#shoutout to that one ao3 fic where both of them go “’this wasn’t supposed to happen’ as they’re making out

[marragurl]

Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.

Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.

Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.

(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)

So imagine this:

Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)

Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.

Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.

Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.

If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.

As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.

Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.

It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.

One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.

(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)

There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.

Sunday couldn’t look away.

He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.

Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?

He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.

Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most comfort in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.

Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.

The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.

It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.

It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.

It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.

It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.

OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.

Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS

So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”

I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?

[chunkypossum]

@azrisweek || DAY 6: Changes || 11k words

CW: These first two chapters aren't so bad but consider not picking this one up if you have problems with blood, gore and heavy shit like that.... I am rewatching Hannibal and it is quickly taking this fic in a direction I wasn't sure I was going to go in.... not saying I will, but it might become more of a horror than it was originally intended to be The long list of things Eris had found to be grateful for over the years, not so surprisingly, didn't exactly feature a quiet, unassuming existence. The thrill in what he was demanded pride and exhibition, and gods was he good at playing that game. Well, he had been good at it. Now, as much as he loathed to admit it, there was an odd satisfaction to be found in the simplicity he had agreed to. Unfortunately, as Eris quickly finds out you can't always have the brutes you want... and eat them too.

Azriel doesn't want a lot out of life. His abusive father sold him to the underground as a teen to pay off debt and that's all he has known ever since. Night after night, fight after fight. When he witnessed something he was definitely not supposed to, a part of him was changed forever. Azriel chases dreams he never thought he would have and finds himself facing choices that might force him to change more drastically than he ever thought possible.

F I C

P L A Y L I S T

SPECIAL shoutout to @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee and @born-to-riot for their eyes and thoughts and MAJOR help with this fic. It struggled coming out of me and thanks to them I have such a better vision for it.

READ CHAPTER 1 AND 2 ON AO3

The ceiling was arched in carved gray stone. Archaic scenes lining the walls and ceiling depicted men being torn apart by beasts, babies thrown into fires and women dancing naked in great forests. Some of the women were smiling, and some of them were screaming. It was another round room bookend by hallways. Both the hallways and the round center were lined on all sides with Iron doors. Stamped designs in the metal directly contradicted the harshness of the stone reliefs with innocent-looking animals, fields of flowers, and night skies. Designed to put people at ease, the peaceful art stood out in the otherworldly glow of the greenish light emanating from the wall scones, hiding the horror of the stone from all those but with the sharpest eyes.  Where the party went to die. Once-upon-a-time it had been a favorite of Eris’, mostly because the party wasn’t dying for him, nothing ever did. The Abyss was a depraved seduction all its own. Many doors were shut, but some more remained open, either vacant or because the occupants enjoyed putting on a show.   Taking his time, Eris let his senses open up, relishing in the past for a lingering moment or two. He marked the closed doors where faint screaming could be heard from the other side of the near soundproof material, both in ecstasy and … something else. His hands rested easily in the pockets of his jeans keeping him from reaching out and peeking behind half-open doors to the treats waiting within. 

If anyone wants on or off the taglist please let me know!

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train : @talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yanny-77 @areyoudreaminof @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @ninthcircleofprythian @matrixsss @going-through-shit @c-starstuff-man0 @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @krowiathemythologynerd @cauldronblssd @hieragalbatorixdottir @yourlazykitkat @hellolordling @climbthemountain2020 @christeak @lilah-asteria  

[book-of-baba-fett]

Illicit Affairs - Chapter 6

The morning after their reunion, Rex and Talia have to face two questions; why are bounty hunters after Talia, and what comes next for both of them?

Chapter Rating: M (idk how these ratings should work - no smut but sexy stuff)

Warnings: Naked making out, mentions of sex, language, canon-typical violence, Fives being a little shit

A/N: OK I promise the smut will happen again, this is not going to be one of those fics that gives you a little taste and abandons it! TBH this is basically a pt 2 to the last chapter; this is how I really wanted to end it but it got LONG. As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated. Another shoutout to the amazing @galacticgraffiti (if you aren’t reading their work - what are you doing???)

Ao3 Link

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter:

20 BBY – Coruscant

The harsh sunlight peering through the window half blinded Talia as she stirred, her body tightly wrapped in the pillowy, cotton sheets strewn over the bed. She groaned as she stretched her limbs under the covers, a soreness over her body accompanying the dull, thudding ache in her head. She cracked her neck, trying to relieve some of the pressure before falling face down on the pillow again. Her arms spread out to feel the indent in the bed where a body had lain before. The spot was still slightly warm, Rex must have left not long ago. Talia understood but couldn’t help but feel a little bit let down. She only hoped he wouldn’t be in any trouble for not returning to the base, and for not taking her to the temple as ordered.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door to the room opened, Rex coming back in with a glass of water. Talia propped herself up, holding the sheet up with her to her chest, a simple gesture of modesty that was pointless as her mind nagged her that he had now seen her naked twice, as she sat up at the headboard of the bed. In the daylight she had a full appreciation of the mess they made the night before; her dress and undergarments pooled in front of the bed, Rex’s armor tossed in various places across the room. As he strode to the bed with just his pants on, Talia snuck an appreciative glance at the way the morning light glowed on his brown skin, outlining the defined muscles of his arms and chest, highlighting the lightning-like patterns of scars, and her gaze couldn’t help but flick to the bulge pressing against his blacks.

“Thought you might be needing this,” Rex handed the water to a grateful Talia, who muttered her thanks and instantly chugged half of its content. The bed dipped as Rex sat next to her, his amber eyes appraising her to try and gauge anything she might be feeling. He was tense, sitting upright against the headboard, close enough to her that they were almost touching but not quite. Talia decided to break the barrier, setting the glass down on the nightstand and leaning into him, his muscles immediately relaxing as he wrapped his arm around her. He kissed her forehead and Talia caught his small smile in a mirror hanging across the room. The sex part of this, whatever this was, seemed to come easy; the rest might need a little bit more easing into.

Talia didn’t know how a relationship was supposed to work. Was this one, did they need to talk terms or was it still too soon for that? It was easier to not define anything, Talia thought. That way, they weren’t really breaking any rules, right? Well, besides the whole superior officer sleeping with an inferior officer. But Rex didn’t report to her directly, so it wasn’t as bad as it could be. And then there was the matter of the Jedi code; one of the strongest pillars of the code was forbidding attachment, but if they kept things light and casual, that could easily be avoided. Being able to have compassion and love were just as important to being a Jedi, not that she could even refer to whatever these feelings still blooming in her chest as love. The truth of the matter was that everything about the situation was uncertain, but Talia couldn’t find herself caring about that part quite yet, she was so caught up in the thrill of it all and the delicate rush of emotions that dipped in her chest when she was with Rex. She didn’t want to worry about the technicalities and what else was going to happen; right now, all she wanted to do was soak in the warmth of Rex’s skin against hers for a little while longer.

“What time is it?” Talia yawned, tilting her head up to look at him.

“Almost 0800,” Rex answered, his voice still husky from sleep, rousing the fluttering in her stomach.

“Hmm, so we have some time then,” she smirked at him, her eyes glinting with trouble.

“Oh?” Rex arched a brow at her, pulling his head back slightly so he could meet her eyes. His hand played with the ends of her hair resting on her shoulder. “Time for what?”

“I have a few ideas,” she pushed herself up, allowing the sheet to fall from her chest, as she pressed her lips to Rex’s. Rex kissed her back, his tongue slipping between her lips as he pushed her down on the bed. Shivers of arousal sprouted up Talia’s spine as Rex ripped the sheets off her, his pupils blown out with lust as he smirked at her form. He dipped his head back down so his lips could peck a trail along her jaw and down to her neckline, his stubble eliciting a giggle from her as it tickled her skin. Her giggles transformed into whimpers as Rex sucked on her sensitive pulse point, her head now tilted back completely so Rex had better access to her. Her hips rose to meet his, grinding against his hardness, making Rex clench his hands into the sheets beside them. The friction of the fabric only added to Talia’s need,at first it created some semblance of relief but she just wanted more. A wet line formed along the outline of his cock in his blacks from where his cock had met Talia’s already slick slit, her hands gliding down his chest to his waistline so she could free his weeping member and-

The loud beeping of a comm sounded in the room. Rex cursed under his breath as he moved to pull back, but Talia wrapped her arms around his neck, attempting to hold Rex to her even while the comm continued to ring.

“Leave it,” she whispered into his ear with a roll of her hips against his.

Rex groaned at the pressure; his brows furrowed as he debated his situation. Talia thought she had won for a moment when Rex kissed her, but when he pulled back up and removed her hands from his neck, she forced an indignant pout.

Rex shook his head with a wink, a smirk formed on his face, as he jumped off the bed to dig around for where his comm had tossed the night before. Talia’s eyes caught a flashing light littered along the floor with their scattered clothes and chose to have a bit of fun. The beeping continued as Rex’s search was fruitless, until Rex heard a light cough behind him. Talia propped herself up on her side, completely free of the covers so she was bare except for the white and blue vambrace attached to her forearm, the blinking button of the comm flashing on it. She cocked a brow at Rex as if to say ‘if you want it, you’ll have to come and get it.’

Rex’s eyes darkened as they roved over her body, slowly crawling up the bed. Once again, Talia thought she had secured a victory, but hopes were dashed when Rex just grabbed her forearm and clicked the button.

“Rex, here,” he promptly answered, his eyes flashing at Talia in triumph. To retort, she stretched her other arm back, a move that propped her breasts out more, something Rex’s eyes caught, making him almost miss the voice coming through the comm.

“Rex, Talia isn’t at the Temple; did something happen on your way back last night?” Anakin’s voice rang out.

“Uh, no Sir. She wanted to stay at her friend’s place, so that’s where we spent the night, Sir.”

“Her friend's place? How is that safer than the Temple…wait, did you say WE?”

Talia had to hold her laugh back at the wide eyed, flustered look on Rex’s face, biting her lip so nothing from her would register over the comm.

“Uh, yes Sir,” Rex answered, a flush creeping up his neck as he rubbed the back of his head. “She insisted on coming here…she was stubborn and a bit intoxicated so I couldn’t convince her otherwise.”

Talia shot Rex a glare as Anakin sighed, “But why did you spend the night too?”

“Uh, she got sick...from the alcohol,” Rex answered the first thing he could think of, earning a slap on the arm from Talia. “I also figured the orders to escort her to the temple would still stand this morning, Sir. So, I crashed on the couch.”

“Well, you better get her back soon; the Council wants to speak with her.”

“The Council?” Talia chimed in, forgetting that it wasn’t known she was in the room as Rex’s eyes flashed at her. “Why do they want to see me?”

Anakin was silent for a beat until his voice answered, a teasing tone now palpable, “Oh, so you’re there too?”

“I, uh, woke up when I heard Rex’s comm going off…in the next room,” Now it was Talia’s turn to blush as she chided herself for her lack of tact. She could practically see Anakin’s smirking face. Maybe he’s too oblivious to think more of it.

“Well, as for why they want to see you, I don’t know- maybe the bounty placed on your head is reason enough?”

“Oh, right. That.” Talia groaned as she rubbed her hand through her hair. She let out a deep sigh then answered, “Fine, I’ll be there soon.”

“Good, I’ll stall for you,” Anakin replied. Before signing off, he directed one last order, “Rex, no more detours on the way back, got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Rex answered before clicking off the comm. He unlatched the comm from Talia’s wrist and placed it on the nightstand. He sat back on his haunches and exhaled deeply as Talia rolled to her back on the bed. She flashed him a mischievous grin as his eyes lingered on her exposed body.

“We still have a little time to spare,” Talia teased, wiggling her hips at him.

“Not enough time for what I want to do to you,” Rex gruffly replied, leaning down to steal a kiss. Talia pressed a hand to his still semi-hard cock and gripped it through his pants. Rex groaned as he involuntarily thrusted into her hand, just to grip her wrist to pull her hand away. “You’re going to be the death of me, mesh’la.”

“Oh, come on, you wouldn’t want the bounty hunters to get me before you had another chance at me?” she mocked, immediately regretting her words as the grin faded from Rex’s face. She pushed herself up, so she was kneeling beside him on the bed. “I’m sorry, that was a dumb joke.”

Rex shook his head as he stood up from the bed, pulling the shirt of his blacks off the floor so he could get dressed. Talia slowly slid off the bed to follow suit; she had gotten ready there last night before going to 79’s with her friends, so luckily she had a knapsack with some robes she could wear. To her side, Rex was already starting to put on parts of his kit; being always ready for action meant he could get situated in an instant.

“You do know I fought them off in a dress and heels last night,” Talia broached the silence as she wrapped herself in her grey, sleeveless robes. Rex paused latching his thigh plates on so his gaze could meet hers, still not wearing the top half of his armors so his tense muscles were defined in the tight black fabric as he sat on the edge of the bed, something that was not helping Talia squash her desires in that moment. “I’m sure I’ll be able to handle whatever else they have for me.”

“I know you can handle yourself,” Rex bluntly stated, frowning as he returned to his armor. He grunted as he tightened a latch on his thigh particularly hard, then stood up so he was towering next to Talia. He reached a hand to cup her cheek, tilting her head towards him,his tone softer now as he said “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

She placed her hand on top of his, smiling softly as she brought it to her lips to kiss his knuckles. “And I will be,” she said, dropping his hand as she made her way to the bathroom. She had left some of her makeup there the night before, so hopefully that could make her feel a little refreshed in place of shower. “I’m sure this will all be resolved quickly and before you know it- OH KRIFF, REX!”

She stared at the mirror; mouth opened in hysterical shock at her reflection. Rex’s stomping boots scurried from the other room into the bathroom where he slid through the door.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” he panted, one hand already on the blaster in his holster.

“What’s WRONG? Look at the state of my neck!” she half shouted, half laughed. Trailing along her collarbone and neck were a trio of hickeys, none too dark but the amount of them made them very noticeable. She flipped her head around to glare at him, but her intense stare couldn’t hold at the bashful grin forming on his face. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to face the mirror, still able to meet his eyes in the reflection. “I have to go in front of the Council looking like this…ugh I can only imagine what Master Luminara will think.”

“That you had a lot of fun last night?” Rex suggested; his face red as he rubbed the back of his head. Talia dove into her makeup bag, hoping the concealer she had would be enough to cover it up. She dabbed some of the light liquid on the marks, making them fade slightly as she sighed. Rex stood up straight behind her and mumbled, “Sorry, got a bit carried away.”

“Just, next time try and place the marks somewhere my robes can easily cover them?” Her eyes sparkled at him as she put the makeup up in her bag. She opened the drawers in the counter, desperately seeking a hairbrush.

“Next time, huh?” He raised his brows at her, smiling at her as he leaned against the doorway.

“Don’t think you’ll be getting rid of me any time soon, Captain,” she smirked at him through the mirror, brushing out the fallen curls in her hair. She pursed her lips at her reflection, angling her neck to check out the damage. “It’s not as noticeable with my hair down, I guess.”

“I like how you look with your hair down,” Rex said softly, as he watched her get ready. Talia blushed as she returned the smile, gathering the last of her things sitting at the counter.

“I’ll have to remember that,” she chuckled, striding past him back into the bedroom. “But not very practical for when training or in battle.”

Rex snorted, “Yeah, it’s bad enough that you don’t wear armor; I guess you being able to see without hair being in your face is a small victory for me.” Talia helped Rex dress in the top half of his armor; not that he needed assistance, Talia just wanted to familiarize herself with all the latches for a quicker removal should the need arise. Rex held the door open for her as she crossed into Zahara’s living room. Once in the hallway, Rex gripped Talia’s wrist and held her back.

“I won’t be able to do this when we get to the temple,” he muttered before grabbing her chin and leaning in for a kiss. It was soft and delicate, something that left Talia wanting more as he pulled back. Rex grinned at her, opening his mouth to speak again when the door across the hall opened.

If someone had taken a snapshot of Fives’s face in that moment, they would have thought the war had ended with the giddy look on his face. Eyes blown wide in shock, Fives stood in the doorway to Zahara’s bedroom, who was behind him in a silky robe with an almost equal expression of bewilderment as they took in the sight across from them. Rex and Talia stood frozen, Rex’s hand still resting on her chin as the color drained from his face. Fives’s eyes darted between his Captain and the Jedi; mouth wide open in a grin as the gears turned in his head as he debated his next actions.

Talia snapped into action first, forcing a cough, then announcing “Thank you, Captain, for keeping an eye on the place last night. We can probably go back to the Temple now.”

“Yes, of course, Tal-, I mean. Of course, Sir,” he responded, snapping his hand away and straightening stiff as a board. Fives just crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, his tongue in his cheek as he slowly shook his head. Rex glared at his brother before addressing him, “Fives, I expect to see you back at the base for training by 1100.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” Fives answered with two finger salute and a shit-eating grin as he watched the two leave the apartment.

***

“One of the hunters from last night was apprehended by Commander Cody, giving us the answers we need,” Obi-Wan announced from his chair in the Council’s chamber. Talia stood in the center of the room with her hands latched behind her back, grateful she had time to stop by her quarters on the way to her summons so she could pull on a turtleneck undershirt for her robes. She kept her face flat and her emotions unreadable as she awaited the news from Obi-Wan. “The bounty was set by Gorga the Hutt.”

Talia’s brows cinched as she took in the information; she’d had a feeling it was something connected to a crime syndicate and considering a recent mission, before the Council felt she should stay on Coruscant, it now all made sense. She had been undercover infiltrating Gorga’s operation to survey a Separatist arms dealer who was known to hang around one of his nightclubs. That alone wouldn’t warrant a bounty, but she’d had to get creative when sneaking around his facility and she’d stolen access codes to the Hutt’s private office to slice into the Hutt’s system.

“Gorga has security footage of you in his offices; he thought you were sent by a rival syndicate to steal information on the Hutt families,” Mace Windu’s voice rang out as Talia turned her head to keep eye contact with the Master. “From what the hunter revealed; Gorga has no idea you’re a Jedi.”

“Suspect we do,” Master Yoda added, “that called off the bounty will be, once revealed your identity is.”

“The Hutts will have no desire to hunt down a Jedi, we will send a Knight to deal with Gorga so he understands that you were not looking for information on his operations,” Master Plo’s calming, deep voice stated.

“In the meantime, you are to stay in the temple,” Master Windu ordered, keeping a focused gaze on Talia. “We believe that this will fade away quickly once word gets back to Gorga that his bounty is much more difficult than anticipated.”

Her face still impassive, Talia bowed before them and said, “I understand, thank you Masters.”

Outside the chamber, Anakin stood leaning against a wall. Once Talia exited, he stood at attention, quickly following her quick steps. Talia filled Anakin in on everything as she pressed the button to call the turbolift. Anakin frowned at the news, but once in the lift he huffed out a light laugh. Talia crossed her arms and glared at Anakin until he shrugged his shoulders.

“I just didn’t think you had it in you,” he smirked at her. “Pissing off a crime lord so much that you get a bounty on your head, and then being late to a summons by the council because you’re hungover? What happened to the girl who practically used to live in the Archives?”

“I’m not hungover,” she mumbled, closing her eyes, and inhaling deeply. Talia didn’t want to rant to Anakin, but she wasn’t happy to be on lockdown at the temple. She respected that it was a safety measure, but after over a month of being on Coruscant, she was ready to get back to the field, back to her men who needed her help. Still, she could manage her frustrations in a different outlet. She breathed out, then flipped her hair back to pull it into a ponytail. Eyeing Anakin, she asked, “What do you have going on today? I could use a sparring match.”

“I was just heading to the training room to meet Ahsoka if you want to join,” Anakin offered. The lift slowed to a halt and just before the doors opened, Anakin added, “I’m a few minutes early, so you have time to fill me in on who gave you those hickeys.”

Talia’s eyes widened as heat flushed to her cheeks. She parted her lips in defense, but no words came out. Anakin winked and backed out of the lift; his arms raised in surrender. Cursing, she followed him out, tugging the neckline of her shirt up more.

***

Many of the boys of the 501st were hitting the bars that night, but there were always those who chose to hang back at the base, and the group who had experienced the excitement of the night before opted for an easier night tonight. Spread among bunks in the main barracks drinking contraband beer and playing sabacc, they bet what little credits they had. Jesse was the resident champ in the group, and had just cleaned the house on another round as Fives and Kix cursed him out. Tup, who had also stayed back, just sat with his head in his hands, speechless over the number of credits he lost. Rex smirked at the scene next to him; he could have spent the night in his private officer’s quarters but chose to bring his datapad to the barracks to unwind near his men.

The tale of the bounty hunters and their chase around Coruscant had spread quickly over the base, something that wasn’t helped by some cameras from the HoloNet News capturing the events as they took place. Most of the troopers who weren’t in on the mission were curious about what happened, but since so much was still unknown to the clones, they didn’t have anything of note to share. A few clones who had been at 79’s before the chase had occurred did share the story of Talia taking out the Weequay man outside the bar, and Rex nearly shattered the bottle in his hand from his tight grip when some shinies started talking about ‘how great that Jedi looked in that dress’. Thankfully, Cody had been around then and instantly shut down the shinies, not allowing that kind of talk about a superior officer. A pit formed in Rex’s stomach at Cody’s warning, but when Rex shifted his position so he could hide his face from his vod, he caught Fives shooting him with the same knowing look he had been firing at the Captain all day.

Rex had cornered Fives in training earlier that day, trying to assure that he hadn’t witnessed anything that morning, but Rex couldn’t help but feel he just fanned Fives’s imagination. The only salvation he felt he had was wielding the threat of latrine duty on their next deployment if Rex heard even so much of a whisper of anything. Still, even in silence the teasing grin on Fives’s face was enough to set Rex on edge.

Rex was trying to distract himself by reading a holonovel on his datapad, something easier said than done around his more energetic brothers. He was reading a historical piece about Onderon; he had been fascinated by the planet on his recent assignment to train rebel insurgents and wanted to learn more about the world. Rex was reading about a civil war in the days of the Old Republic, one brought to an end by the aid of an exiled Jedi during a time when there were few Jedi in the Galaxy. Reading would have succeeded in distracting Rex, had the ancient Queen of Onderon at the time not been named Talia.

Rex hadn’t reached out to her since he escorted her to the Temple that morning, he had wanted to give her space, but he couldn’t ignore that nagging feeling in his head that wanted to check in with her. He wasn’t used to anything post-sex; besides one woman that he had a fling with when the war started, he usually never had a way or felt a need to contact any of them before. But with Talia, he was curious what was going on with her all the time. Was there a time frame he needed to wait? Normally he would have asked one of his brothers, Fives or Jesse, for advice but he couldn’t breach the subject this time around and risk more probing questions.

After holding up the messages screen of his datapad for a few minutes, he finally typed and sent his message.

CT-7567: How did the meeting with the council go?

Rex tilted the datapad down so he could half listen to the conversation around him, instantly flipping it back around as it chimed to notify him of a new message.

Talia: It was fine. Found out Gorga the Hutt put the bounty on me. On orders to stay at the temple.

Rex resisted the urge to type back a long message agreeing with the Council and tried to stay as relaxed as possible.

CT-7567: Makes sense.

CT-7567: Any comments from Master Yoda about the hickeys?

Talia: Ha ha.

Talia: Actually, out of all the Masters, he would get a kick out of them.

Talia: But Anakin noticed them…just kill me now.

CT-7567: Kriff.

CT-7567: Does he suspect anything?

Talia: IDK it’s hard to tell. Ahsoka totally does though.

CT-7567: Haar’chak. Kid is too smart for her own good sometimes.

Talia: She must be to put up with you lot all the time.

Rex smirked at his screen as he took another sip of his beer. His eyes glanced around him to make sure none of his brothers were paying attention to him, but they were engrossed in another round of sabacc.

Talia: It’s a bummer I’m stuck here.

CC-7567: Doing anything fun to pass the time?

Talia: Oh…just relaxing.

Rex nearly choked on his beer as he opened Talia’s next message; an image of her lying in her temple bed. Her face wasn’t in the image, but she wore a simple loose tank that she had pulled down to show the line of her cleavage and a pair of panties. Shifting himself up so he was sitting on the edge of the cot he was at and leaning over to hide the bulge already forming in his blacks as he typed his reply.

CT-7567: Well, you look comfortable.

Talia: Would be more comfortable if you were here with me.

Talia: Do you want to see more?

Karking hells, yes. Rex drained his bottle as he stood up, muttering his goodbyes to his brothers. He was able to maintain a calm facade in the room, but once in the hall, he darted his way to his private quarters. Once in his room, he opened another message from Talia. She was topless this time, a hand breaching below the waistline of her underwear.

Talia: Earlier you said you didn’t have enough time for what you wanted to do to me…care to share what that was now?

Rex groaned at the image, palming himself through his blacks as he typed his reply.

CT-7567: Oh, I think I can do that…

***

“This matter is very concerning to the people of Coruscant, and the citizens of the Republic,” Chancellor Palpatine’s voice droned on as he spoke to Master Yoda and Windu over the hologram, his blue form illuminating the room in the early hours of the morning. “I must insist for this Knight to come to the Senate so we can conduct our own questioning.”

“This is an internal matter of the Jedi Order and Riva has done no wrong, time will end this,” Master Windu argued back firmly.

“Oh, I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding, but the HoloNet News has been reporting the surge of underworld activities lately, and an open chase between bounty hunters and a Jedi Knight doesn’t help matters for us; we just want to make sure the girl isn’t more actively involved with the underworld than it may appear. We can send some of the Coruscant Guard to escort her if safety is a concern.”

Mace and Yoda locked eyes with each other, communicating wordlessly before Yoda sighed and acquiesced, “Send Riva to meet with you, we will.”

“Excellent,” The Chancellor’s hands clapped together as he grinned at the two masters over the hologram. “Send her over as quickly as possible so we can resolve this matter.”

***

Rain pelted over the hood of Talia’s robes as she stood on the Temple’s landing platform waiting for the Coruscant Guard’s speeder to dock. D3 hummed near her ear, the little droid insisted that it accompany Talia on the journey that morning; Talia teased it that it was just as stir crazy as she was. The speeder lowered to allow Talia to board, a clone commander with red wings on his helmet saluted her as she settled into her seat.

“Good morning, General,” the clone greeted in a jovial tone.

“Hello, Commander Thorn,” Talia shivered in reply, envying the troops for their waterproof armor. The request from the Chancellor felt odd to Talia, but she was accepting anything that got her out of the Temple at that point. Still, she couldn’t help but feel the darkness shrouding over the gray morning, as if a phantom presence was lingering in the air and watching over her. The speeder lifted off shortly after she boarded, the cool morning breeze blowing past her. The rain made it overcast over the city, half the tops of buildings were lost amidst the layer of clouds that hung low in the skyline. Besides Thorn, there were just two other clones in the speeder, one piloting and the other sitting in the co-pilot seat. Thorn chatted happily with her as they rode in the direction of the Senate building, updating her with all the drama of the senate.

“I swear Senator Amidala has something going on, she’s always kicking us out for private calls. See, I thought she had something going on with that Senator Clovis but then- “

Thorn’s words were lost in Talia’s ears as she caught an eerily familiar gray starship closing distance behind the speeder. The speeder turned with the traffic, and Talia relaxed for a minute, before the transport rounded the corner after them.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Talia muttered, her hand gravitating to her lightsaber at her belt. Before her hand could reach the hilt, the speeder was jolted as a tractor beam activated.

Thorn and the other clone who wasn’t piloting jumped into action, firing on the transport. The starship fired a single blast at the speeder, not enough to seriously damage it but enough that Thorn was jolted off and into a neighboring speeder. Talia ignited her double-bladed saber, twirling the cyan beams of energy to deflect the blaster fire, but they were still being pulled towards the starship.

“D3!” She shouted over the rain and blaster fire, “See if you can redirect all power to the thrusters!”

The little droid beeped as it floated to the front of the speeder. A shot bypassed Talia’s blades and hit the clone in the co-pilot seat, killing him instantly. Talia scanned the routes around them for any other speeders to jump to, but all other transports were steering clear of the firefight. They were pulled closer and closer to the starship, its powerful thrusters knocking Talia into the seat. Another blast fired and the pilot was hit, the tractor beam now the only thing that could keep the ship steady,

“D3, abandon ship!” she called out before pulling herself over the side of the speeder and leaping out in a last-ditch effort.

Wind roared around her, piercing her skin like a hundred little knives in the cool air. Arms spread wide, she reached out with the Force to guide her motion, trying to slow her acceleration as she plummeted towards the surface of Coruscant. A transport was pulling up beneath her. If she could time It just right and angle herself correctly, she could land on in it, use her lightsaber to carve an entrance for herself and-

Her body stilled, her limbs caught and heavy as she plummeted at a harsher speed; she had been hit by a stunning shot. Panic seized her gut as she fought to keep her eyes open as her limbs went boneless; she couldn’t direct her course anymore, the transport now closer and closer…

A limber arm wrapped around her, and she was leveling, then rising amidst the traffic. She released a breath that was caught in her throat, her vision dimming as she succumbed to darkness.

“Don’t worry, little lady,” Cad Bane’s accented voice drawled into her ear as her head fell back. His rocket boots guided them into the sky, towards his ship. “I won’t let you fall.”

Next Chapter

--

Taglist: @pinkiemme @clone-simp-time @djarrex @grimhood9 @shuttlelauncher81 @ahsoka1 @hockeyjedi13 @justanothersadperson93 @paige6768 @saltywintersoldat @crosshairxstars @dinner-djarin @whore4rex @raven--queen @collectoroffics

[sugarandspace]

In Their Own Bubble (Buddie)

Summary: The well rescue left Eddie uncomfortable with small spaces and absolutely hating the idea of being stuck somewhere. Things go south when Buck and Eddie get trapped in a small elevator while they are working.

Warnings: claustrophobia, panicking, vague mentions of being buried alive and nearly drowning

A/N: I found this tiny elevator (picture if someone wants to see how tiny it is) while working, and now literally every time I use that elevator I think of this fic idea. Shoutout to my friend Em (thatnerdemryn/@thatnerdemryn) who took this fic to a whole new level by saying that Eddie could be claustrophobic!

AO3

“... I’m going to take the stairs.”

“Don’t be silly,” Buck says and pulls Eddie into the elevator with him. It’s a tight fit, especially with the bag of gear they have with them, but they both get crammed in. “It’s a short ride to the roof, we’ll manage.”

Then when the doors slide closed and they are alone, Buck adds with a quieter tone and a wiggle of his eyebrows, “Gives me an excuse to be close to you.”

And close they are. With Buck leaning on the wall opposite to the buttons, Eddie has to lean to the mirror at the back of the elevator so as not to accidentally touch them. Buck looks at the floor and wonders if their boots would touch if they tried to stand on opposite sides of the elevator. It’s very clear that the elevator was added after the building was built and they had to make do with the space they had. Buck is just glad they aren’t wearing their turnout gear, even in their regular uniforms their arms are touching despite them almost being at opposite corners.

“We’re at work,” Eddie says with a pointed look as if to remind Buck.

Their relationship is still fairly new, and they had agreed early on that they would give the department zero reasons to separate them. They both love the team they have and like being able to have each other’s backs while on call. They both know not to risk it for a few stolen kisses during a shift. They spent months pining after each other without knowing that the other felt the same, waiting until the shift is over to kiss the other might feel like torture sometimes, but it’s nothing compared to that. They can wait.

