest of them. He'd told Ace that he used to be obsessed with people called the watchers—or observers, or something—so Ace supposed it made sense that he'd been on his way to becoming one.

"I saw one of the girls get chased by sirens and flashing lights," Vittorio said, still looking at the trio. "And one crying on her birthday, before her father made her smile again. And the Japanese one I saw in the future, far away, and she was killing…she killed them all."

Vittorio's eyes were starting to look vacant. But it was only when the tattoo on his neck started glowing that Ace decided to intervene.

"Hey," Ace said, putting a hand on Vittorio's shoulder. "It's okay. Parallel universe, right? No biggie."

"You're right,'' Vittorio said. When he looked back at Yui, he seemed a little more relaxed. "I've seen how she is. She values loyalty above all else; she's not a murderer."

Suddenly, Ace almost wanted to ask if Vittorio had seen him in any visions.

"I never wanted this," Vittorio continued, so quietly Ace didn't know if it was meant for him to hear. "All I ever wanted was peace. To help the world."

"I don't think world peace is a one man job," Ace joked. "But it's a nice sentiment."

Vittorio's smile was melancholy. "At least I can try to make things better here and help as much as I can."

Coming from anyone else, Ace would have rolled his eyes and asked Dwight to calm down with the team-building speeches. But this was a man who had been doing this for hundreds of years and, somehow, still kept on hoping and earnestly helping others.

"Well," Ace said. "You're at least helping by keeping me entertained. And trust me, that's more important than you'd think. There've been flashlight duels and misuse of murky reagents—and a few explosions—when I got bored."

It probably wasn't the kind of world-saving heroics Vittorio was aiming for, but this time, his smile was genuine enough to reach his eyes.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised."

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

Trials came and went and Vittorio settled more firmly into their group dynamic.

It was strange, having a new teammate who wasn't exactly new. Vittorio had more experience in trials than most of them combined, and after the initial hiccups—mostly consisting of Chinese cursing and “Stop wasting gen efficiency, you fucking fossil!”—Vittorio proved to be a valuable asset against any killer.

"Watch out!" Vittorio hissed, suddenly pulling Ace away from the generator they were working on.

Ace stumbled after him, shooting a confused glance over his shoulder to where the green orb of the Knight's phantom passed their generator by probably forty feet.

"It's okay," Ace said. "He missed the gen. We can keep working."

"No," Vittorio insisted. "That's the jailer. He's an expert at tracking."

Ace dubiously watched as the phantom phased into existence far from the generator. He immediately started down the path his master had determined for him, not even looking at the generator…

Until he came across Ace's muddy footprints from before.

Ace watched the guard change course and follow the trail to the generator. He peered behind the machine and looked around, and Ace was suddenly very glad for Vittorio's foresight to quietly sneak them away. Because the guard found nothing and returned to his path, and Ace avoided what would otherwise have been a nasty burn from that branding iron.

"Huh," Ace said. "That was pretty impressive foresight, not gonna lie."

Vittorio huffed. "One of the few good things to come from being acquainted with Tarhos and his followers, I suppose." 

"Oh, right," Ace said. "I forgot you used to know these guys."

It was bizarre to think that Vittorio was from the same time as the killer with platemail armor. While Vittorio had been seeking knowledge all these centuries, the Knight had apparently been content with slicing people up with his little posse.

"Come, now," Vittorio said. "It should be safe."

Vittorio nudged him back towards the generator and only then did Ace realize that he'd been holding onto Ace's arm this entire time.

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

"Must've been lonely, all those centuries on your own," Ace said over a game of cards. "And here I thought a few years of celibacy was bad."

"It never felt like hundreds of years for me," Vittorio said. "But time does pass differently here."

"Still, there's gotta be more interesting stuff for you to do than hang around an old geezer like me."

Vittorio snorted. "If you're old, that would make me ancient."

"Doesn't stop Kate and Jane from checking you out," Ace said. "And unless your monk training required a chastity vow or something, I'm pretty sure body language is universal."

Ace waggled his eyebrows and threw in a wink for good measure. If Vittorio was offended by his matchmaking attempt, he at least didn't show it.

"I'm a philosopher, not a monk," Vittorio explained patiently. "Regardless, I always valued intellectual compatibility above all else. Which is difficult to achieve if there's no way to even communicate."

Ace shoved down the disappointment. If he'd been entertaining any sort of romantic-slash-sexual angle with Vittorio, those thoughts were definitely dwindling with the requirement of intellectual compatibility.

"Damn, it's a shame Claud doesn't speak Italian," Ace said. "She's wicked smart. You'd probably get on great."

Vittorio hummed and adjusted the cards in his hands. "I mostly gave up on romance after my first and last bed partner turned on me and now kills me on a daily basis."

Ace's brain did the equivalent of a record screech. "What!?"

"Tarhos," Vittorio said, his face neutral like he was discussing the weather. "I told you, he used to be my bodyguard—among other things."

Ace could only stare at his friend and try not to gape like a fish as he pieced together this new information.

Logically, Ace knew that same-sex attraction had existed since the dawn of time—hello, ancient Greece—but he never actually expected Vittorio would be interested in men; or at the very least, not admit it so casually.

"You're shitting me, right?" Ace said.

Vittorio gave a one-shoulder shrug. "There's nothing for me to gain by lying."

As he said it, Vittorio met Ace's eyes with something akin to a smirk.

"Speaking of, were you planning on putting back those two extra cards you took last round?" Vittorio asked. "Because I may not know much about this game, but I'm almost certain that's against the rules."

And Ace could only laugh somewhat hysterically before attempting to explain his little card maneuver as a legitimate strategy, all the while recovering from the absolute whiplash of the last few minutes.

Because, yes, Ace still found Vittorio hot: that little fact hadn't changed just because they were friends now. Vittorio still looked like someone had taken David's muscles, Felix's face and Jeff's rugged charm and mashed them into Ace's ultimate wet dream.

But he never thought anything would come of it. The guy was from a completely different time, was only talking to Ace because that was his only option for company, and had probably seen enough shit for a hundred lifetimes.

And now, he was learning that there might be a chance after all?

No matter how small that chance was, Ace had to take it.

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

"So, I've been meaning to ask," Ace said a few days later.

Vittorio paused in stocking a toolbox, immediately giving Ace his full attention. "Yes?"

And looking at that handsome face and those deep green eyes staring so earnestly into Ace's own…

Ace chickened out. 

"What's that tattoo on your neck?" Ace asked. "The one that lights up like a glowstick when you go all…observer-y."

"Oh." Was Ace imagining it, or did Vittorio sound disappointed? "It's… well, it's probably easiest if I show you."

With that, Vittorio shrugged out of his jacket and reached for the hem of his shirt, and Ace only had enough mental capacity to swallow an embarrassing noise. He glanced around in alarm: they were right by the campfire, with a dozen or so people milling about and Christ, anyone could see the impromptu strip show!

Someone gasped across the campsite and when Ace finally turned to look, he almost wanted to do the same.

Vittorio was covered in tattoos. From his neckline all the way down to his waist, tattoos in various shapes and colors took up the majority of his muscular torso. Most of them were symbols or writing Ace couldn't understand—but then again, he didn't know what he expected from a medieval philosopher.

"How…?" Ace managed to get out.

"I did most of these by myself," Vittorio said. He brushed over a row of what looked like runes on his forearm. "When I was locked in the dungeon, I marked myself with every ancient symbol and passage I could remember. It's how I got the Entity's attention, and what lets me channel energy in trials."

For the second time in just a few days, Ace was rendered speechless. He had seen Vittorio use some sort of portals on generators, but other than Feng's complaints, none of the survivors had been keen to learn more about it.

The longer they were silent, the more Ace could feel people staring. Some of the others were already whispering, but in the end, only one person dared to approach.

"Hi," Mikaela said, finally snapping Ace out of it.

"Hello, beautiful!" Ace's poor, frazzled brain automatically resorted to flirting.

"Those symbols…" Mikaela reached her hand out, hovering above Vittorio's chest. "Can I…?"

Ace had half a mind to tell her to get her own half-naked, medieval hunk. But before he could, the woman's hand started glowing.

"Whoa," Ace said. "Easy there, Red."

"Ask him to channel the power," Mikaela said. "There's—I can feel the potential of the magic, but I can't reach it."

"Reach what?" Ace said. He trusted Mikaela, he really did, but if there was a chance of her witchiness hurting Vittorio… "What are you doing?"

It was an unnerving sight, seeing Vittorio's tattoos and Mikaela's hand both glow the same unnatural blue. The lights were pulsing in tandem, almost like a heartbeat, but Vittorio only watched the sight curiously.

"There's so much knowledge in his magic," Mikaela said. "We just need to unlock it."

"Ace?" Vittorio asked. He still looked as calm as ever. "What is she saying?"

Ace swallowed and stamped down on his own worry-slash-jealousy.

"She said to channel your magic—uh, like when you're doing the observer thing, I guess." Ace frowned. "But you don't have to."

Vittorio looked back at Mikaela, and then he nodded.

"Good," Mikaela said. "I'll try to amplify the magic. Ready?"

"Now, hold on just a minute—" Ace tried.

"It's alright," Vittorio said. "I want to try this."

Ace sighed and stepped back, giving the duo some space.

"I swear, if you break him…" he told Mikaela.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Please just stay out of the way."

And that was apparently all the warning Ace got, because as Vittorio closed his eyes, the glow that resulted from his and Mikaela's shared magicking was bright enough to nearly blind him.

Ace shielded his eyes from the flash of light and heard many curses and yelps as others did the same.

"What the fuck!?" Nea exclaimed.

"Ugh, my eyes!" Steve complained.

"Is everyone okay?" Jane asked. "Mikaela? Vittorio?"

"We're fine," said a familiar deep voice.

A very familiar voice that was no longer speaking in Italian.

Ace blinked the light from his eyes, only to see his friends seemingly unharmed—save for the fact that Vittorio's eyes were glowing blue.

"I assume it worked?" Mikaela asked.

Vittorio smiled. "I'd say so, yes."

Ace could only gape stupidly. From everything he had expected Mikaela's little spiritual session to include, making Vittorio a fluent English-speaker wasn't part of it.

The others cheered and swarmed the man, now free to talk to him without Ace's interference, and Ace's heart sank to his stomach.

He should have been happy for his friend. This would make things much easier in trials and do wonders for the survivors as a team, not to mention vastly improve Vittorio's quality of life since he was no longer restricted to one person as his entire social circle.

So why was Ace so disappointed?

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

A few hours later, footsteps approached Ace at the edge of camp—where he was absolutely not sulking away from the group, thankyouverymuch—and it was a small surprise to see Vittorio flop down next to him. 

Ace glanced over. Vittorio was usually more graceful, but this time he just sort of…crumpled to the ground, heaving a sigh as he dragged a hand down his face.

Clearly, he wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, but they both knew it had to be done.

Instead of friend-dumping Ace, however, Vittorio merely propped one of his arms up on a nearby log and looked at Ace with a smile: a small, tired smile, but a smile nonetheless. 

“Ciao,” Vittorio said.

Ace just stared at him. The way Vittorio was leaning against the log, arm casually draped over it with the rest of his body on display and an easy smile on his face made him look like something out of the magazines Ace used to steal and hide under his pillow when he was a teenager, until his father found them and…

Yeah, okay, not going there.

“How's it going?” Ace asked.

Vittorio frowned. “Why are you speaking English?”

Ace shrugged. “No use trying to talk in code when everyone’s gonna understand every word you say regardless.” He averted his eyes and kicked at a pebble on the ground. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you get back to them? I��m sure they’re all dying to talk to you.”

It wasn’t a lie: he could feel several pairs of eyes lingering on them and probably anxiously awaiting their turn to talk to Vittorio.

Vittorio huffed. “Have you considered the possibility that maybe I don’t want to speak to thirty people at once?”

When Ace’s response was only a skeptical look, he continued, “The magic requires conscious effort to keep active and getting to know this many new people at once is exhausting. I’d much rather keep it to short intervals and spend the rest of my time with you.”

Ace couldn’t stop the smile from creeping up on his face. Switching back to their shared language, he said, "Well, in that case, I guess I'm all yours.”

It was seemingly just another cheesy line and, hopefully, Vittorio wouldn’t realize how much Ace truly meant it.

Vittorio just frowned, then said softly, “I saw you, you know.”

“I wasn’t moping,” Ace reflexively lied.

Vittorio huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head in what seemed like fond exasperation—his default mood when it came to being around Ace, really.

“In a vision,” Vittorio clarified.

“What, just now?” Ace asked.

“No,” Vittorio said. “A very long time ago. It was from one of your stories: the one where you challenged the female fighter for a bet. It’s one of the first visions I remember having in the fog.”

“Oh,” Ace said, then promptly cleared his throat as realization set in. “Damn, that's the memory you saw? I've had more glamorous moments in my life, you know.”

At least it wasn't Ace’s secret gay porn stash or any of the numerous loan sharks threatening him.

“I wasn’t sure it was you at first,” Vittorio kept going. “It was such a long time ago and I didn’t remember all the details; I didn’t know much about the future back then. And even when I thought I recognized you, you didn’t seem at all like a violent person. I assumed it could have been…” he trailed off.

“A dark universe?” Ace suggested.

“Yes. But after getting to know you and learning how reckless you are, not to mention your stupidly proud smile whenever you tell the story—”

“Hey! It's a good story!”

Vittorio smiled. “I can see that it was definitely you.”

“Well, yeah.” Ace cleared his throat and averted his eyes from the sincere smile. “I’m glad you remembered. I think?”

“It’s strange,” Vittorio continued, “how much calmer I felt as soon as I recognized you when I first came to this campfire. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner—that was dishonest of me.”

“Uh, no, it’s all good,” Ace said. “It was probably a confusing situation. It’s not like you could have known you’d stay with our gang for this long.”

“That’s not true,” Vittorio protested gently. “Arriving here was different from all the other places I’ve come across in the fog. It feels like I know these people.” 

He cast a glance over the survivor campsite where everyone had mostly returned to their usual tasks of sorting items and talking shit about killers. 

Vittorio looked back up to meet Ace’s eyes and said, “Like after centuries of wandering, I’ve finally found the place where I belong.”

Ace kept telling himself it didn’t mean anything.

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

Ace sighed and clutched the apology medkit in his hand.

He and Vittorio had had their first fight. The Deathslinger had been a little too happy to focus his attention on the new survivor and Ace had the brilliant idea to take a couple harpoons to the chest to buy Vittorio at least a few seconds to make distance from the killer.

Unfortunately, it had ended in all of them dead. And after Jane lectured Ace's ear off about ignoring generators, Vittorio had actually raised his voice for the first time and yelled at Ace for intervening in his trial.

And maybe Ace had snapped something vaguely sarcastic back, and that hadn't gone over well, and eventually Vittorio's kind eyes had hardened into a glare and he'd stormed off.

Thus, the apology medkit.

Ace eventually found Vittorio in the woods surrounding the campfire, standing by a small lake and looking out over the still water.

"Hey," Ace said, then hurried to add, "Don't worry, I come bearing gifts."

He held out the medkit. Vittorio simply stared down at it.

Then, Vittorio sighed and dragged a hand down his own face. "I'm sorry."

Ace blinked stupidly. "Uh, I'm pretty sure that's my line."

"I haven't lost my temper like that since…I don't even remember."

Since Vittorio didn’t seem interested in his bribe—ahem, peace offering—Ace made the executive decision to toss the medkit on the ground.

"Well," Ace said. "I am pretty good at getting on people's nerves."

Vittorio smiled at him. "You're also very good at calming people down."

Ace shrugged. "Eh, jury’s still out on that one. Still, I’m sorry too."

"Don't be. You…your actions made me realize something."

Ace swallowed the automatic quip of “That I'm a dumbass?” and forced himself to be serious for once in his life.

"Yeah?" he asked.

Vittorio hesitated, then took a pointed step closer, making Ace realize just how much distance there had been between them. Assuming Vittorio was pissed at him, Ace had unconsciously kept him at arm’s length—but that didn’t seem to sit well with either of them.

Because now that Ace thought about it, Vittorio always seemed to hover in Ace’s space. He’d brush a hand over Ace’s back when passing him, sit close enough that their knees bumped when they relaxed by the campfire, and lean on Ace’s shoulder for support while he wheezed at Ace’s jokes that he swore he didn’t find funny. 

Ace had simply assumed it was a cultural thing: Mediterranean people and Latin Americans were both a little touchy-feely. But now he was starting to question the seemingly platonic gestures.

Vittorio’s brow furrowed while he studied Ace—probably concerned about the fact that Ace had gone a good two minutes without so much as a joke or sarcastic eyebrow raise—before he finally spoke.

“I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” Vittorio admitted. “I’m not sure how to be any clearer, and you are impossible to read…” he trailed off and fidgeted, actually appearing uncertain.

That was on opening if Ace ever saw one.

“Like I said the other day.” Ace grinned and took a step closer. “Body language.”

He tilted his head up and gently grabbed a handful of Vittorio’s shirt to pull him closer, giving the man his best seductive smile.

…Except instead of sweeping Ace off his feet and kissing him silly, Vittorio’s eyes went wide and he froze completely under Ace’s touch.

Ace immediately pushed himself off. “Shit. My bad!” He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture he desperately hoped looked casual. “I read that completely wrong. Sorry about that.”

Ace could almost physically feel the hit his confidence was taking from the rejection. He really had to stop thinking with his dick before he ruined what had become one of the best friendships he’d ever had.

A warm hand grabbed Ace’s wrist and stopped him from fretting with his hair.

Vittorio was smiling, his eyes now fond. “You just took me by surprise.” He huffed. “Apparently, things have changed somewhat in the last six centuries.”

Ace’s smile returned. “Oh yeah? Was kissing about a date twenty type of thing?” he bantered along. “You never thought to peep on those kinds of things in the future?”

“I can't exactly choose what visions I see,” Vittorio protested, though his face pinked as he blushed.

It was a pretty blush and Ace wanted about fifty more of it, please and thank you.

“Then maybe you should show me how you did it in the olden days,” Ace challenged with a wicked smirk.

In response, Vittorio raised their joined hands to his mouth—all the while keeping eye contact—and gently kissed the inside of Ace’s wrist.

“Oh.” Ace’s voice cracked on the word but dammit, that was really nice.

“Would you believe me,” Vittorio said, lowering their hands to properly intertwine their fingers, “if I said that things were much more crude back then than they are now?”

Ace perked up. “Really now?”

Vittorio chuckled at his obvious eagerness. “But this isn't the 1300st century,” he continued, cupping Ace’s jaw with his other hand. “And I can adapt.”

“In my humble opinion, it sounds like a compromise would be in order—”

Vittorio decided to shut him up with a kiss and Ace’s witty response—along with most of his coherent thoughts—promptly fizzled out into nothing.

Vittorio’s beard rasped pleasantly against Ace’s own and, wow, Ace was really kissing someone who hadn’t been kissed in several hundred years. No matter how much Vittorio had tried to play off his need for intimacy, he was clearly desperate for this and very much into it, his lips a little sloppy and his hand tightly clutching Ace’s.

It was flattering, really.

Ace was completely on board and gave as good as he got, clinging to Vittorio’s jacket and standing up on the balls of his feet to press even closer, kiss even harder. He experimentally flicked his tongue over Vittorio’s bottom lip and his effort earned him a quiet moan that shot straight to his groin.

When Vittorio finally pulled away, his breathing was heavier and he was blushing in earnest, pink coloring his cheeks all the way to his ears.

It made him look somehow even more handsome than usual.

Vittorio smiled down at Ace. “That was nice,” he murmured softly.

“Worth waiting six centuries for?” Ace quipped.

Vittorio laughed and warm pride spread through Ace’s body. Vittorio looked so utterly happy here, in this moment of quiet closeness and shared jokes, and Ace wanted to keep making him smile and laugh and blush for many years to come.

Vittorio leaned back down, then murmured against Ace’s lips. “Worth every single year.”

═════════════ ♧ ═════════════

It was easy after that.

Ace strolled back into camp after a trial and found Vittorio propped up against one of the logs, his legs sprawled out on the ground in that effortlessly attractive way he always carried himself. He held a book with some weird symbols carved on the cover—one of Mikaela's spell tomes, if Ace had to guess—and his eyes were glowing blue as he translated the text in his mind's eye or whatever.

Ace immediately flopped down next to him with a dramatic sigh, leaning into Vittorio’s side and letting his head rest on a muscular shoulder.

“Damn, your friend really had it out for me,” Ace complained. “That assassin phantom, the one who can outrun us? Somehow always managed to find me when I was injured. I want to file a harassment complaint.”

Vittorio hummed in acknowledgement and the corner of his mouth quirked up. He kept reading but snaked his hand around Ace’s shoulders and gently massaged the spot where Ace had been repeatedly pierced through with a meat hook.

Ace sighed happily and leaned into the touch, his eyes sliding shut as he relaxed from the soft affection.

He could hear murmurs around the campfire: some people had been quite surprised about this turn of events when they shared the news, others had said "told you so", and a few thousand bloodpoints had even exchanged hands.

Ace tuned them all out but he knew people were staring. Here Ace was, casually leaning against his gorgeous, 600-something-old boyfriend, one who was currently glowing blue and magically translating a foreign language, and who would periodically get visions of the future or alternate dimensions.

Yeah, it was a little weird.

There was a laugh from behind them and Ace perked up in anticipation of the newest gossip, but slumped back down in defeat once he heard Élodie go on in French.

“Did you know that Élodie and the architect are dating?” Vittorio asked.

Ace gawked at him. “What?!”

“For quite some time now, apparently,” Vittorio said, still seemingly engrossed in his book but apparently eavesdropping at the same time. “Hm. It's a wonder nobody has noticed.”

“You can…you've learned to…” Ace stammered.

“Translate any language, yes.” Vittorio turned to him and smirked. “Do you think I should tell the others?”

So, maybe his boyfriend had a few voyeuristic tendencies Ace probably should be concerned about.

But then again, Ace was a huge gossip, so maybe it was meant to be.

“Oh hell no.” Ace grinned and leaned closer, draping himself against Vittorio’s side. “This is our little secret and we'll reveal it when they least expect it. Like one of those times when Feng is cursing me out in Mandarin, you can interrupt her with ‘Actually, Ace's mother is a lovely woman, and secondly I'm not about to let him shove a whole flashlight up his—’”

“Alright, alright.” Vittorio chuckled, nudging Ace to shut him up. He lowered his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Our secret.”

Ace’s heart soared and he didn’t even hesitate before pulling Vittorio into a kiss in full view of the others.

He hadn’t been this happy in years and nobody—not even their so-called friends making gagging noises in the background or Vittorio’s murderous ex stabbing him repeatedly—could take this away from him.

[dweetwise]

[Ace X Vittorio] Raising the Devil (18+)

A smutty fic inspired by Sunnyscollection's incubus Ace and demon lord Vittorio art. Kindly skim the ao3 tags before reading, this is much darker than my usual fics! ❤ Rated Explicit | 3k words | ao3 link

"—And I made them think it was just a dream," Ace said. "As far as anyone is concerned, I was never there."

There was a thoughtful hum and Ace felt pride surge through him. That was practically high praise where his master was concerned.

His master: Vittorio Toscano, lord of demons, king of hell. With his striking white hair, glowing blue eyes and a muscular body carved with ancient dark magic, he had a presence that could make even the most powerful demon cower in fear.

In comparison, Ace was just a lowly incubus, but Vittorio’s fondness for him was undeniable. Even if Ace’s big mouth and mischievous streak regularly got him into trouble, he was said to be the only one to ever have coaxed a smile out of their serious lord.

And the only one in six hundred years to be allowed into his bed.

"And the others?" Vittorio demanded.

"The doctor,” Ace hurried to continue. "Was easily swayed by the succubus you sent. It's almost like he was just looking for an excuse to kill all those people."

Vittorio hummed again. “Good work.”

Ace’s lips drew up in a smug smile of a job well done. He’d just gotten back from a five-year reconnaissance assignment and although that was almost nothing in a demon's lifespan, he'd still missed Vittorio something fierce and wasn’t about to disappoint him.

And Vittorio had clearly missed him too, seeing as he'd been kind enough to let Ace climb into his lap and ride him on his throne while Ace reported his findings.