Plus, neither of them is really ready for all the teasing that would come if their team knew that they were together, so it’s better to keep it between them (and Christopher, of course) for now.

“Is this elevator even meant to carry this much weight?” Eddie asks, and Buck can see that his boyfriend looks visibly uncomfortable. He pushes away the joke that’s ready on his tongue and answers honestly.

“Even when we count both of us and the gear we’re carrying, there’s still a long way to the maximum weight this elevator allows,” he assures Eddie and leans towards him to affectionately bump shoulders. “It’s going to be fine.”

As if on cue, the elevator makes a loud noise and stops abruptly, making both of them jolt forward a little. Buck glances at the screen showing where they are and sees that they are currently stuck on the seventh floor.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says, a hundred percent sure his words combined with his shitty luck are the reason they are currently stuck in an elevator.

Eddie doesn’t respond, and Buck watches as he frantically tries to push the buttons on the elevator, trying to make it work.

“This can’t be happening,” he mutters to himself and moves to the doors, trying to pry them open with his hands, but the doors don’t move.

“Eds?” Buck asks, getting worried. Eddie doesn’t panic, like, ever, and seeing him like this is really making Buck worry.

“We have to get out,” Eddie says, and for the first time since the elevator stopped, he looks at Buck. Buck can see that he’s starting to sweat and his eyes don’t stay on Buck for long, desperately looking for another way out.

“We will,” Buck says. “It’s going to be okay.”

Buck presses on the button of his radio and speaks to it, “Hey Cap? Eddie and I won’t be able to make it to the roof. The elevator is stuck on the seventh floor.”

“Copy that,” Bobby replies. “We’ll get to you as soon as we’ve helped the victim.”

Bobby is talking about the man they were supposed to be helping, a man who had gotten his head stuck on a small window as he had tried to stick his head out of it to get some fresh air. The man was on a top floor where their ladder wasn’t going to reach, so Buck and Eddie were supposed to go to the roof where one of them could have been lowered down to help the man from the outside.

Their gear bag sits with them in the elevator, but Buck knows they have more in the truck. The team will be okay without them, it’s just going to take a while longer for them to help the man. Luckily the situation isn’t dire, the man isn’t in pain or in danger and he can wait a little longer.

Eddie, however? Buck’s not sure if he can wait.

“Copy that,” Buck replies to Bobby and then turns his attention to Eddie. His breathing is turning more panicked and he’s running his hand through his hair, obviously nervous. Buck’s been in an elevator with Eddie before, and the man has never expressed being afraid of them so it leaves Buck a little confused.

“Eddie?” He asks. “What’s going on?”

“We should be helping that man,” Eddie says, “Instead of being able to do our job we are stuck here.”

It’s not the real reason, but Buck doesn’t push.

“The team will help us,” Buck says and sits down. There’s not enough room for him to straighten his legs, so he sits cross-legged. It makes his knees hit the sides of the elevator and leaves Eddie even less room to stand.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, looking at Buck like he grew a second head.

“I’m sitting down,” Buck says. “There’s nothing we can do other than wait.”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He goes back to pressing the buttons and Buck can see that his hands are trembling. He reaches up to hold one of them, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“We’re safe here,” Buck says gently. “The elevators have a ton of safety measures that prevent them from falling. It’s not uncommon that they stop, but it’s very very rare that they fall. We’ll be okay until our team gets to us. After that, I’m sure they have a joke or two about having to save us but I think we’ll survive those too.”

Buck’s attempt at lightening the situation doesn’t help Eddie, it almost looks like he doesn’t even hear Buck’s words, and Buck wonders where his head has gone. He wants to help but he has no idea how.

“Talk to me Eddie,” he says, his voice gentle. He brushes his thumb across Eddie’s knuckles and squeezes, getting a strong grip in response.

“I don’t like being stuck,” Eddie says, and his voice comes out strained like he’s forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “When I was in the well I-”

Eddie’s words get cut off by a strangled gasp and suddenly Buck knows exactly why Eddie is reacting so strongly to this.

“Hey,” Buck says and pulls on Eddie’s hand, trying to urge him down with him. Because of the tight fit, Eddie ends up in Buck’s lap and Buck helps him get comfortable so that Eddie is straddling Buck and they are chest to chest, forehead to forehead

Buck knows that they wouldn’t want to be seen like this on the job, that if their coworkers were to see them now they would get exactly the type of teasing they are trying to avoid, but the need for comfort and the need to comfort override that. Buck can’t just stand there when Eddie is struggling, and if someone tries to make fun of them Buck will have a word or two to tell them. And their team are good people, Buck knows that they wouldn’t actually make fun of them if they saw how Eddie was feeling, and by now it would be clear to everyone, not just for Buck’s practiced eye.

“You are not there,” Buck says softly. He doesn’t need to talk loudly because Eddie has his face close, his forehead against Buck’s, and Buck wants Eddie to focus on his voice, wants to create a bubble around them that’s safe and calming. “You're not alone. We are getting out of here. The team knows that we’re here and they know exactly where we are. They are coming, all we need to do is wait.”

Buck has heard enough about how Eddie felt in the well - whispered conversations after a nightmare or on a particularly rainy day that makes Eddie space out in front of the window - to know exactly what boxes to tick while listing differences.

“It’s warm here,” Buck says and moves his hands up and down Eddie’s back, both to provide more warmth and to remind him that he’s not alone. “I’m here.”

Eddie’s hold on the back of Buck’s shirt gets tighter.

“I know that,” Eddie says, his voice scratchy. “Intellectually I know that I’m not there but-”

Eddie trails off and Buck finishes for him, “But sometimes it’s a little harder to make your brain believe it.”

He feels Eddie nod against his forehead.

Buck is familiar with the feeling. Gets that sometimes when they are spending time near the pier, or when they are on the street and there’s a sudden loud noise.

“Well, I’m going to remind it as many times as it needs,” Buck says. “But I need you to take a deep breath first.”

Eddie’s breaths are too shallow and too quick. Buck doesn’t know if it is because he’s panicking, or if he’s reminded of being underground in a hole that had a limited amount of oxygen, or underwater where all he had was what little he had in his lungs.

Buck leans up to kiss Eddie’s forehead before returning to their previous position, their foreheads against each other’s.

“Take a deep breath in,” Buck says and brushes his hand up Eddie’s back. When he feels the back move under his hand, he brushes it back down. “And breathe out.”

They follow the pattern until Eddie’s breaths get steadier and longer and when his breathing is calmer and he no longer seems to be panicking, Buck brushes his hand up into Eddie’s hair and guides his head to Buck’s shoulder so that they can share a proper hug. Eddie no longer has a death grip on the back of Buck’s uniform shirt, but his arms are sure around Buck’s back. Buck keeps his hand on the back of Eddie’s head while the other is around his waist, keeping him steady on his lap.

Eddie hides his face in the space between Buck’s neck and shoulder and Buck starts brushing his hand through the hair, hoping it brings Eddie comfort, that it reminds him that he’s not alone. For the same reason, Buck keeps talking.

“What do you want to have for dinner today?” Buck asks, his voice still gentle.

“You want to talk about dinner plans?” Eddie asks and Buck is happy to hear some lightness return to his voice, even if he stays hiding in the crook of Buck’s neck. “Now?”

“I want to give your brain something else to think about,” Buck says and turns his head a fraction to kiss the side of Eddie’s head. “So, what do you want for dinner?”

They stay like that, talking about dinner and Christopher and the plans they have for their next day off. Buck’s bad leg starts to ache at some point because it’s been in the same position for a while and Eddie is kind of heavy, but Buck doesn’t mention it. Eddie seems comfortable hiding like this, and Buck doesn’t want to disturb the calm bubble they have.

What does burst their bubble is the crackle of the radio, and Bobby’s voice that follows.

“We are at the elevator now,” he says. “We’re going to open the doors. The elevator is halfway to the seventh floor so you’ll have to climb out.”

“Copy that,” Buck replies. Then, to Eddie, “I guess that’s our sign to move.”

Eddie nods, pulling back from Buck, but only enough so he can leave a soft kiss on his lips.

“Thank you.”

Buck smiles in reply, “Anytime.”

Eddie gets up first, and Buck tries to follow. He can’t hide the grimace as he tries to put weight on his leg, and Eddie notices.

“Your leg,” he says as he helps Buck up. “It’s hurting?”

“It’s no big deal,” Buck says. “It was just in the same position for too long.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Eddie asks, his brows furrowed.

“I had more important things to focus on,” Buck says gently, to which Eddie replies with a fond look followed by a roll of eyes.

“Idiot,” he says lovingly.

Buck doesn’t have time to reply before there’s a loud noise and the doors are being pried open.

“The rescue is here,” Chimney says as soon as they can see him. “I thought you guys were supposed to be working, not give us more work?”

“We didn’t exactly plan this,” Buck replies.

“You sure?” Hen asks, and when Buck looks at her he notices that she’s looking between them, to where they are still holding hands. Buck looks up at Eddie and the first thing he pays attention to is Eddie’s messy hair.

He knows what this looks like and knows it’s not the truth, but he’s not going to tell them the actual truth either. It’s for Eddie to share if he wants to. He just gives Hen a shrug and pushes Eddie towards the doors, letting him get out first.

When Eddie is out, Buck lifts the gear bag out of the elevator and follows suit. Getting out is easy, it only requires a little upper body strength, but getting up to standing proves to be a little more difficult because of his leg. Eddie is by his side immediately, helping him up.

“You two okay?” Bobby asks. “Did you get hurt when the elevator stopped?”

“No,” Eddie says. “But Buck’s leg is hurting.”

Buck gives Eddie a betrayed look but Eddie replies with a raise of his eyebrows that either says ‘do you really think they didn’t notice’ or ‘do you really think I’d let you hide an injury’, Buck’s not sure which.

“It’s fine,” Buck says. “It was just a little tight fit in that elevator. It will be fine once I get to stretch it.”

“How awful to be stuck in such a tight space,” Hen says as they start walking to their truck, the others leading the way as Buck and Eddie walk behind them. “Having to be so close. How did you pass all that time?”

Buck knows what she’s trying to imply, but even though it feels tempting to tell them that they don’t need to speculate about when they will get together since they already are, it’s more rewarding to know it’s a secret. Something just for them.

Buck looks at Eddie where he’s walking beside him, biting his lip and looking troubled. He’s probably thinking about what actually happened in the elevator, and knowing Eddie he doesn’t like the vulnerability he showed while stuck there. He’s getting more comfortable with being more open with Buck, but the idea of the team finding out probably sounds awful to him.

Buck catches his eye and gives him a comforting smile and once he sees Eddie return the smile, he gives him a wink, a reminder of their not-so-little secret.

“Actually,” Buck starts. “We made plans for what to eat for dinner.”

Buck keeps talking all the way to the truck, telling the team about this new pasta recipe he tried over the weekend and how it was the best thing he’s ever eaten (not counting Bobby’s meals, of course), and it’s like any other call they’ve been to. Just before they get in the truck, Eddie reaches over to give his hand a quick squeeze, a silent thank you.

Buck smiles at him and gets to the truck, eagerly waiting for their shift to end.

Most days, keeping their relationship a secret at work is easy. On some, like today, it’s a little harder to keep the touches casual and to keep the affectionate words unsaid. But at the end of the day, it’s worth it so they get to be in their own bubble for a while longer.

[antiadvil]

Sparks Fly

Summary: Dan and Phil’s vacation after Vidcon is going well, until a mistake from Phil sets the whole thing up in flames. Rating: PG-13 wc: ~2.2k A/N: written for the @phandomreversebang! Shoutout to my team ( @schnaphan as the talented artist and @catboydan as my incredibly tolerant beta who did not mind me getting the fic done a day before posting) for being incredibly helpful and supportive of the weird direction I decided to take a “sparks fly” prompt in. You can see @schnaphan’s art here.

Read on ao3 or beneath the cut.

Phil was proud of this one. An airbnb cabin, far away enough from the rest of the world that they would get some space to themselves for once, but close enough to civilization that it had broadband internet. The perfect place to wind down together after Vidcon. He stretched his feet out onto the glossy wooden coffee table and turned another page, trying to focus on his book.

“Ah!” Dan jumped back a bit as he entered the living room. “Did we really need to keep the cutout?”

“It’s funny,” Phil insisted. He wasn’t sure what exactly had inspired him to stuff the cardboard cutout of Dan into their suitcases when the man from the convention asked if they wanted to keep it, but it annoyed Dan to see a replica of himself stand in the cabin’s living room, so stand it did.

“It keeps scaring the shit out of me.” Dan glared at it, somewhat resentfully.

“Even better.” Phil attempted a wink.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Just wanted to say I’m tired. Going to bed.”

Phil looked up from his book, trying to suppress his disappointment. “So early?”

“Tired.” Dan leaned over the back of the sofa to try to reach Phil’s face, reaching out with his hands to pull him closer when Phil jokingly pulled away.

“Good night,” Dan said, kissing Phil on the forehead, and then on both cheeks when he pouted. “Do your best to survive without me. You’ll have your book to keep you company. Very intellectual.”

Phil rolled his eyes, turning back to his (somewhat trashy) horror novel. “Good night. Sleep well.” It was good that Dan was going to bed early, probably, he hadn’t been sleeping well recently. Hopefully he’d be able to catch up on some sleep tonight and feel better.

The cottage was quieter than Phil expected with Dan in bed in the other room. It was a bit eerie, so far away from the rest of the world, alone in the woods, and Phil found scenes from the axe murderer horror novel in his hand flitting through his head a bit more vividly than he would have liked.

He needed something to calm him down, ground him, and he remembered from the advice he had absorbed through Dan’s therapist. A scented candle, maybe? It would be cozy and warm, and you never saw scented candles in books about axe murderers. There were scented candles already provided on the coffee table, he’d just have to find the matches.

There were probably some in the kitchen. He stood up and moved to the kitchen, searching the cabinet until he found the matches. He struck one, absentmindedly, before remembering the candle was in the other room. The flame was already flickering down—he didn’t have long to get there before it burnt out.

His resolve strengthening him, he summoned extra reserves of strength from deep within him to start a sprint back towards the living room. He was just rounding the corner when he noticed a human figure looming ahead of him. “Ah!” He jumped slightly before realizing it was just the cutout. God, Dan was right. It was terrifying. He looked for the candle, then paused. The match. Where was the match?

A flickering, growing glow in the corner of his eye answered his question. “Oh fuck,” Phil whispered. “Oh fuck, DAN, oh fuck-” he ran towards their room. “DAN,” he shouted again, swinging the door open.

Dan was sitting up in bed, massaging his head. “What the fuck did you do, Phil?”

“Fire,” Phil managed, “fire!”

He was starting to smell the smoke. Dan must’ve too, because his eyes widened. “Phil, you idiot, we can’t get out this way.”

Dan was sort of right, he supposed, the living room was between their bedroom and both the front and back doors, and a large chunk of it was on fire right now.

“You idiot, you should’ve gotten out.” Dan sounded scared now.

Phil wished he could say he had gone back out of some deep seated need to save Dan, but if he was being honest, it was just instinct at this point to run for Dan every time he made a mess. “It’s fine,” he said, looking around for an exit. The window. Phil silently thanked his past self for booking an Airbnb with only one story.

Dan’s eyes followed Phil’s gaze, and he must’ve had the same thought, because he grabbed Phil’s arm, dragging him over to the window and wrenching it open. “The screen-” Phil said, before Dan let go of his hand to push at it until the screen came loose, falling onto the ground on the other side of the window.

“Come on,” Dan said, swinging a leg over the side. He hopped awkwardly down, dragging his other leg after him. “Come on.”

Phil’s legs seemed to seize up, but with enough of Dan’s tugging he made it over the windowsill, his foot catching and sending him tumbling into the sweetly scented, but somewhat thorny, flowerbed. “Ow,” he muttered, looking at the scratches running their way down his long, pale arms. He found himself staring at them, transfixed, as a single drop of blood welled up and trickled down his arm.

Dan pulled at his arm again. “Phil, move-”

Phil stumbled to his feet and out of the flowerbed, following Dan until they were about 20 feet away from the house, just where the grass turned into woods. Oh god, Phil could just see the headlines about how two British idiots were the cause of the latest California wildfire—

“Call 911,” Dan said, sounding just a little less frantic now that they were out of the house.

Phil patted his pockets, looking for his phone. He found a phone-shaped lump in the left one, and pulled it out, his hands shaking as he tried to pull up the phone icon and type in the numbers. It took him a couple of tries, but he finally got the number in right.

A woman’s cool voice sounded from Phil’s phone speakers. “911, what’s your emergency?”

“Right! Emergency. I’m here with my—um—friend,” Phil said awkwardly. “We’re on vacation, from the UK, well, vacation after a convention—you don’t care about visas, do you?” he said, suddenly remembering Dan’s Bahamas fiasco from a few years ago.

Dan glared at him. “The fire,” he prodded.

“Right!” Phil said. “My house is on fire.”

“Do you have an address?” the woman on the other end asked in the calmest voice Phil had ever heard.

“Address,” Phil motioned to Dan with a gesture he hoped clearly communicated, “get me the address for this airbnb,” but Dan didn’t seem to understand. He just looked confused.

“What?”

“What’s the address of this place?”

“Oh!” Dan said, digging out his phone (Phil was suddenly grateful that neither of them could be separated from their phones for long enough to lose them in an emergency). He stared at his screen anxiously, as if he was waiting for something to load.

When it finally did, he didn’t even read it out loud, just shoved the email in front of Phil’s face so he could read it to the dispatcher.

“Alright, sir, help is on the way,” the woman on the phone said. “Are you and your friend a safe distance from the house?”

Phil looked around. “Um, I think so.”

“Perfect. And there’s no one else in the building? Any pets?”

“No. Just us.”

“We’ll be sending an ambulance around just to check that everyone is alright, just so you know.”

Phil hoped he wouldn’t be charged for that. He missed the NHS. “Okay.”

“I’m just going to need you to sit tight until then, okay? Now, can you answer a few questions about the fire?”

She asked a few vague questions about how the fire started, and Phil was grateful that he didn’t have to actually explain what happened, just say it was an accident. Her questions seemed more designed to keep him on the line and calm him down until the fire truck came than to get any actual answers about the fire from him. Phil tried not to look too hard at the growing flames, glowing in the window.

After a few minutes, he could hear sirens in the distance, and a fire truck and ambulance pulled up in his driveway. A few figures in bulky suits hopped out of the truck, immediately getting to work unrolling a hose and aiming it towards the windows of the living room, where Phil could see flames flickering.

“Right,” a very tall man in firefighter gear strode over to them. “I just have a few questions about how the fire started. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help?”

“You should probably talk to Phil about that, I have to make a few calls,” Dan said, ducking away and patting Phil’s hand before leaving him alone to face his interrogation.

“Yeah,” Phil gulped. “I was there.” He forced himself to look up to make eye contact with the firefighter.

“Right,” the man said, writing something in a notepad. “You saw it start?”

“Yes,” Phil said. “I, uh, was carrying a match.”

The man raised an eyebrow and wrote something down again. “You were carrying a match,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Phil said, finally breaking eye contact. “I was carrying a lit match and I dropped it.”

“Hmmm.” Some more writing. “Why’d you drop it?”

“Well, um, me and my-” Phil hesitated for just a second. “Me and my friend kept this cardboard cutout from this convention we went to, and when I walked back into the living room it startled me and I dropped it.” He didn’t dare look up and risk making eye contact again, but even the other man’s pen scribbling seemed judgemental.

“Right. So then something caught on fire from that?”

“I think it was the carpet. I’m not sure.”

“Well,” the man said, clearing his throat. “You and your friend are lucky you’re safe. I hope you’ve learned to be more careful with matches next time.”

“I have. Sir.” Phil cringed inwardly, hoping it didn’t show on his face. Sir? Was he a child being scolded at school?

The firefighter seemed to accept Phil’s assurance, though, nodding once before turning away and moving back to the truck, just as Dan emerged from the ambulance and jogged over.

“Your turn.” Dan nodded towards the ambulance.

Phil sighed. At least the paramedics probably wouldn’t ask him any questions about how he had managed to start a house fire.

When Phil’s exam was done and he got out of the ambulance, Dan was waiting for him. “I found us a hotel,” he said.

“I love you,” Phil said.

“As you should.”

“What about our stuff?” Phil asked, anxious.

“They let me go in to get our suitcases. Nothing else, though I’m not sure I’d be able to find anything else if I was allowed to try. The living room looked pretty bad.”

They hadn’t gotten a chance to unpack much yet. Just having their suitcases should be fine, though Phil missed his horror novel already. But still, Phil groaned. “Are we going to be in trouble with the Airbnb host?”

“Nope,” Dan said. “I called already, they have insurance for idiots like us.” He smiled as he said it. Phil couldn’t help but appreciate that he had lumped the two of them together, as if this whole mess hadn’t been entirely Phil’s fault. “We’re not getting our money back, though.”

Phil sighed. “Understandable.” It was probably the best outcome he could ask for, especially with he and Dan safe… and how expensive US medical bills could get. “How far is the hotel?”

“About half an hour.” Phil opened his mouth, but Dan cut him off. “I’ll drive. You’ve caused enough damage for today.”

He was smiling, just teasing, but Phil couldn’t help the flush of shame that came over him anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Dan threw an arm around Phil’s back and pulled him closer. “I know,” he whispered. “Now come on. Let’s get out of here and get some rest.”

The hotel room wasn’t as nice as their cabin had been. It was on the smaller side, and the carpet was scratchy and gray. The mattress on the equally gray bed was a bit lumpy, but Phil couldn’t bring himself to care as he dragged himself into it.

Dan collapsed next to him. “How is it that I’m the one functional in an emergency?” he asked. “I’m the one crippled by existential despair all the time.”

“I don’t know,” Phil confessed, wringing his hands. “I just… I panicked.”

“I know,” Dan sighed, patting Phil’s face fondly.

“Nothing like a near death experience to solidify a relationship, though, right?” Phil joked weakly.

Dan patted his face again, a bit more clumsily. “Nothing like a near death experience to make me tired.”

He lapsed into silence then, and Phil listened to him fall asleep, counting every breath, matching them with his own until his eyes drifted closed and he fell into a dark, dreamless sleep where, finally, he could no longer smell the wood smoke.

[wikiangela-fanfics]

“You being there was all I needed” - Buddie oneshot

Yep, it happened. Buddie sucked me in and now I’m writing about them hahaha

It’s my first fic about them, and I’m not necessarily happy with how it turned out, but at the same time I kinda like it XD Hopefully, any new ones I write about them will be better haha

2k words, most of it under the cut cause it seemed kinda long haha

Ao3 here

Enjoy ♥

(also, shoutout @oliverstarkkk for reading and liking it haha your response to this fic gave me enough confidence about it to actually post it ♥ hah)

***

He woke up hearing faint sounds of conversation from the kitchen. He immediately knew that Buck had to come over, since he was the only one who had a key. Then he heard his laughter, which only confirmed what Eddie thought. The only thing he was a little confused about was why Buck was there so early. And why didn’t he or Christopher wake him up. 

He picked up his phone to check the time. It wasn’t even 9am yet. They had a day off after the 24-hour shift they’d just finished. How the hell did Buck get out of bed so early on his day off after a 24-hour shift and having spent the evening before with them?

Eddie stretched, putting his phone away. Then he sighed and got out of bed. He quietly made his way to the kitchen, where he saw Buck and Chris making breakfast. It immediately brought a smile to his face. Buck was so great with his son, and Chris loved Buck so much. 

Eddie leaned against the door frame, watching Buck put another pancake on the pile on the plate, while Christopher was sitting with another plate in front of him, decorating a pancake with fruit and whipped cream that could be seen all over the table.

“What’s happening here?” Eddie asked, and both Chris and Buck looked at him, startled. 

“Happy birthday, daddy!” Chris yelled, laughing. Eddie was a little surprised, as he kind of forgot about it. But in his defense, it was early.

“You were supposed to be asleep. We wanted to bring you breakfast to bed.” Buck said, trying not to smile. 

“Sorry.” Eddie rolled his eyes with a chuckle. He walked towards the table, leaning down to leave a kiss on Chris’ head.

“Happy birthday, Eddie.” Buck said with a soft smile, handing him a plate with the pancake that Chris was preparing on it. 

“Thank you both. You shouldn’t have.” he said, not able to take his eyes off of Buck, whose cheeks got a little pink.

“It was Christopher’s idea.” Buck shrugged. “Now, sit down and eat, Chris made them, I just fried.”

“Oh, really?” Eddie looked back at his son. “When did you learn how to cook?”

“Buck and abuela taught me.” Chris laughed. Eddie could listen to that laugh forever.

“Good. You can cook for me then.” Eddie smiled, taking a place at the table next to his son.

“Buck can cook for us.” was Christopher’s answer in such a tone, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Eddie looked up and his eyes met Buck’s. “Right, Buck?”

“Of course, buddy.” Buck smiled, his eyes not leaving Eddie’s. A long moment passed, with them just exchanging a fond look, before Buck cleared his throat and turned away to start cleaning up after cooking. “So, what are you gonna do today?” he asked.

“Spend the day with you two.” Eddie shrugged. That’s honestly all he wanted to do for his birthday. He didn’t care what they were gonna do, he just wanted to be with Christopher and Buck. “But first would you sit down and eat breakfast with us?” he asked Buck, as Christopher grabbed a pancake and already started eating. “We’ll clean up later.”

“I will clean up.” Buck clarified, taking a place opposite Eddie. “It’s your birthday, you’re not doing a thing today.”

“Fine with me.” Eddie smiled widely. He observed as Buck took whipped cream and poured like half of the bottle onto his plate. Then he poured some straight into his mouth before noticing that Eddie was observing him, and blushing a bit. 

“What?” Buck asked. Eddie just shook his head. He wasn’t going to say that he was staring because he thought Buck was adorable. And he was scared that if he opened his mouth, he would say just that.

“I want more whipped cream too!” Chris exclaimed, and Buck was happy to help.

Eddie just sat there, observing his two boys make an even bigger mess in the kitchen. Fortunately, he wasn’t the one who would be cleaning that.

***

They didn’t do much. They went to the park, played with Christopher on the playground. They got ice cream. They ate lunch. And then they went back to Eddie’s and watched a couple of movies. It was like their ordinary day off, but it was perfect. Eddie had fun and that’s really all he wanted for his birthday. 

When it got late, Buck and Eddie put Christopher to bed together, per his request, and then Buck was about to leave. But despite spending the whole day together, Eddie did not want him to go. So he invited him for a beer.

They sat on the couch, drinking their beers in comfortable silence, until Eddie spoke up.

“Hey.” he said, and Buck turned his head to look at him. “Thank you.”

“What for?” Buck frowned with a little confused smile.

“For today.” Eddie shrugged, taking another sip of his beer.

“We literally did nothing special. It was what we always do.” Buck rolled his eyes.

“Well, you and Christopher were there, so it was pretty special.” Eddie said, not looking at Buck.

“Just wait for next year. I’ll plan something really special.”

“Like what?” Eddie asked with amusement, his gaze back on Buck.

“Don’t know yet. I have a year to figure something out. But it’s gonna be awesome.” Buck leaned his head back on the couch and looked at Eddie.

“I’ll hold you to it.” Eddie smirked, mirroring Buck’s position. So now they were just sitting there with their heads leaned on the back of the couch, staring at each other. “But seriously, today was great. You being there was all I needed. You and Chris.” he clarified and swallowed hard, hearing how it sounded. But the truth was, all he needed was his son and Buck. They were the two most important people in his life, which was kind of crazy because he’s known Buck for such a short amount of time… but as cheesy as it sounded, he believed they were soulmates. He just couldn’t imagine what his life would be like without Buck in it. And Buck was so great with Christopher, and they already acted like a family, and Eddie wondered… what if Buck feels the same? What if he wonders about them too? He never really dared to let himself think that far, but what the hell, it was his birthday and he could daydream a little. Even if Buck was right next to him.

“What?” Buck asked, when Eddie’s smile widened a bit. They kept looking into each other’s eyes, and at that point that wasn’t even weird anymore.

“I love you.” Eddie sighed, lost in Buck’s eyes, and just content to be there with him.

And then his brain caught up with his mouth, his eyes widened, and he started to panic. He raised his head and sat up straight, looking back at Buck with horor.

“You do?” Buck asked, and there was a hint of something in his voice… like hope? He blushed and seemed surprised and a bit nervous, but he didn’t move. He just kept looking at Eddie.

“Yeah.” Eddie breathed. He figured, if he’s already said it, he can’t just backtrack now.

“Okay.” Buck bit his lip, pouring a bit of his beer into his mouth, raising his head a bit to do that, then leaning it back again and looking up at the ceiling. “Good.”

Eddie was confused now. Buck looked confident now, and there was a hint of a smile on his face. “What?” it was Eddie’s turn to ask.

“I mean, I’m in love with you.” he said slowly, glancing at Eddie. “And apparently everyone could see it but you. And me, before I realized, with some help, to be honest, like-” he started rambling, and Eddie cut him off with a kiss. It was quick and rushed, and nervous, it was like testing the waters. “Or we can do that, instead of talking.” Buck nodded, as Eddie pulled away to look at him. “We can definitely do more of that.” he sat up to put his beer away, and then they were making out, more confidently now. 

Eddie could not believe it was happening. He felt like he was floating. Buck was such a great kisser. And their hands started exploring each other’s bodies, and the kiss was getting more and more heated, with a lot of tongue and teeth, and moaning… God, Eddie loved to hear the small noises Buck made.

And then they heard a voice.

“Daddy?” Christopher said, and Eddie and Buck jumped off of each other and looked in the direction of the voice. Chris was standing there, looking at them with an unreadable expression.

“Hey, buddy, why aren’t you asleep?” Eddie tried to play it cool, but his voice was shaking and he was a little out of breath. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and attempted a smile.

“I can’t sleep. Buck, can you read me another story?” he asked, and for a second Eddie thought maybe he somehow didn’t notice them making out. Which was not possible, but he could hope. 

“Sure.” Buck said, sounding similar to Eddie. Eddie looked at him and saw his red face and flushed lips. He wanted to kiss him again. “Just give me a second and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” Chris smiled and turned around. “Oh, by the way.” he added, before starting to walk back to his room. “I’m happy that you two are finally together.”

Eddie and Buck looked at each other in shock. Why the hell would Christopher say that? They were pretty obvious to everyone else, apparently, but a ten year old kid? Well, he might have been more perceptive than Eddie gave him credit for.

“I guess I have to go read him a story.” Buck said, still not moving. 

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “I guess you do.” he took a deep breath, his eyes dropping down to Buck’s lips again. “And after you’re back, we will, uh, talk.” he said.

“Talk.” Buck repeated, sounding as if he has never heard that word before.

“Yeah, talk.” Eddie bit his lip, and Buck chuckled, leaving a quick lingering peck on Eddie’s lips.

“Sure. We’ll talk.” he got up. “I’ll be right back.”

And, well, after they made sure Christopher was really asleep this time, they sat down to talk. But it ended up with more making out, and promises that they surely will talk in the morning. 

They fell asleep cuddled on the couch, still half sitting, and their backs were killing them the next morning. Eddie thought it was more than worth it. Because now he got to kiss Buck whenever he wanted, hold his hand, just do all the couple-y things he had wished he could do. And he could tell Buck he loves him, and that was just such a weight off his shoulders that he was carrying for most part of the past couple of years. And the best thing was, his son was completely fine, or even more than happy, than Buck and Eddie were together now. 

***

“Hey, you know what?” Eddie asked a couple of days later, as they were cooking dinner together (well, Buck was cooking, Eddie was tasked with chopping the vegetables).

“What?” Buck asked, stirring in the pot.

“We got together on my birthday.” Eddie frowned.

“Yeah.” Buck looked back at him, an amused expression on his face. “So what? Are you scared that you’re only gonna get one gift from me?”

“No.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “But it’s not fair. Our anniversary should have its own day to celebrate it.”

“Anniversary? Wow, it’s only been a couple of days and you’re already a year ahead.” Buck teased, shaking his head. “How do you know it’s even gonna last?” he asked, but Eddie knew he was joking. They knew that what they had was special and they would fight to keep it. 

“Oh, shut up.” Eddie chuckled. “I just mean…” he drifted off. What did he mean?

“I personally like that it’s on your birthday.” Buck walked over to him. “That way our anniversary is just all the more special, because my second favorite person in the world was born on this day.” he hugged Eddie, hiding his face in his neck.

“Second?” Eddie scoffed, trying to sound offended.

“I mean, I love you, but Chris will forever be my number one.” Buck said and Eddie felt a fond smile tugging on his lips. He loved that Buck loved Christopher so much. 

“I love you.” Eddie said quietly, as Buck raised his head and left a quick kiss on Eddie’s lips. 

“So you’re gonna let this anniversary thing go?” Buck raised his eyebrows. “We can’t just choose another day, that would be cheating.”

“Cheating?” Eddie frowned, a small laugh escaping his lips.

“I would feel bad celebrating on another day.” he walked back over to the stove. “It would be a fake anniversary. Besides, one day maybe we’ll have one on a different day.” he added more quietly, and even shyly. And Eddie’s heartbeat sped up. Was Buck suggesting… that one day he would want to marry him? “But that’s far, far in the future.” Buck added quickly, laughing nervously. 

“Yeah.” Eddie breathed. They just got together, it was a long way to marriage. Although they were technically raising a kid together already… But Buck was right, that was way far in the future. That they will definitely have, because now that he had him, Eddie was not going to let go. 

“You done with that?” Buck gestured to the half-chopped vegetables in front of Eddie, as if the conversation didn’t happen. But he was still a bit red in the face. 

“No, give me a sec.” Eddie said, realizing that he was just standing there for the past few minutes, doing nothing. 

There was no rush. They had time. And they had each other. He could not be happier.

[kingbuckley]

Alright you guys this turned into an absolute monster of a fic rec. It’s organised by word count in descending order, and ALL FICS HAVE A HAPPY ENDING!! i don’t read fics that don’t end happy so even if a fic seems scary you can rest assured it ends fine if it’s here.

Special shoutout to @thisissirius (same ao3 handle) and @getbvcked (attolians (annber) on ao3) i have all their fics bookmarked so i didn’t include them individually in this list but you should check them out because every fic they put out is amazing. 

the rest is under the cut:

Breaking and Entering by AngelCuttingOnions (g/1k): Have you ever been terrified to lose something that isn’t even yours? Digging helplessly at the mud with your bare hands, so determined not to let go, not to give up. Your heart going so fast you think it might just beat out of your chest.

in any place you'll allow by barelyprolific (m/1k): Cleaning duty has never looked as good as Evan Buckley waxing floors.Or, Eddie Diaz finally makes his move.

Care and Keeping by BlackRose (m/1k): Eddie's alive, but he almost wasn't. Buck's determined to keep him safe now more than ever. Eddie, wants Buck to feel seen.

Cool for the Summer by Onlymystory (e/1k): Buck comes over to apologize to Eddie. It's a very good apology.

fireworks have nothing on you by inkandella (nr/1k): Buck’s tears had dried not too long ago, but his hands still shook as he wrung them. Bobby had just left to deal with, well, everything, but Buck remained by the truck, refusing to drag his eyes from Eddie for even a second. Eventually it was just Hen and Chim that remained, and Buck could finally see Eddie clearly. The man’s face was streaked with mud, dirt, and blood, his shoulders were bowed and eyes stared blankly off somewhere ahead of him. Buck bit his lips, but it didn’t really help him from asking again. “Is he okay?”Or; Buck finally does something about it.

Hotel Complaints and Grievances Raised by asexual-fandom-queen (m/2k): After a night out with the 118, Eddie wakes up with Buck naked in bed, and a barrage of feelings to face.

fight so dirty/love so sweet by homewrecker (m/2k): Buck and Eddie go for the title.

YOUR MOUTH IS HEAVEN by AgnesClementine (t/2k): A tongue piercing. Buck has a tongue piercing. Which is fine. Totally fine. Eddie is absolutely not going to lose sleep because of that information.

Zoom Into My Heart by Shaniamr (m/2k): Buck didn't know that zoom shared your private chats at the end of the meeting, but he's about to find out.

collisions in the dark by Marcia Elena (marciaelena) (e/2k): Eddie and Christopher spend the night at Buck's. Coda to 3x09.

What do you need? by RealOrFiction (e/2k): Buck has needs. Needs that haven't been met in a while.

Great Game by LovelyLittleGrim (e/2k): Buck’s watching him, waiting for some type of response. “Scared, Diaz?”“I don’t have any reason to be scared, Buckley.” He meets Buck’s eyes, lips quirked and murmurs, “I always come out on top.”

Buck Wild by Ithinkwehaveanemergency (m/2k): Eddie accidentally finds out that his best friend, coworker, and secret crush has done gay porn.

no greater joy by elisela (g/2k): When he wakes again, he finds Buck and Christopher out in the backyard, snuggled into the hammock that Buck had brought over months earlier, the day after Christopher had offhandedly mentioned that he’d been in one during a camping trip once and liked it. Buck was fooling no one when he said he’d happened to find it in storage, and Eddie had helped him set it up immediately, basking in the second-hand glow of Buck’s complete adoration of his son.

No Rest for the Wicked by Wassereis (e/2k): Eddie gets home early. What he finds wasn't what he expected.

people who love the same by templemarker (t/2k): Buck was just reheating a plate for Eddie when he heard a very familiar snort behind him."Okay, what now," he said expectantly."So," Hen drawled, "you have one plate on the counter, steaming, already had a couple of bites. And now you've got a second plate," she gestured at the microwave to the reheating lasagne, "and we all know who that plate's for."Buck looked at her, tilting his head. "I mean, I always make a plate for Eddie," he said, confused.

One Week by elisela (g/3k): Christopher's week revolves around Buck.

wherever I'm with you by anonymous (g/3k): In which Buck can't settle down in his own apartment until he realizes the true meaning of the word home.Or; Sleeping is easier when it's with Eddie.

To Be Whole by mansikka (t/3k): They say that when you and your soulmate are ready to meet, whatever they write on their skin will appear on yours, and vice versa. Which Buck thinks is bullshit. Right up until words start appearing on his arm.

Pull The Pin by islandgirl (g/3k): Everything they've been feeling and not saying is like a grenade between them and damn it all, Buck is ready to pull the pin, let the explosion happen and for everything to fall into place.

Long Overdue by mansikka (m/3k): Eddie realizes his feelings for Buck are more than platonic; what's he supposed to do now?

you could write this love in stone by chocolatebirdie (nr/4k): "Whatever happens, after tonight, I just want you to know that your friendship has meant everything to me. You’re my best friend, Eddie. You and Chris are – are like family to me. And I’m really grateful to have met you both.”“Why does this sound like you’re breaking up with me?” Eddie asks. The confusion-amusement ratio has started to skew towards the former, with an added dose of concern. Well maybe if he’d shut up and let Buck talk, Eddie wouldn’t be so puzzled.Did he have to use the phrase “break up,” though? Buck’s not sure he can stand the implication.

you can always be found by chocolatebirdie (nr/4k): Abby's back in LA, and she keeps trying to get in touch with Buck. The only problem? He's literally always with Eddie.

Until the Dancing Ends by suyari (g/4k): It’s been the strangest day of his life to date.Or the one where everyone's seen the footage of the rescue but Eddie.

when the hardest part is over by Anonymous (g/4k): “It’s okay,” Buck rasps out, tight against Eddie’s ear. “We got you back. We got you. You’re safe.”It sounds like he’s reassuring himself as much as Eddie – might even be saying it for Christopher’s sake even though the boy is blissfully unaware of what’s happened tonight. A mantra spoken to the night like a victory speech, a reminder that it could take nothing away from them.

Not Done by red_to_black (nr/4k): Buck volunteered to get into the ambulance with him, knowing the risks. He's pinching the guy's skin and saying, "Take it out," and Eddie, for the first time since leaving the military, feels it - a connection. A kindred spirit. A purpose that tethers him to reality. A person relying on him to get the job done.(or - a list of things Eddie Diaz couldn't give up on, including himself.)

Talk About It by DoneInLove (e/4k): You want to send me your dickpic?Just to see if it looks okay. Buck starts sending Eddie his dick pics before he sends them to other people.Eddie doesn't know why he decided this was a good idea.

Guessing Game by Arsenal (t/4k): Buck overhears Eddie telling his mother that he has feelings for someone and drives himself nuts trying to figure out who is possibly could be. aka yet another oblivious Buck fic

Happy Buck Day by Jecari (g/5k): After pushing the balloons tied to Christopher's crutch away, Eddie finds his best friend frowning, mouth agape. Buck looks adorable."It's not my birthday," Buck points out after shaking his head."We know," Christopher laughs.

Buck Is My Warrior by elisela (g/5k): “We’ll be filming a special edition of American Ninja Warrior,” Troy announces after the introduction to the current contestant ends, “focused on our brave first responders. Go to our website to find out more details and how to submit your videos.”Oh.“Buddy,” Eddie says, “I don’t really know if that’s my thing.”Christopher looks at him, then down at his feet and mumbles something.“Didn’t catch that, kiddo,” Eddie says, reaching out and pressing two fingers under Chris’ chin to tilt his face back up.“I said,” Christopher says, “I want to nominate Buck.”

Eddie Diaz and the Cat-astrophe at the 118 by SquaresAreNotCircles (g/5k): It’s Chimney who rescues her from the tree, but it’s Bobby’s arms that she curls up in on the drive over to the vet to get her checked out. Right from the start, it’s as if she knows who she needs to cozy up with to secure her spot at the station.“Come on, that’s crazy,” Buck says, but he does so while laughing not at Eddie, but at the grey tabby cat trying to get her claws on the fake mouse on a string that Buck bought with his own money, so Eddie doesn’t put too much stock in his opinion.Or: The firefam adopts a mascot and Eddie has a minor crisis about it.

Evan Buckley and a Series of Unintended Consequences by Shaniamr (e/6k): Buck has been hurt on the job and has lost the ability to use his hands while they heal. Eddie jumps at the opportunity to help Buck with anything he needs. Anything.

Love Language by red_to_black (nr/6k): The one in which there's too much pollen around, Eddie pines, and Buck is oblivious.Or - Eddie's love language is acts of service, and Buck doesn't totally get it.

The Other Woman by MomentsOfWeakness (t/6k): Buck has been unlucky in love lately and he can't figure out why. It takes a phone call from Eddie and an interrupted date for him to finally put the pieces together.

My Favorite Place Is Inside Your Hug by Lopithecus (e/7k): When Eddie gets stuck in a hole while trying to rescue a kid, he remembers Afghanistan and how many people were lost. Luckily he has Buck in his corner to help him get through the memories.

give me strength so i can see by see_addy_write (t/7k): After the tsunami, Buck is sure Eddie won't want him anywhere near Christopher -- or himself. Both of the Diaz boys have something to say about that.

haircut to the heart by itsmylifekay (nr/8k): 5 times Buck cuts Christopher’s hair and 1 time Christopher helps cut his.

In the Aftershock by hideeho (t/8k): When Eddie is injured on the job, Buck is forced to face the fallout.

Slow Your Thinking by an_alternate_world (e/10k): Eddie has the itch to fight, the discomforting unease of needing to release all his negativity again making it difficult to concentrate on the calls. Buck suggests an alternative: surrendering his need for control to Buck for a while.

Just For This Moment by suyari (m/10k): “Take your time,” Carla said sternly. “Don’t rush this because you’re worried, Buck, do you hear me? Any change in your scent could just set him off.”“Yes, thank you, I know how to deal with Alphas,” he drawled.“Yes, but Eddie’s not just another Alpha and I think it’s time we acknowledged that.”

You Are Safe (With Me) by BabylonsFall (g/10k): Or: 5 times Eddie waltzed into Buck's apartment like he owned it, and 1 time Buck tried

you waltz through my bloodstream by wayfarer (t/2k): Buck gets a boyfriend and Eddie is totally fine with that. Really.

can't fight that feeling by Anonymous (e/11k): “We have to keep this quiet,” he realizes.“That’s,” Eddie starts, his eyebrows tilting inwards adorably. “I mean, yeah, if that’s what you wanna do, then—”“Not for long,” Buck protests. “I’m thinking until tomorrow.”The eyebrows rise with interest; the eyes beneath get their spark back. “Yeah?”“It’s Maddie and Chimney’s wedding day,” Buck says, slipping his hands down the last bit and entwining them with Eddie’s. “Today should be solely about them, about their love. You and I can have tomorrow. All the tomorrows.”

Just Hold Me Well by Lobotomite (m/11k): It was meant to be a fun little trip with his 118 family; no stress, no drama, and certainly no sexuality-redefining fumbles that make him realize his more than platonic feelings towards his best friend. But, well, when has anything ever gone according to plan for Buck?

a leaf falls on loneliness by iimpossible_things (nr/11k): Buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “I’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. Really, he doesn’t. The 118 has too many good, kind people for that.But every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to Eddie or Bobby or Hen or Chim, he hears Eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.”—you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting—So each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence.

Darling It's Better (Down Where It's Wetter) by Onlymystory (e/20k): "Who the hell is that?" asks Buck. Like he doesn't know exactly who that is. Like a week ago he wasn't enjoying one of the best fucks of his life with Eddie Diaz. Or the reason for Buck's surprise at the new recruit isn't quite for the reasons everyone thinks.

i think i might've inhaled you by ariquitecontrary (m/20k): How do you tell your best friend that you're actually in love with them? If you're Evan Buckley, you don't.

dancing under red skies by dayswithout (g, 30k) Buck hates Eddie Diaz on sight.aka, a soulmate au. (Eddie’s POV; g/15k)

dancing under red skies by dayswithout (g/30k): Buck hates Eddie Diaz on sight.aka, a soulmate au.

The Education of Eddie Diaz by mansikka (e/30k): Eddie doesn't really know how it happened. One moment the 118 are drunk in a bar after a hard shift, confessions slipping from his mouth as he playfully kisses Buck on the cheek. The next he is on Buck's couch, taking up Buck's offer of an education that could be asking for trouble. But it's just sex, and they're just friends; it doesn't mean anything to either of them. So why is his time alone with Buck the highlight of his week?

Guess We'll Just Have to Adjust by CocoBadShip (m/30k): No, Buck does not have a damn crush on Eddie fucking Diaz. No, Buck is not thinking about Eddie's stupid smile or his stupid hair or that obscene sound he made when he pushed the couch the way he did.Having a crush would be weird. And dumb. And the last thing Buck needs in his already fucked up life.

tagging those of you who requested @lafdbuckley @casscent @googoodreamers

and some mutuals because why not @eddiediazs @judsonryder @fierydeans @buckleystrand

[ddaenggtan]

midnight wishes | knj [M]

Granny Park's Gossip:

That boy. Never met anyone as prone to disaster as he is while being so damned smart, except maybe that roommate of his. The two of them could probably cure cancer if they wanted to, but you leave them alone for more than a few seconds and you’re liable to come back to disaster. Jiminie did say they’ve been acting a little different, though, maybe they finally wised up and made things official instead of just humping like bunnies around that apartment of theirs. Oh, am I not supposed to say that?

pairing } namjoon x reader 

word count } 10.3k { also on ao3

genre } Fluff, Smut, the smallest possible dash of angst; FWB au, Roommates au, coworkers au, slight idiots to lovers but like. lowkey. 

warnings } smut, the most smut, all the smut. Namjoon In Glasses bc that deserves its own tag. there’s multiple smutty parts, several less explicit and then one very very super explicit so for those: oral female, oral male, fingering, deepthroating, protected sex, unprotected sex, mention of semi-public sex, mentions of a sir kink, some very accidental cum eating that is hilarious and disgusting all at once. Namjoon and Slick are both complete and utter idiots, like it’s genuinely a miracle that they’ve lived this long, especially when paired together. 

{ The Snowball Effect Collab Masterlist } 

a/n } hello it is i with yet another fic. it’s done. i. have a lot of emotions bUT that’s neither here nor there. This is part of The Snowball Effect collab, and while it can be read as a standalone, all the fics end in the same spot and there are so many crossovers that it legitimately hurts to think about for too long, so for the best and funniest and fluffiest experience, we recommend that you read all of them in order!! Special shoutout to ashley, kristi, and ryn (@taehyungforreal, @stutterfly, and @fortunexkookie​, respectively) for letting me part of this wonderful adventure. i’m more honored than i could ever say with words, and i’m grateful every day that i got the chance to work with all of you on this absolutely phenomenal collab. for those of you who are just now seeing this, i implore you to read the others, as they are literal light years better than this, and i could not possibly live up to the absolute beauty of the other authors in this collab, but i still hope you enjoy my shiny garbage child aka this fic.

The first time you ever saw Kim Namjoon was on your very first day at the lab where you both work. You won't ever forget it, not because he's the walking embodiment of beauty nor because he's the most intelligent person you've ever met besides yourself. No, that day stays firmly implanted in your memory because that was the day the two of you nearly got fired for setting the building on fire.

In a genetics lab. 

You don't even work with chemicals. Maybe if you did, they would have been more understanding, but you don't and instead, everyone was completely flabbergasted that the two of you very nearly destroyed the building because you tried to reheat your leftover Chinese food - and really, how perfect is it that he also prefers the place across town instead of on the corner, and that he eats all the vegetables you pick out of your rice while you eat the eggrolls he isn't a fan of - in the microwave at the same time. Sure, your IQ is close to 300 when combined, but also, how are you supposed to remember that the bottom part of the takeout is made of foil? You were trying to single out a gene sequence that might help cancer research. Microwaves were not important. 

Until it exploded a little and set the fire suppression systems off in all the labs and affected several billion dollars worth of research. 

Honestly, the two of you are lucky you still have your jobs.

Less lucky that the insurance company wouldn't pay for the entire cost so both you and Namjoon had to take pretty severe pay cuts to help cover the costs.

Even less lucky that it means you could no longer afford your apartment by yourself and subsequently had to try to find a roommate in less than a week, which the internet is not helpful for, it doesn't matter what your coworkers say.

Which really just highlights that it's your own fault that you're in this situation in the first place, you think as you slam back another shot. It's been months, and yes, you found a roommate, and yes , things between the two of you are working better than you could have imagined, but god , at what cost?

You catch a glimpse of dimples heading your way and down the rest of the Kamikaze that you've been nursing all night. You might regret that later, the alcohol might make you do something you'd never do otherwise, but you can always pretend you don't remember. Besides, it's so much harder to handle Namjoon while you're completely sober; you never quite know what to say or what to do.

He doesn't bother to sit in the empty stool beside you, just slides into the space between you and it and lets one arm rest casually on the back of your barstool as he leans in to be heard over the live band that's playing. You don't look at him, you don't trust yourself to look at him, not with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons undone. You know he looks deliciously rumpled. You're entirely too familiar with the sight.

"Are you ready to go?" He asks. You shrug even as you start pulling your coat on, doing your best to ignore the way the heat of his breath brushed over your neck in the way that always gets you hot and bothered. "We don't have to if you don't want to," He says quickly, but you wave him off.

"No, it's fine, I promise. I'm not enjoying the band as much as I thought I would anyway."

When the ride you summoned stops at your apartment building, Namjoon pays and follows you up. The alcohol has started seeping into your bloodstream, and for a moment you regret that last drink. You're not drunk, not really, but you're on the farther side of tipsy and thoughts are swirling in your head that you wish would go somewhere else. Plus you're really fucking hungry now, and also kinda tired, and you're really glad tomorrow's Saturday so you can sleep in.

"What's got you in your head?" Namjoon asks as you fumble to unlock the door. You just shrug noncommittally, unwilling to tell him about it. He doesn't pry either, just sets to work pulling leftover tacos out of the fridge and sticking them in the microwave, remembering at the last second to take the plastic off the top so your food doesn't get coated in melted saran wrap. The two of you eat in relative silence before you manage to make yourself go into your room and strip out of your work clothes and then slide under the covers.

You don't listen as he goes into the room across the hall, you don't listen as the shower starts up, you don't listen at the off-key singing that he does. You don't. You can't let yourself, because then your drunk ass won't be able to keep your mouth shut the next time you see him - as you're both eating breakfast tomorrow, probably - and you'll say some super embarrassing shit like "hey I know it's partially my fault you couldn't afford your rent and you know I'm really grateful that you moved in with me, but you're also like hot as the surface of the sun and your dimples are really cute too, please fuck me stupid, I'm literally begging you."

Because that's the issue with living and working with Namjoon. There is no escape. Before you could come home and masturbate in peace while thinking about how his chest looks so utterly perfect in those button-ups, and how the muscles in his forearm flex when he's got his sleeves rolled up, and how his jaw does that muscle clench thing whenever he's focused on something.

But no. Now he lives with you , and not only are you both on the same schedules and therefore he’s never not home when you are, therefore depriving you of your precious Alone Time, but! You get a front-row view to how he looks in the mornings, with his hair all messy, and how he always forgets that the flavor packet goes in the ramen after you cook it, and how he bundles up every time he goes on walks with Moni, and-

The door to the bathroom creaks open and you force your eyes not to close. You inspect the stuccoed ceiling the entire time it takes his footsteps to make it into his room because otherwise, you're just going to remember that first week after he moved in, when he would have to go to his room with just a towel around his waist because his clothes were in boxes and he hadn't unpacked and he'd forgotten to take anything in the bathroom with him.

The memory of his absolutely fucking ridiculous pectorals dripping with water and his god damn superb biceps flexed and delicious-looking, none of it hidden under the slightly-too-big shirts he wears to work...it haunts you. To this day.

The sound of his door closing echoes through the hall and into your room. It’s through an incredibly impressive force of will that you don’t imagine what he’s doing right now, just across the hall. You resolutely do not imagine him sliding that towel from around his waist and revealing the gorgeous glistening golden thighs that strain against his work khakis so wonderfully. Nor do you think of the way he twists his neck to pop it while he does his after-shower stretches - because that’s a normal thing that normal people totally do - and you absolutely are not thinking of the way the scent of sandalwood and steam trails after him when he’s freshly showered and you are definitively not thinking about-

A loud, high-pitched moan followed by the slapping of skin on skin echoes through the apartment, jolting you upright and out of your thoughts as you stare in shock at the back of your bedroom door. 

Something thuds against the carpeted floor of Namjoon’s room and the sound abruptly cuts off. The silence that follows is deafening, and your ears ring with it. 

Surely….surely he wasn’t….

A thought, unbidden and cursed, flits through your mind before you can stop it. You can’t even blame the residual alcohol in your body for the way you stand and open your bedroom door, or how you slip your super soft silk robe over your shoulders and tie it loosely around your waist, nor for the way you take the two steps to stand in front of Namjoon’s, but you absolutely blame your quickly-returning sobriety for the way you hesitate in front of it. 

He’s going to say no, anyway, so what’s the harm? Things are awkward for a day or two and then we move on, right?

You knock before you can talk yourself out of it. It takes a few minutes, but Namjoon does eventually open the door. His chest is still bare but he’s got on the soft-looking plaid pajama pants that you adore, albeit they are on backwards , and his face is flushed with color. 

You're 98% sure that it's because he just had his hand around his cock. You're significantly less sure if you hate or love the fact that you know that. 

“Hey,” You say awkwardly. 

“Hey,” He responds, just as awkward. 

You both stand there for a second while you work up the courage to ask what’s been going around and around in your mind. 

“I just heard that thud and got worried,” is what eventually makes it out. Namjoon’s face flushes further, and his nose scrunches in the cutest way. “Just...wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know. Dead. Haha.”

He smiles at your laugh, even though it’s dead and humorless, and warmth blooms in your chest. 

“I’m alright. Sorry for any, uh…” He squints, clearly searching for the word he wants to use that won’t immediately give him away - like the entire apartment building hadn’t heard that noise. “Disturbances.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine!” You tell him, rubbing the back of your neck. “I was just. Uh. Y’know how bonobos will often have recreational sex with non-monogamous partners just because they’re bored or as a way to work out the tension between members of the unit-groups and they enjoy said recreational sex, even though there’s no real emotional attachment to the other parties involved?”

Namjoon stares at you for a long, silent moment. 

“Yeah, I know about bonobos,” He eventually says. “I didn’t know that about bonobos, but I guess that’s the fun fact quota for the day.”

Your face heats and you’ve never quite wished the ground would swallow you up until this very moment. 

“Oh,” You say, dumbly. “Well. That’s a thing. That bonobos do.”

“I got that,” Namjoon says. He bites down on his lower lip in what’s probably an innocuous way to not smile at how ridiculous you’re being, but when paired with the golden expanse of chest, it’s utterly obscene. 

“Would you like to have recreational sex with me?” 

“ What? ”

“No strings attached, no feelings, nothing but some nice fun recreational intercourse between two consenting adults of sound mind. Would you be interested?”

“I...why are you asking me? ” He asks incredulously, and you resist the urge to kiss the surprise off his face. How is it surprising at all when he walks around looking like that ?

“Because in the time we’ve known each other as coworkers, roommates, and friends, I think we could be very sexually compatible and even if we aren’t, I’m confident enough in our friendship to believe we could still be friends afterward.” You tell him firmly. “Besides, you’re literally the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, why wouldn’t I want to have sex with you?”

“You’re...serious about this? You’re not playing some kind of joke on me?” 

“Why would I play a joke on you, Namjoon? I haven’t been able to get off for literal weeks - ever since you moved in, actually - and I’m at a bit of a breaking point.”

“And you’re not drunk?”

“Completely sober,” You assure him. He curses under his breath and runs a hand over his jaw, not making eye contact as he considers. It’s the same thoughtful expression that he gets when he’s trying to figure out some complex equation at work. With how long it’s been since you last came, however, it’s only making you wetter. 

"Fuck it," He mutters, seconds before his hands cup your jaw to pull you into a kiss. 

It's awkward at first, the two of you trying to find a rhythm that you both enjoy while still being able to breathe. His lips are slightly chapped and you both stumble as he starts walking backwards towards the bed, but it's so wonderful. His hand against your jaw is warm and comforting, even as his other hand is slipping teasingly under your robe and his teeth suckle a mark into your collarbone. 

Movement on the bed catches your attention and you flush when you realize it's Moni, Namjoon's very sweet dog that came with him when he moved in. 

"Uh, Namjoon?" You breathe. It's hard to focus on anything that isn't the way he's teasing at the band of your panties, but the way Moni is staring at you is captivating. "Dog."

Namjoon freezes, hands disappearing from your skin, and he either doesn't hear or doesn't acknowledge your needy whine at the loss of contact. 

"What, what's wrong? Is that your safeword? What did I do?"

"No, Joon," You can barely hear yourself think over the stream of apologies pouring from his lips, and it isn't until you grip his shoulders and forcibly turn him to look at his dog that he shuts up. 

" Oh ," He whispers. "The dog." He clicks his tongue a couple of times and Moni hops down from the bed, though not without giving Namjoon the saddest eyes possible. Moni disappears down the hallway, probably to go lay on the couch, and Namjoon shuts the door behind him. "Sorry," he says bashfully. 

"Don't be sorry," You respond with a smile. " Do , however, fuck me until I can't move." 

A growl vibrates in his chest, surprising you, and you're bouncing atop his mattress before you can think. 

He doesn't say anything else, too focused on the way your folds feel against his tongue as he slides your robe up your thighs. Words are hardly possible for you when he makes you come the first time. Even less so when he turns you onto your hands and knees, presses your face into the mattress, and proceeds to pound into you so hard that the nightstand shakes. Still, your knees are made weak by something else entirely.

It's the tender awareness in his touch; he's firm and unyielding but so, so cautious, consistently testing your reactions before he continues. The way his voice - deepened and husky with desire - sounds in your ear when he asks if what he's doing is okay, if you like it, if you want to keep going. It's how he teases you gently about how wet you are - "God damn, is this all for me? You're so fucking wet, so slick and ready for me, sweetheart," -  the way he's so absolutely tuned in to your own needs and desires, the way he coaxes orgasm after orgasm out of you like it's second nature, his own high an afterthought when you've clenched too tight around him. 

It's the way he brings you water and some fruit afterward and gently cleans you up while you eat before sliding your robe carefully over the blossoming purple marks he sucked into your shoulders. It's the way he didn't close his bedroom door until yours clicked behind you. 

"This was the best idea I've ever had," you sigh happily to yourself as you drift off to sleep. 

“So you’ve got a sir kink?” Namjoon asks several days later, face pressed into a microscope more expensive than your entire apartment building. He doesn’t look at you, even as you tear your eyes away from the computer screen in front of you to glance at him curiously. 

“I do,” You tell him. He shifts in his chair and you bite back a grin. “Is that a problem? We don’t have to use it.”

“No, it’s fine,” He says quickly. “Just thought it was interesting. I didn’t expect that from you.”

“Namjoon, we’ve only known each other for a couple of months, and in that time, we’ve hardly had a conversation about what kinks we enjoy and what we don’t. How would you expect anything?”

“Just...didn’t expect it, that’s all.” He’s quiet for a minute and a sliver of guilt lodges in your throat. You’re right, the two of you haven’t known each other for very long, especially not in a sexual manner, but you could’ve maybe phrased it better. 

“I’m sorry-”

“We should-”

Both of you stop midsentence, turning away from your work to laugh with each other. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Namjoon says with a dimpled smile. “I know what you meant, and you’re right. We don’t know what the other enjoys, so we shouldn’t go into this with any expectations.”

“Maybe we should, though,” You say, marking a sequence that catches your eye so you’ll remember to come back and fully examine it later. “I mean, we can’t exactly fulfill our sexual needs without knowing what said needs are. For instance, how often do you orgasm every week?”

Something tumbles on Namjoon’s desk, and when you look over he’s got the microscope cradled carefully in his hands a few feet above the floor. 

“Uh...maybe twice,” He eventually says.

“Hm. Duly noted.” You turn back to the monitor in front of you, marking another sequence for inspection. 

“Well...how often do you orgasm each week?” He asks. His voice is hesitant, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to ask.

“Depends,” You tell him. “When I’m close to my period or ovulating, it’s usually once a day, if not twice, because my sex drive is higher, but otherwise it’s usually every other day or so.”

“Oh.” 

“But don’t worry, I’m more than willing to take care of myself on the nights where you need a break. I don’t expect you to keep up with my sex drive.”

“I mean...I could .”