“What else?” Vittorio prompted. 

He ran a hand down Ace's naked back where he was straddling him in reverse. It was a heady feeling, being completely nude and exposed to the room while Vittorio was still fully clothed with only his pants unbuttoned the bare minimum.

“Sable got summoned by some cute little unsuspecting witch,” Ace obediently informed. “And now she’s wreaking havoc in the town of Greenville with her pet abomination.”

Ace shuddered involuntarily. Sable was one of his favorite colleagues—she had a dry wit and a laid-back attitude to her work—but the cursed alien something following her around like a lost puppy always made Ace’s skin crawl.

"Not according to plan, but I’ll allow it," Vittorio said, infuriatingly unbothered by Ace literally bouncing on his cock. "And the rest of the mission?”

Before Ace could reply, Vittorio’s hips bucked up to meet his and Ace’s train of thought fizzled out as he swallowed back a moan. 

"Ace," Vittorio warned, gripping both of Ace's hips firmly enough that his claws threatened to break the skin.

“The…the agent.” Ace hesitated. “I’ve visited him about a dozen times, but he hasn’t caved in yet,” he rambled nervously. “Apparently, some people are just reluctant to commit war crimes even when they’ve had their brain sucked out through their dick. Who knew?”

Vittorio’s thrusts stilled completely and Ace could almost physically feel the disapproval radiating off of him.

And then, to add insult to injury, Vittorio asked, "Do I need to send Adriana?"

"No!" Ace exclaimed, then immediately went quiet and bowed his head in embarrassment.

Vittorio only chuckled: he knew full well how much Ace hated Adriana. She was a disgrace of a succubus, having none of the finesse required and her seduction tactics boiling down to nothing but a war of attrition.

"I can handle it," Ace insisted. “You know I can. Remember the priestess?”

“I do.” Vittorio thrust up into Ace demandingly, causing Ace to groan and dutifully start up a rhythm again.

“Because of me, she spread the plague to thousands of people,” Ace bragged. “Nobody else got through to her. Just me.”

He smirked remembering that incident. He’d been a new incubus, still with only nubs for horns and the demon lord not even knowing he existed. But once all the other incubi and succubi had given up on the mission, Ace had defied a higher demon’s orders and ventured out to seduce the difficult priestess anyway.

That had gotten his master’s attention for sure; doubly so when Ace’s gamble had actually paid off.

“That was hundreds of years ago,” Vittorio said. “Perhaps you need a replacement.”

“I don’t!” Ace hurried to protest. “You know I don’t, I’m so much better than that bitch Adriana.”

Jealousy reared its ugly head as Ace imagined the succubus replacing not only his assignment but also his spot in Vittorio’s bed.

“I’ll show you,” Ace decided. 

He braced himself on the throne’s armrests and started riding Vittorio in earnest, fucking himself down on his master’s cock and tightening around him in the way that always drove him wild.

“Ace…” Vittorio’s voice was low with warning.

“I’ll handle the agent, and you’ll get your war.” Ace’s voice was breathless from exertion and arousal alike. “I’ll hypnotize him, or speak Spanish again; whatever it takes, I can do it.”

“Fine,” Vittorio grit out. "You get one more chance and then—fuck, just like that.”

Ace yelped when Vittorio grabbed him by the hips and roughly thrust into him. He gave Ace no time to adjust before setting a relentless pace and spearing Ace with his cock over and over, the rough fabric of his pants dragging against Ace’s bare cheeks.

“Yes,” Ace panted, hanging onto the armrests for dear life. “Yes, fuck, give it to me!”

Vittorio kept using his body as he pleased. Ace only whimpered and took whatever he was given, but his incubus heart purred with satisfaction, knowing he brought his lord pleasure the way nobody else was allowed to.

“Please,” Ace begged. “Fuck me, use me, fucking wreck me.”

Vittorio grunted and only a few thrusts later buried himself as deep as he could get, a low groan punching out of him. Ace’s breath hitched as Vittorio pulsed and emptied inside of him, his claws finally sinking into Ace’s hips and drawing blood.

“Thank you,” Ace sobbed. “Thank you, that was so good, you’re amazing.”

Vittorio didn’t reply: he only sighed and relaxed back into his seat, still buried balls-deep inside Ace.

"Master?" Ace pleaded hesitantly, his own cock hard and throbbing. “Can I come? I’m so close, please, fuck…”

"Settle down, pet," Vittorio interrupted. "I'm not done with you yet."

Fingers slippery with Ace's blood moved up to his waist, lifting him just enough that Vittorio could fuck up into him again.

Ace whined at the trickle of wetness leaking out of him each time Vittorio bottomed out: this was already the second time he’d finished inside Ace, and after the rough pounding and added sting of the gashes on his hips, Ace was high-strung and desperate for release.

Yet he didn't entertain for one second to reach down and finish himself off. Instead, Ace just picked up where he left off, riding Vittorio’s cock at the pace that the demon lord set.

Vittorio would decide when Ace came—or if he came at all.

“Fuck,” Ace whimpered, his legs trembling. “You feel so good.”

Vittorio purred approvingly. “Not quite the same as with the humans, hm?”

“No,” Ace said vehemently. “No, never.”

When Ace slept with humans, he was always the one in control. Even when he was the one getting fucked against the nearest surface by some repressed Catholic priest who finally gave into his lust, Ace was the one who had orchestrated the whole thing and could use his magic to get away whenever he wanted.

This was nothing like that. Vittorio owned not only Ace’s body, but also his heart. Ace didn’t remember much of his human life: he’d supposedly signed away his soul in a contract with some demon in exchange for unnatural luck at the card tables, and now his entire existence belonged to Vittorio.

Ace would do it again in a heartbeat.

Messing with dumb humans was entertaining enough but more importantly than that, he got to enjoy the company of the most remarkable man he’d met in the entirety of his life and afterlife. Ace was fully aware that if Vittorio wanted to, he could have him killed or tortured with nothing more than a flick of his wrist—yet he chose to keep Ace right here by his side, inflicting only the best kind of pain in addition to mind-blowing pleasure.

“Only you,” Ace gasped. “Only you make me feel like this, you’re…I love you.”

“I know you do,” Vittorio said, his lips ghosting over the skin on Ace’s shoulder. “And there isn’t a single demon in hell who doesn’t know that you’re mine.”

Without warning, he bit down on Ace’s shoulder, his sharp fangs easily piercing the skin and making Ace shout brokenly into the throne room.

Out of the corner of his eye, his swimming vision dimly registered movement. The large room had emptied considerably as soon as Ace sauntered in through the door, but lesser demons still scurried about, continuing with their duties in tidying the room and serving their master.

The narcissistic part of Ace reveled in being watched: for everyone to see that out of tens of thousands of demons, their king had chosen him. They used to have more of an audience in the past, but after a small “incident”—where a nasty dream demon took the display as an invitation to point out that there were much more attractive incubi available, only to promptly got beheaded as Vittorio opened a portal and sliced his neck with nothing more than a thought—it had become a silent understanding for most of the other demons to scamper whenever Ace and their lord were in the same room.

Ace locked eyes with Vittorio’s right-hand man, Tarhos, standing at the bottom of the steps in front of the throne and awaiting orders. Ace grinned slyly and Tarhos’ eye twitched, the only sign that he was irritated.

Ace knew he was jealous as sin and had worked tirelessly to try to take Ace's place for hundreds of years. Tarhos had known and faithfully served Vittorio for over a millenia, and Ace wasn't sure what had been between them before he came into the picture. But now?

Vittorio only had eyes for Ace.

“I’m yours,” Ace said, then moaned obscenely—just to further annoy Tarhos—as Vittorio’s teeth sank deeper into his skin. “Only yours, my lord—please, let me come?”

“No.” Vittorio finally pulled off and lapped up a rivulet of blood that spilled from the bite mark on Ace’s shoulder. “You didn’t finish your report.”

Ace swallowed a frustrated groan but knew better than to voice his annoyance. Even if he had more privileges than other demons, Vittorio still demanded results from him just like anyone else.

He panted through the pleasure-pain and racked his brain for where he previously ended off.

"I handled Jigsaw's protégé," Ace remembered. "She should turn on her mentor any day now."

"Good. And Azarov?”

Ace laughed. “Azarov? Are you kidding me? I barely needed to say the word ‘blowjob’ and he was ready to crush people alive.”

Vittorio hummed in approval, then pushed at Ace’s lower back, urging him to pick up the pace.

"Continue,” he commanded.

"And—and the nurse you wanted," Ace gasped, working his body up and down Vittorio’s cock with renewed vigor. "It helped that you had Carnifex kill her husband, but no incubus or succubus has been able to get into her bed. She's still grieving."

"Sentimental humans," Vittorio scoffed. "I'll send an archdemon to her asylum to poison her mind rather than her body."

"I still don't understand why you want her," Ace said. "She's a nobody—shit!"

Ace gasped as his head was jerked back by his horns, forcing his back into a painful arch.

"It is not your job to question my decisions," Vittorio snarled, the claws of his free hand brutally digging into the lacerations he'd previously made.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Just because Ace could usually get away with mouthing off didn’t mean he was immune to punishment.

"You should be," Vittorio said, but thankfully released Ace's horns.

Ace didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"Anything else?" Vittorio demanded.

Ace panted to catch his breath. One of Vittorio’s claws was still teasing at the wound on his hip in a thoroughly distracting way.

“That little cult has been sniffing around,” Ace remembered. “The Imperiatti. They trapped an incubus and cut his horns, but he managed to escape.”

Vittorio grunted in annoyance.

"I could deal with the leader," Ace quickly suggested, wanting to help his master. "He's…German, I think, Janos something—"

"No," Vittorio snapped. "If they're going after incubi, you aren't going anywhere near them."

"I'm not dumb enough to be caught in some trap!" Ace protested.

"And I said NO!"

Vittorio's voice boomed in the room, making every servant freeze and leaving Ace's ears ringing as he tensed and held his breath. He'd stepped out of line again, and now he would get punished, and what if Vittorio didn't want him anymore?

Suddenly there was a blunt pressure against Ace’s hole, and before he could protest Vittorio shoved two fingers into Ace beside his cock, his still dripping come barely enough to ease the way. He was merciful enough to have retracted his claws, but it still made Ace shudder and whine as his body struggled to adjust to the stretch.

"Talk back to me one more time," Vittorio snarled against his neck, "and you're getting my fist next."

Ace should have found the threat horrifying: even if an incubus' body could withstand significantly more than a human's or even other demon's, it had its limits and this was definitely one of them.

But instead, Ace's traitorous dick twitched happily and he couldn't quite suppress his moan at the thought.

Vittorio huffed something resembling a laugh. "Except you'd only like that, wouldn't you?”

"Yes," Ace babbled, "yes, please, I'm sorry, I'll take anything you give me, I—"

"I know you will," Vittorio rumbled, and it sounded almost fond. 

Vittorio’s hand ventured from Ace's hip to his groin and Ace's breath caught in his throat when a finger trailed up his rock-hard cock, the sharp point of Vittorio’s claw dragging against the sensitive skin.

Ace both hoped and feared that it would draw blood.

"There's a reason you're my favorite," Vittorio praised.

Ace's entire body felt aflame, lit up at the rare words of affection. He was pretty sure that if Vittorio ever wanted to, Ace could come from his words alone.

And then Vittorio shoved a third finger into Ace and roughly curled them against his prostate, murmuring, "Such a perfect little slut."

Ace came with a scream, every muscle in his body tensing as brutal pleasure surged through him, his untouched cock twitching and releasing into the air.

Vittorio’s hand pushed on Ace's chest and held him in place as Ace rode out his orgasm, his cock hard and unyielding inside Ace’s spasming body.

Once Ace came down from the high, he collapsed back and against Vittorio’s muscular chest. His breathing was heavy and his body still trembled from the aftershocks.

And because Ace was his favorite, Vittorio only tightened his embrace and didn't punish Ace for coming without permission. Ace winced as the fingers were pulled out of his now-loose hole, but sighed in content when Vittorio’s hand snaked around his torso and lips briefly pressed against the bite mark on his shoulder still lazily oozing blood.

"Thank you, master," Ace murmured, turning his head to nuzzle against Vittorio's bearded jaw.

Vittorio hummed, letting Ace cuddle up to him while he petted Ace’s chest and stomach. This was a side of him nobody else could lure out, but every time Ace was good and made him proud, he’d allow Ace to indulge in the soft intimacy of the afterglow.

Feeling even more daring than usual, Ace craned his neck and placed a small kiss onto Vittorio’s blood-covered lips. Predictably, the demon lord didn’t reciprocate—he’d never show vulnerability in front of an audience like this—but Ace felt a thrill nonetheless.

When Ace pulled away, Vittorio grabbed him by the back of his head to keep him in place, his eyes locking with Ace’s.

“Naughty little incubus,” Vittorio murmured. “What am I going to do with you?”

Ace smirked lazily and leaned into the rough grip. “Keep me around and fuck me whenever you want?”

Vittorio’s pretty glowing eyes narrowed: a look that would have every other demon begging for their lives, but that only made Ace feel smug for visibly getting under his skin.

Ace’s smugness was short-lived, however, when Vittorio coldly said, “Very bold words from someone who made a mess on their master.”

Ace's gaze snapped down and dread pooled cold in his gut as he saw what he’d feared: the white streaks of his release dripping from Vittorio’s clothed thigh down onto the blood red carpet in front of his throne.

Because Vittorio could let it slide that Ace had come without permission. But it was unforgivable that Ace had come on him without permission.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry—I'll clean it up!" Ace scrambled to get up, but Vittorio’s firm grip kept him trapped in place.

"No. You're staying right here," Vittorio said, then snapped, "Clean it!"

A servant immediately scurried to kneel before the throne, his shaking hands carefully wiping their master's pants with a rag before moving to the carpet. Tarhos was scowling at Ace in earnest now, his gauntlets creaking as he gripped the hilt of his sword more firmly.

Meanwhile, Vittorio hovered his hand over Ace's spent dick and a blue glyph appeared midair. The glyph glowed, and Ace bit back a sob as energy flowed through his body and made his cock rapidly swell back to full hardness.

Once the servant left and Vittorio was satisfied with Ace's erection, he shoved Ace back upright to straddle his cock. 

“Again,” Vittorio commanded.

Despite the exhaustion and the oversensitivity riding the edge of pain and pleasure, Ace only grinned and braced his shaking hands back on the armrests.

"Yes, my lord."

[dweetwise]

[Jonah X Ace] Private spreadsheet

A fic in spreadsheet format inspired by these tumblr posts. The ao3 version has the table in plain text if someone needs it for accessibility 💜 Rated T | 740 words | ao3 link

[dweetwise]

[Dbd] Wanderlust

A small post-Entity one shot I wrote this summer and apparently never posted 💚 No ships, just some survivor bonding (and bickering 😂) Rated G | 1.2k words | ao3 link

The plane lurched to the side and Haddie did the same in her seat, her pencil sliding across the map of Malta and drawing a line in the Mediterranean sea. She huffed in annoyance and wordlessly reached to buckle her seat belt.

Next to her, Élodie did the opposite and pushed up from her seat with an exasperated groan.

“Just a little turbulence!” Ace’s voice sounded from the cockpit. “Nothing to worry about!”

“This tin can is awful!” Élodie complained. She wobbled to the front of the small plane, steadying herself on any solid objects as the plane shook from the turbulence.

“Aww, don’t worry, baby,” Ace said, affectionately patting the outdated flight instruments in front of him. “She’s just jealous of all your vintage glamour.”

“It’s a piece of scrap metal held together purely by duct tape and wishful thinking,” Élodie retorted. “In fact, I’m amazed we haven’t crashed yet.”

“Eh, I’ve flown in worse,” Zarina piped up from the co-pilot seat. Based on the fact that she had her feet propped up on the dashboard and was leaning back in her chair, she didn’t seem to be doing much of said piloting.

“See?” Ace told Élodie, then added with a grin, “If you’re so peeved about my plane, why don’t you ask your sugar daddy to buy us a shiny private jet instead?”

Zarina snorted while Élodie merely glared down at Ace.

“You refer to Felix as that one more time and I’m ejecting your seat,” she threatened.

Ace gasped. “But then who’s going to fly you all over Europe to do your Scooby gang shit? I’m not letting just anyone touch my plane, you know.”

“You’ll hopefully be a pancake on the ground, so I don’t think you have much say in the matter,” Élodie countered.

“Human pancake. Yum,” Sable offered. She was sitting in the back of the plane, busy with painting her already black nails even blacker regardless of the bumpy ride.

Zarina sighed before turning to look back at Haddie. “How’s the map coming along?”

“Good,” Haddie said. She waved the thin folder with the Imperiatti insignia that contained their information on the case. “It should only take a day to investigate the site and talk to all the witnesses. It’s a small island.”

“Should we split up?” Zarina asked.

“Dibs on the witnesses!” Ace hollered. “I’ve heard Maltese women are stunning.”

“Me and Haddie should go to the site to investigate,” Élodie said. “I brought my archaeology kit just in case.”

“I’m coming with you,” Sable said. Nobody protested: keeping Sable away from people was usually the way to go if they wanted their witnesses to not shit their pants from fear.

“I’ll go with Ace,” Zarina said, fiddling with her voice recorder. “And Vittorio?”

Haddie glanced at the man in question. Vittorio didn’t even appear to have heard the question; he sat completely silent on the seat opposite of Haddie, staring intently at the floor. His face was ashen and he desperately clutched the Lidl plastic bag they’d acquired on their pre-flight shopping trip in Coburg.

Considering this was his first time ever flying and he’d chosen to do it with Ace as his pilot, he was doing remarkably well.

“You okay?” Haddie asked, nudging Vittorio’s shoe with her own.

He looked up and gave her a shaky smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You didn’t have to come,” Zarina said. 

“I will have to get used to flying sooner or later,” Vittorio said with determination. “The Imperiatti works all over the world and I don’t want to be hindered by this should my help be required somewhere.”

“You could have stayed in Germany with Ursula.” Ace’s head popped into view as he leaned to look back at them. “She sure seemed interested in getting intimately acquaintanced with you and your…knowledge.” The sentence was accompanied by the wagging of eyebrows.

Haddie rolled her eyes while Vittorio grimaced: from nausea or the innuendo was anyone’s guess.

“She’s a very capable woman, but I don’t see how that’s relevant—” Vittorio started.

“Air pocket,” Zarina abruptly cut him off. 

A split second later, Haddie’s stomach dropped as the plane jumped and tilted to the left, before Ace grabbed the controls with a curse and righted their course.

Vittorio squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed a few times before rasping, “Can you please focus on flying?”

“I am!” Ace protested. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Vittorio’s already having a hard time,” Haddie said. “So keep the plane steady unless you want projectile vomit all over your ‘baby’.”

Élodie visibly cringed. “Eugh, please, no puking.”

“Speak for yourself, I love puke,” Sable said. Somehow, her nail polish bottle and drying nails were still completely unscathed.

Élodie stared at her. “Remind me why we brought you along again?”

Sable responded with a sickly sweet smile. “Because I’m not going to get spooked by lawn furniture and run away screaming like a little bitch.”

“I told you, the canopy curtain looked like the Nurse from where I was standing!” Ace protested.

“Yeah, it probably did,” Haddie hurried to defuse. “And I sensed some weird energies in the area. I most likely would have been startled too.”

“Exactly!” Ace said.

Élodie looked at Haddie with a raised eyebrow, but Haddie just shrugged. She really didn’t want to hear more of Ace’s excuses about the sun in his eyes, or how he was just running away to get help, or “Felix’s girlfriend told me the manor is haunted, so of course the Nurse could appear at the garden party!” when the reality was most likely a few too many German beers.

“Maybe it did look like the Nurse,” Sable conceded, then grinned wickedly and added, “if you’re a little bitch.”

Ace let go of the flight controls to turn and point at Sable, eyes narrowing as he snapped, “Okay, listen here you fucking brat—”

“Fly the goddamn plane!” Haddie, Élodie and Zarina yelled almost in unison.

In the end, they made it to Malta relatively unscathed. Haddie successfully marked all their destinations on her map of the island, Élodie secured all their bags, Sable finished painting her nails, Zarina radioed the airport and got them permission to land, Ace got them back onto solid ground with most of the plane’s rusty landing gear still intact, and Vittorio only puked once into his bag.

The others were grumbling about the rough flight and even rougher landing as they exited the plane, but Haddie was smiling as she felt the familiar adrenaline rush of an unsolved mystery. Now, they only had to figure out if the rumors of shadowy figures lurking in the woods were an urban legend that got out of hand, or something more sinister like a paranormal occurrence or the Black Vale trying to regroup after the Entity’s defeat.

She’d never tell the Imperiatti, but she actually hoped it was one of the latter. Returning to normal life after years in the Entity’s clutches hadn’t gone well for her—and based on the ragtag group of fellow survivors who had eagerly volunteered their help for the trip, she wasn’t the only one still craving the thrill of danger.

A new adventure was just what they needed.

[dweetwise]

[Yoichi x Trickster] VIP Treatment

For @naxamillion who won my @fandomtrumpshate fic auction! They requested something lighthearted & silly with this ship and I hope I delivered! ❤️ Rated T | 7.5k words | ao3 link

Yoichi didn’t exactly mean to befriend the Trickster.

When his paranormal investigation first led him to the strange realm of the Entity, interpersonal relationships weren’t at the top of Yoichi's priority list. He was equally fascinated and terrified by this dimension and its strange inhabitants, and every moment he wasn't running for his life or helping his fellow survivors was spent marveling at the mystery of it all.

Regardless of the raw fear Yoichi felt at the start of every trial, a part of him was excited to see what beings and places the Entity had pulled into its clutches. Experiencing the killers’ powers firsthand was also much more effective than relayed information from the other survivors.

But when one of the killers turned out to simply be “man with a baseball bat,” Yoichi almost wanted to laugh. Compared to the specters and witches and mutated monsters, a skinny twenty-something throwing tiny knives didn’t seem very remarkable.

Boy, was Yoichi wrong about that.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

Yoichi’s very first trial against the Trickster had already stood out—in that the killer refused to leave a chase or the hook ever since he’d first spotted Yoichi. After Yoichi's sacrifice, the others had been sympathetic and claimed that some killers liked to pick on new arrivals because they made easier targets.

The second time Yoichi faced the killer, he already had a good two dozen other trials under his belt. The Trickster had indeed focused his efforts only on killing Yoichi, but this time, Yoichi put up a fight.

He ran around the rickety shack for what had to be minutes, just like Meg had taught him. The killer got visibly agitated and instead of throwing knives, he’d started throwing insults in what Yoichi would later find out were Korean.

When the gates opened, Yoichi died on his second hook while the killer glared at him, a lit totem crackling right beside him. At the campfire, he got a few high-fives from his teammates for his good chase, but most were confused as to why the Trickster had forfeited the entire match just for one kill.

The third time Yoichi heard the familiar humming at the start of a trial, he was tempted to throw himself up on a hook just to save them both the trouble.

As Yoichi was once again hoisted up onto a meat hook after a respectable chase and the killer proceeded to take two steps back and stand there glaring at him, Yoichi finally had enough.

He couldn’t tell what prompted him to strike up conversation. Yoichi had never been particularly sociable, nor was he very confident in his English skills despite regularly using it to communicate with international colleagues. Maybe his time spent in the realm—and being forced to speak the language if he wanted to coordinate with his team in trials and not be an outcast at the campfire—had made it easier.

Still hanging limply from the hook, Yoichi raised his gaze to meet the killer’s.

“What do you have against me?” Yoichi asked.

The Trickster’s scowl faltered as he recoiled in surprise. Were survivors not supposed to talk in trials? Did the killer even understand English? It wasn't as if Yoichi knew Korean.

Then, the Trickster raised his nose in the air and pivoted gracefully on his heel, pointedly turning away from Yoichi’s hook.

“The stupid commoner thinks he's allowed to address a celebrity like me!” the killer loudly stated in perfectly fluent English.

Yoichi tried to mask his surprise; he hadn’t really expected to receive a reply.

“Ah… my mistake,” Yoichi tried.

The Trickster scoffed. “If the idiot insists on talking, maybe he should apologize,” he sneered over his shoulder.