You turn away from the monitor to look at him, quirking a brow. He quirks his own in return and you can’t help the way your eyes travel down his form. He’s wearing contacts instead of his glasses - always does during the workweek, since it’s easier to use a microscope that way - but the light purple shirt sets off the platinum blonde of his hair and his thighs strain against the material of his khakis. It all adds up to make him look absolutely delectable, especially since you know full well what’s hiding underneath those pants. 

“I could,” He repeats. “If you want me to.”

Your eyes meet his and you have no doubt he’s been eyeing you the same way you’ve been eyeing him. 

“I think it might be time for our lunch break, Mr. Kim,” You tell him, eyes darting to the clock on your desk. “I was thinking of going out to get something, would you like to join me?”

Namjoon is already standing and grabbing his jacket, and you would laugh at how eager he is if you weren’t the same way. You can already feel heat beginning to pool between your legs and the two of you rush out of the office in such a hurry that you hardly notice when you run straight into the mail cart. 

“Nice going, Slick!” Kihyun yells after you, and you wish you were ashamed of the way that your knees tremble at the reminder of how it felt to have Namjoon call you that while buried inside of your warmth. 

“They have no idea,” Namjoon mutters, fingers twisting with yours so he can pull you down a hallway and towards an unused office. “If they only knew just how slick you really are.”

You shiver and slam the door closed as Namjoon sinks to his knees. 

The amount of times the two of you fuck at work is utterly ridiculous after that. You have an actual conversation with him about kinks and hard limits and soft limits and all that fun grown-up stuff that’s necessary of an adult relationship, of course, and that only adds to the fire between the two of you. 

He’s more than willing to let you call him Sir while you’re on your hands and knees in front of him, and you’re absolutely willing to ride him into oblivion in those moments when he doesn’t want to be in charge or when he’s had a hard day at work and just wants to relax. Those are your favorite times, actually; when he just sits on the couch and drives himself up into you while you’re fucking yourself back down onto him, eyes clenched shut as his hands glide up your spine and knead your ass. 

The slow, lazy way his hips meet yours is absolutely addictive, you can’t even lie, but you can’t deny that it’s the moment after you’ve both cum that are the real danger. When you’re both panting and spent, laying against the soft sheets on his bed or the cool leather of your couch, and his arm drapes around your torso for those few moments it takes him to regain his breath. 

It’s dangerous, so dangerous, because you’ve already agreed not to have feelings involved in this. You’re friends with benefits, nothing more and nothing less, and you cannot let yourself forget that. Not in the mornings when you wander out in his shirt to find that he’s made breakfast - ordered it, actually, but it’s the thought that counts - or when you walk into work together and he doesn’t hesitate to open the doors for you without even breaking stride, as if it’s second nature to do so. As if he’s used to it. 

It’s when the two of you are at the mall together that reality hits you in the face. 

You’re both on the hunt for different things; he’s got a birthday present he still has to buy and wants to pick up some new treats and sweaters for Moni, while you’re on the hunt for a new toaster to rival that of your old one - which you destroyed on accident by using a metal fork to dig a piece of bread out of. While it was plugged in. And hot. 

Your hands still sting a little, but the ER nurse was adamant that you would be alright. So long as you didn’t try to electrocute yourself again.

“Wait, so you’re not going to be here for New Year’s Eve?” You clarify, popping a piece of chocolate into your mouth. 

“No, I’m heading up to Taehyung’s cabin with the rest of the guys. It’s an annual thing, I don’t even remember how it got started,” Namjoon tells you as he peers into the window of some box store that you already know isn’t going to have anything Taehyung will like. 

“Hm, I guess it’s good I work then, so I can walk Moni.” 

Namjoon shoots you an odd look. “You don’t work, and Jackson’s watching Moni.”

“Uh...I’m pretty sure I work on New Year’s Eve, Namjoon. I would’ve made plans otherwise.”

“Slick, I’m exactly one hundred percent sure the office is closed for New Year’s because it is every year.” He sneaks a piece of chocolate and wrinkles his nose when he realizes it’s mint chocolate. 

“No, because my schedule says-” You start, pulling your phone out to open said schedule so you can show him just how wrong he is. “That I work the next morning. That’s why I didn’t make plans.”

Namjoon just smiles and taps at the screen. “That’s December, Slick. You’re looking at December first.”

You pull the phone back and stare at it, horror washing over you when you see that he’s right. 

You’re going to be spending New Year’s alone, for the first time in years, and loneliness fills you at that thought. Your parents are an entire plane ride away, on vacation for their retirement in some tropical paradise that you can’t remember the name of; your old friends are in an entirely different city, likely already with plans of their own, and you don’t know nearly enough people at work or outside of it to have any idea what people are doing. 

“Oh man,” Namjoon breathes, clearly oblivious to the sudden onset of loneliness that’s hit you. “I knew it was going to be hilarious, but I had no idea it was going to be this good .”

You look up to find him focused on his phone, camera pointing at something you can’t quite make out through the small screen. You follow the view, a reluctant smile breaking out when you spot Hope on the Street dancing along to some holiday song while dressed as an elf. 

“Isn’t that the news anchor that got in trouble for doing anal?” You ask. Namjoon cackles - there’s no other word for it, it’s a cackle - and nods. 

“Yeah, Hoseok’s been forced into doing this as a publicity stunt. We’ve all been looking forward to seeing him do it, too, but god , I had no idea it would be this funny to see. Hobi as a Christmas elf, can you imagine?”

“Hobi?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s a close friend of mine,” Namjoon says, eyes never straying from the video as he plays it back. “He’s gonna be at the cabin too, with his girlfriend Cat. There’s like seven of us who all grew up in the same little neighborhood, and we all kept pretty close as we got older. It’s like a little mini-family.”

“Oh,” You say softly. Namjoon tucks his phone back into his pocket and looks around, lighting up as he spots something else. “I didn’t know you knew Hope on the Street.”

“Yeah, he’s a dork,” Namjoon says as he pulls you towards some children’s store. “Come on, I think Yoongi’s working and I like to watch his little dance when he makes the hearts.”

You barely pay attention as Namjoon hurries into the toy store. You don’t join him inside, too busy lost in your own thoughts. 

You should’ve realized, you scold yourself. You should’ve known better. You got comfortable, you got complacent and happy, too enamored with the way Namjoon feels inside of you and the warmth of his hand in yours to realize that you’re still on the outside. 

He and his friends are all going up to some cabin, with their girlfriends apparently, to hang out and have fun together for New Year’s. He didn’t invite you. You’ve lost yourself in the fantasy and complacency of how warm he feels, how it feels like coming home whenever you see him, even when you knew better. 

You knew better than to get attached. You told yourself, every step of the way, not to get attached, don’t develop feelings, it’s just sex, and yet…

And yet your heart is breaking in your chest that he didn’t invite you along, that he didn’t even think to do so. It’s not even fair to him, it’s not his fault that you got too caught up in the domesticity and familiarity of him to remember that this isn’t serious. Why would he invite you? You’re his roommate, a coworker, the girl he fucks every so often. You aren’t his girlfriend, you aren’t anyone important to his friends. 

You’re just the roommate. 

“Hey, look at this bear I made, it’s got a little microscope and everything! It’s perfect for-”

“Sorry,” You interrupt, ignoring the way Namjoon’s smile dims ever so slightly. “I just realized that I’ve got to finish up some analyses before the office closes for the holiday, I’ve gotta go do that. But it’s cute, Moni’ll love it.”

“Okay.” Namjoon’s voice is hushed, and his brows are drawn together. He can obviously tell something’s off, but if you’re lucky, maybe he won’t be able to pinpoint exactly what. “I’ll see you at home then.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you back at the apartment,” You say quickly, not even looking at him as you hurry off the other way. 

You just need space, you tell yourself. You just need some distance so you can get your emotions under control. You can’t be around him when all you want to do is kiss him senseless and tell him how much you want to wake up in his bed forever, how you never want to miss another walk with Moni. He can���t know. 

He won’t know.

"I fucked up."

"You're going to have to be more specific," Jimin’s voice says from the other end of the phone. 

Namjoon groans, resisting the urge to slam his head back against the cabinets. He's standing in the kitchen now, staring longingly at the fridge and whatever food it may contain, because you’re out grocery shopping now, and he would love for you to come back to a hot meal, but there’s a reason you’re grocery shopping this late at night.

"You remember how in college everyone teased me because I'm terrible at one-night stands and I bet Hobi a week's groceries that I totally could?"

"Yes," Jimin says slowly. Something clinks on the other end of the line, and Namjoon wonders what Jimin’s having for dinner. His stomach rumbles in response and he heaves himself across the kitchen to dig through the fridge while Jimin continues. "I also remember how you spent weeks pining over said one-night stand while Hoseok filled the cupboards with every single thing he thought he could get away with buying. Why are you bringing that up now?"

Namjoom stays quiet but hums in victory as he unearths a pizza that isn’t too terribly old. “How long can pizza live in the fridge before it would kill me if I ate it?”

“If you have to ask that question, it’s been too long,” Jimin tells him. Namjoon debates, eyeing the pizza before deciding it looks fine and turning the oven on before sliding the pizza in. “Now, why are you bringing up one night stands and then pizza?”

"You remember how that new girl started at work a few months ago and we ate lunch together and then nearly got fired?"

"Yes, I distinctly remember writing you notes on takeout containers for weeks reminding you not to put foil in the microwave. What does-" Jimin stops, and Namjoon gets the distinct impression that if they were having this conversation in person, he’d be getting the Look. "Joon, tell me you didn't."

"I didn't have a one night stand with her," Namjoon assures him. 

"Good," Jimin says, heaving a sigh of relief. "God only knows what would happen with a one night stand with your roommate-"

"We're friends with benefits." 

Jimin chokes on whatever he’s eating and Namjoon winces sympathetically. 

"It's not that bad," The elder says before Jimin can scold him. "We're very sexually compatible. And she's amazing, Jimin, you don't even know-"

"Joon, isn't this the same girl you spent an entire four hours talking about the day she started working with you?"

"Yeah, so?"

The blonde gives a heavy sigh. Namjoon knows the younger well enough to know he’s shaking his head right now. 

"Please be careful, Namjoon," Jimin eventually says. 

"Oh, don't worry, we've both been tested, and we use condoms every time, there's nothing to worry about."

"That's not the kind of careful I mean," Jimin sighs. He's quiet for a minute as he eats and Namjoon waits for his pizza to be heated enough to eat. "Why do you say you fucked up if you’ve been careful?”

“I…” He hesitates. “I don’t know. I think she’s upset with me. We were at the mall the other day and it was fine, we were laughing at how Hobi looks dressed as an elf-”

“God that video was hilarious -”

“Right?!” They both laugh a little, fondly remembering the sight, before Namjoon sobers. “And then she just...changed. She got all quiet and skittish and ran off before I could give her the bear I made. She didn’t even look at it.”

“And it just happened out of nowhere? What were you talking about?”

“How she’s off work for New Year’s and I’m heading up to the cabin so she doesn’t have to watch Moni or anything, and then I saw Yoongi doing that dance at the store so I wanted to go watch him, and-” He stops, eyes focused on the air in front of him. 

“Joon? You good?”

“Hypothetically speaking,” He begins, a realization hitting him all at once, “What would happen if I put a pizza in the oven to reheat without taking it out of the box?”

“Oh my fucking god, Namjoon, get it out!”

There’s a flurry of smoke while Namjoon does just that and rushes to open the window so he can let some of the smoke out before you get back home. Jimin’s still berating him - albeit fondly - when he picks the phone back up. 

“It’s fine,” Namjoon says quickly, “It’s cool, nothing’s actually on fire anymore. And the pizza’s warm!”

“Oh my god, how have you survived this long.” Namjoon smiles at Jimin’s words; he gets a lot of shit for being wildly unobservant, but he knows that the others love him dearly. Why else would they still talk to him? Really, after the incident with the tub at Jungkook’s apartment, it’s truly a miracle he still has friends, and love is the only explanation. 

“But seriously, I don’t know what I did with Slick. Do you think I was too...obvious?”

“Namjoon,” Jimin says seriously. “If this girl is anything like you, and based on that time she tried to screenshot a crack in phone screen I’m inclined to believe she is, then I think the issue is that you aren’t being obvious enough . You said she got all weird after you mentioned the cabin, right?”

“Yeah. I thought she’d be happy that she wouldn’t be stuck with Moni, but-”

“Did you consider that since she thought she was working, she doesn’t have any other plans and is now stuck in the apartment by herself since she just moved here recently?”

“Oh.” Guilt surges through him as the door opens and your voice echoes that you picked up some takeout while you were gone. “I gotta go.”

“Ah-ah,” Jimin says quickly. “My payment?”

“Yes, Jimin, I love you dearly, you are the light of my life, I would never have survived this long were it not for your sage wisdom, I owe you my firstborn.”

“Much better! Some of the others could learn from you.” Jimin’s laugh continues long after he’s hung up, Namjoon is sure of it. 

You aren’t sure why the apartment smells like smoke when you get back, but you decide not to question it and just be grateful you had the foresight to pick up some takeout on your way back from the store. 

 When you get into the kitchen, Namjoon is there, with a smoking pizza box on the stove beside him. He’s not in his work clothes; instead, he looks comfortable and cozy in some sweats and a faded tee with his glasses halfway down his nose. Your heart lurches painfully in your chest at the sight and you force yourself to remember that he isn’t yours . 

“Hey! Did you hear me? I got takeout, since I figured neither of us wanted to cook. And I’m glad I did, what’s with the smoke?” A thought strikes you as you set the bags on the table. “Oh no, did you try to use the toaster? I told you not to, it got weird after that night with the fork, we need to replace it.”

“Do you wanna go to the cabin?” 

You freeze, halfway to the fridge to put away the ice cream that he likes. “What?” You ask. 

“The cabin. Do you want to go with me for New Year’s Eve, with everyone?” Namjoon takes the ice cream and finishes your journey for you, sticking it in the freezer without a second thought. “If you don’t want to take advantage of a quiet apartment, that is. You’re welcome to join, and I figured that was obvious, but then I realized that it may not be, so I wanted to offer.”

“With you and all of your friends? I don’t really... know any of them.” 

“That’s fine, they’re not that bad. They’re all pretty friendly, once you get to know them at least.” Namjoon says as he takes some vegetables out of your hands to put them in the fridge as well. “And I have no doubt that the others are going to bring some of their friends. Yoongi’s girlfriend will be there, she seems sweet. And Cat and Star are always nice, you’d love them.” 

You hesitate, though you aren’t sure why. This is what you wanted, so why doesn’t it make you happy?

“Besides, they’ll all be happy to have another friend around to bother. Jin loves to feed people.” Namjoon flashes his dimples at you and your heart does something complex that you can’t explain. There’s the rush of excitement and the skipped beat that always comes with his dimples, but it twists and clenches as well. Because of course, he’s just taking you as a friend. 

You’re friends. And that’s fine. If you repeat yourself enough times then you’ll believe it. You have to. 

“Yeah, sure!” You say with a grin. “I’d like that. They always sound so fun, it’ll be nice to meet them for real.”

Namjoon beams and helps you put the rest of the groceries away before you both settle in to eat. It’s not anything fancy, simple and quick and just enough to get the two of you through the night so that you didn’t have to cook. You chat about work as you do, a few sequences that might prove promising if you can work them the right way. 

It’s afterward, as you’re both curled up on opposite sides of the couch while some nature documentary plays in the background, that you notice it. 

He’s been fidgety all night, even before you left to get the food, and you didn’t think anything of it before. But now he’s even worse, hands rubbing along his thighs nervously while he shoots you look after look, which you have no doubt he thinks you don’t notice. 

“What is up with you?” You ask him eventually, ignoring the way some bug is eating another bug’s head onscreen. 

“Nothing,” he says in a rush. “Just...ready for bed.”

“Then go to bed.” You say it like it’s obvious, because it is. If he’s so ready to sleep, then he should go; neither of you has ever expected the other to stay up and watch TV together. You’re individuals.

“Okay,” he says softly, adjusting his glasses as he stands. He gets all the way to his bedroom door before he comes back, hovering awkwardly in the hall entrance for several seconds before he finally sits back down on the couch. Now, however, he’s sitting with his thigh pressed against yours, the heat radiating through the shorts you’re wearing and searing into your skin. 

He’s still fidgety, still uneasy for some reason, and it’s as you turn to ask him what the hell’s going on that he pulls you into a kiss. It’s soft and lingering and it makes your stomach flip in all the ways it isn’t supposed to. 

“If you wanted to have sex, you should have just said so,” You whisper against his lips. You can feel it more than hear it as he starts to say something and then cuts himself off with a sigh. 

“I wanna be inside you,” he says instead. “Please.”

Heat pools between your legs, even at such simple words, and you find yourself nodding. He kisses you again, frantic and much more heated than before, and you can already tell what it’ll be like tonight. 

You’re right, too; it’s quick and dirty. You don’t even make it to the bed, not at first. He cages you against the wall in the hallway and slides a hand between your bodies to start to draw your first orgasm out. It’s the whine from the dog that makes you realize where you are, pulling apart long enough to stare at where Moni sits at the hallway entrance, head cocked to the side and watching you with a confused stare. 

That gets you into the bedroom, the door shut behind you as you fall together onto the bed. The two of you barely get your clothes off before Namjoon’s sliding inside of you and groaning at the feeling. 

“Fuck, Slick, you’re so wet,” he whispers against your skin as he thrusts. You can hardly make words, too focused on the way he fits inside of you and the absolute certainty that you cannot say a single word running through your head. 

Not that you’re in love with the way he holds your hips so gently as he thrusts, not how he whispers praise and adoration against you with every press of his lips to your skin, and certainly not how you want to stay like this forever. That you’re absolutely positive you’ve broken the cardinal rules of being fuckbuddies. 

Don’t get feelings. 

But you were a fool, anyway. Because it’s easy to break rules, especially when you go into it with feelings. 

The first orgasm hits you with a shockwave, and with the way Namjoon hits your g-spot, it’s followed by a second shortly after. Your hands claw into the sheets as he fills the condom, and it only takes a minute for him to clean himself up enough to relax in the bed beside you, but you hardly notice; you’re too busy adjusting to the emptiness that you’re left with now that he isn’t inside you, the yearning that fills you down to your bones with the need to be wrapped up in his arms and cradled to his chest as you both drift to sleep.

You force yourself up before you can get comfortable, fatigue sweeping through your bones. 

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go shower,” You tell him. It’s a feat to keep your voice neutral, but you think you manage. “And then head to bed, I think. Uh, thanks. For the orgasms.”

The door to the bathroom closes behind you before he can even get a word out, and you force the image of his confused face out of your mind as you turn the water on. It takes every part of you to resist the urge to linger in the hot spray for longer than you need to be there, but you manage. 

By the time you’re slipping into bed, the light in Namjoon’s room is off and you can hear Moni settling into bed beside Namjoon. You can practically see them, curled up together all warm and settled in together. Content. 

You slip between your own sheets and wrap the fluffy blanket around you. Emotions are swirling in your gut and you do your best to ignore them all. You don’t need to focus on the way you want to be there with them, the way you want to curl your body into his with Moni between you, just the way he likes on the couch. 

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever had,” You tell yourself with a sigh as you try to fall asleep in your lonely bed. 

You don’t know that across the hall, Namjoon lays awake with Moni beside him, wondering how he fucked up so badly that you’re not in his arms anymore. He’d have every intention to tell you about his feelings. He wanted to end this friends-with-benefits thing, put it to rest so that he could take you out for real. So you could be together , for real. 

But you’d just bolted the second he was collapsing onto the bed, like you were running from something, and he wasn’t about to keep you here when you don’t want to be here. 

Still, he thinks as Moni burrows under the blankets to get closer to him, he can’t help but wish you were up against him as well, with your breathing steady and quiet as you sleep and he can feel your chest move with it. 

He just really wishes that you wanted that too.

The drive to the cabin is uneventful. You and Namjoon talk about work most of the way, chatting amicably about a few things that got corrupted in the data that have been frustrating to rebuild and how excited Moni was to see Jackson when he picked the pup up that day. 

You’re only a little nervous when you spot the wooden sign specifying that it belongs to the Kims. You’ve heard a lot of stories about Namjoon’s friends, seen one or two in passing when they come by the apartment to see Namjoon, though you tend to give them space when that happens. 

Still, nothing could ever compare to the welcome that greets you. There’s some kind of karaoke going on, with Taehyung and Star watching from the couch. There are crutches propped up nearby and you wonder what the story is there for the few seconds before your attention is drawn to the kitchen, where who you assume is Seokjin is scolding someone for shoving entirely too many cookies into their mouth. You catch sight of someone - blonde, giggling, followed by a sweet-looking girl - run out of the kitchen with his cheeks puffed out and crumbs on his lips, and you shoot Namjoon a look. 

“Jimin,” He explains with a grin. “C’mon, let’s go claim the den before someone else can get to it.”

That night is hectic, to say the least. Namjoon was right when he said his friends are welcoming, though; everyone is friendly and talkative - except for Pumpkin, Seokjin’s best friend who genuinely looks like she’s about to murder someone for the few moments that you see her during dinner but Namjoon assures you “That’s just her face, I promise.” Even when the boys get to reminiscing about the days they spent in that cul-de-sac, they include everyone else in their stories. 

Especially fun is when they all come up with theories about why Cat and Hobi are late, and while from what you’ve heard so far tonight, you agree with the proposal that they’re probably fucking, you still feel a sliver of worry for them. 

It’s the mention of sex that gets your stomach churning, though. Because Namjoon shoots you a knowing look, the same one he gets when you wear those ultra-short shorts around the house that he adores, and you already know what he wants. You can’t even say you don’t want it, too, because you don’t think you could ever turn down the opportunity to have him like that. It’s just so bittersweet when it ends-

“I’m going to start on dessert,” Seokjin states as he gathers plates. Yoongi and Peaches are gone in record time, and Taehyung and Star follow not long after, though it takes considerably longer with the way Taehyung helps her. Seokjin calls after them all that he’ll have dessert ready in a little while, and Namjoon shoots you another look when Jimin and Pumpkin don’t move from the table. 

“C’mon,” Namjoon whispers, grabbing your hand and urging you down the hallway. “Get our bags, we’re gonna steal Jin’s room.”

“That doesn’t seem like the best idea,” You whisper in return, though you do in fact grab the bags as he directs. “Isn’t that also Pumpkin’s room? Are we sure she won’t murder us?”

“No, it’ll be fine, Jin would never let her.” The thought isn’t as comforting as Namjoon means it to be, but you manage to get your bags in the room and their bags out without anyone the wiser. 

You realize your mistake too late. This room only has one bed. A singular sleeping area. The den has couches, you would have been fine, but you can’t sleep here. You can’t share the bed with Namjoon; it’s entirely too dangerous. Getting to see him still completely sleep soft, warm against you as the two of you doze in the early morning light? 

There would be no coming back from that. 

The thought leaves nearly as quick as it enters, driven away by the slide of Namjoon’s arms as he wraps them around you. 

"Do you want it, Slick?" His voice is deep and rumbling, almost a purr in your ear, and it makes your knees weak. It's truly ridiculous how easy it is for him to rile you up, but fuck , can you really complain?

Except you can, because it's not what you want. It's not everything you want. You can't ask for more, though, not when he doesn't want to give it.

His hands snake towards the waistband of your pants - fancy grey pinstriped pants that you bought specifically because Namjoon told you that Seokjin has a fancy dress code for New Year's Eve - and your heart jumps up into your throat. You spin in his arms, doing your best to look enthusiastic. 

"I want to blow you," You tell him as you sink to your knees. He leans back against the wall and quirks a brow, but he nods his agreement.

You set to work almost immediately; you're determined to make this the best blowjob of his life. It's the least you can do. You don't tell him that, though; you can't tell him. Not this. Not that you're so deeply entrenched in your feelings for him that you're afraid if you don't get out now you won't be able to. Not that you can't bear to have him touch you because you're afraid of what will come out of your mouth, what you might say or reveal that he doesn't want to know. 

Not when you're going to have to end this, as you decided while laying in bed two nights ago, cold and exhausted and utterly alone. 

You focus again on Namjoon, reminding yourself to pay attention. His dick is big - big enough that your fingers can only barely meet when you wrap them around it, but it means your jaw aches deliciously when you go down on him, and you adore the feeling of it in your throat.

So you swallow him down completely, burying him to the hilt with one swift movement. You've been practicing, and it has clearly paid off if the choked moan that escapes him is any indication. His hands tangle in your hair, not pulling or pushing but instead just sitting there and moving with you as you pull off just to bury him again. 

You look up and are pleased to find that his eyes are screwed shut, jaw clenched tight against the moans building inside of his chest. But that won't do at all. The best blowjob of his life can't possibly be one where he doesn't even look at you.

To rectify the situation, you bring one hand up to tease at his balls, squeezing ever so slightly in the way you know he likes as you swallow around his cock. He does moan then, fingers clenching in your hair as he opens his eyes to look down at you. 

"Fuck, just like that, Slick," He pleads. "Again, please again, it's perfect." You comply, humming an affirmative around his dick that makes him shudder before you swallow around him again. "God, fuck , you're so fucking perfect. Fucking amazing, the best, I can't believe I get to have this-"

Namjoon continues, mumbling in and out of coherency as you bop your head up and down on his cock. He's thick and heavy in your mouth and it feels like heaven on your tongue - it always does - and just when you think you can never get enough-

"Fuck, I love you so much, Slick, you're a god damn angel."

You pull off his dick, staring wide-eyed at him. Namjoon whines and looks down at you, clearly not comprehending what's just come out of his mouth.

"Fuck," He mutters. "Fuck, shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I don't...I'm so sorry I didn't want you to know, especially not like this. Shit. "

"Are you serious?" You ask as you stand back up. Namjoon makes a belated movement to help steady you, blood flowing back into your calves from where you were kneeled down for a while, but he stops himself. He doesn't even look at you, really, instead staring out the window nearby. "Namjoon, seriously. Did you mean that?"

"I mean…" He hesitates, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Yeah. I did. I do. It's still new so I can't be entirely sure, but I think that's what this is." 

He heaves a sigh and tucks himself back into his slacks before moving to sit on the bed, one hand running through his platinum hair. 

"You weren't supposed to know," He mutters. "I thought I could keep it a secret. I didn't want to make it weird between us since you don't…" 

"Since I don't...feel the same?" You ask as you sit beside him. "You really...care about me like that?"

"Yeah," Namjoon whispers with a grin. It's fond and sweet and everything you've ever wanted and it's so unbearably familiar because it's how he's always looked at you. "Ever since we almost burned the lab down, I think."

"Same," You breathe, and you can't deny the way that you love the light that sparks in his eyes at that. "Ever since you ate the vegetables out of my rice and gave me your eggrolls." 

"Are you-"

"Yeah," You say with a laugh. "I guess we're kind of both at fault for this, then."

"Can I…" Namjoon trails off, searching for the words he wants. His hands move to wrap around yours, lacing your fingers together as he gives you a smitten smile. "We've been fucking for a while. As you know. But would you do me the honor of letting me make love to you?" 

You gulp, an audible and atrocious thing, because his words send a surge of desire straight to your core. He's right, you have been fucking, because that's the only thing the two of you can call it. You don't make eye contact, you don't sleep over, there are rules , but god, the two of you break everything else, so why not this?

"Please," You whisper.  

His lips are on yours in an instant, his hands following quickly after to strip your clothes off. You can't be sure when his clothes join the pile on the floor, just that one moment your fists are clenched in his shirt and the next, you're raking your nails down his bare back as he sucks purple marks into your neck. 

"God, you're beautiful," He mutters. "Fucking divine." 

"Then I match you, don't I?" You whisper. Two of his fingers slide into you, and both of you moan at the feeling. He glides them against your walls, teasing that one spot inside of you that he knows you adore, and you whine a little.

"Patience, my dear," He chuckles. When you whine again he grins, dimples making your stomach flip. "Alright then, Slick. Let me get a condom."

"No," You say quickly. "We've been exclusive, right? No risk or anything like that. I've got the implant. 98% effective. I want…"

"Say it, love," Namjoon breathes, eyes never leaving yours. 

"I want to feel you. Please." He nods at your words and settles between your thighs once more. Your breath hitches in your throat at the thought of what's to come. 

"Tell me if you want to stop," he says as he presses kisses to your neck, up your throat, and across your cheeks. He does it all to distract you as he slides inside, but he doesn't need to. You've been fucking him for months now, you know exactly how big he is, and you're more than ready for it. 

What you aren't ready for is the way his skin feels against your walls, how you can feel every pulse and throb of his cock inside you. It's better than anything you've ever felt, beyond any descriptors you could find, and it only gets better as he slides out and then back in. 

His pace is slow but steady, a rhythmic glide to it that's making you obscenely wet. It's a stark contrast to the gentle way he kisses you, the softness of his lips against yours. The sound of his skin hitting yours fills the room as he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. 

"You are the best thing that's ever happened to me," You tell him, sliding your hands along every inch of skin you can get. 

Nothing is loud enough to mask the sound of the door opening, however, and when you glance over you can see that Hoseok and Cat have apparently finished whatever the fuck it was they were doing. 

You shy back, doing your best to cover yourself from their eyes, but Namjoon's pace doesn't falter. 

" Taken ," He growls. He doesn't even break eye contact as he does so, and the way his hand tightens on your hip makes you think he isn't just talking about the bedroom. 

Thankfully the couple disappears after that, closing the door behind them as they go, and it flips a switch inside Namjoon somehow. 

His pace speeds up, pistoning in and out of you mercilessly. He starts to angle his hips, searching until you finally cry out with your back arching up off the bed itself. He just smiles and continues to hit that spot, one hand moving to support your back while the other rubs teasing circles into your clit. 

"That's it, love," he purrs. "Wanna watch you come for me like this. Let yourself fall apart on my cock, Slick, I'll be right here. I've got you." 

You really wish you could figure out what exactly it is he does then; some kind of swivel of his hips while his fingers do some complicated twist or something, you have no doubt, but nevertheless, it's got you unraveling underneath him. You clench around him, harder than you ever have, and you can feel the sheets soaking underneath you from the strength of your orgasm. 

It takes barely two more thrusts for Namjoon to come as well, stilling slightly as his cum hits your walls for the first time. It's warm and you can feel it settling inside of you, but you can't say you don't enjoy it. 

You're both panting, out of breath and exhausted and having worked all the food Seokjin made out of your system. Namjoon disappears for a few seconds before returning with a warm cloth to clean you up; his hands are tender as he does so, and you find yourself falling even deeper. 

After a quick power nap and an even quicker quickie - because Namjoon insisted that it wasn't fair that you got to go down on him but he didn't get to go down on you - the two of you mingle with the others. Hoseok and Cat fit seamlessly into the group, filling a space you hadn't realized was missing during dinner. It's obvious to you, as you lean against the kitchen island and watch them all, just how much this group loves each other. Even the newcomers, like the new girlfriends, are absorbed so perfectly into the existing group that it's as if they never left.

Hell, even Pumpkin is smiling a little, although you can't be sure it's not just because Seokjin looks Like That. 

"Ooh, icing," Namjoon says as he comes to join you in the kitchen. Seokjin barely gets a chance to say anything as Namjoon drags his thumb across the white droplet and sucks it into his mouth. 