Yoichi frowned, looking down at the numerous lacerations covering his body and the meat hook brutally piercing his shoulder. Objectively, he was not the one who was owed an apology in this situation.

Yet he’d clearly offended the killer somehow, and good manners dictated he should at least express some remorse. Maybe that would stop the killer from targeting him in the future.

“I’m sorry,” Yoichi said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The Trickster still wasn’t looking at him, but at least he wasn’t insulting Yoichi more.

“I’m…not entirely sure what I did wrong,” Yoichi admitted. “But if you tell me, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Isn’t it obvious!?” the Trickster snapped, turning to point his baseball bat accusingly in Yoichi’s direction. “You are copying my style!” the killer yelled, clearly agitated.

Confused, Yoichi looked the killer up and down. The Trickster had pastel pink hair and even pinker striped pants, and his bare chest was framed by the dramatic yellow jacket. His outfit couldn’t be further from Yoichi's modest turtleneck and trousers. The thought that Yoichi had been mimicking the killer’s look was absolutely absurd, as the Trickster’s look was clearly tailored for showmanship while Yoichi’s outfit was meant for sea fare on the stormy coast of Scotland. He was even wearing his raincoat, for crying out loud—

Oh. His bright yellow raincoat.

“I'm really sorry about the jacket,” Yoichi said. “Unfortunately, this is the only outfit the Entity has given me. I didn’t mean to offend, Mister…ahm…”

The killer sniffed. “Hak Ji-Woon. The world's number one idol that only an idiot wouldn’t recognize.”

“Mr. Hak,” Yoichi said, then yelped as the Entity's claws descended on him from the hook. Through the struggle, he managed to grit out, “As you have probably noticed, fashion isn't exactly my strong suit.”

“No shit,” the killer snarked. “Your outfit is hideous and its mere existence is an insult to my brand.” His nose scrunched in disgust. “You look like…like some sort of deformed bumblebee!”

The insult caught Yoichi so off guard that his grip slipped on the Entity's spidery limb and he was subsequently impaled and sent back to the campfire.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

But apparently the Trickster had accepted his apology, because after that trial, he didn’t kill Yoichi again.

Oh, sure, he knifed Yoichi and smacked him around with his baseball bat—occasionally insulting his outfit or mistakes in the chase while he was at it—and most trials where he faced the killer, Yoichi still ended up on a hook.

But he was never hooked more than twice. And even if all of his teammates were killed, the hatch always remained open and waiting for Yoichi: sometimes with the killer standing near it and twirling a knife like he was bored, looking up at Yoichi only to snark, “Took you long enough.”

So when Yoichi some time later received a brand new outfit from the Entity, he immediately changed into it as a token of good faith. Even if Mr. Hak seemed to be making amends for their violent first encounters in his own way, Yoichi was keen to remove the point of contempt from the equation entirely.

Thus, the jacket had to go.

But when Yoichi next faced the Trickster in a trial, the killer took one look at him and then promptly pretended to gag.

“What?” Yoichi asked, looking down to make sure he was still wearing the blue jacket and cargo shorts. “What’s wrong?”

Mr. Hak looked him up and down, his face twisting in disgust. “Switch back to the other outfit. Immediately.”

Yoichi frowned. “But you said you didn't want my jacket to be associated with you—”

“Just put it on!” the killer yelled, his face suddenly reddening.

Yoichi raised his hands in surrender; Mr. Hak had to be really angry to flush like that.

“Okay,” Yoichi said. “I’ll do it right after this trial. I swear.”

The killer huffed and stomped off, and Yoichi didn’t see him for the remainder of the trial or even when he made his way to the hatch.

And at the campfire, switching from the itchy beanie and impractical shorts back to his favorite turtleneck and comfortable woolen trousers, Yoichi smiled to himself as he tugged on the controversial yellow jacket.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

Trials came and went and each time Yoichi faced the Trickster, the killer seemed to tolerate his presence more and more. The insults started sounding more like banter, and sometimes, Yoichi stayed behind at the hatch or in an exit gate to talk to the killer about things that didn’t revolve around Yoichi getting mindgamed at that pallet or Meg getting an “undeserved” flashlight save.

And Yoichi found out that despite all of their differences, Mr. Hak was quite good company.

He was flamboyant and charming, with a sharp wit and even sharper tongue, but when it started being used less for insults and more for humor and random tidbits about himself, Yoichi was intrigued. The killer may not have supernatural powers, but the scenes he painted with his words about flashing lights and music and stadiums full of people were just as captivating.

He also did not appreciate being called Mr. Hak, and since Yoichi felt a little strange calling an acquaintance by their stage name, he’d hesitantly started calling the killer by his first name. Ji-Woon had yet to protest, but he also still addressed Yoichi mostly as “idiot” or “hey, you,” so Yoichi wasn’t entirely sure where they stood.

Until one of their hatch conversations, when Ji-Woon invited him to hang out in Shelter Woods after the trial.

Yoichi wasn't even nervous to accept; he’d seen a group of other survivors frequent Glenvale for poker night with the Deathslinger and some of their younger teammates visit the Legion at the ski lodge—in gatherings that Yoichi was pretty sure involved marijuana, but would never tell the others because that would not fly with Tapp or Jane—and all of them always came back unharmed.

Well. Except that one time Ace apparently cheated in poker and got harpooned for his efforts, but even Felix said he’d deserved it.

Regardless, survivors spending time with killers wasn’t completely unheard of, and since the Trickster hadn’t killed Yoichi in a trial in ages, why would he do so outside of them?

Yoichi was smiling as he walked through the fog to the campfire. He wasn’t entirely sure what his hang-out with the killer would entail, but since Ji-Woon had mentioned something about practicing singing, Yoichi guessed that they were going to be focusing on their own things and merely coexisting in the same space.

All too happy to get away from the endless chatter at the campfire, Yoichi grabbed a book loaned from Adam and strode into the woods in search of his new friend.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

Ji-Woon was a very good singer.

His melodious voice made for a pleasant background noise as Yoichi leaned against the big tree in Shelter Woods and read his book. He’d heard the killer hum in trials, sure, but using his full vocal range and volume to sing entire songs was completely different. Ji-Woon was both talented and clearly devoted to his craft; he probably practiced like this regularly.

Yoichi had lost count of how many songs they’d gone through, but he was making good progress in his book and would soon be able to return it to Adam. He didn’t mind spending the time reading for as long as Ji-Woon wanted to practice; interrupting felt rude, and he enjoyed this casual way of spending time together.

It was a little strange how Ji-Woon’s singing seemed to get progressively louder the longer he kept going. He even started incorporating some dance moves to his routine, once sashaying right past Yoichi, his flowing jacket nearly smacking Yoichi in the face.

Yoichi promptly apologized and moved to the other side of the tree so he wouldn’t get in the way.

But that seemed to be the end of Ji-Woon’s practice, and after ending the chorus on a high note, he circled around to Yoichi’s spot, staring down at him expectantly.

It was the first bit of silence in what had to be hours.

Yoichi smiled up at his friend. “You’re very good at singing.”

Ji-Woon scoffed. “Naturally.” He crossed his arms, not breaking the eye contact.

He was probably expecting a more thorough appraisal than “good.” Sadly, Yoichi was practically tone deaf and his musical knowledge was sorely lacking. He wouldn’t be able to provide that kind of support for his friend.

He did, however, know who could.

"Have you heard Kate sing?" Yoichi asked, already thinking of how the two could bond over their shared hobby; maybe Ji-Woon would want to invite her along next time. "She's really good."

Ji-Woon’s expression suddenly darkened before he huffed and whipped around, nose in the air as he walked away.

Yoichi shrugged; the killer had probably been called into a trial, as they’d been out here for quite some time. Yoichi stayed to read a few more pages before making his way back to the survivor campsite.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

The following trial, Yoichi took the initiative to approach Ji-Woon.

The opportunity presented itself at the beginning of the match, when the killer caught one of his teammates and Kindred told Yoichi that he was standing resolutely in front of the hook smacking said teammate with his bat.

During the last few months Yoichi had learned that—save for those first few trials with the jacket fiasco—Ji-Woon rarely stayed around hooked survivors, especially with five generators still up. But based on the distinctly Ace Visconti -like screams echoing from the direction of the hook, Yoichi could make an educated guess that perhaps this instance of camping was partly self-inflicted.

Figuring Ji-Woon had some time to chat while he watched Ace progress to his death, Yoichi made his way over.

"Ji-Woon," Yoichi spoke up.

The killer’s weapon froze mid-air and he visibly perked up, turning to look at Yoichi.

"Yes?" Ji-Woon asked.

"Ooh, on a first-name basis already?" Ace asked with a grin, showing bloodied teeth.

That earned him another brutal thwack from the Trickster's baseball bat, and the ensuing scream stopped the gambler's remarks at least momentarily. Yoichi winced in sympathy; he’d never understand what some of the more experienced survivors got out of taunting the killers.

“Anyway,” Yoichi said, trying to ignore the grotesque display. “I just wanted to ask you…”

Ji-Woon eagerly turned back to face him, and…was he smiling?

Wow, he must have really enjoyed hitting Ace.

“Do you have any information about the killer that came with me?” Yoichi asked.

Ji-Woon’s smile faltered. “What?”

“I was investigating Sadako's case before I was taken by the Entity,” Yoichi explained. “I don’t know if you’ve met her, but if you’ve seen or heard anything about her, or her powers, I’d greatly appreciate it if you told me.”

Ji-Woon stared at Yoichi with a perplexed expression. Yoichi almost repeated himself, but for whatever reason, Ace chose that moment to start laughing—at least until he screamed again, this time from a hit from the bladed side of the killer’s weapon.

“I don't,” Ji-Woon practically snarled, his teeth clenched.

“Oh,” Yoichi said, deflating a little from disappointment. “That's okay. But if you come across something in the future, feel free to tell me.”

“Mm-hmm,” the killer said.

An awkward silence settled over them.

"Hey kid, you gonna pull me down, or…?" Ace asked, now struggling against the Entity’s claws.

Yoichi looked between Ace and the now clearly agitated Ji-Woon.

"Maybe next time," Yoichi decided.

Ji-Woon smiled, but this time there was nothing friendly about it. “Good choice.”

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

After that incident, the killer seemed angry with Yoichi for the next few trials.

He no longer stayed to chat with Yoichi after the match was done and he barely said anything during their chases. He also kept wearing all sorts of ridiculous outfits—from streetwear to some kind of cupid cosplay—that Yoichi didn’t even know he owned. Why had Ji-Woon worn the yellow coat for so long if he hated how much it resembled Yoichi’s?

Yoichi’s suspicions were confirmed during one particular trial, when his teammates let him progress to his second hook and Ji-Woon pointedly avoided him for the remainder of the match.

After hearing the sound of the hatch opening and thus notifying him that he was the last one alive, Yoichi was a little hesitant to look for his once-guaranteed escape, not knowing how the killer’s foul mood would reflect on the mercy Yoichi had started taking for granted.

Yoichi saw no sign of Ji-Woon as he made his way through the trial grounds, but eventually, he did find the hatch.

And promptly froze in pure terror.

Laying in a neat triangle around the open hatch were the corpses of his three teammates. All of their bodies were full of countless lacerations and had the Trickster’s autographed photo pinned to their lifeless chests with a throwing knife.

Yoichi could count on one hand the times he’d seen Ji-Woon use his mori. He didn’t know exactly what had prompted this, but the message was clear: Yoichi had wronged him, and now the other survivors would pay.

Yoichi carefully stepped over Kate’s corpse, but then paused once he got a closer look at the photograph stuck to her body.

That wasn’t Ji-Woon’s autograph.

Confused, Yoichi crouched to look closer at the other photos. All of them were written in Hangul, yet every message was different and noticeably longer than the three characters of Hak Ji-Woon.

Yoichi whispered gentle apologies to his dead friends as he pried the blood-stained photos from their remains for further investigation. He still wasn’t sure what he had done to upset the killer, but he knew he needed to apologize.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

After racking his brain for a suitable apology, Yoichi decided to push his luck and invite Ji-Woon to the carnival in Father Campbell’s Chapel. He had fond memories of their previous hangout and hoped that Ji-Woon could be enticed to come along with the promise of stale popcorn, a target practice board for his throwing knives, and the lack of smelling clowns (Yoichi definitely owed the Deathslinger a favor for agreeing to invite the killer to that week’s poker night).

Yoichi practically had a whole apology speech ready for Ji-Woon, but in the end, he only got out the words, “Would you like to go to the carnival in the chapel with me after this tr—”, before the killer butted in with a surprisingly enthusiastic yet exasperated, “God, yes, finally!”

This time, it was Yoichi who got to the location first. He hadn’t brought a book or anything, since there were plenty of games and activities for them to try together.

He ended up waiting for quite some time, and just as he was starting to think that maybe the killer had only been messing with him and wasn’t about to show up, a knife whizzed by his ear and hit the target practice board several meters behind him.

Smiling, Yoichi turned in the direction that the knife had come from. Ji-Woon was strolling up to him with a cocky swagger, twirling another knife around his finger.

Strangely enough, the killer had chosen to dress in his regular outfit again. He’d probably gotten tired of the feathery abominations he’d worn for the last couple of trials.

“Nice throw,” Yoichi said in lieu of a greeting.

Ji-Woon smirked. “You’ve seen nothing yet.”

And that was how Yoichi found himself spectating as the killer threw dagger after dagger at the target board, nailing the bullseye nearly every time. Yoichi was both surprised and impressed: Ji-Woon’s accuracy in an actual trial was far from this good. Hitting moving targets was obviously much more difficult.

Hopefully he wouldn’t want to practice on Yoichi.

Yoichi waited patiently for Ji-Woon to finish his practice so they could move on to the other carnival activities, or if he'd at least ask if Yoichi wanted a turn with the knives. But after what had to be nearly an hour passed and the killer showed no signs of stopping, Yoichi realized that Ji-Woon probably came along just to actually practice instead of spending time with him.

Swallowing his disappointment, Yoichi quietly backed away and tried to find something else to do. He should have brought another book.

Yoichi traversed the small carnival and curiously observed his surroundings. Since this wasn’t a trial, there were no generators or hooks in sight and the area was probably some of the most welcoming looking realms Yoichi had visited. If it wasn’t inhabited by one of the most sadistic killers in the Entity’s roster, Yoichi imagined it would be one of the go-to hangout spots for survivors.

After failing to get the popcorn cart working and getting a strange reading from the fortune telling machine—“Love is right around the corner,” what a nonsensical thing to even consider in this realm of violence and death—Yoichi stumbled across the three-eyed horse the other survivors sometimes talked about.

“Oh!” Yoichi exclaimed, caught off guard by the animal that he’d started to assume was just a campfire story. “You must be Maurice.”

Maurice’s third eye blinked and it tilted its head curiously. The horse looked injured as it laid in the grass next to the Clown’s wagon and seemed to be partially blind in its other two eyes.

His biologist’s heart not able to resist researching such an interesting specimen, Yoichi pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and sat down next to the horse to study it.

He lost track of time as he observed and jotted down things about the horse’s docile behavior and physical differences to its counterparts outside of the Entity’s realm. When Yoichi heard a loud clearing of a throat from behind him, he was in the middle of petting the horse’s coarse mane.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ji-Woon’s voice demanded.

Yoichi slowly turned around so as not to spook the animal. “Oh, Ji-Woon! I kind of lost track of time. Did you finish your target practice?”

“Prac—!? I don’t need practice!” Ji-Woon raised his voice, his face twisting in anger.

Maurice neighed unhappily and Yoichi hurried to soothe the animal. “Shhh. Everything’s alright.”

“Why are you touching it?” Ji-Woon said.

“Because Maurice is very friendly,” Yoichi said. “Do you want to pet him?”

“Ugh, no!” Ji-Woon shouted, physically recoiling. “It’s rotten and disgusting!”

Yoichi frowned. “No, he’s not.”

It was obvious Ji-Woon didn’t like animals—Yoichi had come across the sentiment many times, especially when it came to marine fauna that was deemed ugly by the general population.

“You don’t have to be near him,” Yoichi said. “I’ll just finish my notes and find you later.”

Ji-Woon didn’t reply, and when Yoichi turned back to look at him, he was already gone.

Something in Yoichi’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. Ji-Woon had probably been called to a trial again, but he could have at least said goodbye.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

When they met the following day in a trial, Ji-Woon still seemed a little…off.

He was missing his knives and seemed to tank every pallet stun with his face, all the while Nea and Steve easily got off blinds on him with their flashlights.

After the generators were done in record time and all of his teammates escaped without having given a single hook, Yoichi approached his friend.

“Are you feeling alright?” Yoichi asked. “You must be tired from all that target practice yesterday.”

“It's not that!” the killer snapped, then paused and visibly cringed.

“Is it the reason why you left so suddenly last night?” Yoichi prodded.

Ji-Woon huffed a small laugh. “Probably. Say, would you meet me after the trial in Haddonfield?"

“Oh! Sure,” Yoichi agreed easily.

It seemed like Ji-Woon wasn’t upset with him after all. Yoichi’s chest felt warm with newfound hope as he jogged into the open exit gate and set to navigate the fog to Lampkin Lane.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

“Watch your step,” Ji-Woon said, his hands on Yoichi’s shoulders pulling lightly. 

“Is this really necessary?” Yoichi asked as he hesitantly stepped up on the small ledge. He’d been blindfolded with a feather boa as soon as he arrived in Haddonfield—Ji-Woon claiming it would ruin the surprise otherwise—and had to resort to the killer leading him by his shoulders.

“Well, I could not warn you about the stairs and watch you faceplant like that time in Ormond…” Ji-Woon said.

“I've never heard you laugh as much as then.”

“I've never seen anyone trip over their own feet like that.”

“There was ice,” Yoichi mumbled, spitting some feathers from his mouth.

Ji-Woon chuckled, before squeezing Yoichi’s shoulder. “Door,” he warned.

Yoichi reached out in front of himself to feel for the doorframe and walk through without bumping into the wall.

And that was when Ji-Woon pulled them to a stop.

“We're here!” Ji-Woon declared. “You can look now.”

Yoichi pushed up his makeshift blindfold and looked around. They were on the bottom floor of one of the residential houses lining Lampkin Lane in what must have once been a living room. 

The usual, annoyingly flickering light was gone, and when Yoichi looked up he could see a small kitchen knife embedded into the ceiling where the faulty light bulb should be. To avoid the room being pitch black, a fire barrel had been placed in one of the corners—a terrible fire hazard, really, as the wallpaper could easily ignite. Still, the fire crackled pleasantly and cast a warm orange glow over the room.

The worn loveseat in the middle of the room Yoichi could vaguely recognize from trials. But rather than simply make an obstacle in front of one of the window vaults, it had been turned and was now facing…

“Sadako's TV!” Yoichi exclaimed, hurrying closer to inspect the item.

This was the first time he’d been able to look at one of these things outside of a trial, as they seemed impossible to find no matter how many realms Yoichi looked in. Now he could finally learn more about the onryō who killed his parents!

“I can't believe you remembered!” Yoichi looked over his shoulder to smile at Ji-Woon. “This is great!”

Ji-Woon was standing perfectly still, watching Yoichi with one hand frozen mid-air.

“You…like it?” Ji-Woon asked.

“Yes!” Yoichi said, turning back to the TV. “I can't wait to show this to Haddie and Élodie! They know so much about the occult, and if we combine our knowledge…I should go get them right now!”

As Yoichi got to his feet, he heard a loud crunching sound from behind him. Confused, he glanced at Ji-Woon, only to find him still standing rigid in the doorway. The killer was clenching his jaw and his hand trembled where it had been shoved into his jacket pocket. Tension radiated from him even across the room, and Yoichi couldn’t understand why—oh.

Ji-Woon was obviously scared of ghosts.

That was why he’d been so reluctant to talk about Sadako and acted secretive about finding this TV. Yoichi didn’t blame him in the slightest; an onryō could make even the most hardened skeptics terrified beyond belief.

Yoichi felt awful. Ji-Woon had been so brave for him, yet Yoichi had ignored his friend’s discomfort and immediately poked the hornet’s nest, risking an angry Sadako showing up.

“It's okay,” Yoichi said gently. “You don't have to stay.”

“Yes, you've made that extremely clear,” Ji-Woon grit out between clenched teeth.

With that, the killer turned on his heel and hurried away, ignoring Yoichi's hasty, "Thank you, again!"

With Ji-Woon now out of harm’s way, Yoichi returned to inspect the TV set some more. It was identical to those found in trials, a CRT tube on a small stand and a VCR player on top, though it looked a little bulkier than usual...hold on.

Yoichi frowned and leaned closer to the VCR player, noticing that there were two of them stacked on top of each other. The bottom one was smaller, however, and only had a thin slot in the middle, along with a power and eject button.

"A DVD player?" Yoichi wondered out loud.

This was strange. Sadako was known for her VHS tapes, and if she was starting to upgrade to more modern technology…Who knew how long before the curse was spread virally on the internet, endangering millions?

Yoichi hurried to his feet and set off to retrieve Haddie and Élodie so they could get to the bottom of this. He walked out of the house and into the driveway, stepping around a parked car—

And heard that same crunch from before coming from underneath his shoe.

Lifting his foot revealed a DVD disk shattered into pieces on the ground. Beside it layed a single red rose, trampled and half-dead.

Yoichi mentally shook himself and kept walking. He could ponder the items later—now, he was on a mission.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

After Haddonfield, Ji-Woon avoided him like the plague.

It took Yoichi a few trials to catch onto that fact, but when the killer didn’t show up for their usual hatch bantering for the tenth time in a row, Yoichi knew something was wrong.

But this time, Ji-Woon didn’t even want to hear his apologies. Yoichi’s questions fell on deaf ears, and that was if he even saw the killer in the first place. Some of the other survivors claimed he’d started using a perk that got rid of the usual pounding heartbeats whenever a killer approached a survivor.

It was obvious that Ji-Woon went to great lengths to avoid Yoichi. And maybe if things were different, Yoichi would have given him the space he so desperately craved. 

But somewhere along the line Ji-Woon had become Yoichi’s closest friend. And despite the cold shoulder, he was still letting Yoichi escape through the hatch every time, proving that on some level, he still cared. Yoichi just didn’t know how to get through to him.

Maybe it was time to ask for outside help.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

At the campfire, Yoichi made a beeline to his target.

The so-called Old Man Group—which Yoichi always found an unfitting name, since Felix wasn't that old and the group also consisted of Jane and Yun-Jin—were gathered in their usual spot playing cards. Jane was talking to the group and making Ash howl with laughter, but Yoichi forced himself to interrupt the conversation.

“Ace,” Yoichi said, causing the gambler to perk up and several skeptical glances to be shot Yoichi's way. “Do you know why Mr. Hak is avoiding me?”

“Oh, it's back to Mr. Hak, huh?” Ace raised an eyebrow. “I didn't know you guys were having a lovers'—ow!"

Ace frowned at Felix sitting beside him and rubbed at his arm where he’d apparently been pinched by the architect. Felix simply stared at Ace with his mouth pressed into a thin line, obviously not pleased with what his partner had been about to say.

“Are you talking about the Trickster?” Yun-Jin butted in from the other side of the group.

“Ah…yes,” Yoichi said, turning to face her. He cleared his throat; he knew the two had an unpleasant history and wasn’t quite sure what the woman thought about his friendship with the man who ruined her life. “We…usually spend time together at the end of a trial or meet up after one, but he hasn't showed up in a long time,” Yoichi explained. “I was wondering if someone knew why he might be upset with me.”

Yun-Jin's collected expression of cutthroat producer didn’t falter even as she stared at Yoichi long enough to make him fidget nervously.

Then, she looked around the group, and several small things happened in quick succession.

Ace grinned and winked at Yin-Jin before Felix sighed and nodded. Bill lit a cigarette, grumbling that he "needs a fucking smoke" while Ash merely looked around in confusion.

And finally, Jane placed a hand on Yin-Jin's shoulder and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Yun-Jin’s eyes widened and she proceeded to look Yoichi up and down, as if only now seeing him for the first time.

“Really?” Yun-Jin said. ”Him?”

Yoichi should probably have been offended, but her comment didn’t sound mean-spirited—just genuinely surprised.

“Ahm…” Yoichi faltered. “Can someone tell me what is going on?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bill muttered somewhere behind him, not helping in the slightest.

Jane looked at Yun-Jin. “Did you want me to…?”

"No, this should come from me," Yun-Jin said.

"Ms. Lee?" Yoichi asked. “Is something wrong?”

Yun-Jin took a pointed breath. "Hak Ji-Woon is a narcissistic psychopath who lacks any empathy whatsoever," she stated matter-of-factly. "If he voluntarily spends time with you without trying to murder you, it means he's practically in love with you."

Yoichi blinked. "What?"

Her gaze sharpened. "He's been peacocking for you, hasn't he?"

"Peacocking?" Yoichi repeated with a frown. "I wouldn't say that."

"Really?" Yun-Jin prodded. "No singing until your ears bleed? Prettying himself up? Bragging about his fame and showing off twenty different knife tricks?"

Sure, there had been the singing and target practice, and Ji-Woon did go through that strange phase where he wore all sorts of ridiculous outfits. He also regularly talked about his success, but it wasn’t like he was doing any of it to impress Yoichi.

"Sometimes he wanted to practice his skills and invited me along for company,” Yoichi explained.

“Mierda, you're so oblivious you'd think he used Hex: Plaything,” Ace commented.

“No, I just think you've got it all wrong,” Yoichi said. “We are just friends—if even that anymore.” Suddenly, he remembered he actually had tangible evidence of the killer’s anger. “He even left me these to threaten me after an argument!”

Yoichi fished out the three worn photographs from his back pocket and handed them to Yun-Jin. He’d completely forgotten about them until now, as he'd very quickly made up with Ji-Woon after finding them.

Yun-Jin’s eyes flitted over the writing on the photos, before she looked up at Yoichi with an unimpressed stare.

“And this was when he was angry at you?” she asked.

“Yes!” Yoichi nodded. “What, ah…What do they say?”

Yun-Jin held up the first picture. "For my bumblebee," she read completely deadpan before picking up the next one. "They wronged you, so I killed them." Then, "With love, Hak Ji-Woon."

The rest of the group had gone deadly silent and Yoichi felt their stares boring into his back.

“…Oh,” he simply said, finally understanding what had happened.

Ji-Woon had moried Yoichi’s three teammates because they didn't rescue him from the hook on time. What Yoichi had assumed to be a threat was simply the killer looking out for Yoichi in his own, strange way. 

But why leave the photos and not just talk to him? It was as confusing as their last get-together in Haddonfield, when Ji-Woon had left behind a broken DVD after leading Yoichi to the house with the TV and cozy fire like it was…

Like it was a date.

Realization washed over Yoichi like a cold wave: their meeting in Haddonfield was supposed to be a movie date. Ji-Woon was the one who had set up the TV and mood lighting and brought a movie, and Yoichi had completely ruined the evening with his paranormal obsession.

Just like he had at the carnival by abandoning Ji-Woon to pet the horse. And in the woods where Ji-Woon practically serenaded him and Yoichi just buried his nose in a book. Crap, how many signals had Yoichi missed in the last few months?

“Oh,” Yoichi said, feeling a flush creep up his neck.

"Sheesh, no wonder he's been avoiding you," Ash said, apparently having reached the same conclusion. "Dude probably thinks he got hyper-friendzoned."

"I didn't know," Yoichi half-heartedly protested.

“Then it seems you have an angry idol to appease," Yun-Jin said. She was smiling, a tiny quirk of her lips that was barely noticeable.

“You, ah…You don't mind?” Yoichi asked.

Yun-Jin shrugged. “You're the only one he's ever let this close. Who knows, maybe you'll be a good influence on him."

“I'll try my best,” Yoichi promised, carefully folding the pictures back into his pocket. “Thank you.”

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

The next time he met Ji-Woon, the killer was unsurprisingly still avoiding him, even at the cost of his own success in the trial. He practically ran away every time he spotted Yoichi, instead searching for his teammates on the other side of the map. Yoichi almost missed those very first trials when he had the killer’s undivided attention—even if said attention had been nothing but negative.

Ji-Woon was being very stubborn about ignoring him. Fortunately, Yoichi could be just as bull-headed when he set his mind on something.

He eventually managed to corner Ji-Woon in the shack. While the killer was grabbing more daggers from a locker, Yoichi sneaked closer. And when Ji-Woon turned around and Yoichi stood right in front of him, he actually jumped a little and hissed a surprised curse in his native tongue.

“Ji-Woon…” Yoichi started.

“What the fuck!?” Ji-Woon snarled. “Move!”

The killer tried to sidestep, but Yoichi followed the movement, effectively blocking him.

“Ji-Woon, listen—”

“What the hell are you even doing here!?” Ji-Woon demanded, but he still wasn’t raising his weapon. “Take a fucking hint and go play with your little friends!”

“Please, just listen to me,” Yoichi tried.

“Oh that’s rich, coming from you!” Ji-Woon yelled. “You made it really fucking clear that you don’t give a single shit—”

Realizing he wasn’t going to get a word in anytime soon, Yoichi did something that was either a stroke of genius or colossally stupid depending on the outcome:

He shoved Ji-Woon back against the locker and kissed him.

Ji-Woon froze completely. His mouth was still half-open from whatever insult he’d been in the middle of spewing and Yoichi took full advantage of his surprise, gently kissing him to convey all the words he didn’t get a chance to say.

Then, for a moment, Ji-Woon started kissing back, and Yoichi felt so happy—

Until Ji-Woon seemed to remember himself and pushed Yoichi away with his Entity-granted strength, sending Yoichi tumbling gracelessly onto the shack’s floor.

“You dare to touch me!?” Ji-Woon bristled, glaring down at him.

“I’m sorry—” Yoichi started.

Ji-Woon didn’t even seem to be listening. “I'll have you know my fans would have paid thousands just for a handshake—”

“I'm sorry I ignored you on our dates!” Yoichi interrupted, loud enough to echo in the small space.

Ji-Woon instantly went quiet: either at the apology or just the fact that Yoichi had actually raised his voice.

Yoichi scrambled to push himself up on his elbows. “I didn't realize you were…that you wanted…” he fumbled through the words while he still had the opportunity to speak. “In my defense, I didn’t realize that they were dates. I never thought you'd go for a commoner like me.”

“Not in a million years,” Ji-Woon huffed. “But…there's nothing common about you, so…”

Ji-Woon turned his head to stare firmly into a wall and, wow, that was definitely a blush on his cheeks. Had he been this flustered every time he looked away from Yoichi?

The thought made Yoichi smile and his heart beat faster in his chest.

"I feel the same way about you," Yoichi said. "I know I can be a little…dense—"

"A little!?" Ji-Woon exclaimed, head whipping back to half-glare down at him. "Even the stupid gambler knew for months!"

Yoichi cleared his throat. "Yes, well, they don't exactly teach you flirting in the biology curriculum," he said.

"No shit,'' Ji woon said, rolling his eyes. "But…they also don't teach it in the idol programs."

Yoichi guessed that was the closest they would get to admitting they both kind of sucked at this.

"I think it would be easiest if you just say what you want in the future," Yoichi said. “Since I think we’ve established that I suck at reading hints.”

"Fine," Ji-Woon said, then shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with voicing whatever was on his mind. "...You may kiss me more."

Yoichi chuckled and finally got back up on his feet, eagerly leaning into Ji-Woon’s space for another kiss.

This time, Ji-Woon reciprocated readily, and Yoichi’s knees felt a little weak again when the killer cupped his cheek. Ji-Woon’s lips were unbelievably soft as they moved languidly against Yoichi’s own, and when a teasing tongue flicked over his top lip, Yoichi felt goosebumps rising on his skin.

Yoichi wanted to get closer, to hold him and kiss him for as long as he could, but he didn’t know if he was allowed to. 

He pulled away just enough to murmur, "Can I touch you?" against Ji-Woon's lips, hands hovering awkwardly over his hips.

Ji-Woon huffed something that sounded suspiciously like "idiot" before the strong arms that just pushed Yoichi away now pulled him closer, making him nearly trip over his feet.

Yoichi grabbed fistfuls of Ji-Woon’s yellow jacket to steady himself, accidentally deepening the kiss and earning a soft moan from his friend.

Well. Probably more than just a friend, at this point.

They didn’t separate until the exit gates screeched open and the gong signaling the end game collapse rang out over the trial grounds.

When Yoichi pulled away, Ji-Woon was beautifully flushed and panting softly, still leaning against the locker for support. Yoichi imagined he looked much the same.

Yoichi bit his lip, already missing the warmth of Ji-Woon’s kisses. “So…where do you want to go from here?” he managed to ask.

Ji-Woon rolled his eyes. “Well first, we need to find you some chapstick. Do you know how dry your lips are?”

Yoichi huffed a surprised laugh and Ji-Woon smiled too.

Ji-Woon led Yoichi to an exit gate and complained about improper skin care the entire time there. But he kept smiling and his hand rubbed soothing patterns over Yoichi’s back while they walked, and in the exit gate he still leaned in for one last kiss despite Yoichi’s tragically chapped lips.

═════════════ ☆ ═════════════

“Oh, Yoichi! Hello!” Claudette greeted him when he got back to the campfire. She was sitting on a log at the edge of the camp huddled with Jake, a half-stocked toolbox open between them. “Did you have a good trial?” she asked.

Yoichi only then realized that he was still smiling.

“Yes!” Yoichi said, surprising even himself with how happy he sounded. “I…really did.”

Claudette smiled warmly and even Jake's perpetual scowl seemed to soften for a moment. 

“I'm so glad to hear that,” Claudette said.

It was no secret that some of the veteran survivors often worried about the new arrivals. Most of them had since moved on to Haddie—since she was their newest addition after Yoichi—but people like Claudette often still check in on him, and he truly appreciated their concern.

Yoichi’s smile softened and he nodded politely. “Thank you.”

He turned back in the direction of the fire, aiming to leave the two to their task and join the larger group. But as he did so, Yoichi heard a loud snort followed by Claudette's gasp.

Yoichi quickly pivoted back around. “What happened?”

Gone was Claudette’s friendly smile as she stared at Yoichi’s chest in horror. Meanwhile, Jake was…smirking?

"Nea!" Claudette suddenly got up on her feet with a shout, stomping off toward the campfire. "Did you tag Yoichi's jacket!?"

"What!? No way!" Nea's voice could be heard from further away. "Just Feng's a few days ago!"

"You bitch, I knew that was you!" Feng Min's high-pitched squeal answered.

As a small commotion broke out among the three women, Yoichi slowly removed his raincoat to check for signs of vandalism. Looking over the garment did, indeed, reveal large writing done on the back of the jacket with a thick black marker.

In Hangul.

Jake snorted again, then pretended to cough into his hand.

“Do you know what it says?” Yoichi asked.

Jake seemed to be trying very hard to keep his face neutral as he said, “Property of Hak Ji-Woon.”

Yoichi's face flamed hot as he stared at the jacket. Now that Jake had said it, he could vaguely recognize the sloppily written symbols of Ji-Woon’s name. But this hadn’t been there before the trial, and who would even have put it there? Nea and the others didn't know Korean, and Ji-Woon definitely didn't ask Yoichi to turn around to sign his jacket. He wouldn't even have had the chance to, with the way they were busy kissing like teenagers for the entire trial.

…Except when they walked to the exit and Yoichi could feel Ji-Woon’s dexterous hand running in nonsensical patterns over his back. Apparently with the marker he always kept on him for autographs.

“Yoichi, I am so sorry,” Claudette said, coming up beside him. “I'll help you wash it off. And if it's permanent marker, I have some solvent—”

“No,” Yoichi found himself saying. He pulled the jacket tighter to himself and smiled. “I like it.”

Claudette looked confused as Yoichi put the jacket back on and walked away to join the group. He gathered a few curious glances, but everyone was mostly still preoccupied with Nea and Feng Min's argument to pay him much mind. 

Yun-Jin later joined the group and only reacted with a small huff and an eye roll after getting a look at the writing. But since neither her nor Jake made any further comments, the incident was quickly forgotten.

…Well, until a few days later when Yui stomped into camp and started demanding why the hell the back of the Trickster's jacket said “Boyfriend of Asakawa Yoichi“ in Japanese, and Yoichi still couldn't stop smiling.

[dweetwise]

I wrote a fic in reddit format!

Read the rest on ao3 💕

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] Ashes to Ashes

Once in a blue moon, I apparently have to write pure angst. For those not familiar with archives lore, Wallace is from Ace's tome "Go for Broke". Rated T | ❗ Major character death ❗ | 3.7k words | ao3 link

It’s a cold spring day.

The sky is gray and the ground is damp, covered in leaves that have rotted from orange to brown over the winter. A few ravens perched in a nearby tree and a car horn sounding somewhere far away are the only signs of life.

The casket next to the empty grave only radiates death.

Wallace swallows thickly and straightens the shirt he didn’t have time to iron this morning. The graveyard is windy and he’s already freezing, but if there’s anything he owes the bastard it’s to be there for him this one last time.

Like he wasn’t on the night he died.

Cold stings in Wallace’s suddenly wet eyes and he blinks the feeling away. He looks at the priest to try to figure out what they’re waiting for, but she just stands there and silently watches the only guest apart from Wallace who bothered to show up.

Wallace has never seen him before today. He’s tall and blond and dressed in a full black tux, the color so dark it makes his already pale skin appear a sickly white. A black dress shirt with a black tux is probably against some kind of dress code but apparently this guy really wants to pretend to be mourning.

Wallace doesn’t even own a tux. He’s wearing a simple green jacket and patterned yellow shirt with denim blue jeans.

Because Ace loved color. Red was his favorite color but Wallace couldn’t do red, not after the gunshots and sirens and running up to the motel room only to see the slumped body and splatters along the wall and red, red, red—

Wallace clenches his trembling fists until his nails dig into his palms. He fucking told Ace that those people were bad business but Ace didn’t care, laughing it off with a flippant, “I’ve cheated death more times than you can count, buddy. Have you forgotten how lucky I am?”

Now Wallace won’t even get the chance to say, “I told you so”. He doesn’t understand why Ace was so reckless, how he’d somehow gotten the idea that he was immortal.

Wallace relaxes his fists and looks back at the other man. It’s just the two of them: Wallace tried to get a hold of Ace’s remaining relatives in Argentina but couldn't find any. He always suspected that neither Ace nor Visconti were his real names, but that’s what Wallace knew him as and he refused to dig further. Ace would have told him if he wanted him to know.

But fake names or not, their friendship was real. Wallace didn’t always think so, but then Ace showed up one day from god-knows-where, after seven years of complete radio silence, laughing and slapping Wallace’s back and asking, “Miss me?” with that stupid, cocky smirk of his.

Wallace’s chest felt full then, like something he didn’t even know was missing was slotting back into place. He didn’t care that the bastard disappeared without a word or that he took even dumber and more careless risks than before. He was just glad to have him back.

Ace claimed he’d been in Europe working a con all those years. He was just as shady as usual, not saying much because Wallace didn’t ask. But based on the spring in his step and the grin he got whenever his phone buzzed, Wallace knew he’d found something more than just a quick buck in Europe. That chick had to be real special for Ace to stick around that long and even attempt long-distance after he returned to the States.

Or that’s what Wallace thought, but there's no mystery lady standing by his grave now. She clearly didn’t give a shit about Ace: she was probably the one who put those reckless thoughts in his head in the first place, demanding he earn more money to fund a life of luxury for her. Wallace doesn't know anything about her but he still hates her.

He looks at the blond again. He’s standing ramrod straight with his chin up like rich folks so often do. He has to be a lawyer or something, because Wallace was told there was someone to arrange the funeral and take care of Ace’s assets. Or the lack thereof.

The lawyer’s face is stone cold and without any emotion. Another asshole who’s probably happy Ace died just so he could get money out of it; Wallace knows the sort. At least this one had the decency to show up to the funeral.

“What’re we waitin’ for?” Wallace asks.

“The others,” the man says in an accent Wallace can’t place. It catches him off guard: not your typical west coast lawyer, then.

“There’s no one else comin’,” Wallace says through gritted teeth, because he doesn’t want to spell out that Ace didn’t have friends.

The man finally turns to face him for the first time since they got here. His expression is just as neutral as before, but his eyes are…wrong, somehow. His gaze flirts all over the place and he almost looks lost, completely at odds with the rest of his carefully presented persona. Like a crack in the facade.

“Just a few more minutes,” the man says.

“Alright,” Wallace agrees.

The stranger turns back to stare unblinking at the casket and, not having anything else to do, Wallace keeps looking at him to try to figure him out. The tux is tailored to a T and his watch looks expensive, making Wallace’s mind immediately jump to how much he could pawn it for. Bad habit.

Wallace frowns as he notices the man’s hands are scarred and blemished. He looks so perfectly put-together otherwise but his hands are in piss-poor shape, with bitten nails and picked cuticles and scabs that have barely healed. Wallace spots gloves peeking out from his pocket and realizes he probably usually covers them. But not for this, for some reason.

The guy must be cold in nothing but the tux, but he still insists on waiting. For what?

Wallace opens his mouth to ask again, when he hears it.

Car doors slamming and the gradually growing sound of voices and footsteps on gravel. And not just those of one or two people.

Wallace turns to look. Through the nearest cemetery gates, what has to be a group of nearly thirty people are making their way over. Young and old, men and women and boys and girls, chatting, laughing and some already wiping away tears. They’re dressed in both formal and casual clothes mostly in black, but also in earth tones and pastels and neons. Most of them are carrying flowers—more flowers than Wallace has ever seen at once.

Wallace blinks. Are they here for Ace? All of them?

A few of them push their way to the front of the group. A black woman in an evening gown and a blond girl in jeans and a sweater hurry past Wallace and to the other man.

The woman puts her hand on his shoulder. “Felix,” she says, voice gentler than her fancy exterior would suggest.

The girl comes to stand in front of the man—Felix—and looks up at him. “Are you okay?”

Wallace expects him to nod or at most mumble an unenthusiastic, “I’m fine.” Instead, the rich, obnoxious dick who Wallace hated nearly on sight simply…breaks.

Wallace watches as his face twists in agony and he hunches in on himself, his body wracked with ugly sobs that sound so unfitting for a man of his caliber. The women pull him tight and he clings to them desperately. It doesn’t even seem like he’s faking the tears. Maybe his arrogance was just an act.

The girl is crying now too, her hands trembling where she’s holding onto him. Her eyeliner is already running down her cheeks and ruining her makeup. The other woman doesn’t cry, but she squeezes the man’s shoulder and murmurs quiet reassurance.

More of the group hurry over to flock around the grieving trio, all worried faces and silent tears and, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” while the blond guy just keeps crying. Wallace can barely see him through the crowd; it’s like they’re shielding him from the world and Wallace’s prying eyes alike. Wallace doesn’t think a man like him needs protecting, but he still looks away out of politeness.

The rest of the group gather around the casket. They murmur and whisper amongst each other, some offering comforting words and touches to the ones who start sniffling.

Who the hell are these people, appearing out of nowhere to cry by Ace’s grave?

“Hey, you must be Wallace,” comes a voice from behind him.

Wallace turns to find a nerdy white guy standing in front of him. He looks young and has old-fashioned glasses and an ill-fitting suit, but he stands straight and looks Wallace right in the eye, with an air of quiet confidence that catches Wallace off guard.

“Y-yeah,” Wallace stutters. Clearly, he could use some of that same confidence.

The man gives a little smile and holds out his hand. “Dwight Fairfield. It’s good to finally meet you.”

Wallace accepts the handshake and asks, “You’ve heard about me?”

Dwight huffs, like something is funny. “More than you can imagine.”

—

With all of them there, the priest starts the ceremony. It’s short and simple and Wallace is thankful, because the only deity Ace ever believed in was lady Fortuna.

Dwight gives a eulogy. Wallace doesn’t understand most of it and by the looks of it neither does the priest, but he doesn’t need to know what trials mean or why some campfire is important to get the gist of it. This is the seven years of Ace’s life Wallace knows nothing about: these are the people he met and the life he led. So many people from all over the world—France, China, Brazil, Japan—and they all came here for Ace.

Wallace is glad Felix made him wait for them.

A black girl in a floral dress arranges the flowers on the casket. There’s so many different kinds and she quietly explains what they all mean, and Wallace chokes on a sob when she tells Ace’s casket, “And Snowdrops for good luck, because I want you to have that even when yours ran out.”

A redhead with glasses places incense by the gravestone. Wallace only then notices it says Ace Visconti, and he doesn’t know what strings someone had to pull to engrave it with Ace’s chosen name and not his legal one, but he’s grateful for it.

The incense smells like warmth and fire, comforting and so different from the cold and wet around them.

Felix wordlessly slides down to his knees beside the casket and nobody seems surprised by this other than Wallace. The expensive tux will probably be ruined by mud but Felix doesn’t appear to care: like he’s happy to lower himself to Ace’s level even if it means everyone else is now looking down on them. He places his hand—scars and calluses and all—on the smooth wooden surface of the casket and sits there for several minutes, murmuring words in a language Wallace doesn’t understand.

When Felix rises, Dwight asks Wallace if he wants to say something. Wallace shakes his head: he’s not good at speeches and he didn’t bring anything fancy to leave on Ace’s grave. 

The alligator tooth he won all those years ago presses into his chest under his shirt, but Ace would be pissed if he left it on the grave. He’d say something like, “I’m already dead, what the hell do you think I’m gonna do with a gator tooth necklace? Win a ghost beauty pageant?”

Or maybe Wallace just wants something of Ace’s to hold onto.

At the priest’s encouragement, some of the men in the group help lower the casket into the grave. Wallace assumed they’d have to let the church staff do it since it was just him and Felix, but now there’s also a big bearded man and a guy with face tattoos and a loud Brit and a quiet Hispanic man who help them put Ace into the ground.

A blonde woman plays guitar and sings. The song is melancholy and her voice sounds familiar, accompanied by sniffles from several people in the group. The priest gives a few parting words after to close the ceremony.

And then they shovel.

Silence hangs heavy in the air. Just as Wallace hopes this will be quick so he can go drown his sorrows in booze, the Brit points his shovel down at the casket and says, “Just layin’ there while we do all the work, eh? Lazy wanker.”

Several people laugh, and then others join in to tell stories and share memories of Ace and Wallace does too, even if he still doesn’t know what a trial is. He tells them about his and Ace’s big win in Seattle and one of the girls, the redhead with braids, snorts and asks, “Was that the time Ace stole a uniform and pretended to be a dealer so you guys could scam the casino?”

Wallace stutters and they all look at him expectantly. Some of the kids are grinning and even Felix is smiling, though his eyes are still red from crying.

Wallace finds himself chuckling and giving them the unfiltered version of the story, now knowing they can handle the not-so-legal parts of it. His audience listens raptly and some even chime in with details Wallace didn’t know about that day—or just typical exaggerations Ace would have added to the story. He doesn’t bother correcting them.

The priest shortly leaves—probably not thrilled about them bonding over gambling and stealing—but the whole group stays to wait for them to finish shoveling. 

Even after they’re done, nobody makes a move to leave; on the contrary, they all settle into a big circle on the ground, carelessly dirtying their nice dresses and suits. Felix takes a seat next to the grave and the black woman sits down on his other side, with the rest already having fallen into place like it’s a practiced effort. Like everyone has their own place.

Wallace hesitates. He thought they were done here, but the others urge him to join them, pointing at the other side of the filled grave. Wallace does as told and realizes the grave acts like an empty spot, like Ace is still part of the group.

Before Wallace can get too sentimental, a man with a prosthetic arm thumps a big cooler in the middle of the circle and beers and sodas begin exchanging hands. An Indian woman starts dealing playing cards and several bets are made among the group before the game even starts. The singer whips out her guitar again and starts strumming an upbeat melody.

“Is this allowed?” Wallace asks even as his chest warms. “It’s a graveyard. Isn’t this against the rules or somethin’?” 

An older black man shrugs. “Loitering isn’t grounds for arrest and I think Felix is more than capable of paying a fine if someone calls the police.”

Wallace only then notices a badge peeking out from his shirt pocket. He’s a cop: Ace somehow befriended a cop, and now he’s here, honoring Ace’s memory with an illegal party like the rest of them.

“Here,” Dwight says, handing Wallace a beer.