The baker looks horrified, and you wish you knew why. Namjoon agrees, based on the look on his face. 

"What?" Namjoon asks. "It was good." Seokjin's face is as pale as it can possibly get when he waves Namjoon away, and you have a sneaking suspicion of just what your boyfriend put in his mouth. 

You don't bother to hide your smile as said boyfriend comes over to you and hands you a glass of champagne.

"What are you so happy about?" He asks teasingly.

"You," You tell him honestly. It's worth it when he ducks his head, shy smile making his dimples stand out even as he tries to hide it. "I adore you."

Namjoon doesn't respond, just kisses you. He breaks away for a few minutes, saying something to someone else, and when the clock strikes midnight, he presses another gentle kiss to your lips.

"What are you wishing for?" He asks. 

"Midnight wishes? Really?" You tease. He cocks a brow and you smile. "I don't need to wish for anything. I got everything I wanted this year." 

"Really? Everything?" 

You nod, straightening his tie ever so slightly. "And what about you? What are you wishing for?"

"Oh, that's easy." He wraps an arm around you and grins. "For you to finally accept the bear I made you that day in the mall."

"Moni loves that thing, I couldn't possibly take it from him."

"But it's got a microscope! And a lab coat!"

Well then," You tell him, dropping your voice so the others won't hear. "I suppose you'll have to make me another." 

He glances over to where Yoongi and Peaches stand and then back to you. 

"Covert mission to also get another for Jisoo?"

"Glad we're on the same page here," You tell him with a smile.

[max-is-tired]

Misconceptions: A Show

Pairing: Intrulogical

Characters: Remus Sanders, Logan Sanders, Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Deceit Sanders.

Words: 3.941

Warnings: sympathetic Deceit & Remus, swearing, some graphic talk bc it’s Remus, screaming in caps

Notes: Finally, I can post this monster of a fic -hey there, @princeyssash, guess who was your secret santa? This fic was honestly so much fun to write, I swear -I loved all of the prompts I had, but this one just called to me,,, I had to,,

Big thanks to @purp-man for betaing this fic for me and listening to my 3am rambles, and shoutout to @afulldeckofaces for helping me flesh out some plot points, like Virgil memeing his way through Roman’s plans. You’re the absolute best <33

Commission me!!  Buy me a coffee!!  My Discord server!!  AO3!!

It was a normal day in the mindscape.

Patton was humming happily in the kitchen, shuffling around with a pep in his step as he mixed the batter for some cookies. In the living room, Logan and Virgil were enjoying each other’s company while doing their own thing, may it be reading or half-slouching on the couch while scrolling aimlessly through Tumblr.

Everything was peaceful.

Until it wasn’t.

“YOU DIRTY LITTLE SEWER RAT GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!!”

Everyone jumped at the sudden shout, Virgil going as far as tumbling off the couch with a startled yelp. From upstairs, Remus’ unmistakable laughter bounced on the walls, followed shortly after by the twin himself bolting down the stairs with a maniacal grin on his face.

“Oh god,” Virgil groaned from the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose, “what the fuck did he do now?”

“Language, kiddo,” Patton called, emerging from the kitchen with a confused frown on his face. 

Turns out, they didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

“REMUS!!” Roman screeched, running down the stairs. He looked thoroughly pissed, eyes flashing dangerously as he glared daggers at his brother.

Virgil took one look at him, blinked, and then promptly broke down cackling.

“Stop laughing, Hot Topic!” Roman exclaimed, cheeks flushing red. Not that his blush was very noticeable, due to the various scribbles and crude drawings covering his face. “Look at what he did to my beautiful face!”

“You just don’t understand real art, brother dearest,” Remus snickered, waving the marker in his hand around.

“Oh, I’ll show you real art,” Roman muttered darkly, unsheathing his sword as he stalked down the last steps of the stairs.

At the sight of the unsheathed sword, Virgil’s eyes widened in alarm, his body tensing slightly as it became clear the situation was starting to escalate. Beside him, Logan looked at the two brothers, sighed in resignation and snapped the book in his hands shut.

“That’s quite enough, you two,” he said, staring the two brothers down with a raised eyebrow.

“Specs, he drew penises on my face! Multiple times!!”

“Which you can easily snap off with a wave of your hand,” Logan pointed out, “I do not believe there is any need for all this screaming, or for weapons to be brought into the picture.”

“Logan, you don’t understand, I gotta fight him now! For my honor!!” Roman exclaimed, waving his arms around -and therefore further proving Logan’s point by almost cutting Deceit’s head off as the side rose up to check what the commotion was about.

“Oi, watch it!” Deceit called out, ducking to avoid another accidental swipe of Roman’s sword, “who are you, Zuko?”

“If Roman’s Zuko then Logan is totally Uncle Iroh,” Virgil added, still lying on the floor.

Logan shrugged. “If we are referring to the first season of Avatar: The Last Airbender then yes, I can see the similarities.”

Roman squinted at them, finally lowering his sword. “There is an insult somewhere in that phrase. I don’t know where, but I know there is.”

“It’s because you’re a dumb-head, bro!” Remus cackled, once again calling the attention to himself.

Roman growled, looking more than ready to stalk through the room and tackle his twin to the ground, but Logan anticipated him before the situation could escalate once again.

“Remus, I believe this is quite enough,” he said, turning towards the aforementioned twin.

“Aw, but Logan, I’m just having some fun!”

Logan simply raised an eyebrow, staring him down.

“Ugh, fiiiine!” Remus finally groaned, throwing the marker somewhere behind himself, “that does not mean I’m happy about it though!”

Then, he sank out.

Peace once again established, Logan hummed and leaned back on the couch, going back to reading his book.

Or at least that was the plan.

“What the fuck just happened?” Virgil asked, staring at him in disbelief.

“Virgil, language!!”

“Sorry Padre, but I gotta agree with Cout Woelaf here,” Roman said, sword laying limp in his grip, “that was nothing less but weird.”

“I honestly do not understand where all of this apparent confusion is coming from,” Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You told Remus to stop!” Roman exclaimed, throwing his arms up, “and he listened to you!!”

“Roman, your sword!” Deceit hissed in frustration, having had to duck for the third time to avoid being cut in tiny scaley pieces. “If you don’t put it down this instant I might just try and stab you with it, do not try me.”

Roman grumbled but complied, making the sword disappear with a wave of his hand. Then, he crossed his arms, looking once again towards the logical side. “My point still stands though. Remus never listens to anyone, like, ever.”

“Yeah, I think I have to agree with them here Lo,” Patton said, still standing under the kitchen’s doorway, “that was a little weird.”

“Well, I do not know what to tell you,” Logan countered, “I asked him to stop, he complied and then sank out -it’s as simple as that.”

“If you say so,” Roman said, squinting at him in suspicion.

From the other side of the room, Deceit gave him A Look, appearing to be torn between amusement and concern. Logan subtly raised an eyebrow in response, making sure the others would not notice their silent exchange.

After all, it wasn’t like he could just tell them the truth, could he?

+++

When Logan finally sank up in his room, sometime later, he was not surprised to see a very familiar side sprawled on his bed, head hanging from the side of the mattress as he threw a tiny dagger up and down in the air.

“Lolo!!” Remus grinned, spotting him, “took you a while, I was starting to get bored!”

“I wanted to finish this novel first,” Logan said, putting the book in question back to its place in his large library, “it was rather interesting.”

“You know what would be interesting?” Remus asked, not looking away from the other as he kept playing with his dagger, “to find out what would happen if this dagger hit me in the eye!! Do you think it would reach all the way to my brain?”

“I suppose it would,” Logan hummed, sitting beside the creative side and quickly catching the dagger out of the air when Remus threw it again, “but between proving that hypothesis and spending the rest of the day with my not-injured husband, I think I prefer the second option more.”

“Oh really?” Remus grinned, sitting up -a slim silver chain fell out of his shirt with the movement, the golden ring hanging from it twinkling in the light of the room. “And tell me, how would you like to spend that time, my dear?”

Logan hummed, the light pressure of his own ring hiding under his shirt bringing a smile to his face. “Oh, I’m sure my dear husband will have some ideas of his own to share.”

“Oh, you are wicked,” Remus said, before leaning in to capture Logan’s lips in a kiss.

+++

For a while, it seemed like whatever had happened in the living room had been forgotten -the others were still confused by how easy it was for Logan to make Remus listen to him, but most of them waved it off as Logic easily overpowering Intrusive Thoughts with rationality and all that shit.

(Deceit knew better than that, but that was mostly because lying to him was next to impossible and Logan had been smart enough to let him in on their secret as soon as it had started to become a serious thing, both to help the couple lie to the other sides and to avoid him finding out on his own and potentially jeopardizing their cover.)

Point is, no one had yet discovered the real reason between the apparent chemistry between the two sides. But that didn’t mean they weren’t starting to notice things.

The first one to start suspecting something was, surprisingly enough, Virgil.

He had been sneaking to the kitchen around 3am, planning to grab a quick snack from the pantry and then tip-toe back to his own room, all the while hoping not to alert anyone of his nighttime escapade -he had already been at the receiving end of several stern talks about his fucked-up sleeping schedule and did not want to have to sit through another one, thank you very much.

What he had not been expecting, was to find himself staring at Logan’s back, the logical side looking busy filling two mugs with steaming water.

Virgil froze on his tracks, eyes wide in alarm as he tried to figure out how to sneak back out of the kitchen and up the stairs without being noticed. Unfortunately, Logan seemed to have other ideas and turned around before the anxious side could make up his mind about the next course of action.

“Uh,” Logan said, blinking in surprise, “hello, Virgil. I have to be honest, I was not expecting to meet anyone at this hour of the night.”

“Likewise, I guess,” Virgil shrugged, giving the other a tiny smile, “why are you up at this hour anyway? Weren’t you the one waxing poetry about the importance of a regular sleep schedule?”

“I got sidetracked, I guess. One late night won’t harm me in any way or form, I assure you.”

Virgil snickered. “I’m telling Patton you said that.”

“I don’t think you will,” Logan countered, calm as ever as he put down the kettle and moved to grab the two cups, “because if you do I will tell Patton about you sneaking into the kitchen at 3am with, as it appears, not a single ounce of sleep in your body.”

“... harsh, L. Real harsh.”

“Just stating facts,” Logan said, before walking out of the kitchen.

Virgil stared after him, watching the logical side leisurely cross the living room and walk up the stairs until he could not see him anymore. Then, he shrugged, quickly walking to the pantry and grabbing the snack he had come for.

He straightened up, holding triumphantly a bag of chips, only to freeze up again when a tiny detail finally struck him.

“Wait, why the fuck did he have two mugs?”, he wondered, turning back to glance at the stairs. Then, he turned towards the kitchen counter, noticing a little bag sitting just to the side of where Logan had been standing just a few seconds before.

“Kuding Tea” read the caption on the front of the bag, the inside filled with slim, dark tea nails.

Virgil frowned, rolling the name around in his head. He was sure he had heard it before, but where?

+++

The second one was Roman.

He had been strolling idly around the Imagination, humming a song under his breath as he walked along a path in the woods. Of course, his guard wasn’t completely down, not now that he was so near Remus’ side of the Imagination -while his relationship with his brother had greatly improved in the last year or so, he was still very much aware of the dangerous creatures lurking in his brother’s domain, and Roman had no desire to be caught by surprise by one of them.

Could you imagine the teasing, if Remus ever were to find out?

So yeah, he was still being very attentive to his surroundings -that’s probably half of the reason why he found himself hesitating when what sounded like distant laughter reached his ears.

Roman stilled, focusing on his surroundings. But all he could hear was silence, and after a few more seconds he was about ready to shrug it off to his imagination.

Then, the same, faint sound echoed from somewhere in the forest.

Curious, Roman started following the sound, watching his steps as his hand moved to hover over the handle of his sword -better be safe than sorry, he figured.

It didn’t take long for him to reach his destination, the forest receding just a few feet in front of him to make room for a vast, lush clearing. What he found, however, was something he could have never fathomed.

In the middle of the clearing, sitting on the grass in front of each other, were Remus and Logan, looking way too engrossed in their own conversation to notice the stunned prince staring at them from just behind a tree.

Remus seemed to be showing Logan something, looking completely enraptured by whatever Logan was saying.

The logical side was talking animatedly, waving his hands around with a grin as he occasionally gestured to something sitting between them. And Remus, well, he was staring at Logan with an expression Roman was pretty sure he’d never seen on his twin’s face.

He was looking at Logan like he was the sole holder of every secret of the universe, like he was everything he could see and hear.

He looked absolutely, utterly smitten, and Roman did not know what to do with that information.

+++

For Patton, well, it was more of a gradual realization.

He may not be the smartest in the group, but he was not by any means an idiot. He had noticed right away the potential chemistry between the two sides, the way Logan never seemed to be fazed by Remus’ shenanigans or the way Remus seemed to enjoy poking fun at the logical side.

Initially, he had not been very thrilled about it. But as time went on and they started to get closer to the dark sides, he could see how those two being friends could be highly beneficial for everyone, Remus and Logan included.

And he thought that was all it was -a blossoming friendship!

But the more time passed, the more Patton started to realize how that wasn’t exactly the case.

He didn’t know what initially tipped him off, really. Maybe it was the shared glances when one of them thought the other wasn’t looking, or the smile both of the sides seemed to fight down when in the presence of the other.

Maybe it was the subtle change in Logan’s demeanor, the way he’d grown calmer, happier, metaphorically softer around the edges ever since he and Remus had started growing closer.

Something was starting to bloom between the two sides, and Patton was not so sure it was a simple, innocent friendship anymore.

+++

Things came to a head one fateful Saturday afternoon, with Logan stuck revising schedules with Thomas and Remus doing who-knows-what in the Imagination.

The other sides were all lounging in the living room, all doing their own thing.

Then, Roman spoke up.

“Do you guys think something’s going on between Remus and Logan?”

Virgil, who was very much not expecting to hear something like that in the foreseeable future, jumped up from where he had been sprawled on the couch, headphones hanging limp from his neck as he stared wide-eyed at the creative side.

“Please tell me you’re not implying what I think you are implying.”

Roman shrugged, looking away as he scratched the base of his neck. “I don’t know what to tell you, Panic! At The Everywhere -I’m just asking.”

“If I have to be completely honest, actually,” piped up Patton from his place on the floor, stopping the episode of Parks & Rec they had been using as a background, “I have noticed some strange things too.”

“Right??” Roman exclaimed, “I saw them in the Imagination, last week, and I swear to god at one point Remus’ expression almost rivaled the way Logan usually looks at a jar of Crofters.”

“Whoa there Princey,” Virgil said, “don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little?”

“I know what I saw, J.D-lightful.”

“And I think Logan could be developing some feelings for Remus, even if he probably hasn’t quite realized it yet,” Patton added.

Virgil went to argue, but suddenly a realization struck him.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered in shock, suddenly looking like he was reevaluating everything he’d ever known.

“What?” Roman asked, confused.

“I caught Logan down in the kitchen, the other day,” Virgil explained, “he was brewing two cups of tea -which I found rather strange, really, but it was something like 3am so I didn’t question it too much. But I saw the name of the tea he brewed, and it felt familiar but I didn’t connect the dots until now.”

“Well?” Roman prompted, “We’re on the edge of our seats here, Marilyn Morose.”

“It was Kuding Tea, aka Remus’ favorite,” Virgil revealed. “He made us brew it all the time, and he was the only one able to drink that stuff because it’s one of the most bitter things you could ever try to swallow.”

Patton hummed, looking deep in thought. “Looks like those two might be closer than we thought.”

Roman grinned, something akin to mischief glinting in his eyes. “How about we help them grow just a little bit closer, uh?”

“We can discuss all of that later, Ro, but first there’s another thing we need to talk about,” Patton said, before turning to look at Virgil with a stern look on his face. “Virgil Sanders, what’s this I hear about you being up at 3am again?”

(Engrossed as they were in the new revelations, none of the sides noticed the tiny smirk stretching on Deceit’s face as he watched the scene unfold. He could have tried to stop them from trying to meddle, sure.

But where would be the fun in that?)

 +++

As it turned out, not a single one of the sides’ plans came even close to its goal.

First came Patton’s idea, which was arguably the most subtle. They set up a family dinner, pestering the two sides until they confirmed their presence at the table. Then, very last minute, everyone gave random excuses as to why they couldn’t come. Everyone was sure it would work, even if they didn’t stick around to find out -knowing Remus’s tendency to make things rather… spicy, they didn’t want to find out what would happen after the two finally confessed their feelings.

However, when, the day after, they asked Logan how the dinner had gone, the logical side simply leveled them with a confused stare.

“Since you all weren’t there we just agreed to bring the food back to our rooms and keep doing our work -I still had some possible scripts to read through so it worked just fine for me.”

So, it looked like plan A had been a failure.

Roman, in all of his finesse and “romantic prowess” (his exact words), decided to put his own plan in action -which consisted of not-so-subtly shoving the two sides in the same room and “accidentally” break the doorknob, effectively trapping them inside.

(“Wow, a true Cupido alright.”

 “Oh, shut up, you Emo Nightmare.”)

However, Roman’s incredible, astonishing, foolproof plan (again, his exact words) did not account for one specific aspect, aka Remus’ tendency of not letting puny, material things like doors keep him trapped.

In less than five minutes, the two sides were free once again, easily sidestepping what little remained of the door with Remus still holding his morning star in his hands.

And just like that, plan B joined its predecessor down the metaphorical toilet.

Last came Virgil’s plan, which was quite different from the other two’s -it was succinct, concise, and the farthest thing from subtle you could ever think of.

“Hey L,” he called one day, not even looking up from his phone, “what if you went and kissed Remus?”

Logan slowly looked up from his book. “... I apologize, what?”

Virgil shrugged, smirking. “Don’t worry, I’m just kidding. Unless…?”

Logan blinked at him, looking thoroughly confused. “Virgil, are you unwell? How many hours of rest did you get last night?”

And that’s how plan C joined its sibling down in the metaphorical sewer.

(“Your plan was a meme??”

“At least I didn’t try to cliché them into a relationship, Princey.”) 

Point is, by the end of the week the three sides had still to come up with a tactic that could actually work. So, they planned another brainstorm question in the living room.

Only, they appeared to have greatly miscalculated Remus and Logan’s whereabouts.

“Alright, you guys want to share with the class what the fuck is going on already?”

The three sides jumped in unison, whipping their heads around to stare at the two sides standing at the bottom of the stairs. Remus was leaning on the railing, looking at them expectantly, while Logan was standing just beside him with his arms crossed in front of his chest, one single eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“Uuuuuh…” Patton spoke up, looking at the other two in search of help, “language?”

“Pat, I think my language is the least of our problems now,” Remus retorted, refusing to drop the subject, “so, who wants to start talking first?”

The three sides, who looked like three deers caught in the headlights, seemed to grow more panicked by the second, searching for a possible explanation and coming up empty-handed.

“We found out you guys have a crush on each other and wanted to help you two get together!” Roman finally blurted.

“Roman!” Virgil growled, turning to glare at the creative side.

“I’m sorry!” Roman squeaked, throwing his arms up in frustration.

“You could have been a little more… tactful about it, kiddo,” Patton said, smiling nervously as they all waited with bated breath what the two’s reactions would be.

Logan and Remus blinked, dumbfounded. Then, they turned to look at each other, before Remus decided that the best course of action was, of course, to break down into hysterical giggles, compete with wheezing and tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

As for Logan, well, he limited himself to chuckling, looking downright amused by the whole situation.

So yeah, not exactly the reactions the others were expecting.

“... what?” Virgil asked, “please tell me I’m not the only confused one right now.”

“Apologies, Virgil,” Logan said, as Remus kept merrily cackling his lungs out on the floor, “we just thought something serious was going on, since you have all been acting strangely during the last week or so. Discovering that the reason behind your strange behavior was that, well, is rather amusing.”

“Wait, is that your way of telling us you actually don’t like Remus?” Roman said.

“Actually, I do like him, in a romantic sense,” Logan chuckled, throwing a fond look at the side wheezing on the ground. “We have been engaged in a romantic relationship for a while now.”

“... I know I probably sound like a broken record but what?”

“He wants to tap this booty, Vee!” Remus cackled, “and I’m 100% down for that!”

“ By the horn of a unicorn, please spare us the details,” Roman muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So that means you guys are already in a relationship?!” Patton exclaimed, a wide grin on his face as he clapped his hands in obvious delight, “oh my gosh, that’s so cute! I’m so happy for you guys!!”

“I don’t know if I want to be angry because you guys didn’t tell us or because my brother somehow managed to score a boyfriend before me,” Roman grumbled.

Logan and Remus shared a glance at that, mischief twinkling in both of their eyes. Then, once it appeared they were both on the same page, Remus spoke, barely stopping himself from giggling in anticipation.

“Actually we’re married, but go off I guess.”

Silence fell, seconds ticking by as the news started to sink in.

“Now hold on a second you guys aRE WHAT-”

And then, chaos.

[oneinist]

Recap #1: A month with Ao3 and Tumblr

So a month has gone by since I became active in the community and I thought I’d recap for myself what’s happened. I feel like you’re supposed to do this maybe after a year and not a month but I’m too much on a high right now to not~~~ Also I really wanted to give a shoutout to everyone who’s made me feel so welcome!!!

Ao3 I remember how nerve wrecking it was posting my first fic on the fateful day of June 2nd~~~ I still can’t believe that so many left kudos, comments, bookmarked and not only subscribed to the WIPs but to me as a user. Holy moley, that blew me away 🤩 I try to not hate on my own writing, but it’s hard when I constantly find stuff wrong with it and when I can’t put into words what I see so clearly in my mind 😅

Tumblr So I noticed ya’ll linking your tumblr accounts on your Ao3 profiles and I was like, I have to take a peek at that- drowns. You all post the best stuff. Here I am many hours later. People even follow me!? I got tagged in stuff!? It’s so much fun and creative~~~ Cue shoutouts to @kaoruhana08​ @hades-bitch​ @darkangelrising​ and @vulcan-highblood for making me feel so welcome in the fandom! Thank you!!

Pixiv I started this account to be able to bookmark, like and interact with my favorite, mainly, Japanese speaking creators. My absolute favorite doujinka 文月/Fumizuki even replies to comments~~~ squeals

I ended up taking the plunge and posting a picture of my own as well, but I’m finding myself focusing more on the writing than drawing. I imagine I will cycle between the two. Also whenever I use a reference the little personal style I have becomes unrecognizable. 

Events I’m so happy I found my way to Tumblr because this is where I learned about events. I had seen them referenced over at Ao3 but wasn’t really sure what it entailed. I ended up signing up for the KakaIru Maze Challenge 2021 and the Kakashi Summer Bingo 2021. The KakaIru Maze being my first ever event 🥳 I’m still in the planning stage~ For the Maze I will be writing fics and for the Bingo I will be making fan art (illustration or one page comics). I’ve decided on all the prompts detailed synopsis and scrips are underway. If all goes as planned posting will commence in July~ I just legitimately worry how the heck I am going to find the time to finish all that I have planned without seriously neglecting, work and my home, maybe even my relationship!!??

KakaIru.rocks Thanks to the KakaIru Maze I also learned about the awesome forum over at KakaIru.rocks. Come hang out, it’s great fun 😉 I’ll probably be a regular in the Lemon Bar due to my nature 🥴 Meta Monday and Polls are great tickles for both fics and fanart. There’s also a Feedback section I’ve been meaning to post in where you can look for betas and ask about anything in your creative process~~~

[marjansmarwani]

that’s when I knew

[Read on Ao3]

5 times they almost said I love you, and 1 time they finally did.

--

Tarlos Week Day 3: First Love Confession

Day 3 of @tarlosweek2020! Shoutout to @officerrxyes and @lifeonashell for reading it through last week when I was not feeling great about it - you are both lifesavers! Also to @bellakitse because I realized when reading it through that at least one part was unconsciously inspired by something I read in one of your fics once! 

----

1

 It had been a long day. TK could feel it weighing on him, wearing in him - the fatigue sinking right into his bones. Firefighting had always been an active, energy-consuming profession and TK was no stranger to the bone-deep exhaustion that followed some days. But today he was supposed to head over to Carlos’s and they were supposed to go out. They were supposed to meet with some of Carlos’s friends that Carlos wanted TK to meet. It was important to him and TK was determined to not disappoint him. 

 He arrives at Carlos’s house shortly after wrapping up his shift and covers a yawn as he walks up to the front door. He lets himself in and walks through the house until he finds Carlos in the bedroom, still in the process of getting ready. 

 “Hey you,” he says from the doorway, leaning against the doorframe and admiring the view. Carlos turns around quickly, expression shifting from surprise to pleasure when he catches view of TK. 

 “Hey yourself,” he says as he crosses the room to give him a kiss. He pulls away and chuckles, “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

 “What great observational skills you have, Officer,” TK quipped, flashing Carlos a cocky grin in response to the exasperated look thrown his way. 

 “Maybe I’d be more observant if I didn’t have to spend so much time figuring out what to wear to kind of look like I belong with this ridiculously handsome boyfriend I have.” 

 “So you’re saying it’s my fault for being too good looking?” he shot back, tone still teasing even as a blush rose up his face. 

 “Yes, exactly. All your fault.” 

 “That’s sweet, but also false. Anyone with eyes can see that you are clearly the better looking one in this relationship.” 

 “Now who’s making jokes?” 

 TK was about to fire back some other teasing comment about Carlos’s good looks (really, did the other man own a mirror?) when his words were stolen by a deep yawn that slipped past TK’s defenses. Carlos looked up from his dresser to see a guilty look on TK’s face. 

 “Sorry,” he said quickly, “it was a really long shift.” 

 Carlos placed down the shirt he had just gathered from his dresser and crossed closer to TK again. He frowned as he drew closer, examining TK as he walked. 

 “You look tired,” he noted, “are you sure you want to go out tonight?” 

 “I can make it,” TK promised, “I’ll be fine.” 

 “That’s not what I asked TK - are you sure you want to go tonight? We could stay in instead, just hang out.” 

 “You made plans,” TK objected, pushing himself off of the doorway with some effort, “you wanted me to meet your friends. We don’t need to ruin everyone’s evening just because I am a little tired.”

 “You look like you’re going to fall over TK.” 

 “Then I guess you’re just going to have to keep your arm around me, keep me upright.” 

 Carlos ignored his very logical reasoning and stepped closer, examining him. “You look awful,” he noted, “did you get any sleep at all?” 

 “Weren’t you just talking about how handsome I was?” A pointed look from Carlos made him sigh as he answered the question, “not really. Maybe an hour all together; it was a busy night for calls. Every time we got back the alarms went off again, most of the time before we even managed to get back to our bunks.” 

 Carlos didn’t say a word, just put down the shirt he was still holding and pulled out his phone. He shot off a text before reaching for TK’s shoulders and steering him towards the bed. 

 “We are not going anywhere and you are going to bed.”

 “What about your friends?” TK asked as Carlos returned to the dresser and pulled out a pair of sweats. 

 “I told them you had a rough shift and we needed to reschedule. There is no way I am going to drag you out with no sleep, I don’t care who we’re meeting.”

 “But…” 

 “No buts,” Carlos cut across his weak protestations as he handed him the sweats he had just grabbed. “You are in no state to go out, and even if you weren’t about to fall over, there is no way you’d enjoy yourself like this. You don’t need to push yourself like this for me TK - I’m happy as long as I get to spend time with you.” 

 TK looked down at the sweats in his hand and then back up at Carlos, “Fine, but there is no way I’m going to lay in your bed alone on date night.” 

 “Way ahead of you,” Carlos agreed as he pulled out another pair of sweats for himself. He made quick work of changing and joined TK in the bed, laying behind him and wrapping his arms around his body and pulling him tightly against himself. TK savored the closeness, the simple intimacy of it. He relaxed in Carlos’s embrace and allowed the tension to leave his body. The exhaustion he had been holding at bay drew closer, ready to overtake him. 

 “I can’t believe you’d rather go to bed with me at 8 like an old man than go out with your friends,” Tk sleepily observed. 

 He felt the vibrations of a chuckle on his back as Carlos responded, “don’t tell anyone, but I think I like you better. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.” 

 A warmth spread through TK; a kind of contentment he had never felt with another person. He felt wanted in a way he never had before - in a way that went far beyond the physical desires. 

 “Good Night, Carlos,” he breathed out before sleep claimed him. His voice was soft from emotion and exhaustion, but he hoped that somehow Carlos could hear the sentiments hidden in those three words. They were the wrong three words, but they were the only ones he had right now. He hoped that they were enough. 

 2

“What are you doing?” 

 Carlos’s voice from the doorway startled TK, causing the phone he had been speaking into to fall from his hand onto the bed. “Nothing,” he said quickly. Carlos’s eyebrows shot up. 

 TK sighed and fished his phone out from the tangle of blankets it had fallen into and handed it to Carlos with a cringe. 

 Carlos took the phone with a hesitant expression, and his eyebrows rose even further when he saw which app was open. He moved his gaze from the phone to meet TK’s with an unreadable expression. 

 “Are you...duolingoing Spanish?” 

 “Yes?” TK answered sheepishly. 

 Carlos sat down on the bed next to him, “Why?” 

 TK shrugged, “I mean, I know your family speaks English but you’ve mentioned that they like to use Spanish from time to time, and I just thought it would be nice. To know what was going on, to not have them have to stick to English because of me. I know this won’t make me fluent or anything, but maybe just enough to get the basics.” 

 Carlos was silent for a few moments and TK looked at him nervously, “You’re not mad, are you?” 

 That got a reaction out of him, “What? No! Why would I be mad?” 

 TK shrugged, “because I kept this from you? Because I am likely going to butcher your families’ native language? Because it maybe perpetuates some stereotype?” 

 Carlos just blinked. “You know none of those are true, right?” he said after a moment. 

 TK sighed, “I just...don't want to screw this up.” 

 Carlos scoffed, “Please - my mother is going to love you regardless. So will my aunts - they can’t resist a pretty face. The rest of them will just like you because you’re you, and if that wasn’t enough the fact that I like you enough to bring you around will change their minds. You don’t need to do this Ty - you’re plenty just as you are.” 

 The smile TK gave him was small, but it held all the warmth of the sun, “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” 

 Carlos chuckled as he handed him back his phone, “Careful - they might think you’re trying too hard,” he said in a teasing tone.  

 “Maybe I am,” TK said with a shrug, “but you’re worth it.” 

 “Even with the demonic owl?” 

 TK nodded, “Listening to him is worth it if I can make you smile.” 

 Carlos’s heart swelled. He leaned over to plant a kiss on TK’s cheek. “That’s high praise, I’m flattered.” 

 “You should be. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone you know.” 

 The words were light and teasing, but the unsaid words were there - plain as day in the space between them. 

 But you’re not just anyone.

 They locked eyes and the sentiment traveled between them. They both knew it, both could fill in the blanks. They both knew what it was TK was not saying, what he wasn’t ready to say yet. Carlos swallowed and nodded, heart skipping a beat when TK smiled at him. 

 He leaned forward and captured that smile with his own, drawing him into a kiss. On the bed between them, a little green owl popped up to wave through the phone screen, but they both ignored it. They were too lost in each other; the rest for the world a distant memory. 

 3

 TK glances at the clock for the fourth time in as many minutes. He is barely paying attention to the dish he is drying, placing it down without looking. Somewhere between the splash and Marjan’s surprised yelp, he looks up. 

 Marjan is giving him an unimpressed look as she pulls the previously dry dish out of the suds-filled sink. “Where is your head at dude?” she asks as she passes it back to him for another round with the dishtowel. He accepts it sheepishly. 

 “Sorry,” he says lowly, “I was just thinking about my dad’s appointment.” 

 Understanding dawns on Marjan’s face, “He has chemo today.” 

 TK nods, “and it’s the first one I haven’t been able to go to.” He dries the dish and places it carefully on the counter before setting down the towel and leaning forward on the counter, bracing himself on the edge. 

 “I just hate thinking of him there alone.” 

 Marjan reached forward to shut off the faucet and set down the sponge before turning to face him. “He knows you would be there if you could,” she says soothingly, “and he’ll call if there is a problem. Your dad is made of pretty tough stuff, he’ll be fine.” 

 TK ran an agitated hand through his hair, “I know he can do it on his own, but he shouldn’t have too. He spent all those weeks doing it by himself before he told me about the cancer, and I don’t want him to have to go back to that.” 

 Marjan nods sympathetically. “I hear you, but not being able to make one appointment does not mean he is in this alone, TK. He has you, and he has us. Besides,” she notes as she turns back to the sink, “I think the fact that you’re obsessing over it is a pretty good indicator that you want to be there for him. He’s not alone.” 

 TK sighed again before straightening up, “I know you're right but it still sucks.” 

 She offered him a sympathetic smile as she passed him the next dish to dry and they continued their work in companionable silence. The last few hours of their shift seemed to drag by and the moment the relief shift arrived TK was out the door like a shot. 

 He pulled up to their home in impressive time and was about to call out for his dad when he noticed a figure on the couch. 

 “Carlos?” he asked as he set down his keys, “what are you doing here? I thought we weren’t meeting until later?” 

 Carlos looked up from the magazine he had been reading on the couch, a bright smile spreading across his face at the sound of TK’s voice. “We were,” he confirmed, “but I wasn’t here to see you. Not that I don’t want to see you,” he added hastily, “hi - how was work?” 

 TK rolled his eyes but his smile betrayed his amusement as he crossed to the couch, leaning over the back to give his boyfriend a kiss: “Nice save. Work was fine, have you seen my dad?”

 Carlos nodded, “he’s asleep, the chemo session took a lot out of him today.”

 TK nodded solemnly. He was about to announce his intention to go check on his father when he suddenly realized that the pieces didn’t quite click. 

 “Wait,” he said slowly, “why would you come to see my dad today? You knew he had an appointment…” he trailed off and Carlos smiled sheepishly. 

 “I knew how worried you were about him going alone and I had the afternoon off, so I went. He was surprised, but I think he appreciated the company.”

 TK was giving him a strange look so he stopped and frowned, “Was that not okay? He didn’t seem to mind…” 

 “No,” TK said quickly, “no, it’s fine. It’s more than fine actually, I just...you spent your afternoon off sitting with my dad at his chemo appointment?” 

 Carlos shrugged, “I like your dad. Besides, it was important to you so it’s important to me.” 

 There was silence then as Carlos looked at TK curiously, not sure what to expect. TK for his part was staring at Carlos as if seeing him in a new light. Carlos was just about to ask what was wrong when TK leaned down again, placing a deep, lingering kiss on his lips. When he pulled back, his eyes glimmered with unshed tears. 

 “Thank you, Carlos,” he said, voice low and sincere. Carlos smiled at him - that wonderful thousand-volt smile that stole TK’s breath each and every time, but TK was still stuck on this moment, on what Carlos had done; on how much it meant. Yet again he finds himself without the right words. Thank you just didn’t seem like enough; it wasn’t enough to convey the depth of what he was feeling for the other man. But once again, they were the only words he had. 

 Besides, he meant those words from the bottom of his heart. 

 4

 It’s late and the sticky Texas day has slid into a cool, comfortable night. They’re walking along a street talking about nothing in particular as the conversations of other pedestrians and the music spilling out of bars washes around them, filling the night air with a sense of life.

 They get to a corner and TK pauses, looking up at the night sky above them. A smile graces his face as he looks up at the cosmos. “You never quite got to see the stars like this in New York,” he said easily, “I don’t think I’ll ever get over how many of them there are.” 

 Carlos joins him in staring up at the sky, “It is quite a sight, isn’t it?” TK hums his agreement and leans closer to him, resting his head on Carlos’s shoulder as he gazes up at the sky. “I do still miss New York sometimes,” he admits, “but then something reminds me how lucky I am to get to experience somewhere new.” 

 “Is the night sky one of those things?” 

 “It is. It’s not the main one though.” 

 “And what would that be?” 

 “A certain officer of the law.” 

 “Mya? I’ll have to tell her, she’ll be thrilled.” 

 TK let out a bark of laughter and reached around to lightly swat at Carlos with the hand that was not intertwined with his own. “Yes, it’s Mya. I just can’t get her out of my head.” 

 “I knew it.” 

 “I’m trying to be serious here Carlos, do you have to ruin the moment?” 

 Carlos chuckled and leaned down to kiss the top of TK’s head. “If it means anything,” he admitted softly, “I’ve come to like Austin a lot more too since you showed up.” 

 “It does,” TK said softly. 

 They stand there in silence, staring up at the night sky for several minutes and Carlos is struck by how lucky he is. He is struck by how much he loves this man, but it’s too soon to say it. He settles on saying nothing at all - if he speaks at all he is going to say it and break this spell that they are under. 

 Those words are right on the surface though, and he knows it will only be a matter of time. 

 5

 TK’s phone rings. He picks it up to see Mya’s name on the screen. He excuses himself and steps to a secluded, quieter corner of the bar before answering. 

 “Hey Mya,” he says cheerfully as the call connects, “what’s up?” 

 “TK? Something’s happened.” 

 The fear in Mya’s voice sucks all the air from TK’s lungs. He can feel his knees go weak so he leans against the wall. 

 “What happened? Is Carlos…” he trails off, because he’s not sure what to ask. He’s not sure what to hope for; he’s not sure what to dread. 

 “There was an accident. He had just gone to get us coffee on our break and was walking back to the car when someone hit him. He was taken to the hospital...but I don’t know anymore than that. We’re just waiting for news now.”

 Her voice was low and sounded so unlike her. If the image of Carlos being struck by a car as he walked playing on repeat in his brain without his consent hadn’t driven the gravity of the situation home, her voice would have. 

 He took a deep breath. He forced himself to stand upright, to pull himself off the wall. “I’m on my way,” he told her. “I’ll be there soon. I…” but he didn’t know what else to say. What words were there to express the fear he was feeling right now? 

 “I’ll be there soon,” he repeated, and hung up the phone. He turned, mind whirring with plans and implications only to be met with Paul standing beside him, expression furrowed. 

 “What’s wrong?” his friend asked before TK could even so much as breathe. 

 TK didn’t even bother to wonder how he knew there was something wrong, he didn’t even stop to consider why Paul may have followed him into the corner. “Carlos was in an accident, I need to get to the hospital.” 

 He started to head toward the door, but paused. He had come with his dad, he didn’t have a car here. He needed to tell him, he needed to make sure his dad had a ride home, he needed to…

 Paul put a firm hand on his shoulder, pulling his attention back to the now. “Take a breath,” he said gently, “I can practically hear your mind freaking out. I’ll take you.” 

 TK gestured vaguely towards the bar where the rest of the crew and his dad were, “What about…?” 

 “I’ll call them on the way. It’s going to be fine,” Paul assured him as he steered him towards the door. 

 “What if it’s not?” he didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to think it; but it was there and it was real. It was a possibility. 

 “Then we’ll handle that too,” Paul promised him, “but let’s not start borrowing trouble now. Give your man a chance to surprise you first - he’s tougher than you might think.” 

 TK shook his head as the car started and they pulled away from the bar, “Tough doesn’t mean invincible.” 

 Paul gave him a sympathetic look but TK stared resolutely out the window. He appreciated his friend for coming with him, for driving him, but he couldn’t handle platitudes right now. 

 They continue the ride in silence, TK desperately trying to remember the last thing he said to Carlos. He couldn’t remember. It was something so inconsequential that he couldn’t remember it. Carlos had to survive this because whatever it was couldn’t be the last thing he said. 

 They couldn’t end like this. 

 Eventually they arrived and TK rushed to the ER waiting room, roving eyes seeking out Mya in the crowd. He found her speaking with a doctor in the corner and his heart plummeted. Only Paul’s steady hand on his shoulder kept him upright; only his gentle shove propelled him forward. 

 He approached, walking slowly and deliberately; holding his breath the entire time. He reached Mya and laid a gentle questioning hand on her arm. She turned to face him; brown eyes wet with tears but a beaming smile on his face. 

 “He’s going to be okay,” she announced and TK suddenly felt 30 pounds lighter. He gave a slightly manic laugh and pulled Mya into a bone crushing hug that she happily returned. Paul appeared at his side and TK repeated the news, savoring the way the words felt on his tongue: “He’s going to be okay.” 

 There is a hug from Paul too and phone calls to make and more waiting before a nurse appears, informing them that Carlos is in recovery now and they can come back one at a time. TK glances between the other two who share an indignant look before pushing him out of his seat and towards the nurse. He turns to thank them with a wave and a smile, and then he is gone - halfway down the hall that will lead him to Carlos. 

 He is still grinning when they reach the room, and he offers the nurse a smile of thanks as she leaves. His good humor is gone though the moment he steps in the door. Carlos is still and silent in the bed; most of him covered in either bruises or bandages. The images playing in his head earlier return and TK crosses the room on shaking legs. 

 He reaches the side of the bed and takes it all in; the stitches and bruising, the bandages and the cast. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and forces himself to relax. Carlos is alive and that is all that matters. They’ll handle anything else that comes after that. 

 He stands there in the quiet, drinking in the sight of Carlos’s chest rising and falling as he takes in air until slowly, his eyes blink open. 

 He squints in the dim light of the room and TK leans in closer. 

 “Carlos?” he asks gently, “are you with me?” 

 “Ty?” Carlos asks, voice raspy, “that you?” 

 “Yeah sweetheart, it’s me. How are you feeling?” 

 Carlos considers this for a moment, “Like I got hit by a bus.” 

 And despite everything, TK has to stifle a laugh, “Close,” he admits, “but not quite. Is there anything I can do? Anything you need? Should I get a nurse?” 

 “No,” Carlos says, voice stronger this time, “no, I’ll be fine. Just, sit here with me?” 

 TK lifts up the hand he’s been holding and brushes his lips against the knuckles, “there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”  

 There will time later, he thinks as Carlos drifts back to a peaceful sleep. There will be time to talk this through more, to tell Carlos how scared he was; to tell him that he couldn’t lose him. 

 There some other things that needed to be said too - things he had been putting off for far too long (though he had known for quite some time).  

 But for now he would let Carlos sleep; he would drink in the sight of him breathing. For now he could put it off, just a little longer. 

 They would still be true, no matter how long he waited. 

 +1

 It’s just a Thursday. 

 They had just arrived home from a double date with Grace and Judd and had fallen onto the couch, pleasantly full and tired. Carlos snuggled closer to him and TK smiled softly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders and pulling him even closer. 

 They sat intertwined in the silence for some time before TK spoke, “Hey, Carlos?” 

 “Yeah?” he asked. 

 “I love you.” 

 There was no commotion in the wake of his words; no grand gestures or great exclamations. Carlos simply smiled and leaned over to place a light kiss on TK’s cheek.

 “That’s good,” he said, “because I love you too.”

[Ao3]

[jeongyunhoed]

A year after the events of Past-Present-Future, Lee Mirae, Choi San, and Jeong Yunho receive a mysterious envelope containing photos and notes about the deaths of several individuals. The deeper they go into the case, they find that the entertainment industry hides a very dark secret.

Group: ATEEZ Pairing: Yunho/OC Genres: It’s a little bit of: adventure, romance, mystery, crime, fantasy, action. Things to note: It also features mentions of other idols/artists: Junhong (Zelo), Dean, Chanyeol, etc. Superpowers AU if it wasn’t obvious as well. Featuring Enhypen. 

T/W: Themes of death, violence, demons, cults, blood, use of weapons and/or firearms, use of drugs (both recreational and medical), implied/referenced assault, implied/referenced suicide

A/N: The main conflict is a reimagining of an actual long-running theory. This is also a remaking of a previous fic I wrote before on Ao3 that will now be under the new super powers au. (if you know, you know). This work is pure fiction and does not bear a direct reflection of the idols in the story. Please let me know if you would like to be included in the tag list.

A/A/N: Introducing Enhypen. hehet! Also, this hasn’t been edited as much. Shoutout to people I’ve been talking to about this, or at least bits of this. haha. Enjoy.

Masterlist

Two

San and Hongjoong stood across the street from the large boutique, the word Montague on display above in gold set against a black background with a gold border. It looked similar to the displays on toy stores overseas, mannequins holding handbags that San knew probably cost millions. He made sure to dress appropriately in the hopes of passing off as a model, as Mirae figured they would likely only entertain those who worked in fashion. Hongjoong was conveniently dressed like a designer, but an armed one. “So, this is where we’re supposed to go, huh?” Hongjoong asked. 

“Mhmm. We have to pretend like we work in fashion, people that work in that kind of place can be very snooty. We need to move like we can afford everything in there,” San explained, in the hopes of assuring himself. 

“Well, let’s get to it, we need to be back by dinner, at least Mirae says so,” Hongjoong nodded. 

They crossed the street, San gripping the handle of the door and pulling it open. The interior of the boutique was, as expected, just as fancy-looking as the outside. A black crystal chandelier hung over their heads with the mirrored tile ceilings. The racks of clothing and shelves to display shoes were in a matte black. The mannequins in the middle of the room looked like they were made out of silver and gold. “Wow,” San looked almost in awe of the place. 

“Those suits probably cost an arm and a leg,” Hongjoong muttered as they looked around. 

“Hello, how may I help you gentlemen?” 

They turned around. Behind them was a man dressed all in black, his hair slicked back. “We’re looking for your manager, I’m Kim Hongjoong of Hong Atelier and I’d like to discuss a possible collaboration with your founder, or designer,” He blurted out. 

“Oh, you’re looking for Madame Seo,” The man replied. San sensed that there was something off about the way he said her name. “Will you follow me, she’s in her office,” He walked off further down the boutique and up a staircase illuminated with small spotlights above their heads against matte black walls. 

“Rather dark in here, isn’t it?” San quipped as they were led down a hall with leopard-print floors. 

“Madame Seo prefers it that way. The daylight doesn’t do much for the fabrics, at least that’s what she says,” The man replied, having heard him. He stopped in front of a red door and opened it. “You can wait here while I inform Madame Seo. Make yourselves comfortable, she’ll be with you in a moment.”

Hongjoong and San stepped inside the leopard print themed room, looking even more puzzled at the change of motif in this part of the store. “Quick of you to say something to that guy,” San sat down on the couch, eyes still scanning the room in the hopes of finding anything out of the ordinary. 

“It comes with what I used to do,” Hongjoong shrugged, moving around the room to look around. “I see Mirae’s been doing very well,” He muttered. 

“She is, she has been for a while now,” San reached for the remote on the side table to turn the television on. “You miss her?” 

“I don’t know, but it feels weird to be meeting again outside the padded walls of the sanitarium I came from,” Hongjoong felt the walls, the leopard-printed wallpaper under his fingertips. 

The program on the television went black and the sound of the program going static filled the room. San stood up, dropping the remote control. The screen began to show surveillance images of the two of them, before it changed to what looked like an information screen. “They know who we are,” His expression dropped. Hongjoong froze in his place. 

The screen went to black again, before more static came on. “I’m good with faces, you have been warned. Don’t snoop around where you’re not supposed to,” said the words that were appearing on the screen. 

“Time to go,” San and Hongjoong raced for the door, the former already reaching into his coat for his harpoon gun. As they opened it, they saw the employee, pointing a gun at them. 

“We ran your faces, we know who you are,” The man said, gesturing for them to move back into the room. “There’s no Hong Atelier, but there is that sanitarium, right?” He turned to Hongjoong. “As for you? Offshore accounts here and there, taking jobs for lowlife gangs and jealous wives, and you were involved in the Kang mob, both of you are,” He glanced at San. “So, tell us why you’re here.” 

“You must be that full of yourself to also refer to yourself in third person,” San said through gritted teeth. 

“Oh I’m not alone, I’m never alone,” There was a coldness in the employee’s voice. “At least both of you have each other when you die, Madame Seo isn’t fond of people lying.” 

“Lying? That’s rich coming from someone who only has this as a front,” Hongjoong spoke this time. 

The employee chuckled. “Oh, believing in that drivel those conspiracy theorists cooked up, are we?” 

“She hasn’t denied those and we’re here to find that out.”

San could feel the frustration coming over him. Hongjoong, however, remained calm. “If you’re going to keep that gun pointed at us, you may as well pull the trigger, we know too much now,” He said. 

“Good idea,” and just before the employee pulled the trigger, he fell to the floor, blood seeping out from his mouth and from his stomach. The blade that came out from Hongjoong’s sleeve was now dripping with blood. 

“There’s going to be more of them, probably,” San peeked outside, the two of them stepping over the body. The other doors along the hall remained closed. 

They looked back at the room they were coming from one more time, seeing if there was anything else they missed, until they saw something glinting on the floor. A puddle appeared to be forming from the employee Hongjoong stabbed. It was a puddle of black liquid. “What the- Is this grease?” Hongjoong bent down to look at the puddle closely. “Where’s the test tubes? Did you bring some?” 

“Oh yeah, I have one here,” San took out one test tube from his coat pocket and bent down to scoop some of the liquid. “I have a feeling we won’t be let out,” He looked up at the empty hall. 

They rushed down the hall and sprinted down the stairs, suddenly hearing screeches and cocked guns coming from behind them. San and Hongjoong skidded to a halt when a few more employees appeared at the landing of the staircase and into the main boutique. All of them were holding weapons. San quickly brandished his harpoon, eyes suddenly glowing as he kicked and punched several out of the way while Hongjoong sliced through the employees behind them with the blades in his sleeves. “This would be easier with my rapier,” He muttered, snapping the necks of some but his eyes widened when he saw how red their eyes were. It was as if they were glowing. 

Splatters of black liquid hit their faces and staining their clothes as they fought their way through the boutique. Hongjoong pushed the mannequins over in an attempt to block the rest from attacking them while San did the same with the clothes racks in the middle of the store. From under the racks and the mannequins was a compartment that they saw had small packets of what looked like light gold powder. San snatched a few while Hongjoong hopped over to the front desk, grabbing whatever files he could get his hands on. “So much for taking the direct approach,” He fired his harpoon through a few, the blades as his eyes glowed, stunning each one of them. 

The two of them returned to the fray, fighting their way through the store and disarming the employees who were still standing, using their weapons against them. Hongjoong nearly dodged one and as one was about to open fire at them, the next thing he realized was that they were both outside the store, the two of them on the sidewalk, with the doors slamming shut. “...What just happened?” San spoke, stunned at how they ended up on the sidewalk, getting back up on their feet. He looked down, feeling a kind of nausea sink in. 

“I-I don’t know,” Hongjoong was just as stunned as he got up, sliding the blades back in place in his sleeves. He looked down at his hands, noticing some unusual glow, that soon spread up to his arms and all over his body. San stared at him, seeing the unusual static glow. “...What’s happening to me?” 

“I don’t know either, but maybe this was what Junhong hyung meant when he said you may or may not have powers, let’s go!” The two of them ran across the street and into the car. 

~ 

Yunho approached the front desk of Kang Tower. It had been a year since he last set foot in the building, noticing how much had changed in a span of 12 months. From the minimalist Japanese-themed interiors last year, the changes he figured Yeosang made now made everything about the place in the art deco style, the walls and marble floors having geometric shapes for patterns, crystal chandeliers above their heads. The interior seemed to be a stark contrast to how it looked outside. 

He stopped in front of the information board, figuring out what floor Yeosang was probably on. He could always teleport if he couldn’t find him where he first stopped. As soon as Yunho figured out the likely place, he rushed into a shadowy hall where he disappeared, reappearing in a dark hallway that he quickly realized was Yeosang’s penthouse. Just like the design of the interior of the whole building, Yeosang’s penthouse was decorated in the same art deco manner. 

“Kang Yeosang?” Yunho called out as he walked further down the hall, the chandelier above illuminating the entire area. He looked around, creeping into the very bare yet equally opulent-looking kitchen. He was not there. 

Yunho went into a shadowy part of the hall again, reappearing in what looked like an empty conference room. From the looks of how everything seemed to be set up, he figured that a meeting was going to be taking place. The doors opened and in came the mutant himself, his hair now dyed black and was slightly shorter than his previous blonde hairstyle. Yeosang stopped in his tracks upon seeing Yunho and turned to the group of businessmen behind him. “Gentlemen, if you don’t mind waiting a while, I will have a word with this man over there,” He gestured to the taller. 

The group of businessmen nodded, dispersing into the hall, likely going to the waiting area. Yeosang closed the door behind him and Yunho sat down on one of the chairs. “It’s been a while, Yeosang, we need to talk,” He said. 

“By all means, I assume you didn’t just come here because you wanted to hang out anyways,” Yeosang sat down on the nearest chair. “Having trouble, Yunho?” 

“Well, not really, I’m personally not in trouble, but there are other people that would be once you tell me what I’m going to ask,” Yunho said. 

“Then ask.” 

“Madame Seo. Do you know her?” Yunho noticed Yeosang’s expression stiffen at the question. He said nothing. “Kang Yeosang, I need you to tell me what you know about her, how you know her, all of that.” 

Yeosang broke into a small smile. “Jeong Yunho, are you really going to tell me all about that conspiracy theory going all over the internet? That’s old news.” 

“Nothing’s confirmed, nothing’s denied either, I might as well find the truth out for myself,” Yunho was quick to match up to him. “I mean, Mirae-” 

“Ah, Mirae,” Yeosang cut him off. “She knows, huh?” 

“Would you rather she be the one asking you this?” Yunho raised a brow, making Yeosang’s smug expression fall. “I can see the way you look at her, the way you speak to her, you know. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.” 

“Oh, that tactic, huh?” Yeosang chuckled. “Yunho, you’re a new immortal, you haven’t lived as long as I have...yet, to know that this kind of interrogation has already been done to me before. It gets old, if you pardon the pun.” 

“Then tell me what you know about Madame Seo,” Yunho pressed on. “Or how you know her if you do know her.” 

“She’s a hostess,” Yeosang replied. “That’s all she is.” 

“Oh yeah? So she doesn’t own a clothing brand called Montague?” 

“It’s possible the Seo that owns Montague is a different one, you know,” Yeosang pointed out. “But seeing as I can tell you plan on using your Mirae on me again in asking, Madame Seo is a hostess, that just so happens to own a clothing brand.” 

“A high-end clothing brand,” Yunho corrected him. “You must pay her a lot for her to put up that expensive a brand, that coincidentally hardly anyone knows about.” 

“Oh I’m not her only client, and that was years ago, I haven’t been paying for the services of her girls in a while,” Yeosang scoffed. 

“Are any of those girls actresses? Aspiring actresses? Singers?” Yunho asked. 

“You think I was personally asking for their services on me?” Yeosang couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “To answer your question, no I wasn’t, I could tell the difference between a regular worker there and someone who was forced to do all those things.” 

Yunho nodded. “Just when we thought you were coming around, we find out about this. What else do you know about her?” 

Yeosang stared at him. “She was a hostess to me, that’s that. However, she does have a hold on many powerful people in this country.”

“What is she holding over their heads?” 

Yeosang smiled. “Time’s up, I’m afraid, I have a meeting with those businessmen and they would not appreciate being kept waiting.” 

Yunho got up, feeling frustrated. “Alright, fine. But I wonder what hold she has on you,” He eyed the shorter male before leaving. As soon as he stepped out, the crowd of businessmen flocked inside the room. He didn’t want to leave just yet, he knew there were still some things he could find out even without Yeosang telling him. It wouldn’t make sense if Madame Seo knew he was a mutant and was using it against him. Yunho figured that Yeosang didn’t really care if anyone else outside their circle knew as no one would believe them anyway. 

He approached the dark part of the hall and in a second, reappeared in another room in the building. Yeosang’s office. Yunho felt a tinge of relief upon noticing the nameplate on the desk. For an elaborately decorated building, Yeosang’s office was a little less opulent-looking but remained in the art deco style. Yunho figured if there was anything he could find, Yeosang’s

office would be the most likely place. There were plaques on the walls, showing the successes of the Kang Organization, some of them the deals that were made. 

Yunho froze when he heard footsteps heading in the direction of the office. From the silhouette that was shown from the frosted window, it was an office clerk, Yeosang’s executive secretary. He hid on the side of the desk by the window when the secretary opened the door. The footsteps got louder, the clinking of her heels echoing throughout the office. 

“Yes, Mr. Kang, I will be there with your proposal,” She said to someone, opening the drawers on the side nearest to Yunho, making him shift even more to keep himself hidden. “Yes? Oh, the Montague file? It’s just here, Mr. Kang.” He perked up when he heard the name of the brand. Yunho listened carefully. “Montague, Montague, and the Kang Entertainment deal, yes it’s all here, Mr. Kang,” The secretary spoke again, and a shuffling of paper later and the door closed again. 

Yunho got up to his feet, his lips pursed in frustration. He quietly looked into the drawers of Yeosang’s desk until he came across a photo of Mirae, taken at Sky Sushi by possibly one of the event’s photographers. It reminded him of his previous assertion, and at this point he didn’t even care to get jealous. Yunho looked through the rest of his drawers, finding neatly stacked and filed papers. “Where are the Montague and Kang Entertainment files,” He muttered as he looked through the stacks for any indication of at least one of the two before searching the bigger drawers at the bottom and the wooden file cabinet in another part of the room. 

In a sea of black leather folders, Yunho stopped at one of them that had a label “MTG” in gold. He quietly took it out from under the stack and opened it. It was a document detailing his financial stake in Montague. He looked at the date it was all signed. It was in the same year that the actress whose husband left her for Madame Seo was killed. Yunho closed the folder and looked through the files again for any mention of Kang Entertainment. 

Yunho searched another one of the bigger drawers, looking through the labels of the files when he stopped upon seeing a black leather folder labeled “Kang Entertainment.” Before he could open the file, he heard footsteps from the same secretary again. Yunho closed the drawers, one of them closing with a slight thud, that made the secretary walk faster. Taking the files, he went into the dark corner and vanished. 

~ 

Mirae pulled over across the street from Kang Entertainment. She made sure to look a little more presentable, knowing that she was going to do. She wasn’t even sure what she would find in that place, possibly full of celebrities and the people that practically work for them. This was just like Hyuk’s workplace, only she didn’t know anyone, and she wasn’t sure if there were mutants among them either. She ran across the street, past a group of fans that were staring at the doors, possibly to wait for any idols to come out. 

“I’m here and I’m going in,” She said to the communicator to Junhong. 

“Good luck. I put you in their appointment system, they should have your alias written down,” Junhong said before they hung up. 

Figuring out the other entrance, she stepped inside and approached the front desk. “Hello, I’d like to speak to the CEO? I’m Cha Jihyun of Entrepreneur Magazine and I was supposed to interview him today,” She said the rehearsed coverup she had. 

The concierge nodded, looking through a monitor. “Ah yes, Cha Jihyun. The executive offices are through the hall on the left, you can make your way there,” They gestured to the corner. 

“Thank you,” Mirae exhaled in relief as she walked off, eyeing every detail of the place she was in. There were framed photos of their artists and posters of movies and dramas of the actors they had. 

The farther she went into the company, she passed by a training room where three boys seemed to be dancing, music blasting from their speakers, possibly for their comeback. One boy was wearing a bright red, the other one was wearing orange, and the boy in glasses was wearing a vivid purple. In the corner of the practice room, Mirae saw more movie posters that included the names and faces of the victims. “Hello,” Someone said behind her, making her turn around. 

“Oh hello,” Mirae bowed. Four boys dressed in green, pink, a faded blue, and yellow were standing in front of her, all of them holding bubble tea and ice cream. 

“Are you looking for someone?” The boy in yellow and wearing round glasses said. “Are we getting interviewed today?” 

“Oh no, no, I was just passing by. You must be a new group,” Mirae sensed something unusual about them. 

“Yes we are, we just debuted last year,” The boy in the faded blue hoodie with matching jogging pants replied. 

“Ah, I see,” Mirae nodded, unable to shake off the unusual feeling she was getting from all of them, especially the boy wearing pink and the blonde boy wearing green. “Well, good luck in your career, I should be going now,” She stepped back, bowing to greet them one more time before turning around to walk down the hall that led to the CEO’s office. 

“Please interview us next time!” She heard them say from a distance. Mirae could sense the lingering stares from the four boys the more she walked towards the door. 

As she finally stopped in front of the door that had the CEO’s name on it with a woman who was his secretary, seated behind her desk nearby. “Cha Jihyun of Entrepreneur Magazine?” She said. 

“That’s me,” Mirae raised her hand. 

“Please go inside the office, he is currently in a meeting and he’ll be with you shortly,” The woman gestured to the door. Mirae bowed in thanks before entering. 

Once she was inside, she took in her surroundings. The CEO’s office was very spacious, very modern-looking, with three tall shelves of figurines and plaques of the agency’s achievements and sales. Mirae sat down at the very end of the couch, closest to the desk. Everything she would want to know would likely be in that computer, she figured, eyeing the laptop and the monitor on the desk. 

The door opened again, and to her surprise, in came the four boys. “Our CEO said to keep you company,” The boy in yellow spoke as he sat down next to her, while the boy in pink leaned against the desk in front of her. “We’re very close to him, we’re like his sons,” He mused. 

“Oh, I would’ve thought you were all back to practicing or something,” Mirae eyed them. “With what you’re all wearing.” 

“Oh this?” The boy in pink giggled, while the boys in blue and green exchanged knowing looks, a smirk creeping up on the face of the boy wearing green. “We were recording a video for our fans!” 

“Oh, we’ve been very silly, we should introduce ourselves, right?” The boy in yellow glanced at his colleagues, who nodded. “I’m Jungwon.” 

“Sunoo,” said the boy in pink. 

“Jay,” said the boy in green.

“And I’m Sunghoon,” said the boy in blue. 

“For a rookie group, you all certainly don’t act like it,” Mirae glanced at each of them, acknowledging their introductions. The boys only chuckled in response. 

“You have a very pretty neck,” Jay suddenly said.

“...Thanks,” Mirae stared at him for a moment. “I guess.” 

“I mean it,” Jay sat down on her other side. “A very pretty neck.” 

“Shouldn’t you be flirting with girls your own age? Or younger?” Mirae sensed that Jungwon, Sunghoon, and Sunoo were also looking at her the same way Jay was at that moment. They were looking at her rather … hungrily. 

“Age is but a number, and a state of mind,” Jungwon muttered, also staring at her neck. 

“We can’t date anyway, at least for a few years,” Sunghoon chimed in. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re all acting like vampires,” Mirae watched them closely. 

“It’s also our concept,” Sunoo giggled, Sunghoon smirking from where he stood. 