Wallace doesn’t ask if they should be drinking and celebrating at a time like this. He just uncaps his beer and raises it along with the others once they toast and the Brit booms, “To Ace!”

Because a party is exactly what Ace would have wanted.

—

They stay there for hours; laughing, playing, drinking and telling stories. Wallace actually makes an effort to get to know this strange group, though he still doesn’t catch all of their names.

Once the sun starts setting, the Korean woman complains about the cold even though she’s wearing a fur jacket. Jane fishes out a pair of keys from her pantsuit and says they have more blankets and snacks in the car, prompting the Brazilian siblings to jump up and volunteer to retrieve them.

On the other side of the circle, the boy with dark bags under his eyes has nodded off against Cheryl’s shoulder. Meg and Jake argue over whether to start a fire now that it’s getting dark, with Meg saying it’s not the same without a real campfire and Jake claiming they’ll end up burning down the whole graveyard. Adam manages to resolve the argument by retrieving a large lantern from the car, lighting up the area with a warm yellow.

Despite everyone’s best efforts to celebrate life and not mourn death, Wallace feels the heavy shroud of grief hanging over all of them. There’s a moment of hesitation whenever a card game ends and someone has to deal the players in again, strange gaps in conversation like they all expect Ace to fill the silence, and bright eyes glazing over in sadness whenever someone looks at his grave.

But there’s also joy and camaraderie. The wind is cold and the ground they’re sitting on is dull and brown, but Wallace can finally see a few flower buds sprouting through the rotten leaves. The group has lost one of their own but they choose to remember the good and not the bad; it’s probably a kindness Ace doesn’t deserve, but Wallace’s throat still feels tight with emotion from the respect being shown.

When the next card game ends, the Chinese girl starts cursing vividly, glaring at the grave and accusing Ace of cheating. Wallace laughs, because if Ace could, he would. Even from beyond the grave.

Some of the guys gather around newly appeared bottles of vodka for a drinking contest and the Japanese woman promptly gets up to join them. Her name must be Yui, because that’s what nearly everyone starts chanting.

Yui wins, drinking the much larger men under the table with what seems like barely any effort. There’s cheers and whoops from around the circle before the singer—Kate—encourages everyone to sing a campfire song together.

Wallace doesn’t know the song so he looks around, only to notice Felix quietly fiddling with something in his hands. It’s a ring: a particularly worn and gray and ugly ring, probably made of simple steel and not even silver. Why would someone like him even have a cheap knock-off like that?

Felix’s bitten nails trail over the inside of the ring and catch on an engraving and Wallace nearly swallows his tongue. He realizes he’s seen that ring many times before: Ace throwing it in the air and catching it; Ace fiddling with it in his pocket when he was impatient; Ace wearing it on his ring finger whenever a con needed him to pretend to be married; Ace having it engraved with some corny Latin phrase because it was supposedly another of his good luck charms.

When Ace returned from Europe, he claimed to have lost the ring, and Wallace should have smelled his bullshit right then and there. Ace wasn’t sentimental about a lot of things but his lucky charms were always the exception. Wallace had helped Ace throw a motel room upside down in search of a rabbit’s foot, listened to years’ worth of complaints after he won the gator tooth from him in a bet, and painstakingly superglued an old poker chip back together after it got run over by a car and Ace just sat on the sidewalk cradling the broken pieces like he was holding an injured animal.

Wallace should have known better than to think Ace would have just lost the ring.

Felix abruptly stills and Wallace realizes he’s been caught staring. Their eyes meet and Felix curls his hand around the ring, holding it tightly against his chest.

A lot of things suddenly make sense and Wallace feels stupid for not realizing it before. Felix isn’t even wearing the ring, but he doesn't have to: marriage isn’t meant for people like Ace and Wallace, and just Felix having something so important of Ace’s and being this protective of it says more than enough.

Wallace considers pulling out the alligator tooth to rest over his shirt instead of hiding it underneath, but he doesn’t want to give off the wrong impression. Ace was like a brother to him and he’s not sure what exactly he was to Felix—friend, lover, partner, kindred spirit?—but the specifics probably don’t even matter. Whatever they were, Ace was happy with Felix.

Wallace settles on a meaningful nod to Felix, giving his approval even if it wasn’t asked for. He then quickly turns back to observe the group’s singing, but can’t help smiling to himself: looks like Ace’s special European someone made it here after all.

“I’m gonna do a handstand!” someone drunkenly announces as soon as the singing stops.

“You only have one hand, jackass!” Nea pipes up.

“Does anyone want to dance?” one of the siblings asks, swaying a little on her feet.

“What, on Ace’s grave?” Zarina asks, arching an eyebrow. “Even I’m not that glad to be rid of him.”

Laughter erupts from the group once again. A few people roll their eyes at the alcohol-fueled antics but nobody protests or shushes the progressively louder voices; not even when someone suggests a handstand contest that will most likely end in a visit to the ER.

Wallace braves another glance at Felix but he’s just smiling again. Most people probably wouldn’t welcome this kind of behavior at the funeral of someone they loved, but Felix knew Ace—all of these people did, maybe even better than Wallace. And they stuck by Ace’s side for seven years and made this horrible day into a celebration he would be proud of.

Seven years. That’s all the time it took for Ace to somehow become a man Wallace barely recognizes anymore. He did what Wallace never thought either of them capable of, what he’d have bet his entire life savings on never happening.

Ace found a family.

Wallace bows his head and chuckles, addressing the empty space on his right. “Twenty-five years of friendship and you still keep surprisin’ me.”

He thinks that, somewhere, Ace is smiling.

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] Date Night

A fluffy smutty one shot that takes place after my fic The Long Con. I hope you enjoy 🧡 Rated M | 2.2k words | ao3 link

Ace was practically bouncing on his feet as he followed Felix up to the Richter Manor’s front porch.

They were returning from an evening out at a restaurant much nicer than Ace would usually pick (or could afford, for that matter). Rather than drop Ace off at his apartment like the previous times they’d met up, Felix had instead invited him in for a cup of coffee to warm up from the chilly November evening.

Ace was pretty sure he'd explode from jittery energy if he had any caffeine, but he also suspected that Felix had entirely different plans for getting their body temperatures up.

Felix came to a halt on top of the steps to fish out his keys from his perfectly tailored suit pants. He glanced back at Ace and definitely caught Ace staring at his ass in said perfectly tailored pants.

Felix huffed. “I thought you were unusually quiet,” he observed.

Ace tried—and failed—to hold back a grin. “I’m just really looking forward to the coffee,” he joked.

Felix's lips curled into a meaningful smile before he turned to unlock the door. Ace’s grin only widened: he hadn’t wanted to presume what would happen tonight, but he also hadn’t worn his only good suit and spent an hour grooming his hair and beard for any of their previous dates.

It had been almost two months since the eventful day at Oktoberfest where they’d met, flirted, puked (Felix) and stolen a few of the other’s personal belongings (Ace). They'd been taking it slow after that while Ace figured out the logistics of moving himself and Meg to Germany at least temporarily. Felix had helped them apartment hunt and bullshitted some story about his nice colleague from overseas who needed a place to stay, which had landed Ace and Meg a decent—if cramped—two-bedroom apartment in the center of Coburg.

"Are you sure you can stay?" Felix asked, pulling Ace out of his thoughts. 

He was hovering by the half-open door and looking at Ace with his ridiculous puppy eyes, like he actually feared Ace would rather go home and watch crappy late-night TV on his moth-eaten couch than go home with the most gorgeous man he’d ever met.

Ace snorted at the idea. "Honestly, Meg would probably yell at me for screwing things up if I show my face before morning,” he said honestly. “I've listened to nothing but innuendo for three days ever since I said we're going out tonight."

Besides, Meg was very used to being home alone at this hour because Ace usually worked the night shift. Finding a job had been a little tricky with his nonexistent employment record and whatnot, but he'd managed to get a part time gig as a waiter-slash-bartender that paid well enough with the night and weekend bonuses. 

God bless Germany and a liveable minimum wage.

Felix chuckled, seemingly appeased. “I can only imagine.”

With that, he pushed the door open and grabbed Ace by the shoulders, tugging him inside the manor and into a kiss.

Heat from both the warm house and Felix’s lips flooded Ace’s chilly body and the familiar scent of Felix’s favorite cologne made him hum in content. He kicked the door shut after himself and started unbuttoning Felix’s coat, the cold autumn breeze outside already forgotten.

The next couple of minutes were spent laughing and stumbling in the half-lit entryway, the task of removing their winterwear becoming more difficult as Ace refused to part from Felix’s firm body or smiling lips. When Ace finally managed to wrangle himself out of his woolen coat, Felix was already pulling him back in before maneuvering them in the direction of the living room.

On the way, Felix bumped into something with a soft thud, huffing a, “Stupid furniture,” against Ace’s lips and then swallowing the chuckle that ensued. Ace felt giddy and almost lightheaded: like he was twenty years younger and didn’t have a single responsibility in the world.

Ace took over steering them towards the middle of the room without further accidents, then broke Felix’s insistent hold to sit down on Felix’s—surprisingly comfortable—designer couch and look up at him.

Felix stood before him illuminated by the dim light from the hallway and Ace’s heart nearly seized from how handsome he looked. His face was flushed as he panted through kiss-swollen lips, his previously impeccable suit and even more impeccably styled hair already rumpled from Ace’s eager hands. 

And Felix was still smiling, looking down at Ace with so much affection Ace wasn’t sure he deserved.

Ace cleared his throat and pushed the thought to the side. “Well?” he leered up at Felix. “Are you just gonna stand there? Because I saved a seat for you right here.”

He patted his lap in obvious invitation, but Felix only raised an eyebrow. 

“I think I'm a little too heavy for that,” Felix said.

“And I think you should sit on me,” Ace countered. “Come on, I’m not gonna break.”

Felix only hesitated briefly before putting one knee on the couch next to Ace’s leg. Ace’s lips pulled up into a grin of their own accord: realistically, it would probably be easier for their positions to be reversed since Felix was so much taller and fitter than him, but maybe Ace wanted to be crushed by his gorgeous giant boyfriend.

Felix finally climbed on top of Ace, looming over him and forcing him to crane his neck to meet Felix’s eyes. Christ, he was hot, with his broad shoulders and thick thighs framing Ace's legs.

“Happy now?” Felix asked. He shifted on Ace’s lap, seeming self-conscious and definitely not putting his whole weight on him.

“Ecstatic,” Ace said, immediately wrapping his arms around Felix’s middle to pull him closer. “Now c’mere.”

Felix obediently leaned down to kiss him and Ace took the opportunity to run his hands all over Felix's body, down his firm back and over his hips to his thighs—fuck, those thighs. Ace wanted to bury his face between them and find out what made Felix moan, until Felix was pulling at his hair and squeezing his legs around Ace’s face until Ace could barely breathe and—

Ace groaned from the thought and Felix immediately pulled back from the kiss.

"Alright?" Felix asked, clear hesitation on his features.

“Yeah.” Ace licked his lips, then decided for brutal honesty. “Just thinking about you choking me with your thighs.”

Felix laughed and finally relaxed, putting more of his weight on Ace. “Those spinning classes Lauren dragged me to are apparently paying off.”

“Mm-hmm,” Ace said, shamelessly squeezing his thighs before slipping his hands up to do the same to Felix’s ass.

Felix let out a quiet moan and the sound shot straight to Ace's dick. Felix braced one hand on the backrest of the couch and leaned closer, his breathing audibly heavier than before.

Unfortunately, the position made Felix’s tie fall in Ace’s face, making him splutter and laugh as his fondling came to an abrupt halt.

“Shit. Sorry,” Felix said. “Hold on.”

Felix sat up to his full height, shucking off his suit jacket before popping a few buttons of his shirt and working his tie loose. Normally, Ace would have supplied a teasing comment, but his mouth was dry and he could only sit there and watch Felix gloriously towering over him, rolling up the sleeves of his form-fitting dress shirt to expose his forearms in an unfairly attractive way.

“Fuck,” Ace groaned, squeezing Felix's perfect ass some more. “You're so fucking sexy it should be illegal.”

Felix just hummed and leaned in. “As if you wouldn't take the first opportunity to break that law.”

Felix kissed him again and Ace half laughed, half moaned against his lips. Felix's hands trailed down Ace's chest over his suit before he eagerly licked into Ace’s mouth to deepen the kiss.

Nobody would guess that Mr. Successful Architect had the hots for someone with a criminal record almost as long as his list of accolades. And that he not only begrudgingly accepted Ace’s past, but actually seemed to like it.

“The con man really gets you going, huh?” Ace teased when they pulled apart for air.

“Maybe a little,” Felix said, then proceeded to grind down against Ace’s crotch.

Ace groaned and let his head fall back against the couch, barely catching Felix's smirk before his eyes slid shut from the pleasure.

He felt Felix lean over him, his hot breath ghosting over Ace’s neck.

“But mostly, it's just you,” Felix murmured.

“Fuck,” Ace replied eloquently.

Felix seemed to take that as incentive to start kissing Ace's neck, still grinding against Ace's rapidly hardening dick, and Ace was hopeless to do anything but let out an undignified whimper and hang onto Felix’s broad shoulders for dear life. 

He would probably be embarrassed at his reaction if Felix wasn’t obviously just as desperate, his cock so hard that Ace could easily feel it through their pants. He was moaning softly against Ace’s throat while he caressed and rubbed up against Ace’s body like this was everything he’d ever wanted. 

Like Ace was everything he’d ever wanted.

Ace’s breath hitched from the thought and he was pretty sure he could come just from this. Felix's assertiveness was doing it for him in spades and he’d waited what felt like forever to finally have a night alone with him without any annoying responsibilities or nosy teenagers.

Still, this was Ace's pride on the line. He hadn’t slept around for his entire twenties and thirties to just sit here and come in his pants.

Felix took that moment to start sucking on a spot on Ace’s neck and Ace bit back a whine to get a hand between them and push lightly at Felix's chest.

"Easy there, tiger," Ace said. "Slow down."

Felix immediately sat back up like Ace had shoved him off with his full strength. It was always painful to see how quickly he jumped to assuming he’d been rejected: even now, he was already yanking his hands off of Ace and looking away in shame, not meeting Ace’s eyes.

"Sorry," Felix said in a rush, "I'm sorry, I was too eager."

“Hey, no.” Ace cupped Felix’s face and smiled once he hesitantly looked back. "Trust me, I wasn't complaining. I just got a little too excited, there; I blame the two-year dry spell."

It was pretty embarrassing to admit he hadn’t exactly been getting any action in quite some time. After he took Meg under his wing, there had only been a couple ill-advised one-time things, completely contrary to the playboy persona Ace always tried to project.

Felix huffed. "Try seven years."

Ace physically recoiled from surprise. "Seven!?" he exclaimed. "But Klara is…"

"Six and a half," Felix said.

Christ. Ace knew Felix said he didn't have much time to date because of work and his kid, but seven years?

"I take back what I said," Ace remarked, still stunned. "That is a crime against humanity and should be made illegal. You're way too hot to not be having mind-blowing sex on the regular."

Felix finally smiled at that. "I'm working on it. It's looking promising."

"Oh, I see how it is,” Ace said, his voice back to teasing. “You're just using me for my body, is that it?"

"I was planning to, originally," Felix shot back. "But then you had to go and make me fall in love with you."

Ace's heart flip-flopped in his chest. It wasn’t the first time Felix had said it, but it still made him both giddy and a little scared.

"Excuse you, it was you who wormed your way into my heart first,” Ace protested.

“Hmm,” Felix mused. “I'd also like to get into your pants.”

“Oh, darling.” Ace spread his arms and leaned back against the couch. “You can do absolutely anything you want with me. Seven years is a long time, huh? You must be a little pent up.”

Felix huffed again and fiddled with the tip of Ace's tie. “That's an understatement.”

“You got something particular in mind?” Ace asked. "Seemed pretty determined earlier."

“I do,” Felix said. 

Before Ace got a word in, Felix was tugging him in by his tie, into a rough kiss that stole Ace's breath away. 

Felix bit Ace's lip and sucked on his tongue while Ace just moaned from the rough treatment and clung to Felix's perfect body, his dick shamelessly hardening in his pants where Felix was still sitting on it, the fucking tease.

Felix pulled away just long enough for Ace to catch his breath, then leaned back in to murmur against Ace's lips.

"What I want," Felix said, his voice husky with arousal, "is to take you upstairs, push you down on my bed, and ride you while you're still wearing your suit."

Ace choked on a moan and his hips stuttered up on their own accord, his dick throbbing almost painfully in the confines of his pants.

"Jesus, holy shit," Ace breathed. 

He could feel Felix smiling as he placed a quick peck on the corner of Ace's mouth in a gesture that was far too innocent compared to the filth that just spewed out of his mouth.

"Is that a yes?" Felix asked.

"Yes," Ace immediately said, then groaned as Felix’s teeth grazed his jaw. "Yes, fuck, so much yes."

Felix's voice was full of smugness as he said, "Then follow me."

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] The Long Con (part 2/6)

Bitchy Felix my beloved. Rated T | 2k words | ao3 link [previous] [next]

"Oh, really?" Ace said, feigning interest. "An architect? That has to be a really demanding profession."

The man next to him cleared his throat. "Not really."

Ace forced a smile and silently cursed his luck. He'd been trying to break through this guy's facade for nearly half an hour without much progress.

"He's lying!" the woman opposite the table from Ace exclaimed loudly. "Two weeks ago, we stayed at the office for 36 hours straight to finish a project!"

"Wow." Ace whistled lowly. "Now that's what I call dedication. You had to be dead on your feet after, huh?"

A minute shrug from Mr. Antisocial. "A little."

"You drank a quadruple espresso. Black," the woman continued, then turned to Ace. "I thought he was going to give himself a heart attack—I kept screaming 'Don't you dare die before you finish that render!'"

Ace laughed good-naturedly. "Hey, have to keep your priorities straight. And for what it's worth, I'm very happy neither of you succumbed to a caffeine-related early grave."

That got a small twitch of the man's mouth. "I think Americans and the sugary milkshakes you call coffee are more at risk for that."

"Well, excuse us for not wanting to drink bean water au natural," Ace teased.

The joke only earned him another bored glance. Ace took a big gulp of his beer to fill the awkward silence.

This really wasn't going according to plan.

When Ace first walked into the beer tent that Meg had pointed him to, he'd been briefly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the space. The tent looked even bigger than it had from the outside, full of tables and benches and a bar that ran almost the entire length of the room. A good portion of the tables were already occupied and wait staff scurried about in traditional outfits, carrying huge glasses of beer to their eager customers.

Ace had made his way to the bar and ordered the first beer on the menu. The bartender—dressed in suspenders and lederhosen and one of the ugliest pairs of socks Ace had ever seen—filled his glass from a wooden barrel, and Ace had to admire the vendors’ dedication to preserving the old-timey atmosphere.

Unfortunately, tradition also seemed to dictate that the default serving size was one whole liter of beer.

Ace had struggled to even carry his damn beer without sloshing it all over his favorite shirt. In the end, he only made it to a currently closed section of the bar, but it was a good vantage point to take in the sea of people.

While observing the chatter, the unholy amounts of beer being consumed, and the most leather pants Ace had seen since the eighties, he'd spotted a small group sitting at a corner table not far away. Or more specifically, his eye had been drawn to a woman dressed in a seemingly unassuming white t-shirt and a simple silver necklace, gesturing animatedly with her purse as she talked to her friends.

But the shirt looked like an expensive material, the sunglasses pushed up into her hair were from a designer Ace recognized, and the necklace he remembered seeing in a pawn shop—selling for over a grand. The woman's entire outfit radiated the sort of casual luxury that most people wouldn't even notice.

Fortunately, Ace had spent the last thirty years practicing how to do just that. And with the majority of festival-goers sporting identical-looking traditional Bavarian garb that was impossible to appraise, the woman was by far the safest bet when it came to schmoozing up to a wealthy target.

Ace sipped on his beer and kept watching the group out of the corner of his eye. It was only three people—the woman and two men—and Ace waited to see if others would be joining them from the bar or returning from a bathroom break. Larger groups were usually harder to squeeze into and if another woman joined the trio, they were obviously two couples enjoying the festival together who would not be happy about Ace fifth-wheeling.

But after ten minutes and no sign of potentially missing friends or the group even glancing around for anyone, Ace felt confident enough to proceed with his plan. He gave himself a cursory once-over to check for beer stains on his clothes before making a small detour back to the bar, just on the odd chance that he was being watched. He pretended to study the food menu before looking around the tent like a dumb little tourist—which wasn’t entirely an act—and then made a show of noticing the group for the first time and strolling up to their table.

After that, it was the familiar spiel of, "Excuse me, is this seat taken?", followed by a sheepish smile as they turned to look at him, and then, "This is actually my first Oktoberfest and I'm a little lost."

The woman had immediately offered an excited, "No, no, sit down!", the man next to her had smiled and nodded, and Ace turned to the final member of the group who he'd only seen the back of so far—

And proceeded to nearly choke on his spit because holy shit, was that guy a model or something?

One of the most handsome men Ace had ever met frowned at him, his brows drawn together as his icy blue eyes studied Ace. His blond hair was impeccably styled with not a strand out of place and his checkered dress shirt and navy blue waistcoat hugged his broad torso perfectly. Like almost everyone else, he was also wearing lederhosen, though these were of the more form-fitting variety and Ace sorely regretted not ogling his backside while he'd been watching their table earlier.

Ace managed a friendly smile, to which the man just turned back to the table and shrugged unenthusiastically. The message was clear: Ace could stay, but he wasn't happy about it.

Not bothered by the reaction, Ace took his seat and the woman immediately started introducing them all in heavily accented English. Her name was Lauren, the man beside her was Daniel, her husband, and the hottie with a bad attitude was Felix, her business partner slash best friend.

And, really, Ace's original plan had been to simply befriend Lauren—at least as soon as she said "husband" and Ace realized that flirting would probably not go over well. Still, Lauren was sociable, already tipsy, and seemed to like Ace from the get go; it would probably only be a matter of time before she asked her charming new friend to watch her purse while the rest of them got more drinks or something.

But then Ace rolled up his sleeve and reached over the table to shake Lauren's hand, and Felix's gaze immediately snapped to Ace's exposed forearm before roving over his entire body.

Ace's skin felt hot from the obvious once-over and he almost stuttered on his own name as he greeted both Lauren and her husband. When he went to shake Felix's hand, Felix's large palm was a little sweaty and he couldn't quite meet Ace's eye anymore.

And sure, Lauren would have made an easy target. But Felix? 

Well, flirting was definitely back on the menu when it came to Felix.

…Or that's what Ace initially thought, but after countless attempts at conversation that Felix shut down immediately, he was starting to doubt his intuition.

Maybe Felix hadn't been checking him out. Maybe he just hated arm hair with a passion, or felt extreme second-hand embarrassment from Ace's shirt choice?

Ace forced down some more of his beer and desperately grasped for another conversation starter. He glanced around the tent and spotted a few rays of sunlight shining in through a transparent panel on the ceiling—surely, small talk about the weather was at least a safe topic? 

"Really nice weather for a festival," Ace said.

"I like rain," Felix said, because of course he did.

Ace would have probably excused himself at that very moment. But Felix started unbuttoning his cufflinks—the tent was getting a little warm from the sun—and Ace happened to catch a glimpse of his watch in the process.

Mechanical. Swiss made. Possibly platinum?

Oh, and probably worth at least thirty grand.

Realization slowly dawned on Ace: Felix was likely the wealthiest person in the entire room. Hell, maybe even the entire festival.

Ace straightened his back and put on his most charming grin. The pot had just been sweetened a whole lot, and Ace wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

He'd crack this man's code somehow.

═════════════ ♤ ═════════════

"—And Melbourne was really nice as well," Ace said. "Have any of you been to Australia?"

"Not yet," Lauren said.

"Once, but that was over twenty years ago," Daniel said. "I don't remember much."

Ace nodded, then smoothly leaned closer to Felix. "What about you, blondie? Any exciting travel—"

"What are you doing, dad?" a very familiar and thoroughly exasperated voice butted in.

"Meg!" Ace exclaimed, quickly putting distance between himself and Felix. 

He turned to face Meg, who was standing behind him with her arms crossed and a sour look on her face. At least she'd had the decency to pretend they were related instead of addressing him as "Hey, asshole" like she did most times.