“Ah,” Mirae remained calm, figuring them out. “It’s funny you should mention my neck because, people from this agency were murdered, with marks on their wrists and necks…” She studied their faces for any change in reaction. If she wasn’t hearing things, she would’ve sworn she heard Jungwon hiss. 

“Their blood must’ve tasted good,” Sunghoon shuddered. 

“In that case, you wouldn’t want mine,” Mirae stood up, understanding completely what she was into. 

That made Jay and Jungwon stand up, the four boys walking up to her. “We won’t know if we don’t try,” Sunghoon reached for her hand and turned it over to look at her wrist. “All that running through your veins, I haven’t had my meal yet.” 

“You probably should,” Mirae snatched her hand back, her eyes widening when their faces had twisted and changed completely. 

Their eyes turned red and fangs grew out from their teeth. “We will,” Sunoo giggled again. 

[someobscurereference]

I got tagged by @kimium in a fic ask meme! Thanks a bunch!

How many works do you have on AO3?

181

What’s your total AO3 word count?

As of August 2021, it’s 1,104,185. Wowzers!

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

On ao3, I’ve written for about 12 fandoms, but some of those were blended universe type fics, so that may not count. 

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. perhaps you noticed something strange yesterday

2. Moody

3. Lavender’s Blue (Dilly Dilly)

4. Teamwork Makes the Dream Work

5. Show Me

Fun fact: four of those are FFXV fics! One is for BNHA. None of them are FE, which I’ve written more fics for than any other fandom, hahaha

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I didn’t used to because it made me feel very weird, but I’ve been trying hard to respond to (most) comments the last few years now that I’ve heard readers really like that 

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t personally feel like I write a lot of 100% angst endings with nothing uplifting, so this is a little hard, but maybe last night i dreamed of you because the timeloop isn’t broken? Or maybe both fics in my back to the sun, back to the shore, back to what i was before series? It’s hard to say!

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I do not! I blend realities sometimes, but I’ve never had a full “characters from Reality A meet characters from Reality B” crossover.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I’ve received rude comments before, but 90% of the time I just delete them. I occasionally reply if I think the person is probably genuinely asking a question and is just coming off obtusely rude though. 

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I have posted smut to ao3 in the past (with a lot of working up to it, lol). I’ve written way more smut than what I’ve posted, but I don’t think I’ll ever post the rest of it, ever (and if I did, certainly not ever under my typical name). I would be too embarrassed to elaborate any more than that, I think, lol

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

One or two, I think

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! With @kimium! Our Mafia AU and Love Finds a Way

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I cannot say! For FE, I guess it’s Leo Trio OT3? But if it’s “favorite ship for all time, forever and always�� my brain doesn’t work that way, lol. My loves come and go like the ebbing of the tides; I will always have many favorites

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I want all my forever unfinished WIPs to be finished! But if I had to choose, I guess??? That fic where Leo Trio OT3 moves into a haunted house together? Only because it would be like a 30K minimum fic I don’t think I’ll ever finish/I love spooky things the most.

(Also that fic where Severa & Owain have embarrassing first time virgin sex because it would be so funny and I can’t make myself write any more, despite my efforts, lol)

What are your writing strengths?

Hard to say! I feel like other people have to tell me where my strengths are. I think I’ve cut down on unnecessarily long descriptors now compared to when I first started writing many years ago, though. 

What are you writing weaknesses?

Multichaptered fic! Writing consistently! All my long fics are complete when posted because I find myself unreliable otherwise. I don’t want to publish chapter 1 of a fic that may not be finished in 3 years/won’t be updated ever again. I try to keep fics in a series relatively standalone for this reason too.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I try not to do it! If I’m not fluent in the language, I’m obviously going to be making big grammar mistakes, which I try to avoid. However, love to see it + translations in other fic where the authors are fluent in more than one language

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Kingdom Hearts! That was many, many years ago back when I was like 12 though, lol. Shoutout to KH for getting me into writing!

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I think maybe Dark Things Grew!  I wasn’t sure if anyone would even like it or not when I posted it; it was the longest piece of horror fiction I’d ever written at the time, the length of which I’d wanted to do for a long time, and I’m happy with how it came out, even now. (I wrote a 20K spoopy fic in another fandom before this, but DTG somehow felt darker and is double the length, so it ended up loving it just a bit more, lol). Plus, I think I’m always going to have a soft spot for Fire Emblem

Thanks for tagging me!

I’m supposed to tag people down here, but I’d rather you tag yourself! Feel free to do this if you want to!

[izaswritings]

Title: building trust

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis:  Oscar and Oz stage a prison break. Qrow… complicates things. 

(Or: in which Oscar takes over as the voice of reason, Oz is Guilt, and Qrow is just having a very bad and emotional day, and these two are not helping. Rebuilding trust is harder than it looks—  it’s all about the small steps.)

Notes: This fic is kind of an unofficial sequel to this story here, (or here) but you can still read this one on standalone if you want. Shoutout to the anon who told me I had to write the prison break fic-- this is for you, anon. 

AO3 Link is here.

.

“This is…”

There is little left to say between the two of them, looking down and out over Mantle’s ruined and smoking streets. It is three hours after Oscar fell from Atlas, and now he is back again on the floating city, standing at the edge of the drop. From this height Mantle is a depressing sprawl of smoke and ruin. On the ground, the situation had been gruesome, but their view of the destruction had been limited. One house burning on a street corner, a few empty streets of rubble, and all the people vanished from sight, huddling away in the shelters. Any bodies slowly being buried by the snow.

As terrible as it sounds, in Mantle the Grimm had been the only trouble, and even then, not much. As Oz had put it, when Oscar had asked— evading Grimm is child’s play after almost a few thousand years of practice.

Ah, Oscar had said, at that. Well, when you put it like that…

Even finding an airship managed to be a far easier task than assumed. Oz knows where the military base is. Oz knows how to hotwire a ship. Oz knows… a lot of weirdly illegal things, actually.

“Your judgment is unappreciated,” Oz had said.

It’s just, this is the second time I’ve helped steal an airship, Oscar said back, and sighed. I can’t help but feel like we’re just going to end up facing a giant robot again.

“Deeply improbable,” Oz had begun, and then a soldier had started shouting and Oz dropped the conversation to yank back the controls and put them in flight.

And now, here they are: Atlas, again, in a private sector cordoned off, as close as they can get to the military custody cells without being detected. Getting off Mantle was, hilariously, the easy part. It is this next part that makes Oscar hesitate.

Oz is still in control—still bearing the pain of exhaustion and bullet wound bruises both, because in all this cascading disaster Oscar has yet to get either proper healing or an actual nap, and their aura is all focused on blocking out the cold—and it is Oz who looks away from the sight of Mantle, hands clenching tight over the knob of the cane, gripping the Long Memory like a lifeline.

This is awful, Oscar whispers, feeling thin. There is no surprise in his voice, in him. No horror. Just a quiet, seething sort of anger, a frustrated ache that this happened at all. That it has come to this.

Oz, for his part, can hardly seem to face it—he closes their eyes and turns their face away, breathing in slow and shaky. Oscar goes quiet, watchful. He can feel Oz’s thoughts as his own, which is why he knows what the other thinks of all this. The tangle of emotion is sobering. Regret, grief, anger… and a bitter taste all across their tongue, the awful bite of betrayal, because deep down they’d both thought Ironwood better than this.

This time, it is Oscar who offers the words they both need to hear. It… it isn’t your fault.

Oz exhales out a shaky breath, but his laughter is soft and bitter. “No?” He drags their eyes back to the ruined landscape below. When he speaks, his voice is distant and wondering. “How far Mantle looks from here. How shrunken. A failure on our part. A sign of neglect, really. A sign to do better.”

Oscar considers him. Doesn’t speak.

“I wonder if he ever saw it the same way,” Oz observes, clinically. He stares down at Mantle as if there is an answer in the smoke. “Perhaps, when he stood up here, looking down upon them… maybe he just saw Mantle as small.”

Still. Oscar is stubborn. How were you supposed to know what he thought about it?

“You are turning my own words against me,” Oz murmurs back, and finally turns away from the ledge. He walks them back to the building, their alleyway. The stolen airship sits half-hidden by a building, and with any luck, it’ll stay undetected. Oscar is praying the chaos is enough to confuse the sensors. “And on the same day, no less.”

Doesn’t make it less true.

A few blocks down, the military holding cells await. They’ve moved swiftly enough Oz doesn’t think Qrow will be at the prison yet—the hope is that he is here, for holding or interrogation or both. And given that this is the highest-priority military cell, and Ironwood called for Qrow’s arrest personally… the chances of him being here are high. Now, they just need to find him.

Oscar looks up at the barbed-wire walls and the very tall building, and sighs. More breaking and entering. Well, all right. Let’s steal a military scroll.

Oz hums, already scanning the entrance, walking up to the gate. “I thought you disliked stealing.”

They only bring out the giant robots for airships. We’re fine.

Despite everything, that actually gets Oz to smile again. “Hm. Sound logic, I suppose.” He turns and surveys the gate, then lifts his hand to wave at the officer stationed by the entrance. “Hello! Can you help me?”

“A kid? But what are you...” The guard’s gun lowers, and then she stills. “Wait. Your face. Aren’t you—!?”

The officer doesn’t get a chance to finish. Oz knocks her legs out from under her, calmly whaps her over the head, and then handcuffs her as she groans. He takes the scroll and opens it, surveying the device. The gate clicks open without any further issues. Oz looks out over the military holding yard and sighs. “Well. And now for the hard part.”

Everything else wasn’t hard?

“Stealing the airship didn’t require breaking and entering, I’m afraid. And this was just sense. Getting in the actual building will be just as hard as getting out.” Oz sighs a breath through their teeth, and glances down at the handcuffed officer, still looking woozy. “Especially if we do not want to be caught. I did not think about that. Hopefully, we will be gone before she gets out of the handcuffs.”

We could… wear a mask?

Oz considers this. “…No.”

But—

“No.”

Well, do you have a better idea?

Oz clasps their hands behind their back, looking up to survey the building. Oscar waits for him to think it out. Oz had explained some of it on the way here—it’s not as guarded as a prison, but it’s still a place designed to hold higher-ranking criminals, enemies that Ironwood places on top priority.

Oscar doesn’t like the look of the place. The sleek walls. The shiny surfaces. The glint of the barred windows seems cruel. After all that walking through Mantle, to stand in Atlas and witness the sheer wealth of difference between them makes something in him harden.

Oz must come to a decision—he lifts the cane and spins it in their hands before tapping it down hard on the snow. “The old fashioned way, then, I suppose,” he says. He heaves a heavy sigh. “We are a bit too small to believably steal any armor, unfortunately.”

I don’t think physically breaking our way into a prison is a...very good idea? Also, um. We are still… injured. Won’t that—hurt?

“Usually, it is not.” Oz starts for the door, cane by his side. “But if there is any bright side to this situation—” Oscar mentally makes a face, and Oz sighs again. “Yes, I know, and I agree—but again. Atlas is on high alert. Grimm are converging on the city. And Salem…”

That old bitterness, half-memory and half just Oz rises up, like static in Oscar’s soul, and together they both glance back at the shroud of dark storm clouds slowly moving in on the city. In the past hour, the wind has picked up to a howl. It won’t be long, now. The thought makes their aura shudder in dread and fury.

“Well. Salem is, currently, a far larger threat. I have no doubt that Atlas’s sensors have picked up on her invasion by now. If there was ever a time this prison would be understaffed and vulnerable… now is likely it. It is, too, why we were able to land the airship up here in the first place. Two days ago, I suspect we would have been shot just getting in the sky.”

They’re nearing the door, now.

“But… yes. We are still injured. Fighting will… likely aggravate the injury, regardless of our aura.” Oz hesitates. “If—I understand if you would rather not—”

No. It’s fine. Oscar settles back, shifting through the information. We need to get Qrow out. And if this really is the best time to do it—and the best way… His thoughts firm, steady and cold with determination. We can’t hesitate. There’s no time.

“…Very well.” Oz turns their eyes back to the door, and hefts the cane in hand. Though not in control, Oscar can still feel it—the shift in emotion, the cool blanket falling over their thoughts. The turmoil, the grief, the anger, the lingering fear Oz won’t acknowledge about seeing Qrow again—all of it, buried beneath a laser-eyed focus. “I will be quick.”

Just… try not to push us into passing out?

“Hm, yes, that would be unfortunate. Not to worry—I know our limits.”

I thought you just said you were out of practice.

Oz calmly holds up the officer’s scroll, unlocks the front door, and walks through. “Well. That was an hour ago.”

That’s… not comforting.

This—with the door open and the two of them already inside—is about when the guards finally notice them.

The ensuing fight is rapid-paced, and terribly one-sided. For someone who claims to be out of practice, Oz is swift and brutal in a way that runs entirely counter to his usual manner—he strikes the guards with merciless force, leaving crumpled and groaning bodies lying still on the floor behind them as they push their way into the prison. It never goes too far—no bones broken, no bruises that will lead to unfortunate death—but it is definitely impressive, and Oscar would be awed, if not for the looming sense of resigned doom that he’s definitely going to be feeling this fight for a while. Bruises for days. He’s not looking forward to it.

Oz, currently in the middle of slipping a scroll from the highest-ranked guard’s pocket, pauses at this. “In my defense,” he says mildly, standing them up to limp towards the next door, “we were already in rather rough shape. You would be feeling it anyway.”

I’m just… not looking forward to facing a full-scale invasion like this.

“…An understandable worry,” Oz admits, after a pause. “But you do not… have to feel it alone, as it were. I am happy to take on the burden should the aftereffects be—unpleasant.” He lifts their head. “And once we have a moment to breathe, our aura should start easing some of the pain. We will be okay, Oscar. We simply must hold on until we can rest again.”

Oscar hums a quiet agreement, watching through their eyes as Oz takes them up the hall. He’s frowning, slightly, brow furrowed. They’ve gotten in, but from here on out Oz is uncertain of where to go.

Oscar leans in, not so much taking control as sharing it, and ignores the rising ache of pain as he flickers their head to the side to look up at the front desk of the precinct. Do Atlas personnel keep records?

Oz blinks. “…Yes, actually.” He beelines for the desk, tapping at the computer keys. “A sound idea. Atlas is keen on efficiency. They should be—” He makes a noise. “Ah-ha. B-block.”

Second floor, holding cell 4E… doesn’t seem far. We should hurry.

“Agreed.” Oz spins the cane through their hand and heads for the stairs. Somewhere, an alarm starts to sound. Oz presses a hand to their side with an uncharacteristic curse, and sprints for it.

They make it to the second floor with only minimal resistance, and Oz heads right for the door half-way down the hall. “Here. This room.” He takes up the scroll and presses it to the scanner. The light clicks green. Oz closes the scroll and takes the handle, as if to push the door open—and stops.

There is a long pause. Oscar waits. Oz stares down at their hand for a long moment. There is the slightest of trembles through their fingers before he forces their hand to still. He takes a breath—tightens his grip—

Oscar gently pushes Oz out of the way, and then he is here again, he is himself again, in control once more. Physicality slams into him, the pain sharp and sudden and impossible to ignore, a stitch building in his lungs from the overwork. Still, this switch in control is almost too easy, which is telling enough, but Oz fumbles in something like shock.

Oscar—

And wow, okay, ow, that fight really pushed all the limits he didn’t even know he had, okay. Oscar grits his teeth and rides out the sudden wave of pain, spots dancing behind his eyes. Beyond a brief and pained hiss through clenched teeth, he manages to swallow it back. “It’s fine,” he whispers, once he feels he can breathe again. “It’s fine.”

Oz hesitates. I should…

“We all need to talk.” Oscar straightens with a pained exhale. “And we will. But there’s too much happening. One thing at a time. Prison break is—” He exhales again, smile twisting wry. “Is, um, probably a bad time.”

Oz is quiet for a very long moment. Oscar waits. They have very little time to lose, perhaps—already he can hear alarms beginning to ring, orders shouting out—but Oscar sets his feet and waits, calm, for the answer.

…Thank you. Oz sounds tired.

Oscar tilts his head and doesn’t bother with a reply, just turns the handle and pushes the door open into the holding cell. Light casts through the open door. Qrow is sitting on a lone bench in a dark cage, his head bowed and shoulders slumped. He doesn’t even look up when the door opens—but the person sitting next to him does.

“A kid?” Robyn Hill looks surprised. “Who the hell… wait. You’re the one from the dinner. With Ironwood.”

“Um,” Oscar says, mentally backpedaling for all he’s worth. What? Robyn? Why? “H-hi?”

Well. This is certainly a surprise. I don’t recall Ironwood putting out an arrest for her.

Yeah, neither does Oscar. Was she arrested with Qrow? Did they take her in just because? That seems... shitty.

At her comment, though, Qrow’s head snaps up. His eyes fix on Oscar and go wide. He straightens like he’s been shocked. “Wh—Oscar!?”

Oscar stares at them, trying to get his mind back on track. Oz chooses this moment to be unhelpful and go utterly silent, which is. Okay. Fine. After a pause, Oscar works his jaw and manages a weak smile. “Oh, um. Yep. That’s me.”

“How did you get here?” Robyn asks, still looking bewildered, but it is Qrow who jumps to his feet and heads towards the bars. “Kid,” he says. “Kid, I thought you were dead!”

“What?” Oscar says, and Oz says, The report, the officers must have told them, and Oscar snaps his mouth shut. “Oh, right. Right.” He pauses, a sinking feeling in his gut, a mingled dread from Oz and Oscar both. “Um.” He doesn’t want to tell them about Ironwood just yet. Not if he doesn’t have to. This just… isn’t the place for it. “It’s a long story.” He moves for the cell doors, holding out the guard scroll. “Let’s get out of here, first.”

Qrow passes a hand down his face, looking ragged but relieved, laughing quietly in a way that doesn’t make it sound like he’s laughing at all. Robyn just shakes her head. “No, wait,” she says, as Oscar unlocks the cell. “I don’t understand. How did you even find us here? This is a military facility!”

“They’re distracted with other things, right now,” Oscar says absently, pulling open the grate. His side aches. He bites back the wince. “They were undermanned. Um, I found keys.”

Robyn scowls at him. “You broke into a guarded government facility all on your own?” She sounds half-way between incredulous and impressed, and turns to shoot Qrow a glare, as if asking for an explanation. Qrow, too, is looking at Oscar oddly, his brow furrowed. He’s holding something tight in his hands, Oscar realizes suddenly—a small object, something reflective, that he’s flipping absently through his fingers.

Oscar meets Qrow’s gaze, calm, and offers a pale smile. “Not… entirely on my own,” he says, careful, and when Qrow goes still, he flips the Long Memory so he’s holding in it in both hands, a silent answer to the question he sees on Qrow’s face. He waits. Qrow doesn’t respond.

Oz is silent, too—a tangle of something like guilt and a pale regret, exhaustion—but all Oscar does is nod, and collapses the cane to clip it on his belt again. “It’s just me right now, though,” he says. Shouting drifts up from the floor below. Oscar turns to Robyn. “Can you fly an airship?”

She looks at him with narrowed eyes. “You gonna explain what the hell that cryptic-ass statement was?”

Oscar actually grins. “Sure.” The shouting grows louder. “Just, um, later?”

She considers him. Then she nods. “I can fly a ship.” She claps Qrow on the shoulder, and for a moment her voice goes awkwardly gentle. “Come on, asshole. Time to run.”

Qrow seems to jolt back to himself. His fingers clench around the thing in his hand. “Right. Right.” He shakes his head, turns to Oscar—and then shakes his head again. “Lead the way, kid.”

Oz murmurs in the back of his mind, muted. He seems shaken.

Oscar looks Qrow up and down. He does seem shaken. Oddly disconnected. There’s blood flecking off his sleeves, his hands. Oscar doesn’t like that look of it—it gives him a bad feeling.

His lips press. There’s no time.

“Let’s go,” he says, and rushes from the cell.

Escape is marginally easier than breaking in—Robyn seems almost too keen to bust some heads, and once they pick up their weapons she fights with gusto. She seems angry, and more than happy to take that anger out on the guards who’d locked them up. Oscar supposes he can’t really blame her. After everything she did for Mantle, the last few hours were probably like something from her own personal hell.

Qrow’s weapon is bloody all the way to the hilt, poorly cleaned. Qrow actually flinches when he sees it. Oscar is getting such a bad feeling about this.

Oz, too, is quiet. This isn’t good.

Yeah, obviously. But Oscar swallows it back.

They are running through the halls now, only slowed by the continuous stitch in Oscar’s side. He’s limping badly, and his cane is getting more use as a crutch than a weapon right now. Ow, ow, ow. He gets the sense Oz wants to offer to take over again, except they both know that’d cause too many problems right now. Oscar tilts back his head, looking at Qrow from the corner of his eye. “What do you think happened?”

…The object in his hand—it looks like a badge, don’t you think?

Oscar almost trips. Oh. Oh, no. “Do you think—?”

I am not sure. I wasn’t aware for a majority of those moments, and you only met him once. But… General Ironwood’s men are—incredibly loyal. It would not surprise me if…

Oscar presses his lips in a thin line, chest aching at the thought. He hadn’t known Clover Ebi well to have much of an opinion, but if Oz’s guess is right—that must have hurt.

“All good, kid?”

He looks up to see both Robyn and Qrow looking back at him, Robyn’s face creased in worry and Qrow’s blank in a way that makes him want to hide. Oh, shoot. He manages a smile. “Um.” How to salvage this?

We are still running for our lives. A rather more pressing issue at the moment, I would think.

Ah, right. “The airship is behind the building?”

Robyn shakes her head, looking exasperated, but turns back around to run. Qrow stares at Oscar for another long moment and then looks away so quick his neck snaps, and doesn’t look back again.

That… is not a good sign.

“Too late to worry about it now,” Oscar mutters back, and shoves out of the prison doors, side burning, breaths wheezing. The stitch in his lung is starting to become something agonizing. To Robyn: “It’s—t-there, that alley, it should be—still running—I hope—”

She is already turning the corner. “Got it. Get on!”

“T-trying!” Oscar wheezes out, and pushes forward. Pain flares up his side like the stab of a hot poker. His leg buckles again. Oscar makes a strangled noise and tips sideways, arm snapping out for the wall—

A hand grips under his arm and drags him upright. Qrow. He catches Oscar mid-stumble and pulls him forward, dragging them up the ramp and turning just in time to raise his weapon. The sharp ping of a blocked bullet rings out. “Close the damn doors!”

“On it!” Robyn is already in the pilot’s seat, flicking on the controls. “Hold on!”

The ground shudders and Oscar lunges for the airship wall, leaning heavily against the seats and gripping the seatbelts for support. His side is splitting in pain. His head spins, his vision going blurry. The bottom drops away, his ears popping from the pressure; outside the window, he watches as Atlas slowly fades into the clouds, the airship rising up into the sky. They’ve made it. They’ve made it!

He can’t breathe. Every inhale feels like it isn’t enough. Oscar curls up over his side and fights the urge to throw up.

Oz’s voice snaps in the back of his mind, sharp and calming. Oscar. Breathe.

“I—can’t—”

A moment of pause. Then: Let me take control.

Oscar grits his teeth. “But—”

You’re on the cusp of hyperventilation, and with our injuries as they are, such a thing will not be pleasant. I appreciate your concern, and I am grateful, but your wellbeing is far more important than my insistence on avoiding my problems. Let me help.

Oscar bows his head and struggles for one lingering second, and then drops control all at once. It’s one of their rockier switches—for a moment their head dips forward and they almost blackout, and then Oz snaps to awareness and inhales sharply, fighting to get their breathing back under control.

He sits them up straight and places a bracing hand to their side, leaning heavily against the side of the ship. He closes their eyes and slows their breathing, taking deep breaths despite the panicked burning in their lungs.

Oscar, dizzy and distant, his head clear now that he’s away from the pain, takes scope of their state and winces. The little strength they’d regained from their rest in Mantle’s pit is all but gone now. The weariness drags at him.

I… I’m sorry.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Oz murmurs back, and their aura flickers up, focused solely on their side. Thankfully, the airship has heating, which means their aura’s healing properties can now be fully utilized. “We, ah… perhaps pushed our luck too soon.”

“That so?”

They still— their shock two-fold, the flash of surprise belonging to Oscar and Oz both. In their exhaustion, they’d forgotten where they were. Across from them, Qrow is standing against the airship door, looking down at them with an expression turned cold and hard. “That isn’t exactly like you, Oz.”

…Oh, crap.

Oz doesn’t reply. For a moment he is very still, and then he forcefully relaxes, clenching and unclenching their fingers. His ache for the Long Memory is so strong that even Oscar can feel it, but Oz doesn’t reach for the cane, just pushes them to sit up straight and leans back against the wall, hands still pressed to their side.

“…Perhaps,” he says, finally, with slight strain. “But it has been a—rather tiring day. Even for me.” A pause. “We… all make mistakes.”

Qrow’s face darkens, a flash of anger like a storm. “Yeah, that’s an understatement.” His fingers are white-knuckled on his sleeve, his jaw tight. He straightens, looking ready to snap—

“Okay,” says Robyn, from the front. She turns back to look at them. “I’ll bite. The hell is going on? What the fuck just happened to the kid?”

Oz visibly winces. In the back of their mind, Oscar sighs. Oh, geez.

Oz speaks very quietly, under their breath. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to—”

At this point, switching might make things worse, Oz. He pushes back, for once—hilariously—refusing control. Rebuilding trust, remember?

Oz sighs, but seems unsurprised, and Oscar suspects he perhaps just wanted to hear someone else say it. He straightens, then winces again when the pain in their side flares, bad enough even Oscar can feel it, though it’s muted by the distance.

“That is…” Oz exhales, hard. “I am Professor Ozpin. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hill. I have heard… good things about you.” He manages a smile. “To make a long story very short, I am—paired with Oscar through an old curse that has had me reincarnate again and again, until Salem is defeated. Oscar is my most recent incarnation. He is also, in fact, still here—I am just briefly taking control.”

Robyn blinks fast. She stares at them for a long moment, as if waiting for the punchline, and when one doesn’t come she sits back in the pilot’s seat and turns her face to the window, looking bewildered. “That’s… okay, then.”

Argh, we look so weird…

Oz’s expression twitches into a wan smile, but Qrow shifts and the smile drops, stone cold. Qrow does not look at all pleased. His eyes are bright with fury. “But why bother introducing yourself, anyway?” Qrow sounds icy. “Let me guess. The moment you give up control, snap! Gone away again, right?”

“What?” Robyn says.

Oz doesn’t react. For Robyn’s benefit, he says, reluctant and forced, “I… also have spent these last few months— mostly unaware, as it were. I have only just returned.” His eyes flicker to Qrow. He takes a long breath. “I… I want to say that I am—”

“Save it.” Qrow’s voice snaps. “Why now? Why today? Why the hell are you back?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Oz stares calmly back, but Oscar can feel his exhaustion, soul-deep and aching. They are both of them at their limit. “I… I am here. To stay. Even after Oscar takes back control. I am simply in control now to manage—the damage.”

Robyn’s eyes flash back, her hands tight on the airship controls. “The kid’s hurt?”

Qrow straightens at that. “What happened?”

Oz—

“They will find out sooner or later,” Oz says simply, cutting Oscar off. “Best to know now.” He closes their eyes and takes another breath. “Oscar sought to convince Ja—General Ironwood to change his mind about Mantle. Ironwood… did not take well to this.” He pauses, then sighs. “He shot us off a cliff.”

There is a long, awful silence. Qrow looks pale. Robyn’s hands are white-knuckled on the controls. “So that’s it,” she says, voice tight. “That’s it. That’s—where he stands.”

Qrow stares. “…Are you serious?”

“…It broke our aura.” Oz presses their hand against the wound, breathing shallowly. “Only a bruise, thankfully, but… if Oscar’s aura had been any more depleted, we would not have survived the bullet, let alone the fall.”

Nothing. Qrow is still. Perhaps it is the shock about Ironwood, or whatever happened that bloodied Qrow’s weapon and left Clover Ebi’s pin in his grasp, but all his anger seems abruptly drained. He slumps against the door, hand covering his face. For a moment the only noise is the rattle of the airship, battling against the storm.

Oz looks away. “I understand if you cannot forgive me,” he says, in the silence. “And I will not ask you to. But Salem is coming. And if we do not act soon, then Atlas will meet a fate even worse than Beacon.” He lifts his head, but still, cannot seem to bring himself to look back at Qrow. “I… understand if you don’t trust me. I have not, after all, proved myself trustworthy.” He hesitates, longer, and then, quietly: “But please. Whatever the plan… let me help.”

Qrow breathes in. Breathes out. Straightens against the door. “I don’t trust you.” Blunt. Sharp. Oz doesn’t flinch, but his eyes close, and Oscar would cringe if he could. “And forgiveness isn’t even on the table, frankly. But.” Qrow scrubs a hand down his face. “Fuck, if James has really—well. We could use all the help we could get.” His hand lowers. His eyes are sharp. “Hey, Oscar.”

Oscar brightens in interest. Me?

Oz says, cautiously, “He’s listening.”

Qrow stares at them, as if trying to see Oscar past Oz’s eyes. “Do you trust him?”

Oscar’s response is immediate. I’m willing to try.

Oz winces. “Oscar—”

Like I said before. It’s never too late to build trust. Not if you’re willing to mend it.

Oz hesitates. Takes a deep breath, then pauses again, unsure of how to voice it. “Ah, he—”

“Stop.” Oz’s mouth snaps shut. Qrow closes his eyes. He looks tired again. “I can tell. Kid’s face is an open book, even when you’re the one wearing it.” His eyes open. He lifts his hand and looks at his palm. Oz was right—it is Clover’s badge, small and silver and flecked with drying blood.

Qrow looks at the badge for a long time, then gently closes his fingers around it. He tucks the badge away in his inner coat pocket, where his flask used to sit. “Well,” he says, to the wall. “If Oscar’s willing to give you a chance… fine.”

Oz falters, obviously taken off-guard. His surprise is tinged with something sharp and golden, a rush of relief. “I—that’s—thank you. I will—”

“I’m not done.” Qrow’s stare bores into them. “I don’t forgive you. At the moment, I’m too angry to really consider it. The kids… who knows. Maybe they’ll be a different story. But whatever happens. Whatever comes next? You’re not in charge. And if you step out of line, if you lie—again?” Qrow leans forward. “This is it, Oz. One last chance.” His voice rasps. “Try not to fuck it up, yeah?”

Silence, again. Qrow leans back against the door. He seems drained. Tired. He closes his eyes.

“I understand,” Oz says. He looks down. “Thank you.”

Another pause. The silence stretches. Oscar nudges him, and Oz takes a breath. “Qrow. I am sorry for your loss. He seemed like a good man.”

Qrow’s jaw clenches, and he looks up, livid—but Oscar is already in control again, blinking fast from the blood rush and pulling a face at the floor. Qrow slumps. “That—!”

“He meant it.” Oscar presses at his side, closing weary eyes. He feels tired, but—pleased, too. Oz is a quiet sigh in the back of his mind, but his emotion is a tangle of guilt and bone-deep relief. A chance. It is more than Oz feels he deserves, but that is what he’s been given.

Still. I wouldn’t exactly label that conversation as having “gone well,” Oscar.