"I was just getting to know some of the locals," Ace said. "Did you want to join us? I mean, if that's okay…?" He glanced at Lauren in question.

Lauren was already nodding enthusiastically, but Meg immediately shot the suggestion down. 

"No," Meg said pointedly. "I just wanted to talk to you. Alone."

Ace smiled at the table. "Be right back."

═════════════ ♤ ═════════════

"What the hell are you doing!?" Meg hissed once they were out of earshot.

Ace shrugged. "Getting into the festival spirit?"

"If by 'festival spirit' you mean Blondie McSnob's pants!" Meg accused. "Just nick his wallet and dip!"

"I'm playing the long con," Ace said. "He's loaded, and he likes me."

Well. Sort of. Maybe.

Meg crossed her arms again and glared. "I remember what happened last time you said that."

Ace winced. "Last time" referred to almost a year ago, when he'd seduced a target and then ended up running through the fancy garden of her estate in the middle of the night, clad in only his underwear while her husband chased him with a shotgun.

That night Meg had been the angriest Ace had ever seen her, patching up his wound from where a bullet had grazed him while screaming in his ear about, "You knew she was a mob wife and you still fucked her! You could have died, you fucking useless piece of shit!"

Ace knew it meant, "I was so scared, please don't ever do that again."

"It's not like that," Ace insisted. "He's harmless."

Meg scoffed.

"Come on, look at the guy," Ace said. "He can barely put a sentence together and he's an architect. The most dangerous thing he's done is probably yachting without a life jacket."

Meg snorted and discreetly looked back to the table. "He does kinda seem like a nerd."

"A rich nerd," Ace stressed.

"Ugh, fine," Meg groaned. "As long as you remember rule number one."

Ah, throwing Ace's own teachings back in his face: one of Meg's favorite pastimes. Rule number one, of course, being, "Never get attached to your target."

"I know what I'm doing," Ace said, then smirked. "You'd better get to work if you still plan on winning our bet, dear 'daughter'."

Meg responded with the middle finger, and then she seamlessly slipped back into the crowd.

Ace sighed and absent-mindedly fiddled with the rabbit’s foot hanging from his belt: one of the knick-knacks he’d attached to it in what the internet told him was an old Oktoberfest tradition. Hopefully one of the lucky charms would work, because god knows Ace could really use some good fortune right now.

Forcing a smile onto his face, Ace ventured back to the table.

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] Holiday spirit

Happy holidays riconti fandom! Please accept this gift of festive fluff 🥰 Rated G | 3.2k words | ao3 link

Felix still feels strange being back in his hometown. 

The Coburg market square is bustling with life at the annual Christmas market. Felix was never an avid visitor before, but this time the nostalgia is kicking in full force: the smell of street food and mulled wine, the glow of string lights and the big Christmas tree, and even the obnoxious holiday jingles make his chest ache with familiarity. It’s almost like he never left Coburg in the first place.

Except for the fact that one Ace Visconti is here with him.

Ace has a mug of Glühwein in his hands and is blowing on the hot beverage, his eyes eagerly drinking in the busy market. It’s a couple degrees below zero and a gentle snow is falling, but despite Felix’s best efforts to the contrary Ace is thoroughly underdressed for the weather. He has neither gloves nor anything to cover his head, and his windbreaker jacket and pants might protect him from the nonexistent wind but not the late-December temperature.

But even if Ace must be freezing, he hasn’t complained once.

…Unlike Felix, who complained first about the long line to the sausage kiosk, then about the awful apple punch they made the mistake of trying, and then about a family of stupid tourists blocking the street. But that’s neither here nor there.

Ace’s nose and ears are already red and Felix should probably be annoyed at him for not dressing properly, but instead he finds it oddly endearing. He doesn’t know how long it will take Ace to get used to German winters after decades of sun on the west coast of the USA, but today is clearly not that day.

A group of teenagers pass them on the street and briefly pause to stare at Ace—who’s currently browsing a selection of wooden crafts—and a few of them giggle and continue on their way. Felix really can’t blame them: the bright, clashing colors of Ace’s outfit stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of muted winterwear in grayscale and neutral colors. Looking at the neon pink and green for too long would probably give Felix a migraine; but then again, he only has his past self to blame for deciding to flirt with a man who combined a leopard print shirt with purple sequin pants.

Felix smiles to himself. If awful fashion sense was a dealbreaker for him, their relationship would probably have lasted less than twenty-four hours total.

“What’re you grinning at?” Ace asks, having caught him staring.

“You,” Felix says bluntly. “And your outfit that is horrendously unfit for this weather.”

Ace scoffs. “It’s not that cold.”

Felix simply smiles. “Come on,” he urges, “We should try the crepes next.”

Ace obediently falls into step beside him. Felix’s hand twitches in a familiar urge to touch—born out of countless times of patching up injuries, pulling each other up on their feet, and sitting by the fire leaning against Ace in quiet solidarity—but there are too many people here and too many eyes on them.

Of course, it doesn't help that Ace is wearing the equivalent of a big flashing sign saying “Look at me!”

“You know, I wasn’t too sure about this market when you first told me about it,” Ace says while they walk. “But it’s actually really cozy with the snow and lights and all. And any event that boils down to drinking wine and eating good food? I’m sold.”

“I’m glad,” Felix says. “It was never my favorite, but I wanted to show you. And even I missed it, after…”

He trails off, and something in Ace's eyes softens. 

"I love it. And I'm glad you wanted to take me here," Ace says. And then, because getting him to be earnest for more than five seconds is like pulling teeth, he grins and adds, "Even if I'm pretty sure all these 'handmade Bavarian' souvenirs came straight out of a Bangladesh sweatshop."

Felix grimaces. He always hated how the tourist crap seemed to overtake more and more of the event each year.

That being said, he still stopped to buy a terribly overpriced and absolutely hideous knit hat while Ace was busy refilling their Glühwein mugs at another stall. It will make a nice Christmas present to match his questionable excuse for a winter jacket.

“So how exactly are crepes German or festive?” Ace prods.

“Because the French can't take credit for mixing milk with flour and throwing it on a pan,” Felix huffs. “It's bad enough they got to name them. Pretentious little shits.”

Ace smirks. “I’m telling Élodie you said that.”

“Trust me, she has much worse opinions about Germans.”

“Ah, sweet neighborly rivalry,” Ace sighs. “I can't wait to meet the Lyras again so they can try—and fail—to argue that Brazil is better than Argentina.”

He looks at Felix expectantly, clearly waiting for him to agree.

“I wouldn’t know,” Felix says. “I’ve never been.”

“Maybe you should do something about that, then,” Ace says. His voice is playful and his smile casual, but he’s still looking at Felix a little too intently for it to be a joke.

“You just have to tell me when and I'll be there,” Felix says and fully means it.

“Yeah, right,” Ace snorts. “I bet Lauren would love for you to go touristing in the middle of a big project.”

“You’re vastly overestimating my importance in the company,” Felix says. “Lauren survived five years without me. I don't think a week will even make a dent in her schedule.”

Ace regards him silently: he knows that Felix took on much less responsibility upon returning to work—“Richter & Golder” was practically just “Golder” these days, and Felix was grateful Lauren even wanted him back on the team at all—but Felix suspects it’s another thing to see it in practice.

“You'd really come to Argentina?” Ace finally asks.

“Of course,” Felix says. “But only if you want me to.”

Ace beams up at him, then throws his head back and groans dramatically. “Oh, god, my sisters will eat you alive. Please don't learn any Spanish before the trip. Or Italian. You know what, just wear noise canceling headphones whenever they’re around. Actually—”

Felix watches Ace ramble with a smile. He’s leaving for Buenos Aires in just a few days to spend the holidays with his sisters and their families, having reunited with them after their escape from the Entity. For as much as Ace sang the praises of Las Vegas and America for the last few years, he doesn't seem to care much about going back to the USA compared to Argentina and Germany.

“—though, full disclosure, if you don't like Dulce de Leche I'm breaking up with you,” Ace says.

Felix chuckles. “I suspect I won’t, but I’ll be sure to lie for your benefit.”

“That’s all I ask,” Ace says with a grin.

They’re finally coming up to the crepe kiosk and Ace turns to look at the menu. It’s a little strange to imagine not being with him for Christmas, seeing as they’ve—admittedly not by choice—spent every holiday together for the last few years. Even if said holidays mostly consisted of Dwight in an elf costume distributing firecrackers and styptic agents around the campfire.

But Felix knows they both have more important places to be. Ace hasn’t spent quality time with his family in decades, and Felix's number one priority for the foreseeable future will spending every moment he possibly can with his own new family:

His five-year-old daughter, Klara.

Felix's ex-girlfriend has invited him over for Christmas eve to have dinner and open presents together. It will most likely be indescribably awkward—especially with both his ex’s parents and her new husband there—but they’re all doing it for Klara, who seemed very excited about the idea.

Or possibly just about the extra presents.

Regardless, Felix immensely respects his ex for not only managing to build a stable home for their daughter when he disappeared, but for being honest with said daughter from the start. Even when she was furious with Felix for seemingly abandoning them, for five years she told Klara stories about her other father building houses and showed her pictures of him. And when Felix finally showed back up and tried to pick up the pieces of his broken life, he got to meet his daughter for the first time and she immediately recognized him.

Felix clears his throat before washing down the sudden lump in his throat with some Glühwein. He’s not sure what he's done to deserve so many incredible people in his life—the survivors, Lauren, his ex, Klara, Ace—but he’s determined to be a man they can all be proud of.

“Che.” Ace nudges Felix's side, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Is the crepe guy okay?” Ace whispers, leaning closer to Felix while staring at the shopkeeper frying a batch of crepes. “He just chucked three whole chocolate bars on a crepe and wrapped it up like it was normal.”

Felix snorts, his somber mood instantly elevated. “It's a Kinder bar too. That has to be some kind of crime against gastronomy.”

“I know.” Ace only pauses for a beat before asking, “Should we get one of those?”

Felix doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”

Ace shoots him a lopsided smirk. “You really do have a soft spot for tacky things,” he says, then turns to place their order.

Felix bites his lip to suppress a thoroughly dorky smile. Just five years ago, he would have scoffed at the mere sight of children’s street food and retro windbreakers, all to preserve the image of a man nobody even liked. And even if the motto of “be yourself” first seemed like an impossible task after half a lifetime of hiding everything genuine about himself, it’s been slowly but surely resurfacing—through trials, friendships, and having someone by his side who never judges.

Felix doesn't have to filter himself with Ace. Even his worst foot-in-mouth moments only earn teasing remarks in response and more often than not end in both of them laughing. Ace doesn’t take offense to Felix's bluntness and he more than pulls his weight in the playful bickering that has become one of Felix's favorite pastimes.

And Felix knows the feeling goes both ways: all their years together have chipped away at Ace’s compulsive lying just like it has for Felix's play-act. Ace has never had to avoid talking about his past of crimes and addiction and betraying people for money, because Felix doesn't judge him by who he was before, but rather by who he is today.

Just a few days ago, a seemingly harmless question about whether Felix could chip in for Ace’s plane tickets derailed into a serious conversation, with Ace sitting Felix down and making him swear to never give him a significant sum of money or gift him anything valuable that could be returned. There was always a part of Ace that would crave the thrill of gambling and the risk of relapsing increased significantly if he had easy money lying around—no matter if he knew said money was meant for rent, bills, or a plane ticket.

Felix was silent for a long time after that revelation. Ace tried to joke it off and desperately switch the subject, but after Felix quietly stood and pulled him into his arms, Ace just slumped against him and exhaled a long and shaky breath. Neither of them had to use words, because the meaning was clear:

Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for understanding me. Thank you for being here.

“Biological weapon acquired!” Ace strolls up to Felix with a grin, holding a cardboard plate with a crepe and two forks sticking out of it.

Felix probably shouldn't be making heart eyes at a man in full neon carrying a glorified candy pancake, but he does. 

Ace steers them to an unoccupied table and hands Felix his fork. They proceed to eat a few bites in expectant silence.

“It’s good,” Ace says, clearly surprised. “Why is it good!?”

“It’s way too sweet,” Felix complains. He still keeps eating the crepe.

“Let’s just agree that after three mugs of wine we’re too drunk to know better,” Ace says.

“Speak for yourself, you lightweight.”

“Well excuse me for not being six-foot-two and born with German beer in my veins!”

Felix snorts and proceeds to almost choke on his bite, then bows his head to wheeze quietly instead.

“That’s it, no more Kinder for you,” Ace says, holding the plate protectively against himself. “I should have known that shit is like crack to Germans. No wonder it’s banned in the States.”

Felix wheezes harder and has to lean against the table for support, his shoulders shaking with the force of his laughter. He dimly registers someone muttering, “What the fuck is wrong with that guy?” in German, but he really can’t bring himself to care.

When Felix has somewhat collected himself and looks up, Ace is smiling smugly at him around a forkful of crepe.

“Drink?” Ace asks, pushing his mug closer to Felix’s empty one over the table.

Felix nods and accepts the item, and in quiet understanding they turn to stand side by side and look over the market while Ace polishes off the crepe and Felix finishes his drink.

He enjoys these moments of silence between them just as much as the usual back-and-forth or long conversations at the campfire. Felix knows that they still have a lot to figure out when it comes to adjusting back to a normal life, with the logistics and long distance and Felix's daughter. But instead of the existential dread that’s plagued Felix for most of his life, these days he only feels a deep calm when thinking about the future.

Things have been so much easier when there’s a constant in his life, something that’s not dependent on Felix's career or family name. And every time Felix wakes from a nightmare or starts second-guessing himself on whether all that horrible shit really happened, he just has to listen to Ace snoring next to him or touch one of the numerous lucky charms he insists on showering Felix with.

Ace is tangible proof that Felix went through hell and came out stronger for it. He’s been Felix's anchor for years and even when he’s across the world, Felix still feels just as grounded as he does with Ace right by his side.

Ace glances at Felix and catches him looking—Felix has been watching him for quite some time instead of observing the market—and he quirks an eyebrow as he tosses the empty plate in a nearby bin. 

“You’re staring again,” Ace says. “Are you gonna keep nagging about my jacket?”

In response, Felix simply leans closer, then hesitates and searches Ace's eyes. Understanding dawns on Ace’s features before his mouth splits into a bright smile, and then he’s grabbing Felix by the lapels of his jacket and pulling him down for a kiss.

Ace’s nose is cold where it bumps into Felix’s cheek but his lips are warm, stained with chocolate and mulled wine and soft against Felix’s. Felix cups Ace’s head and sinks into the gentle press of their mouths, simply enjoying the closeness.

Felix doesn't care if people are watching. He doesn’t care if someone sees him with a man or thinks they’re being inappropriate. He doesn’t care that they still have many challenges to face. For the first time ever, Felix knows exactly what he wants to do with his life and he’s going to do everything in his power to get it.

Starting with kissing the man he loves in the most crowded place in all of Coburg, apparently.

Ace is trembling when they pull apart. Felix could flatter himself by thinking his kissing prowess was enough to make him weak in the knees, but the truth is that the weather must finally be catching up to Ace.

And he still won't admit it, the stubborn idiot.

“You know,” Felix starts, brushing his thumb over the stubble on Ace’s cheek. “There’s a pub I like just down the street. Why don’t we go and warm up for a little while?”

“Oh, thank god,” Ace groans and thumps his forehead against Felix’s shoulder. “I’m fucking freezing and this supposedly famous wine really isn’t all that great.”

“You could have told me you were cold.”

Ace pulls back enough to give him a defiant stare. “And listen to your ‘For the love of god, Ace, I told you five times to bring a scarf’ all the way home? Not a chance.”

“I would never,” Felix says. Ace huffs a disbelieving snort, and Felix can’t suppress his smile as he continues, “Because I told you at least ten times and also asked you to bring gloves, and a thicker jacket, and—”

“Okay, okay!” Ace exclaims. “Christ, the word Besserwisser was probably coined just for you, wasn’t it?”

Felix chuckles and reaches into his pocket for the knit cap he bought earlier. He was planning to wrap it and gift it properly another day, but practicality usually trumps sentimentality where Felix is concerned.

“Here,” Felix says, holding out the item. “Merry Christmas.”

Ace stares at the hat while most likely silently judging both its cliché reindeer pattern and questionable orange-brown color scheme.

“It’s traditional Bangladeshi reindeer,” Felix deadpans.

“Thank you,” Ace finally says slowly, then puts on the hat. “How do I look?”

Felix tries not to laugh as he takes in the sight. The cap somehow looks even worse when it’s worn because of the pattern stretching and distorting. The price tag also still dangles loosely from the too-big pompom on top, and the muted orange and brown somehow makes the neon of Ace’s jacket pop out even more obnoxiously.

“Fucking hideous,” Felix concludes.

Ace barks out a laugh and Felix chuckles too. Despite Felix’s harsh words, they’re both leaning into each other, Ace’s arms wrapping around Felix’s waist and Felix gently tucking a few errant strands of gray hair into the cap.

“Good,” Ace says, then looks up to meet Felix’s eyes with an overly exaggerated pout. “Now hold me, I’m cold.”

Felix smiles and slings an arm over Ace’s shoulders to pull him even closer. “Come on. It's not far.”

Ace lets himself be led to a quiet pub around the street corner, insisting on paying for their drinks while apologizing for not having anything to gift Felix in return. Felix maybe gets a little sappy and confesses that just having him here is the best gift of all, and in response Ace tugs him into a corner booth and kisses him longer and deeper than is probably appropriate.

And despite the cold and crowd and fashion hiccups along the way, this year’s Christmas market will remain Felix’s favorite for a long, long time.

Or at least until next year when they no doubt visit it again.

Thanks for reading! 💞 Ace’s outfit is from his leaked winter skin, because it’s tacky and I love it. (Minus the headpiece. What the fuck is that beard.)

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] The Runaway

A silly little Wild West AU that nobody asked for 🥰 Rated T | 600 words | ao3 link

"—And bring him back unharmed. Do we have a deal?"

Caleb huffed. "Y'know the Sheriff wants him on a noose. Payin’ bail ain’t gonna cut it this time."

“I know.” Richter’s expression didn't even flinch. "But Sheriff Tapp isn't here, is he?"

Caleb bit back a smirk. Richter was usually a real stickler for rules who put his business first and anything remotely fun second. But pull the right strings, and he was apparently ready to take some shortcuts with the law.

Caleb knew that feeling all too well—after Bayshore and the warden, many of his Hellshire boys had gone right back to their outlaw ways. And after dealing with sour sheriffs and incompetent militia on the regular, some days Caleb was very close to joining them instead of continuing this gun for hire bullshit.

Luckily, Richter wasn’t interested in his gun.

"Bounty's for dead or alive," Caleb drawled. "What's stoppin' me from puttin' him down and gettin’ the bounty for his corpse?"

"The fact that I'm tripling the bounty if you bring him to me," Richter immediately countered.

If his broken jaw still let him, Caleb would have whistled. He didn't know why someone with Richter's status would bother throwing away that much money on some low-life scum, but he wasn't about to complain about a well-paying job.

"It ain't gonna be easy," Caleb said. "A lotta bounty hunters are gonna be after that gold, an' a rat like him's not gonna just let himself get found."

"That's why I'm asking you and not them," Richter simply said.

It was almost a compliment, but Caleb didn't care. They both knew he was the best tracker in the business.

"Alright," Caleb said. He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning on to rest his bad leg. "I'll bring 'im in."

Richter smiled from behind his desk. "Always a pleasure doing business with you."

Caleb grunted an affirmative and went to walk out of Richter's office.

"Oh, and Caleb?" Richter said once he was halfway out the door.

Caleb stopped but didn't bother turning to look at him. "Hm?"

"Unharmed," Richter stressed.

Now that Richter couldn't see it, Caleb was free to roll his eyes. It was like people took one look at the Redeemer and thought he went around harpooning people for fun.

Well, he did. But only those who deserved it.

"I got it," Caleb said.

Not waiting for a reply, Caleb slammed the office door and straightened his hat while he walked through the pompous manor. Because Richter supposedly lived alone, Caleb did his best to ignore the numerous Spanish books tucked into every bookshelf and the pair of boots in the entryway that were too small to be Richter's.

He already had a good few ideas where to start looking for his target. The bastard had a bounty in almost every state around these parts, but knowing him he’d just ignore the danger and hide in plain sight in one of the big cities. Poking at a few contacts would probably be enough to get a decent lead; after last time, Caleb had asked a few of his boys to keep an ear to the ground for sudden new gambling rings or snake oil merchants.

After all, this was already the third time in as many months that Caleb had been hired to drag Visconti home.

[dweetwise]

[Ace X Jeff X Élodie X Felix X Zarina] Birthday blues

I may be writing for an audience of one (myself) but I just love all of these idiots and think they should kiss. Continuation of this fic set in the same AU, this time starring a very disgruntled Ace. Rated M | 3.8k words | ao3 link

"¡Che, boludo! Are you fucking stupid!?" Ace yelled. "It says forty kilometers, not 'slam the brakes and drive in first gear'! Christ, my abuela was a better driver than you and she was blind!"

Predictably, the Toyota in front just kept trucking along at a snail’s pace as the idiot behind its wheel remained oblivious to Ace’s tantrum.

Ace huffed and sagged back against the car seat, barely resisting the urge to blast the horn to make his displeasure known. Instead, he busied himself with adjusting the rear view mirror, because it was Jeff’s car and he and Ace were very much not the same size. Ace usually couldn't be assed since the only time he used the mirrors was to check himself out rather than look at traffic—probably one of the reasons people were reluctant to let him drive—but he felt a petty sense of glee when he noticed a line of cars forming because of the stupid Toyota.

Ace didn't normally get road rage; in fact, he was usually the one laughing at Felix’s German insults and Zarina’s swearing behind the wheel. But today was his birthday, and it was a special kind of torture to be stuck in rush hour behind some Sunday driver when he just wanted to get home.

Not that there was anything there waiting for him. Felix was at work and would run late because of some seminar, Élodie was sleeping off the jet lag after her trip to Indonesia, Zarina was nose-deep in editing her latest documentary and had barely left her room for days, and Jeff was finishing up his latest painting for some art collector.

All things which were evidently more important than Ace.

At least Jeff was going to cook for him—which wasn't really saying much, since it was his turn to make dinner regardless, but Ace felt better if he didn’t think about that. Of course, grocery shopping had also been on Jeff’s to-do list, but he'd emerged from his studio looking so frazzled and asked Ace with his puppy eyes if Ace could possibly make the trip for him.

And because Ace loved Jeff, and had pretty much been lounging on the couch in his PJs doing absolutely nothing anyway—definitely not moping after he'd gotten up early to see Felix off for work and Felix not only didn't bring up his birthday, but asked Ace to make him coffee and then fucked off without even a goodbye kiss—he'd agreed.

Part of Ace had still been hoping the grocery run would reveal some sneaky plans Jeff had for his birthday. He'd patiently waited for Jeff to write a shopping list and then immediately read it as soon as he got into the car. But there was nothing: no birthday candles, no ingredients for any of Ace's favorite foods, no wine, no flavored lube…

Clearly, nothing indicating Ace's birthday at all.

Ace might have conducted himself a little aggressively once he arrived at the supermarket, flinging things into his shopping cart and purposefully ramming it into the cart of a blond guy in a suit. He also decided to get a bunch of extra items outside of the list and use their joint account to pay for all of it, because it was his birthday, dammit, and seeing as none of his partners bothered getting him any gifts he'd get them himself.

Except a grocery store at rush hour wasn't exactly the best setting for meaningful birthday gifts. Still, Ace vindictively piled on a couple gift cards, the most expensive bottle of wine he could find, one single cupcake and birthday candles, and a can of condensed milk he fully planned to eat straight out of the tin because fucking stupid Germany didn't have dulce de leche.

Ace was already feeling a little better as he made his way to the checkout: nothing like some good ol' retail therapy to fill the void of being ignored by the people he loved.

And then, of course, the card of their joint account declined. Because Zarina was responsible for it, and she'd barely remembered what day it was when Ace last saw her in the middle of her editing frenzy.

So Ace had to pay for the groceries with his own card and leave out all the extras, because he absolutely refused to pay for his own gifts out of principle. And definitely not because he couldn't afford them.

That turned out to be a blessing in disguise because Ace was barely able to carry the bags to the car as it was. And leaving the nice wine bottle at the store was somewhat preferable to trying to juggle it with the bags and having it smash into pieces on the parking lot pavement.

After all of that, a little road rage felt pretty deserved.

Ace's hands were still shaking on the steering wheel. He couldn't remember when he'd last been this angry; it wasn't like he'd expected much for his birthday, because he knew how busy everyone would be. But just some acknowledgement—or maybe a guarantee that they'd celebrate together at a later date when everyone had more time—would have gone a long way.

Ace didn't need brunch and champagne in bed like they'd done for Felix's birthday, or the seven-course dinner at that fancy restaurant they went to for Élodie's. Sure, Ace had planned those months in advance, but he knew the others weren’t as sentimental—even if he already knew what he was getting Zarina and Jeff even though it was half a year until their birthdays. 

But that was what you did, wasn’t it? Admittedly Ace had always been a little materialistic, but if you liked someone, you gave them something nice, even if it was just a bouquet of wildflowers you'd picked off the side of the road or a half-burnt omelet that didn’t quite turn out like the recipe promised. Ace would have been happy with birthday kisses and a cheap gift and ordering takeout from the shitty kebab place with free delivery, and that really wasn't unreasonable to ask of his partners; no matter how busy they were.

Maybe they just didn't like him enough to bother.

Ace let out a half-hysteric, half-pathetic laugh. If he somehow ended up getting dumped by four people on his birthday, he really didn't know what he'd do.

…Except piss in Felix's koi pond in revenge, but after that.

So he just wouldn't think about it. And besides, everyone acted like this was just a normal day, and not a let's-finally-kick-Ace-to-the-curb day. Ace just had to act like it too, because it wasn't like he could bring up the birthday thing now. If they genuinely forgot, it would make them feel bad and nobody would have time to throw anything together on such short notice anyway, and then everyone would be miserable. And if they actually were ignoring it on purpose, well, then Ace would feel even more awful than he did now.

Ace would just go home and unload the groceries, and then call his sister, because she'd sent him a happy birthday text earlier, because someone actually cared. By that time, Jeff would probably have finished dinner but he'd eat in his studio like he always did when he was busy, so Ace would eat alone and likely end up doing the dishes like some pathetic Cinderella without a fairy godmother.

Then he'd steal a couple of Élodie's expensive French chocolates for dessert, go upstairs and have a sad wank alone, and come back down to get a drink—probably trying and failing to find anything but the gross boxed Merlot they kept under the sink and nobody wanted to drink. Nonetheless, he'd take the garbage wine to the living room and spite-watch the new episode of Zarina's favorite show without her, and if he was lucky it would be late enough that Élodie was up and maybe joined him for some cuddles. 

Or yelled at him for eating the chocolates. Whatever.

In any case, Ace had no illusions that he wasn't sleeping alone tonight. Jeff and Zarina would work to well after midnight, Élodie would only start eating breakfast once Ace went to bed, and Felix would be in his don't-touch-me-or-talk-to-me mood after his work event inevitably ran long.

Lost in his thoughts, Ace managed the rest of the drive home without further meltdowns, but he was still seething once he pulled up in the driveway to the Richter manor. He didn't even bother to park the car in the garage—Felix would probably have nagged at him for parking wrong anyway—and just pulled to a stop by the front door.

He hefted out the ridiculously heavy grocery bags, silently complained that he was getting way too old for this shit, and left Jeff's car right there in the middle of the driveway to annoy anyone who tried to leave or enter the property. Hopefully it would get shat on by some birds.

Ace walked up the steps to the house and prayed that the handles of the bags didn’t snap. He managed to maneuver the bags into one hand without catastrophe striking, and unlocked the door with the other…

And the door got jammed. Fantastic.

"Fucking…piece of shit!" Ace cursed, violently jiggling the key in the lock.

Finally, the door unlocked and Ace shouldered it open. Once inside, he turned to face it and, hands still occupied, kicked it shut with as much force as he could.

The whole wall shook and rattled from the impact and Ace glared at the door some more.

“That’ll teach you,” he said smugly.

“Mon Dieu, what did the poor door do to you?”

“Very funny,” Ace said, still annoyed. He turned around to face Élodie, already complaining, “You gonna give me a hand or—”

And that was when he very nearly dropped the bags he’d worked so hard to get home in one piece.

Élodie was not wearing the comfy reindeer one-piece she usually lived in after a long business trip. Neither was she wearing her regular silk pajamas or one of Jeff’s oversized band shirts she was prone to stealing.

No, Élodie stood there in the Richter manor’s foyer on an unassuming Tuesday afternoon, dressed in nothing but a sinfully flattering bustier and lacy stockings.

“Welcome home, m'amour.” She strutted up to Ace and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which was probably good considering Ace’s mouth was occupied with gaping like a fish. “Do you like my new outfit?” she asked, stepping back and doing a little twirl.

"I, uh…" Ace floundered as he greedily drank in the sight of her, his previous anger all but forgotten.

The mint color of the lingerie contrasted Élodie’s skin tone beautifully. White lace framed the swell of her breasts and the tiny hem of a skirt was barely enough to cover her panties. Ace’s eyes followed the garter straps down her thick thighs and he had to swallow a groan once they reached the lace edge of the stockings.

Élodie really wasn’t playing fair; she knew how weak Ace was for the thigh-highs.

"You’re stunning,” Ace said, a little breathlessly. His fingers itched to touch and he realized he was still holding the stupid bags.

Not one to be deterred, he eagerly continued, “That bustier is gorgeous. Did you buy it on your trip? You look even more beautiful than usual, if that’s possible.”

Élodie smiled, clearly pleased. "Flatterer."

"Wait, how are you up already?" Ace remembered, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from her figure. “Were you waiting for me?"

"Of course I was,” Élodie said. “We had to send you away for some errands to not ruin the surprise.”

"What surprise?"

A low chuckle sounded to his left. "Don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday,” Jeff said, stepping out of the kitchen. “Oh, let me get those for you.”

Jeff grabbed the shopping bags from Ace, but he barely registered the action—a small part of his brain was celebrating that somebody had remembered his birthday, another was relieved to finally be rid of the heavy bags, but the rest chose to focus on…

"Are you wearing flannel?" Ace exclaimed. It couldn’t be: Jeff hated flannel. Jeff didn’t even own flannel, and Felix sure as hell didn’t either, so—

Jeff shrugged, his cheeks pinking. "You keep calling me a lumberjack, so…"

"A sexy lumberjack," Ace corrected. Then, his expression softened as he realized, "You dressed up as a sexy lumberjack for my birthday."

Jeff gave him a tentative smile. "Do you like it?"

Like it? Jeff looked like something straight out of a gay porno, with his luscious beard and messy man bun and red and black checkered shirt that hugged his massive shoulders and soft belly.

"I'm gonna climb you like a tree," Ace concluded.

Jeff laughed, then stepped back into the kitchen with an, “I’ll go put these away.”

"What’s with the dress-up party?" Ace asked, turning back to Élodie. "Did you two conspire some birthday shenanigans while I was gone?"

"Two?" Élodie quirked an eyebrow. "Your turn, mon coeur."

And that was when Felix stepped out from around a corner where he'd apparently been eavesdropping.

"You got me a Felix?" Ace joked. "I love it."

Élodie chuckled. "Your actual gifts are in the kitchen. I just thought this was more urgent."

"And that's why you're the brains of this household," Ace’s mouth ran on autopilot while he ogled Felix.

Felix fidgeted under his gaze, crossing and uncrossing his arms over his chest where he was wearing a gold-trimmed white vest over a black dress shirt. He looked unfairly good—he always did, but these clothes somehow only highlighted it.

Ace cocked his head. "Is the vest new?"

"No, but it's the first time I've convinced him to wear it." Élodie pushed at Felix's shoulder. "Turn around, mon chéri."

"I feel like a Barbie doll," Felix muttered but still did as he was told.

"You look like one too," Élodie shot back.

Ace was about to add his own witty comment but proceeded to choke on his own spit instead as soon as Felix turned around.

Felix's vest had criss-crossed lace down the entirety of the back, and suddenly it became clear why he looked even better than usual today. He wasn’t wearing just any old vest Élodie had dug out from his overflowing closet of designer suits: he was wearing a corset vest. 

Ace stepped closer like hypnotized, running his fingers over the X-pattern of the lace. The vest made Felix’s already drool-worthy shoulder to waist ratio even more pronounced, cinching his middle and highlighting both his broad shoulders and the curve of his ass. 

Ace had never seen a man in a corset before and his brain was more than a little scrambled. He simultaneously wanted to grab Felix's tiny waist and cling to his defined shoulders and pull on the lace while Felix laid on his front and squirmed and—

"Doesn't he look adorable?" Élodie asked once Felix turned back to face them.

Adorable definitely wasn’t the word Ace would use. "Uh…" he looked stupidly up at Felix, silently wondering how much he’d have to beg to get him to wear only the vest in bed.

Felix winced. "I told you this was a stupid idea. He doesn’t even like it—"

"I want to eat you," was what finally came out of Ace’s mouth.

Élodie laughed and Felix sputtered, his face flushing with pink blotches.

"But, wait.” Ace shook his head, trying to refocus. “I thought you had that seminar today? I wasn’t expecting you home before…"

"I took the afternoon off." Felix looked at him with a small smile. "I didn’t want to miss your birthday."

Élodie cleared her throat and Felix grimaced.

"...Which I only remember once Élodie called me," Felix said. “I forgot, I'm sorry. I must have seemed like an ass this morning."

"I'm suddenly having a lot of trouble even remembering this morning," Ace said, then smirked when an idea formed in his head. "But I do remember you still owe me a kiss."

Felix chuckled and leaned down to kiss him, wrapping an arm around Ace's waist and pulling him close the way that always made Ace weak in the knees. His mouth was hot and insistent and Ace did his best to kiss back while eagerly pawing at Felix’s muscular chest over the vest.

“I got you flowers,” Felix said when pulling away, much sooner than Ace would have liked. “They’re in the kitchen. Did you want to…?”

“Mm, no, that’s okay.” Ace stepped back and looked at both Élodie and Felix in turn; they really made quite a picture. “I bet they’re beautiful, but I’m enjoying the view right here. Though I feel very underdressed,” he added with a grin and self-conscious shrug.

Élodie smiled knowingly. "Do you need some help getting out of your clothes?"

Ace perked up and certain other parts of him did too. "Yes, absolutely. I am completely helpless and exhausted from carrying groceries and require at least four extra—" He saw Jeff exit the kitchen. "—six extra hands to take off my pants."

Jeff chuckled and leaned in for a quick kiss, his lips warm and a little chapped against Ace’s.

“Here,” Jeff said, handing him a drink.

The cocktail was bright red and had a small orange slice on top. When Ace sipped it, the strong tastes of Campari and vermouth mingled on his tongue—ah, an Americano.

Ace sighed indulgently and leaned into Jeff. “Oh, this is so much better than that under the sink wine.”

“Ugh, I keep forgetting to throw that away,” Felix muttered to himself.

“Why don’t we head upstairs?” Jeff asked, his voice a deep rumble in Ace’s ear.

Ace shivered from the pleasant scratch of Jeff’s beard against his hair and the warmth of his big hand splaying over Ace’s lower back. It was a small miracle he managed to resist throwing himself at Jeff and ask him to carry him to bed.

“Are you sure? What about dinner?” Ace asked instead, managing to summon the last of his brain cells. “And shouldn’t we wait for Zarina?”

Yes, he might have been getting a little greedy, as he already had three of his partners right here who seemed very eager to celebrate his birthday. But it wouldn’t be the same without Zarina, because Ace loved them all very much and was sentimental like that.

He also really, really wanted a fivesome if he could get it.

Fortunately, Élodie informed him, “Zarina finished her editing earlier. Who do you think laced Felix up?”

Élodie laughed and Ace did too, because Zarina was freakishly strong for her size. He could vividly picture her aggressively pulling on Felix's corset with one foot braced on his ass.

"I'm actually sad I missed that," Ace said.

"The screaming was a little funny," Jeff admitted.

Felix’s face reddened even more. "It wasn't supposed to be that tight, and I was staying still even if she claims otherwise!"

Ace barked out another laugh, then suddenly felt silly, standing there laughing with the people he’d been so annoyed with earlier.

"I can’t believe I thought you guys actually forgot.” Ace said. He took a sip of liquid courage and sheepishly admitted, “I, well… I kind of had a tantrum at the supermarket. And on the drive home."

Jeff rubbed soothingly up and down Ace’s back and Felix just nodded, like road rage was perfectly acceptable. Élodie however pouted and stepped closer, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry we made you think we didn't care," ��lodie said, then kissed his jaw sweetly. "We love you, mon chéri. You are so precious to us."

Ace’s face heated and even Jeff and Felix shuffled their feet awkwardly. Talking about feelings wasn't really something any of them were particularly good at—Zarina included—but for Élodie, it always seemed to come easy. They'd somewhat accepted that sometimes, she had to speak for all of them.

"Thank you, mi corazon." Ace clasped Élodie's hand with his spare one and kissed her knuckles, before looking up with a smirk. "I feel a little bad about planning to eat all your fancy chocolates now."

Élodie patted his cheek. "Trust me, I would have done much worse if you forgot my birthday.”

Ace laughed. "Noted." There was a muted crash from upstairs. "Um…is Zarina okay?"

Élodie cocked her hip and smiled suggestively. "Yes, she's just making the master bedroom a little…cozier."

“I’ve never seen that many candles in my life,” Jeff huffed.

Felix's brows pinched together. “If she starts a fire…”

"Oh, relax, m'amour," Élodie said. "This evening is all about romance—"

"Has anyone seen my strap-on!?" Zarina’s voice echoed from upstairs.

"It’s still in Felix’s room from last time!" Élodie yelled back, not missing a beat. 

Ace nearly choked on his drink and Felix gave Élodie a look of absolute betrayal.

“Thank you!” Zarina shouted before a door slammed shut upstairs.

Élodie sighed. "Ah, and there goes that surprise."

Ace’s stomach did an excited little flip-flop. With the way things were looking, he probably wouldn’t be able to walk properly tomorrow.

But man, would it be worth it.

"We should check on Zarina," Felix said, when Ace knew what he really meant was, “I need to make sure Zarina doesn’t burn my house down or reveal any more embarrassing aspects of my sex life.”

Maybe Ace could convince him to demonstrate his previous encounter with Zarina and her strap.

“We should check on her,” Élodie agreed, then looked at Jeff and asked, "If everything with the order went okay?”

Ace craned his neck to peer up at Jeff over his shoulder. "Order?"

“I took the liberty of ordering in from that Ethiopian place you like,” Jeff said, still petting Ace’s back and making warmth spread though his whole body. “They're gonna deliver it in a few hours, since I figured we might be busy for a while.”

Ace frowned. “But they don't deliver this far out.”

"They do if you tip them well enough," Felix said in his I-threw-money-at-the-problem-until-it-went-away voice.

"More time for us to spend with the birthday boy," Élodie crooned, stroking Ace's beard. "Ready to celebrate, mon amour?"

Ace looked at his partners and felt unbelievably fond. To think that he was so sure they'd forgotten, when all this time they had all gone through so much trouble for him—Élodie masterminding the whole thing and even getting Jeff and Felix to play dress-up, Felix canceling his important work event, Jeff ordering his favorite food, and Zarina risking Felix's ire with the fire hazard…

Ace downed the rest of his cocktail in one go and grinned. "Lead the way!"

Élodie grabbed Ace’s hand and he locked elbows with Felix as she tugged him along. Jeff followed a step after them, his hand snaking around Ace’s hips and already undoing his belt buckle before they’d even reached the top of the stairs.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] The Long Con (part 5/6)

Probably my favorite chapter of the fic. Hope you like it 🧡 Rated T | 5.4k words | ao3 link [previous] [next]

Two days later, Ace took the train to Coburg. 

It was a modest-sized town, so instead of a cab he opted to walk the thirty or so minutes to the Richter manor—in order to save money and be more incognito, of course.

It certainly was not because his skin was clammy with cold sweat and the urge to bolt was becoming more and more pressing with every step of directions his phone's navigation app gave him.

Ace really should have taken Meg's advice and simply mailed the keys. 

His plan had just felt too good to pass up on. He'd go to Felix's house while Felix was at work, use the key to get inside, help himself to a few more shinies he'd been denied of when their evening was cut short, and leave the keys and a mysterious note on Felix's kitchen table like a suave gentleman thief. It would be the perfect ending to their short-lived romance.

But as Ace arrived at his destination and stared at the intimidating exterior of the Richter manor, all thoughts of his plan flew out the window. The house wasn't that big—at least compared to the awful McMansions rich people across the pond seemed to swear by—but it was old, clearly having been passed down through generations of accumulated wealth. The photos Felix had shown really didn't do the house justice.

The manor was clearly lived in, though. A couple expensive-looking cars were parked by the garage and while all the hedges and flowers were carefully trimmed, there was a bike leaning against a lamp post and children's toys scattered across the front lawn. The garden had to be behind the house; it was a little weird that Ace already knew from the pictures what the koi pond looked like and where Felix had built a playhouse for Klara despite never setting foot on the property.

But the very worst thing about the manor was that it wasn't even guarded. The yard was surrounded by a fence that was low enough to easily jump over, but even that was unnecessary because the gates were wide open for anyone to waltz right through and break in with a stolen key.

Ace's gut churned unpleasantly and an overwhelming sense of wrongness washed over him. He might be a gambler, but this was playing with fire; if he got caught and arrested, he'd ruin not only his own but also Meg's life. 

What the hell was he thinking, coming all the way up here?

Ace spotted a mailbox attached to the fence and hurried over to it. Before he could second-guess himself, he flung the lid open and shoved the little plastic bag with the keys and keychain through the slit, until they fell in with a soft clang against the metal of the box.

His hands were shaking as he slowly closed the mailbox and stayed there leaning on it for a couple uneven breaths. His heartbeat pounded in his ears but this was it. It was done.

Ace winced as he realized he'd have to come up with some excuse to explain to Meg why he showed up empty-handed after promising to procure more of Felix's stuff. He'd just have to spin a tale about impenetrable gates and 24/7 surveillance, maybe throw in a couple feral guard dogs—

"Ace?"

Ace's head snapped up in alarm and he immediately locked eyes with Felix, who was standing next to the garage only a few meters away. He looked a lot different than before, wearing an ugly orange sports jacket and sweatpants instead of the festival outfit, staring wide-eyed at Ace like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Probably wondering how someone could be stupid enough to rob him and then come to the one place they knew where to find him.

For a moment, they both stood frozen in place. Ace's body was already tensing in a familiar reflex to bolt at a moment's notice.

Shit, shit, shit. Ace had even worn a disguise for the very unlikely possibility that they’d cross paths, but of course Felix miraculously managed to see right through the sunglasses and baseball cap. Why the hell was he even home at this hour!?

"Papa?" a soft voice asked from further away, breaking the awkward staredown as Felix immediately looked away.

Ace followed Felix's gaze to see a girl walk out of the garage and to Felix's side. She looked exactly like in the pictures and was wearing oversized rubber boots that Ace knew she used when feeding the koi.

"Ja?" Felix asked.

"Who is that?" Klara asked in German, staring at Ace curiously.

Ace, who should already be in full sprint and getting the hell out of here, but inexplicably still remained rooted to the spot. In all the time he'd spent putting his stupid plan together, he'd somehow completely managed to neglect the possibility that not only would Felix be home, but that he'd recognize and even talk to Ace.

Felix glanced back at Ace. "It's a friend," he said in English, then turned back to his daughter and continued in German, "Why don't you go wash up and then get the cookie I promised?"

Klara nodded enthusiastically and they both watched her clumsily run inside the house in her too-big boots.

As soon as the door closed behind Klara, Felix's sharp gaze was back on Ace and he started walking closer. "What are you doing here?" he asked, but it sounded about ten times less angry than Ace expected.

"What—what are you doing here?" Ace shot back dumbly. "I thought you were at work?"

"Klara felt ill this morning, so her mother dropped her off once I said I could stay home today." Felix stopped as he reached the fence and frowned down at the mailbox between them. "Did you just put something in my mail?"

"I…"

"Of course not!" Ace should say, or, "I'm just seeing the sights," or the classic, "Gotta go, bye!"

"Yes," Ace confessed instead. When Felix kept staring and waiting for him to elaborate, he sighed and took a step back. "Just open it."

Felix easily stepped over the waist-high fence with his long legs. He unlocked the mailbox while Ace stood guiltily beside him like a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar.

Felix grabbed the little plastic bag—in his panic, Ace had forgotten he was supposed to take the keys out with gloves to prevent fingerprints—and his eyes widened as he registered its contents.

"This is…" Felix's voice trailed off as he pulled out the keychain.

And that was when it hit Ace that Felix might not have had any idea before now just who was responsible for his missing personal belongings. He could have been too drunk to remember anything: maybe he thought he’d simply dropped the items during the festival or got targeted by some faceless pickpocket in the crowd.

And Ace, the idiot that he was, had just served him all the evidence on a silver platter.

"Please don't call the cops," rushed out of Ace.

Felix turned to him and frowned. "What?"

"I can't leave Meg," Ace continued, the panic rising in his chest. "She'll be all alone stuck in Germany, and—and I know I was an idiot for coming back, I just needed to…I don't even know—"

"Papa!" a shrill shriek interrupted. They both turned to look at the front door, where Klara's scrunched up face was peeking out. "The zipper is stuck!" she complained, her voice approaching tantrum levels.

"I'll be right there!" Felix called out. 

And then he turned to Ace and smiled, and Ace swore he nearly had a heart attack. "Won't you stay for coffee?" Felix asked.

"Uh." Ace blinked to feebly try to clear his head and make sense of the situation. "What?"

"You…this means a lot to me." Felix clutched the keys to his chest. "Please. Allow me to thank you."

What the hell? Was this some kind of trap?

"I know you're not stupid," Ace said warily. "You know what I did, and I think it's best for both of us if I just leave."

"If you want to, I won't stop you," Felix said. "But do you really think I would let you meet Klara if I didn't trust you? That I would call the police for a meaningless trinket I got from some business associate?"

Wow, okay; Felix really just referred to his thirty thousand euro watch as a trinket. A voice in Ace's head that sounded suspiciously like Meg was screaming at him to run away, but it wasn't like Ace had ever been particularly good at listening to any voice of reason.

"Coffee sounds nice," Ace said.

Felix smiled again—a real smile, the same one he'd had at the festival while listening to Ace talk about Meg.

—

The inside of the manor was surprisingly cozy despite its intimidating exterior.

It didn't feel stuffy and stale like Ace expected from a building this old, nor was it tackily extravagant like so many upper-class homes Ace had broken into in his youth. At least the foyer Felix led him through and the living room Ace could see further ahead looked recently renovated, with light hardwood floors and timeless pieces of furniture that only highlighted the exposed beams and wood carvings that had to be original features of the house.

Ace should probably have guessed that an architect would have an eye for interior design.

The kitchen, however, was sleek and modern. Ace had half-expected to be served tea and fancy pastries in a formal dining room, so it was a relief when Felix gestured for him to take a seat at the small breakfast table by the window.

Klara was already waist-deep in one of the lower cabinets—probably rummaging around for the promised cookies—and Felix hummed softly to himself as he went to get the coffee started. 

Ace still felt very out of place as he carefully sat down and somewhat reluctantly removed his shades, hat and jacket, leaving him in an old damask shirt and absolutely nothing to hide his face behind. If he'd known this was how the day would go, he would have worn something nicer or at least washed his hair.

But then again, Felix was only in a tee and sweatpants and didn't seem at all embarrassed about being underdressed. And as Ace watched him scoop regular filter coffee into the machine and Klara emerge from the cupboard with two plastic packages of cheap cookies, he felt himself starting to relax.

Maybe their worlds weren't so different after all.

Klara started making her way across the kitchen, only to be stopped by Felix's pointed words of, "I said one cookie."

Klara turned to give her father a thoroughly unimpressed look. "They're not for me, they're for our guest." The "you dummy" was implied, Ace assumed.

"Really doubt I'll be able to eat all that, princess," Ace said.

Two pairs of startled blue eyes snapped to Ace's.

Klara grinned. "You speak German?"

"Of course I do," Ace said, smiling back at her before glancing up to see Felix's reaction.

Felix had his head bowed and was pinching the bridge of his nose, but his shoulders were shaking with quiet laughter.

"Of course he does," Felix muttered to himself, then looked up with a small smile. "Why am I not surprised?"

Ace smiled innocently. "Because I'm very talented at a great many things?"

Felix blushed—hopefully thinking back to Ace's incredible flirting and kissing prowess—while Klara smacked the cookies on the table and eagerly demanded, "Can you draw!?"

Ace's cocky smile faltered. "Oh, uh… Not that well." But looking at the kid practically bursting with excitement, he remembered, "But your dad told me you're a very talented artist."

Klara's cheeks pinked but she was still beaming up at Ace. "Can I show you?"

Ace knew exactly how this would end even before he replied, "Of course!"

—

Ace should really stop underestimating anyone named Richter.

Over the next hour, Ace saw what was probably Klara's entire drawing portfolio since the day she was born. She kept explaining her art so fast that Ace struggled to keep up with translating in his head, all the while Felix tried his best to stop her from spilling over either of their coffee cups in her enthusiasm.

Ace was starting to run out of synonyms for "cute" and "great" but Klara showed no signs of stopping, getting carried away just as easily as her dad had with his photos a few days prior.

"This is me and auntie Élodie!" Klara said, pointing at her latest masterpiece.

"Well, you both look very pretty," Ace said.

"She gave me a backpack from Egypt!" Klara said excitedly. "I can show you—"

"Klara." Felix abruptly stood up and reached for his keys on the countertop. "Did you see what Ace brought?"

Klara paused and looked up at her dad—she had to tilt her head comically far back—before noticing the keychain he was holding.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, then turned back to Ace. "You found it!"

"I—uh," Ace floundered, because he couldn't very well say, "Yeah, I stole it from your dad when he was drunk. How funny is that!"

"He did," Felix chimed in. "And he was nice enough to come here all the way from Münich to bring it back." 

"That far!?" Klara exclaimed, her mouth falling open in a surprised 'O'. "Is that why you look so tired?"

Ace huffed a surprised laugh. He even heard Felix snort, because apparently this family were all secretly little shits.

"Yes, it is," Ace lied, because, again, it was better than, "I was actually playing slots in a dingy bar until two a.m." "It's a long train ride."

Klara hummed. "Do you live in Münich?"

"I'm going to get more coffee," Felix announced before Ace had a chance to reply. "Klara, do you want another glass of juice?"

"Mm-mm!" Klara shook her head. "I'm going to watch TV."

Felix nodded and made his way to the coffee machine. As soon as his back was turned, Klara grabbed two more cookies before innocently walking out of the kitchen.

By Ace's count, she'd already had four in between showing her drawings, but that kind of stealth deserved to be rewarded.

Ace downed the last bit of his now-cold coffee and watched Felix wash a few dishes and fiddle with the coffee maker. It was a welcome beat of silence after the intensity of an excited six-year-old rambling about her hobby.

Ace should probably be on the edge of his seat from nerves now that the buffer of Klara was gone, but the atmosphere in the kitchen just felt…relaxed. Felix looked calm and ridiculously domestic in his home clothes, such a far cry from the stuck-up asshole or nervous wreck from the festival, and Ace—

Ace had really, really missed him.

Ace cleared his throat and stamped down on the fluttering feeling in his stomach. "If I'd known I was meeting the next Van Gogh, I would've taken German lessons in art critiquing,” he joked.

Felix chuckled and turned to look at him, leaning back against the kitchen counter in a way that made him look unfairly attractive. 

"Thank you for humoring her," Felix said. "Your German is quite good."

It was nice of him to not draw attention to the part where Ace had lied in his face about that fact.

Trying to return some of that kindness, Ace smiled and said, "Being nice to your kid is really the least I could do."

Felix hummed in a non-answer. "I didn't expect her to want to talk to you for so long. She's usually quite shy."

"Well, you did say she was sick," Ace joked.

"Oh, that." Felix rolled his eyes. "Klara told me she went to the movies with her mother yesterday, and I'm pretty sure her 'illness' this morning was just too much popcorn and candy last night."

"Or she just wanted to hang out with you for a day," Ace said before he thought better of it.

Felix looked at him in clear surprise, before he winced and ducked his head. "Maybe you're right."

Wow, great move: shaming his more than a gracious host for bad parenting was surely the way to go.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—" Ace tried.

Felix sighed. "No, you're right. I need to figure something out with the company. It's one thing that I miss Klara, but if she misses me this much, I have to do something about it."

Ace stayed quiet and tried to ignore his steadily growing attraction to Felix, because this was ridiculous. Yes, Ace had dealt with absent fathers both when it came to Meg's and his own upbringing, but surely at fifty he was way too old to still be having daddy issues.

After a moment, Felix cleared his throat. "Sorry, I was just thinking out loud." He brought the coffee pot to the table and poured himself another cup, then turned to Ace. "More coffee?"

Ace glanced at the clock on the wall. "I really shouldn't."

Felix ignored him and refilled his cup anyway, and Ace got the distinct feeling that the conversation was far from over.

But Felix also got a carton of milk out of the fridge and placed it next to the bowl of sugar in front of Ace. Because even though Felix took his own coffee black, he remembered Ace's offhand comment about bean water from the festival.

It was such a small thing, but Ace's traitorous heart still skipped a beat.

"So…" Ace said once Felix retook his seat.

"I love Klara more than I love anything else in this world," Felix stated. 

Ace instinctively straightened in his seat from the serious tone. It seemed they'd reached the portion of the visit where Felix would—rightfully so—chew Ace out for his lying and stealing.

"And there is nothing I wouldn't do for her. Nothing." Felix stressed the word, staring dead straight into Ace's eyes.

Ace swallowed. "I've gathered as much, yeah."

Rather than yell at Ace, Felix just relaxed and leaned back in his chair. "So why should I judge someone else for what they have to do in order to keep their family safe?"

"…What?" Ace said.

"It's obvious how much you love Meg," Felix said. "So if my stupidly overpriced watch allowed you two to travel more together or helped you save up for her college fund, that's a much better use for it than anything I could have done."

Ace bit the inside of his cheek as his instincts yelled at him to not say too much. Even if he doubted that Felix was secretly recording their conversation for the police, he knew he shouldn't just volunteer information like that.

But at the same time, there was a part of Ace that desperately wanted to talk about this to someone. Felix seemed to value honesty above all else and after the kindness he'd shown Ace today, lying would just put them back to square one.

And, well, if worse came to worst Ace knew that the front door was unlocked and only a room away in case he needed to make a quick escape.

"She's…Meg's not actually mine," Ace said. "There's no college fund or father-daughter bonding or whatever you're picturing. We're not even related."

Felix frowned. "But you care about her."

"Of course, but I only met her three, four years ago; she actually tried to pickpocket me, if you can believe that." Ace laughed, though it was a hollow sound. "She was just a kid, orphaned after her mom died—that part's true—and she had nobody, and I just…helped her get back on her feet. And then she never left. I mean, I know I'm not her dad—"

"You are," Felix interrupted, his voice surprisingly firm. "In every way that matters."

It was a nice sentiment, and some days, Ace desperately wanted to believe it. But he knew better.

Ace huffed and looked down at his coffee cup. "I don't think good dads teach their kids to hotwire cars or make them live in shitty motels for four years."

Felix fell silent and Ace prepared himself for the inevitable look of pity he was bound to receive. He always made sure they never looked homeless and that at least Meg had access to all necessities, but empty sympathy was the last thing either of them needed.

Though if Felix were to offer another of his thousand-dollar accessories, Ace would have to swallow his pride and accept it. Maybe he and Meg could stay at an actual hotel next time, instead of a shitty hostel with bed bugs.

Instead, Felix sighed and clasped his hands on the table. "You know, I was raised in a cult."

"Excuse me?" Ace asked, his eyebrows steadily creeping up towards his hairline. He must have misheard that. 

Felix grimaced. "My parents were part of…they called it a secret society, but it was a cult. Both of my parents and a few others were murdered by its other members over twenty years ago."

Ace was openly gawking now. What on earth was this? Was Felix just messing with him?

"I was orphaned at seventeen and my best friend at even younger than that," Felix continued. "We spent years trying to leave that awful life behind: I had to suck up to my distant aunt until rightfully receiving this manor and the rest of my inheritance, and Élodie…" Felix paused. "Has been running errands for the black market since she was sixteen."

"Fuck," Ace commented eloquently.

"If we'd only had somebody…" Felix trailed off, then looked up at Ace with a smile. "You can understand why I look at what you did for Meg with nothing but admiration."

Felix might have been smiling, but the words "orphaned at seventeen" kept echoing in Ace's head. For a moment, he saw the same sadness in Felix's blue eyes that he'd seen in Meg's all those years ago.

It was difficult enough to think back to Meg barely surviving out on the streets as it was, nevermind imagine her having to deal with some crazy murder cult on top of that, or being forced to turn to the black market, or—Christ, what if she'd gotten trafficked? 

Ace clenched his jaw as he realized that he hadn't even considered that possibility before. Realistically, he knew how the underworld worked and could think up a great many grim fates that might have awaited Meg if he hadn't intervened, but…she was still just one girl. And god knows how many people before her Ace had willfully ignored or even outright sabotaged for his own benefit. 

He didn't deserve a medal for one singular instance of being a decent human being.

"I don't do this, you know,'' Ace finally spoke. "I never help people just out of the goodness of my heart or whatever. I don't know what made me decide to make an exception with Meg, but trust me when I say that was a once in a blue moon occurrence."

Felix tilted his head. "You've never thought about the reason?"

"I mean, I guess saw a lot of myself in her when I was that age." Ace said. 

And wasn't that an understatement. Ace didn't have a sad backstory of losing a parent, unless being disowned after gambling away his mom's house and life savings counted. He'd managed to burn bridges and drive himself into such a corner that there had really only been a few ways out.

"Except I sold a kidney to get out of the country and Meg just had to put up with my shitty jokes,” Ace said. “I guess that's better."

Felix didn’t say anything, so to lighten the mood, Ace jovially added, “But let’s face it, not that much better—at least according to my exes.”

Felix blinked, and then as the joke sank in, let out an ugly snorting laugh that echoed in the kitchen and twisted his handsome face into a goofy expression wholly unfit for a serious architect.

Felix quickly covered his nose with his hand to hide it, but he couldn’t seem to stop quietly snickering. It made Ace's chest feel warm and his face split into a grin of its own accord. Felix hadn't laughed like that—really laughed—the entirety of the festival.

If Ace allowed himself to, he could easily fall in love with that laugh.

"That was terrible," Felix said once he'd recovered.

"Then why did you laugh?" Ace teased.

Felix side-eyed him, eyes still sparkling with amusement. Like he knew Ace was trouble but didn't care.

"Anyway," Felix said. "Because of the cult…ehm." He paused, glancing at the doorway that led to the living room.

Ace suddenly remembered that they weren't alone. "I probably shouldn't have talked about selling kidneys."

"Yes, saying it again surely helps," Felix deadpanned, and Ace barely suppressed a way too loud laugh at the unexpected sass. 

He wheezed quietly into his sleeve instead, which was surely not much better.

When Ace managed to collect himself and looked up, Felix was smiling warmly. He wondered if Felix liked his ugly laugh too.

"It's alright,'' Felix said. "She's watching the Lion King. And based on the song…" He grit his teeth; the face of a father who had heard Hakuna Matata about two hundred times too many. "We have around half an hour before she even remembers that we're here."

Ace smiled. "I'll take your word for it."

There was a beat of silence as they both stared into their coffee cups.

"So, you were saying?" Ace asked. "Before the singing meerkat and ugly laughing happened?"

"Well." Felix cleared his throat. "I was simply going to mention that it took quite many years of therapy to understand that ritualistic animal slaughter and branding children with hot irons might not have made for the most balanced childhood."

Ace was very glad he didn't have coffee in his mouth because he definitely would have spit it all over the table.

"Holy shit," Ace said, his eyes wide. "Are you serious?"

Felix gave a small smile. "Hotwiring cars suddenly doesn't seem so bad, does it?"

Ace huffed. "Guess not."

"Don't worry, most of the people responsible are behind bars now—courtesy of Élodie and an investigative journalist," Felix said. "But I only recently finished painting over the summoning circle in the basement."

Ace was still reeling. Felix had seemed so normal and he never would have guessed that there was something this dark hiding underneath. No wonder he was so reluctant to let people close.

And Ace had trampled all over that hesitant trust.

He gave a shaky smile. "And here I thought living in the slums and picking pockets from age five was a shitty way to grow up."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—to make it a competition." Felix grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. "I haven't told many people, because…well, they always treat me differently, and…"

"And you don't want pity," Ace said.

Felix nodded. "The fact that you haven't said 'I'm sorry' yet amazes me."

Ace sighed and ran his thumb over the rim of his cup. "I think I've used up my quota of lies with you."

He wasn't sorry for stealing some of Felix's considerable wealth to provide for himself and Meg. He also didn't pity Felix for having a rough life: that was for the cult to apologize for, not Ace.

"I am sorry about the keychain, though," Ace remembered. "I didn't mean to take it."

"I know," Felix said. "You came to return it even when you didn't have to. And actions always speak louder than words."

Ace snorted. "Yeah? What does stealing valuables from someone drunk off their ass say?"

"That you'll do anything to make sure Meg has a good life," Felix said earnestly. "I also know that you're kind—and respectful. You were nice to Lauren and polite to me even when I was an asshole, and you waited six whole hours for me to make a move." Felix's cheeks pinked and he cleared his throat. 

Ace chuckled. "I was wondering why my charm wasn't working."

"Some of us need…a considerable amount of liquid courage." Felix winced. "But even then, you could have simply left me back there after you got what you wanted. But you helped me into a taxi to make sure I got home safely."

Ace raised an eyebrow. "Are you actually defending me for tricking you and your friends and stealing from you?"

"No, I just—my point is," Felix said, "that I will never be upset at someone based on their past or the things they have to do in order to survive. I know it's not always black and white."

That was a surprisingly good point, and definitely not something Ace had expected of anyone with Felix's status to consider. 

"I guess so," Ace said.

"And what about you?" Felix asked. "Now that you know all this about my past…do you see me differently? Do you think there's something wrong with me?" 

Felix looked at him, and for a second, he seemed genuinely scared of Ace's reaction. He was wringing his hands nervously—a man who was so used to rejection, but still held out a sliver of hope.

"Well…kind of?" Ace said. 

Felix's face fell and he hunched in on himself, so Ace quickly reached over the table to grab his hand before he could retract it. 

"But trust me when I say that that is in no way a turn-off," Ace explained. "Who isn't at least a little fucked up in the head? That's just life; we all work with what we’ve got."

"I wish it was that easy," Felix murmured, almost as if to himself. "My first therapist kicked me out because he found my childhood too disturbing."

"His loss," Ace scoffed. "If someone thinks less of you because of any of that, that's their problem. The way I see it…" 

Ace paused and frowned in thought. He'd meant to say he didn't care, but that wasn't exactly right either. If anything, knowing that Felix had a dark past just made him seem more approachable—more human.

"Actually, is it weird to say that I like you more because of the cult shit?" Ace asked.

Felix stared at him for a second and Ace almost regretted the words. But then Felix burst into laughter again, an absolutely hideous snorting laugh that made Ace want to keep him.

"It is." Felix said, still smiling. "It's absolutely horrible. And it's probably just as horrible that I laughed at it."

Felix gently loosened Ace's hold on his hand only to intertwine their fingers. His hands were more callused than Ace remembered but his eyes were soft, crinkling at the corners as he smiled and making Ace's heart pitter-patter happily.

Ace could almost physically feel the walls crumbling inside his head. The decades of lies, masks and self-preservation instincts weren't needed in this moment. Felix knew the ugly truth and he was still here, coaxing out what Ace thought were long-buried feelings of trust and affection and…

Hope.

And hope was a dangerous thing. Ace knew firsthand how hope always preceded disappointment, and betting his heart was the riskiest gamble of them all. 

But without risk, there was also no reward.

Ace smiled, his mind successfully made up. Breaking the silence, he said, "I’ve gotta say, I didn't expect hand-holding to be on the menu today."

"Yes, I, ähm.” Felix’s face flushed but he didn’t let go of Ace's hand. "Me neither. But I'm glad. That…that you're here."

"Yeah," Ace agreed. 

A beat of silence followed, though it wasn't necessarily awkward. They both no doubt had a lot on their minds with just how much had happened in the last couple of days.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Ace asked playfully. "Though now that I think about it, I probably need that penny more than you."

It was another joke in poor taste, but Felix still chuckled at it.

Ace was definitely keeping him.

"I was just wondering…" Felix trailed off, then cleared his throat. "I know this is very sudden, and I don't mean to be presumptuous, but…how much does Meg like Germany?"

Ace smiled brighter than he had in years. "I think she can be convinced to stay a little while."

[dweetwise]

The Long Con (part 1/6)

Happy Oktoberfest! 🍻 With the festival starting today in München, I figured it would be the perfect time to start posting this fic 🥰 Please also check out @ell-clavel's amazing riconti art that inspired me to write this AU in the first place 🧡 Rated G | 1.5k words | ao3 link [next]

"Man, look at all these people!"

Meg's grin was bright as she jogged past Ace and looked around in awe, her bow-adorned braids bouncing in time with her steps.

Ace hadn't expected quite this much of a crowd, either. It was only a Monday afternoon but the festival area was quickly filling up with groups flocking to the large beer tents or shopping at the stalls lining the central street.

He knew Oktoberfest was popular, but not this popular.

"I wonder if they're here to see Denson too." Ace smirked. "You might have some competition for the spot as her number one fan."

Meg's face scrunched up. "Shut up. You're the one who insisted on flying all the way out here, not me. Oh, look, there's a chocolate fruit stand!"

Ace smiled and bit back a snarky comment as Meg excitedly took in what the festival had to offer. The girl was an avid fan of country artist Kate Denson's work—Ace had a sneaking suspicion it was something she'd listened to with her late mother—and after an off-hand comment that Denson would be performing in Münich at this year's Oktoberfest?

Well, Ace simply hadn't been able to resist.

Just like he couldn't resist obnoxiously cooing, "Want me to buy you some choccy bananas?" when Meg kept eyeing the food stall.

Meg bristled. "I'm not fucking five years old."

"Really? Could have fooled me, with those pigtails."

"I'm just blending in," Meg said. 

She did a twirl to show off the rest of her outfit: a frilly top and floral bodice combined with full-length lambskin pants. She looked like she'd jumped straight out of one of those quaint paintings of a girl yodeling in the Alps.

"Which is more than I can say for some people," Meg snarked.

Unlike Meg’s outfit, Ace’s get-up had been thrown together on a budget. The fancy red waistcoat he’d…acquired from a casino’s staff room and it clashed horribly with the cheap fake bundhosen bought from a tourist shop. Hopefully, the random scarf and traditional Argentinian belt he’d tacked on would make it seem more like a fashion statement instead of an insult to Bavarian culture.

"So I took some creative liberties," Ace said.

"Yeah, that’s probably for the best." Meg smiled smugly. "You're about sixty years too old to pull off leather pants, anyway."

Ace gasped. "Attacked by my own protégé! The audacity!"

"Wonder where I learned that from," Meg said dryly. She looked around again. "I'm gonna go scope out the other tents before the concert."

"And here I thought you wanted me to hold your hand at baby's first festival."

Meg rolled her eyes and pointed at a large tent with something resembling a clock tower next to it. "That one looks the busiest. You go check it out and I'll come find you once I'm done."

Ah, ever efficient. Ace had taught her well.

"Remember to have some fun, too," Ace said. "All work and no play makes Meg a very dull girl!"

"And you remember what we're actually here for." Meg's piercing blue gaze bore into Ace's. "If I find you in a beer chugging contest again, so help me—"

"That was one time and the frat boys dared me!"

"Ace."

Ace smiled and shook his head. "Of course. Who do you take me for?"

Meg raised an eyebrow. "I bet I can score more than you."

"Oh, really?" Ace countered. "Maybe whoever loses should pay for lunch the rest of the week, if you're so confident."

"Deal." Meg turned around, waving over her shoulder as she walked away. "Smell you later, old fart!"

"Have fun, Firecracker."

Meg disappeared into the crowd and Ace allowed himself a moment to appreciate how far they'd come. It seemed like just yesterday that he'd taken the girl in.

A few years ago when he'd been stateside, Ace had managed to cash out big after a blackjack win streak. When he'd left the casino, he only made it two blocks down the street before someone bumped into him and Ace was very aware of the weight of his wallet disappearing from his pocket while he struggled to right himself.

The thief had run off in a blur of red hair and sneakers pounding on pavement. After feebly trying to chase after them, Ace had stayed in the area and waited, and only a few hours later the pickpocket—a teenage girl—returned to the scene of the crime. She was clearly tailing a woman in a fur jacket and designer purse, but even across the street Ace could see that both the fur and bag were obvious fakes.

Amateur mistakes, really.

This time, Ace had familiarized himself with the surroundings beforehand and even as the girl spotted him and took off in a sprint, he eventually managed to corner her in an alleyway.

And after some angry screaming from the girl and a kick to Ace's shin, they'd ended up in a 24/7 shoddy diner with Ace buying her a meal in exchange for her story.

Meg had been homeless for months after her mother passed away from cancer. At only seventeen and with no close relatives, she'd been forced out on the streets and struggling to survive; it was only her sharp reflexes and years as a track star that kept her afloat by doing petty crimes.

And maybe it was the situation that was eerily similar to Ace's own childhood, or the fire he could see in her eyes, but Ace had only smiled before critiquing her pickpocketing technique and asking if she'd ever thought about being a con artist.

That was how Ace ended up taking Meg under his wing and teaching her everything he knew. With his experience and her quick feet, they made a surprisingly good team and had traveled across the States stealing and scamming much more efficiently than Ace usually managed on his own.

Having another person in on his schemes made a big difference. Meg could do anything from pretending to join Ace's poker table as a stranger to emptying someone's purse while Ace was doing magic tricks as a street performer. Meg had only been caught once by the police, and she'd been so convincing at sniffling pathetically and claiming she was only fifteen that the officer had taken pity and simply called her father—a.k.a. Ace's burner phone—instead of taking her down to the station.

But easy money or not, Ace hadn't expected their arrangement to last long. A few months later when Meg turned eighteen, she'd already earned enough to start her life anew—yet when Ace asked where she was planning to settle down, he only received a look of pure betrayal. And then there was screaming and crying and Meg accusing him of abandoning her, just like her dad and everyone else.

Ace had never wanted children, but as he dared to hug Meg for the first time and she merely clutched at his shirt and sobbed in his arms, he decided he'd do his best to be there for her the way nobody had been for him.

That was four years ago and Meg was still here, so he must have been doing something right.

Ace knew that their friendship was unorthodox. A middle-aged man and grumpy young woman who were visibly not related often garnered suspicious looks, especially whenever they went out to eat in a proper restaurant or money was tight enough that they had to share a twin instead of booking separate motel rooms.

Which was ironic, because it was Ace who hated sharing a room with Meg. She took ages in the shower, always sat on Ace's bed to eat and got crumbs all over the sheets, and stayed up way too late watching crappy late-night TV when Ace was trying to get his beauty sleep. It was like she knew exactly how to annoy him and did it with a smile every chance she could.

He tried not to show how proud he was of her mischievous streak.

Ace chuckled to himself. He couldn't have asked for a better partner-in-crime and he was glad they'd had enough extra cash to make the trip to Germany. Even if she tried to play it cool, Meg was clearly excited about seeing both the country and her favorite musician.

The fact that this happened to be one of Europe's biggest festivals, with countless drunk, rich patrons for easy pickings and dense crowds to quickly disappear into was simply a bonus.

Ace took a steadying breath and straightened his shirt—patterned with tiny card suits that hopefully nobody would notice weren’t traditional Oktoberfest checkers—and slipped on a familiar confident persona. As long as he pretended that he belonged here, everyone else would believe it too.

With a carefree smile and a spring in his step, Ace made his way to the beer tent to people-watch for a worthwhile target.