“No,” Oscar agrees, “but it’s a start.” He lifts his head and gives Qrow a weak smile. “Thanks for hearing him out.”

Qrow sighs again. “The things I do for you kids.”

Oscar laughs at that. Then he trails off. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, shoot. The others—” He tries to sit up, and hisses when his side twinges. The pain is fading under the focus of their aura, slowly and surely, but it’s still seizing. “Salem is coming—and they think I’m dead or, you know, that you’re in prison—we need to—can we—?”

“Calm down, pipsqueak.” Robyn. She’s already flicking through the controls. “Finally, something I can do. That conversation was dramatic, don’t get me wrong, and it did explain some stuff, but wow that was awkward to sit through. Give me a sec.”

Qrow puts a hand back over his face. In the back of Oscar’s head, Oz is a momentary burn of embarrassment.

I’ll admit. I forgot she was there.

Oscar snickers once, smothers it at Qrow’s glare, and gives Robyn a smile. “If you can reach them—”

“Got it.”

Static crackles through the airship. A voice bleeds through. No-nonsense and sharp—Maria. “Who is this?”

Oscar sits back, eyes half-lidded, exhaustion lingering, listening to the sound of his friends’ voices. Jaune. Ruby. Nora and Ren and Weiss and all the others. He closes his eyes with a smile, calls a weak affirmative when they demand after him, and lets their relief wash over him, warm, welcome. They’re all alive, they know he’s alive—Qrow is as willing to work with Oz as he can be, and sooner or later they’ll have a plan.

Salem is coming. The storm is almost upon them. But there is a warmth, Oscar thinks, in knowing he won’t face it alone.

Maybe Ironwood never saw Oscar for Oscar, and maybe he never saw Mantle as a place worth saving—who can know? But the people here care, the people here see him, and together, he thinks, they can at least give Mantle a chance.

Oscar.

He pries his eyes open. Qrow and Robyn are talking with the others—hashing out a place to meet, to plan. Soon they’ll all be together again. Soon they’ll figure it out.

Thank you. I know I have said that numerous times today, but… truly. Thank you for giving me a chance.

Oscar hums, and closes his eyes. “Had an advantage,” he mumbles back, exhausted. “Knew you meant it.”

Oz feels lighter. Almost as if he wants to laugh. True. Oscar’s head dips. Oz’s voice is warm. Rest, Oscar. I’ll wake you when we land.

He knows Oz will. There is a peace in knowing that—in having Oz watch his back. Oscar tips his head forward and lies down on the airship seats, and lets the crackling static of his team’s voices and the rumble of the airship carry him to sleep.

[demisexualemmaswan]

By the Moon’s Rise (1/???)

Rating: T

Summary: After being cast out from their pack by their father, both Killian Jones and his brother Liam were forced to start a new life in a new town. Killian Jones has no interest in making friends, but there might be a certain someone that might change his mind.

A/N: I guess it's my turn to post for supernatural summer @cssns​! I'm super excited to share my werewolf fic with you, as I've never written a werewolf fic before! Special shoutout to @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ for her work as my beta and @courtorderedcake​ for her INCREDIBLE artwork! At the beginning of every chapter, I'll share the title art and an image for the character whose perspective the chapter belongs to or a character that is featured quite prominently. I hope you enjoy! 

Read on Ao3

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Killian stretched each limb experimentally, shaking out his pelt of dust.

The full moon was always exciting, a release of pent up energy that he’d been holding onto for the past week.

Moreover, it was the first time in ages he’d get to run freely with his brother. No trying to hide away from other packs, not trying to find their father who’d cast them both aside. Killian was done being upset with his father. He was done trying to mourn the past and tired of hiding.

He knew why his brother was nervous. They were both young males in their prime, something most alphas did not want to accept into their pack.

Pack loyalty means very little, Killian thought to himself, thinking of his father. As soon as his mate had died, Brennan had turned Liam and Killian out, preferring to start a family with a new mate and a new pup.

Not that Killian was particularly close with his father before all this anyway.

Sometimes, he felt as if his ability to shift was a curse. He and his brother were both decorated veterans, fairly attractive by most women’s standards, and ran a successful business together. It was the new business that allowed him and Liam to just pack up and leave their life behind once their father decided he was done with them.

Why their father suddenly didn’t want anything to do with them was beyond him.

His claw raked across the ground in frustration, feeling the desire to run. He’d been waiting all month for this and he’d be damned if Liam kept him from enjoying himself.

Just where the hell is Liam?

It normally didn’t take his brother this long to transform, although knowing the uptight ponce his brother was, he probably wanted to test his control over every element of his turn from man to wolf.

A rustle sounded behind him, and with a playful huff, he hid into the brush, planning on surprising his brother with a playful tussle before they started their run.

Finally!

With a low growl, Killian launched himself from the brush and began to playfully tussle with the wolf below him. It was only when her scent hit him—her scent?—that he stopped, immediately leaping off of her.

Where Liam’s fur had more of the salt and pepper quality that he’d very clearly inherited from their sire, this wolf was all grey. Her green eyes never left him as she began to stalk in a low circle around. He could see suspicion and distrust clear in her green eyes, and he wondered if her pack was not long behind.

She snapped her jaws at him, dropping into a defense crouch with a low warning growl.

Killian dipped his head submissively, and she stopped in her tracks. Her ears flicked upward, but she did not unfurl from her crouch.

 I thought you were my brother , he tried to explain. The heather hid your scent.

Her scent suggested that she, like him, was not an ordinary wolf. If she was like him she’d hear him--or so he desperately hoped--although there was no guarantee that if she was like him, she’d even be willing to understand. While he certainly wasn’t the largest wolf in the world, attacking a she-wolf out of nowhere was bad form. If her pack was nearby, he and Liam were in trouble.

If that’s how you treat your brother, I’d hate to see how you treat strangers, she retorted, a low note of amusement tinting her words. She sat up a little bit straighter and moved a little bit closer to him. The faintest hints of distrust still lingered in her eyes as she took note of his scent. You’re not from around here.

My first full moon here, he confessed.

Are you a member of Neverland? The suspicion was back in her eyes and she went into a defensive crouch, letting out another irritated growl. I’ve already told Neal that he can have Henry next week!

Neal? Henry? Killian tilted his head curiously at her. I’m not sure what you mean, lass…

She let out a low warning growl from the back of her throat. But then she sat up again. You’re not lying…

No, and again, I’m sorry for the trouble , he said earnestly, dipping his head to her. I’m Killian Jones. My brother Liam is around here somewhere.

I’m Emma, the wolf responded, dipping her head to him as she sat back up. She tilted her head at him, green eyes taking him in. He tried not to move, despite the nervous energy overwhelming him.

The full moon often gave him and his kind more energy that they could burn off, and he was dying to run. He wondered if she felt the same way.

With a playful wag of her tail, she swiped at his nose before taking off in the other direction.

The sound of her laughter reverberated in his mind and after shaking his head, he took off after her. You’re going to pay for that, lass! He called after her, hoping she hadn’t gotten too far ahead.

You’ll have to catch me first!

So she wasn’t that far ahead of him.

There was nothing more freeing as the rush of wind in his fur as he bounded through the forest. The ability to just run without any kind of restraint was something he’d been yearning for over the past few days. And still, even running for a chase was all the more exciting.  

Her scent was getting stronger and he knew he was getting closer. He bunched his muscles together and leapt, his body colliding with hers.

With a surprised yelp from Emma, the two of them went tumbling down a ravine. The two wolves wrestled playfully as they fell until they landed with a thud, Killian pinning Emma to the ground.

Looks like I win , he told her, grinning down at her. That was bad form, swiping me like that and running off!

Why? Mad I caught you unawares?

I do love a fair fight. Though normally, I prefer to do other more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back. If he’d been in his human form, he for sure would’ve waggled his eyebrows at her.

What a terrible line. Emma tossed her head back with a snort, trying to shimmy out from underneath him.

You might want to quit while you’re ahead, he teased.

Why would I do that when I’m winning? she asked, thrusting her hind paws to kick him in the side. He tumbled off with a surprised howl. He leaped back up into a playful crouch, but he was suddenly blindsided as another body tackled into him.

A cacophony of voices all sounded at once. He recognized Liam, and two other male voices that he hadn’t heard before. Emma’s packmates, he supposed.

August! Graham! Leave him alone! Emma commanded, and soon all the voices fell silent.

They could be Goldweaver spies! The amber wolf growled lowly.

Enough! Emma repeated. We’ll take them both back.

Both the amber and the umber shaded wolf both stopped and bowed to Emma.

You better not try anything, the brown wolf growled lowly.

Killian rolled his eyes and stamped the ground with one paw. His hackles were already starting to rise, not sure what to make of the newcomers. He hated feeling caught unawares. As much fun as he had chasing and teasing Emma, he didn’t like the way the other wolf was looking at him.

He longed to lunge, to start something he could truly finish, but there was something in Emma’s gaze that suggested she would solve this, despite how irritated he was.

Being in unfamiliar territory, at the whim of just someone he just met? Not exactly Killian’s ideal situation.

Still—and he couldn’t explain why—he trusted her, and dipped his head as if to acquiesce to her. 

What trouble have you gotten us into now? Liam asked.

The grey tail flicked him playfully and he let out a low warning growl.

Behind him, the auburn wolf--Grady? Grant? What was his name again?--snapped his jaws at him.

Killian whipped his jaws around to snap back at him. He wasn't in the mood to play any sort of games, despite what the maddening she-wolf in front of him thought.

 A deeper growl silenced them both, and even stopped Liam. Stood high on a ledge in the clearing was arguably one of the biggest wolves Killian had ever seen. His amber fur was practically gold in the light of the full moon and when he stepped toward them, every wolf around them bowed their head in respect.

The pack Alpha, Killian realized. And yet, the she-wolf did not bow her head. She simply trotted over to the pack Alpha and sat in front of him, gently nudging her head against his muzzle.

There was a look in the Alpha's eyes that was both fond and affectionate as he gently nudged her back. Their builds were similar and even though her fur was grey, there was no mistaking the similarities between the two when their gazes turned to him and his brother.

Oh no... Killian groaned inwardly . I've tussled with a pack Alpha's daughter. It was only a play fight, really, but the greater implications of what Grayson--Griffin? Seriously, what was his name?--had stumbled onto washed over him.

 No wonder the other wolf was about to tear his hide off.

Liam seemed to come to this same realization, staring down at his brother with a look that was not quite imperious but definitely suggested that he would be in a lot more trouble if the pack Alpha let them live.

What happened? The Alpha started, looking down on them all sternly.

This mutt attacked her!

He didn’t attack me, Graham. That’s not what happened. Emma rolled her eyes, a decidedly human like gesture even in her wolf form. If he attacked me, he’d be far worse off and we all know it.

Ooh, tough lass, he teased, unable to help himself.

Graham responded by snapping his jaws at him again and Liam cuffed him with a paw.

I found Killian and his brother in our territory. They’re new around here, Emma explained to her father. Killian and I were just…getting to know each other.

And who are you? There was no judgement in the Alpha’s eyes, no immediate condemnation of his actions. Killian could respect Emma’s father’s desire for fairness. Other Alphas probably would’ve had their jaws around his throat by now for even looking at Emma the wrong way.

I’m Liam Jones, and this is my little brother, Killian. Liam swiveled his head as if to silence Killian and keep him from running his mouth.

Younger… Killian thought lowly, but apparently not low enough for both the Alpha and Emma let out huffs of amusement.

And how did you come across my daughter and our pack? The Alpha asked.

We met in the forest— Liam started.

They ambushed her!

Killian couldn’t help but score his claws across the ground when Graham spoke up again.

It’s not as bad as Graham is making it out to be, Emma interrupted.

He had you pinned down! Graham protested.

We were playfighting, jeez! It’s not that big of a deal! Emma huffed.

Playfighting? Emma, what are you…a pup? Another wolf moved to sit beside the Alpha. She and Emma had very similar builds, though harlequin patterned fur showed both white and gray splotches. It looked like snow over mountain rocks, and Killian had to admit that it was a stunning pelt color, though he much preferred the simplicity of Emma’s gray all things being equal.

Like Emma had playfully smacked him in the face with her tail, the newcomer did the same to Emma. I thought I taught you all about stranger danger when you were little.

Mom! Emma huffed, tossing her head back.

Well, she doesn’t seem to be hurt, David. I’d say there’s some truth to their story. Both fondness and amusement filled her words and Emma headbutted her mother with a huff.

If I may, Liam interrupted, taking a step forward.

And who said you could? Graham growled lowly again. Say the word and I’ll send them both running!

Enough, Graham. Let them speak, the Alpha—David—ordered.

My brother and I have just moved here. We have no ties to our former pack and we didn’t even realize that the pack boundaries were so specific in this area. If you remark your territory, and tell this Neverland pack to do the same, we won’t trouble you again, Liam offered. Killian and I are both very sorry for the disturbance we’ve caused this evening.

Liam did his very best to look contrite.

Killian, on the other hand, did not. He never broke eye contact with Graham, trying to antagonize the other wolf into starting a fight. He still had some energy to burn.

Brother! Liam rebuked him sternly.

He heard that loud and clear but not everyone in the clearing did. In addition to being able to communicate with their own kind, there were some communications that were limited to blood or mates. If Liam ever took a mate, there would soon be communications that he would no longer be privy to.

Not that it mattered, considering he was pretty sure the Alpha was going to strike him down there and then anyway.

I’m going to ask one question before I make my decision, David announced. Were you both turned away for a violent reason?

No, sir, Liam answered honestly. Our father took a new mate after the passing of our mother, and they felt that Killian and I no longer had a place in their pack.

Killian winced visibly as the story circulated through the circle. Surprise, whispers, murmurs, scorn…it was all ringing in his ears.

But her voice was quiet.

Her father looked down at her and she tilted her head up at him.

Killian suddenly recalled how she immediately knew he hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t from the Neverland pack. He had heard tell of some wolves with other abilities, but he’d never seen one in person.

Or at least, that’s what he thought he was seeing.

David looked over to his wife, and then again at his daughter before looking back to Liam and Killian.

Why don’t you join our pack? David offered. At least for a probationary period?

Killian could only blink his surprise.

We would be honored, Liam replied almost immediately.

Beside him, he could feel Graham getting upset and David then turned to the young wolf. After a three moon period, I will meet with a small council to decide whether or not they can stay. My word is final on this and is not for debate.

Graham seemed cowed by his Alpha’s demands and sat, his ears pinned to the back of his head.

David dipped his head to both Liam and Killian. Welcome to Misthaven, you two.

[welllpthisishappening]

All the Subliminal Things (3/3)

Emma Swan does not believe in soulmates.

Or so she says. Because if her soulmate did, actually, exist, he should have shown up by now. So, she must be a fluke, a broken cog in a system that really doesn’t make much sense anyway. It is, she figures, why she agrees to meet David’s friend before Regina and Robin’s wedding. This guy doesn’t believe in soulmates either.

She’s intrigued.

Until she hears him talk. And everything flips after that.

—–

Rating: Teen Word Count: Still around 5K’ish AN: The kissing! It’s here! As always, I cannot thank you guys enough for reading the words I throw at you and for saying nice things about those words. It’s the best. As is the completely unplanned coincidence that this fic finished posting on the same day the Jonas Brothers released an album. (It’s really good. I listened to it four times while I was driving across most of New York state today.) An also very loud shoutout to @resident-of-storybrooke and @cssns for being fantastic.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam.

—–

“What kind of music is this?” “Good music.” Emma shakes her head, slumping further into the passenger’s seat. She rests her feet on the dashboard, fully expecting the eyebrow arch she gets. From both eyebrows. And Killian’s lips twitch. She may, admittedly, be picking a fight.

So his lips will twitch.

She may be staring at his lips.

She slept so well the night before.

“This is not music,” Emma argues, lolling her head to the side. Killian’s eyes flit towards hers, not taking his gaze completely off the road, which is probably for the best, since there’s a surplus of weekender traffic and the Long Island Expressway is starting to look a bit like a parking lot. “This is...I don’t even know.” “Your points are really astounding, love.” Emma can’t help the smile that splits her face. It makes her cheeks cramp and leaves something in her stomach that may be butterflies, a warmth and ease and--”What kind of appetizers do you think they’ll have?”

“Locksley mentioned something about a cocktail hour and a fish course.” “Wow,” Emma says, a low whistle that draws a laugh out of Killian. She’s still staring at his mouth. And the fingers that flutter on the steering wheel, not sure if he’s keeping time to the music she doesn’t really dislike all that much or doing his best not to reach for her.

She hopes it’s the second.

She should tell him the truth at some point. Maybe after the wedding.

She doesn’t know what happens after the wedding.

“I hate seafood,” Emma adds, and that time his laugh is a little louder. He reaches for her hand.

“Tell you what, Swan, you can eat all the baked mozzarella--” “--Baked mozzarella?” “That’s apparently what Cora is calling it, because fried is too offensive or something.” “Ah.” “So you eat all the baked mozzarella and I’ll make sure it looks like you’re an actual adult who’s actually willing to try and eat new things.” “This is getting a little opinionated, don’t you think?” Killian shakes his head. “Not at all? We got a deal?”

Emma considers it for a moment -- the sound of her pulse in her ears beating in time with the music. “We’ve got a deal. But you’ve got to eat, like, at least four shrimp.” “That’s fair, love.”

He squeezes her hand and they stay exactly where they are. In the middle of the world’s largest traffic jam.

The whole thing is a little overwhelming.

That is a lie. Little is a gross understatement. The castle is a castle in a fairy tale sort of way, rented out for the weekend because Regina’s family may actually be royalty and Mary Margaret looks a little embarrassed by the whole thing.

Emma keeps sending photos to Ruby.

If only to show Killian her responses. It makes him laugh. And linger in Emma’s space. She’s a crazy person.

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant, just sort of a jerk, so goddamn depressed she’s positive she reeks with it, an incredible overpacker and maybe a little clingy.

And they’re hours into the day, traffic long forgotten and whatever Killian wanted to talk about never discussed because there was an accident by exit 37 that kept them at a standstill for a solid forty-five minutes and Emma’s not worried about it.

It hasn’t lingered in the back of her brain all day, making it difficult to pay attention to a rehearsal dinner she probably shouldn't have been a part of anyway. David kept shooting her and Killian furtive looks from the other side of the hall.

This was the kind of castle where the dining rooms looked like halls.

So, Emma grabs two glasses of champagne for herself, finds a spot outside where she can see some stars and takes her heels off. She makes it through half a glass before she hears the footsteps. It makes her smile.

“You trying to run away, love?” Emma downs the rest of her champagne, holding the other glass up over her shoulder. “Nah, just trying not to scream with all that romance in there.” His fingers are warm when they brush over hers, pulling the glass away and sinking onto the bench, close enough that she swears she can feel the warmth radiating out of him. There’s a pulse to it, as if it’s trying to get Emma’s heart to match up with its rhythm and that’s far too romantic a thought, particularly with all the things she’s already run away from and, maybe, running towards and--

“What did you want to tell me before?” Killian tenses, breath catching audibly. “Oh, uh...that’s--”

“--And, as a follow-up were you in Boston at some point?”

“Yeah.” His voice is clipped, cautious and something else that sounds a bit like the absolute fear Emma can feel in the pit of her stomach. She needs to tell him the truth. She’s not sure how that’s going to end well.

She can still hear the music coming from the hall.

“When?” “That’s uh...that’s kind of what I wanted you to talk about.” Emma blinks, neck aching when she nods as slowly as humanly possible. Killian’s tongue darts between his lips. “So, uh...I know David told you I didn’t believe in soulmates, but that wasn’t---I told you my mom died when I was a kid. And Liam couldn’t afford to take care of me, so I went into the system until I aged out and followed him. Navy,” he supplies when Emma’s face presumably does something vaguely confused. “Served for awhile. Until--”

He lets out a shuddering breath, eyes falling towards his lap and Emma reaches out instinctively. She squeezes his hand, a tight smile on her lips. “Did Liam die?” “Badly. As if there’s a good way to die. But it was...well it was a mistake and there was lots of paperwork, but then he was gone and it was over and I didn’t really--I left, Swan. Ran, honestly. As quickly and as far as I could and I ended up in Boston the day after the funeral with no plan and no idea and I…” “What?”

Emma hates the way the question shakes out of her, but she’s got half an idea and an inkling of hope and Killian tugs her hand up towards his lips before he answers. Her heart stutters. “It was like the Earth flew into a black hole or something. Like I could feel everything and want everything and I was standing on a T-platform in Beacon Hill and I swear it was--it was like waking up. It was the best thing that had ever happened to me at the worst moment in my life.”

She blinks. It’s a pretty lame response, really. She can’t come up with another one.

“I don’t…” “I met Milah three days later.” Oh. Oh. Damn. God damn. God damn, fuck, shit damn.

“Right,” Emma mumbles, trying to pull her hand back to her side and it doesn’t work. He’s holding onto her too tightly. There’s probably a metaphor there. It’s probably depressing. “Right, right, well...that’s good, then, huh?” Killian gives her a rueful laugh, half a smile. “I don’t think you’re supposed to watch your soulmates die, love. That seems wrong, don’t you think?” “You watched her die?” “Car accident. All the tragic high points of wrong place, wrong time and she’d only just left her husband, which...soulmates probably shouldn’t have other husbands to begin with, right?” “Probably not. Is that…?” She nods towards his hand, fingers ghosting over the plastic.

“Yeah, yeah, the whole thing was incredibly horrendous. Twisted metal and I can remember things being on fire and I was in the hospital for a small eternity. It kind of...you said before I was a little bitter? It’s more than that, Swan. That night changed everything, left me with nothing and no one and I thought Milah was my soulmate. Was sure of it, couldn’t come up with a scenario where she wasn’t, but…” “But?” Emma prompts, not sure she wants the answer.

“I don’t think soulmates really exist. There’s no way. Not if I felt that and then got it pulled away and this has been--” Killian shakes his head, another laugh pressed into the bend of Emma’s knuckles. She can feel him smile. “I’m not faking it, Emma. I like you and I like spending time with you and I--”

She doesn’t let him finish.

She should. She should tell him that he’s her soulmate and she’s been thinking about his voice since she was sixteen, but the words get caught in her mouth and kissing Killian Jones is better than anything Emma imagined.

She imagined it quite a bit.

His lips move over hers in a pattern that is impossibly familiar, tilting his head until they’re practically occupying the same space and whatever noise he makes as soon as her fingers fly into his hair will be branded on every one of her memories for the rest of her life.

She tries to arch up, but that only ends with her climbing onto his lap and they’re half a second away from public indecency. At a castle.

They don’t move. They don’t even try. They rock against each other, falling into a rhythm and a bit of momentum, both clearly desperate for any kind of friction and Emma is certain the stars she was looking at a few minutes before explode as soon as Killian’s mouth drops to her collarbone.

He laughs.

“Asshole,” she grumbles, but it’s an endearment and he knows it and maybe she can work with this. Maybe she’s the worst. Maybe she just wants to be greedy for a moment.

She wants to be wanted. At least for the night.

“Yeah, that’s definitely the sentiment I was going for,” Killian grins, another kiss to her skin and more goosebumps. “You cold, love?” “Oh my God, I’m going to strangle you.” “You’d mess up your nails.” He knows she got a manicure two days before. Her nails had looked like shit from guns and criminals and that second one wasn’t really an excuse, but Emma was irregularly hopeful and she really can’t think when he kisses her.

“That’s frustratingly practical,” Emma mumbles, dragging her nails down the back of his neck. He makes that noise again.

That’s why she did it.

“You want to be anywhere that isn’t here?” she asks. She yelps when Killian stands up. With her. “Jeez, neanderthal. I can walk on my own.” He hums, still kissing her and it’s kind of messy and decidedly not practical and Emma has no idea how they get back inside. They stumble and trip, hands moving quickly and slowly, a weird give and take of emotion and feeling and everything Emma isn’t telling him.

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant, just sort of a jerk, so goddamn depressed she’s positive she reeks with it, an incredible overpacker, maybe a little clingy, and exceedingly selfish.

She gasps when her back collides with a door, head bouncing slightly. Her hair’s fallen down her back, strands threatening to poke her in the eye, but then Killian’s fingers are brushing across her cheek with a reverence that makes Emma wonder if time itself hasn’t paused to let her linger in this moment.

She wants to put up camp in this moment.

She wants to hoard it and think about it and it’s still not the moment. That’s...that’s weird.

“I like you too,” Emma says, and it’s not nearly enough, but it might be as good as she’s going to get and she really wants him to know. His answering smile makes it seem worth it.

Killian ducks his head almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, tongue brushing across her lips and hand still cupping her cheek. It’s a mix of heady and not, of absolutely normal and the complete opposite and Emma never has any idea how they get the door open without falling over.

They leave a trail of clothes in their wake, shoes thrown without much thought to their direction and the rush of feeling that moves from the top of her head to the tips of her toes as soon as Killian hovers above her is enough to change the course of the universe.

Like a second Big Bang.

Or fireworks. Of the metaphorical variety.

She wakes with a start, breath catching in her throat and if everything exploded a few hours before, then the debris is suddenly landing on Emma's head. 

It's painful. 

She leaves. It’s stupid. She hates that she does it. She does it anyway, sunlight creeping in through gauzy curtains and she gets ready with Mary Margaret because Emma doesn’t have her own room.

She’s there with Killian.

As fake soulmates. Real soulmates. Kind of. It’s not going to work.

She’s an idiot.

And Mary Margaret doesn’t look all that surprised when she opens the door. “C’mon,” she says with a softly smile. “I’ll do your hair.”

She tells Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret’s eyes widen.

That’s the only reaction.

Emma can’t decide if that’s good or not.

Her dress is very red. 

It is genuinely unfair how good he looks in his tux. It’s well-tailored and he should probably never return it and Emma nearly bites her tongue in half sitting in a chair that’s getting more uncomfortable by the minute, listening to vows and promises and Killian tries to meet her gaze no less than eleven times during the ceremony.

Emma ignores him every, single time.

Because there are soulmates getting married and the whole thing is probably one, monumental joke the universe is playing on her and there was never a moment.

Not the right one, at least.

It doesn’t make any sense.

She ignores looks twelve through sixteen too, each one getting a little more concerned and pinched, the mark between his eyebrows likely going to become permanent at some point.

And she’s so busy doing whatever it is she’s doing that Emma barely hears Mr. and Mrs. or kiss the bride, just glances up to find look seventeen staring at her with enough feeling that she has to dig her nails into her palm to stop herself from moving.

“Swan,” Killian calls, a few minutes later with the crowd mulling in the lobby and a camera shutter snapping in the background and he’s already tugging his tie off.

Emma plasters a smile on her face, well aware of how fake it looks even without Killian’s arched eyebrow. “Swan,” he repeats, a hand landing on her hip. “Hey, where--where did you go before? I--David texted me that you were there and--” “--That’s where I was.”

“I kind of wanted to talk to you.” “Didn’t we do that?” Emma asks. “And not talk?” His tongue flashes, the tip of it lingering in the corner of his mouth and that’s only slightly distracting. “Yeah, that’s true. Still doesn’t explain why you went to Mary Margaret and David’s room. You could have woken me up, you know.” “I had to get ready.” “Your stuff was in our room.” That word bounces around her brain with the memories and the wants and, probably, some more misplaced hope. She nods. She must. Her hair moves, at least. “Swan,” Killian sighs, and this is only getting worse. That’s almost impressive. Or it would be if it didn’t suck such so much. “What is going on? If it’s--listen, I know last night was--” “--Last night was not something we should do again,” Emma interrupts. “It was...well, it was a mistake and this has been--we’ve been pretending, right? To get David off our collective and individual backs and get drunk? Did they open the bar yet?” “What? No, I--Swan, I told you yesterday. I’m not faking anything. You said you weren’t. You said--” “--I know what I said,” she snaps, and one of them should be able to finish a single sentence. Killian’s shoulders slump. “I know. I just...maybe you had a soulmate. I don’t want to--”

“You’re not.” “Killian, c’mon, let’s be honest--” “--I am being nothing but honest with you, Emma. The whole truth. My whole…” He inhales sharply, hissing the air through his teeth and there’s a glossiness to his gaze that wasn’t there in the last seventeen versions.

Emma’s nails are going to cut her palms.

“I meant what I said,” Killian finishes. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I think this is--”

He nearly growls when someone coughs behind them, less-than-polite and a little familiar and Emma knows Cora doesn’t remember her. “Mr. Jones,” she says cooly. “And guest.” “Emma,” Killian hisses. “This is Emma. She’s friends with your step-daughter.” “Oh, yes, of course. I thought I recognized the face. Did you two come together?” “Yeah,” Emma mumbles, several thousand emotions clinging to each letter and all of them might just boil down to disappointment.

Cowardly and a great, big giant liar, kind of petulant, just sort of a jerk, so goddamn depressed she’s positive she reeks with it, an incredible overpacker, maybe a little clingy, and exceedingly selfish.

Sad.

That’s the word for it. All-encompassing and all-consuming and she’s sad.

The tear that lands on her cheek seems a little pointless.

“Swan?” Emma shakes her head brusquely, but the tears don’t stop. If anything, they fall quicker, like they’re trying to prove a point and she should have told him from the start. She doesn’t understand why it hasn’t happened yet.

Maybe she’s just crazy.

That might be better.

“Together,” Cora echoes, either not reading the situation or, simply, not caring. “Interesting. And soulmate as well, I’d assume. You look rather close.”

Emma squeezes her eyes shut, praying to a variety of Gods she isn’t sure actually exist that she can disappear. She doesn’t. She feels Killian’s arm wrap around her instead, pulling her flush against his side and his cheek brushes over her hair when he nods. “Yeah. Soulmates.” Cora’s smile looks less than impressed. “Good for you. Always so wonderful when two people are able to find each other like that.”

“Would you excuse me?” Emma asks, voice rough and there are tears falling off her chin now.

She doesn’t wait for a response, just uncurls herself from Killian’s arm and marches down the hall with a purpose she absolutely does not have. A soulmate without a match and an orphan that no one wanted and, really, magic can go suck it.

Her legs stop moving about three-quarters of the way down the hall, dim lighting and a horribly patterned rug that she can’t believe Regina didn’t demand be removed and Emma’s dress bunches under her thighs when she slides down the wall.

It takes Elsa two full rings to pick up.

“Bad?”

“Yup,” Emma says, popping her lips on the word and the soft sigh in her ear is comforting in an end of the world sort of way. That feels melodramatic and kind of exactly what’s happening, something about the Earth and its previously affected rotation.

“Did you tell him?” “I can’t.” “Em,’ Elsa chastises. “You’ve got to tell him. What’s the worst that could happen? You’ve been together almost non-stop for more than a month. Even if he doesn’t believe in soulmates, this could still--” “--No, no, you don’t get it,” Emma cuts in, and eventually she will stop crying. Maybe in the next ten years. Whatever magical feeling she’d been feeling the night before has disappeared though, leaving an echo and an emptiness that feels as if it’s taking over her entire being.

A black hole.

She thinks that’s how the science works.

“What don’t I get?” “He doesn’t believe in soulmates--” “--We knew that already, that was part of the pitch.”

Emma shakes her head. Elsa can’t see her. She’s in a castle hallway. “He doesn’t believe in soulmates because his was killed. Tragically. And horribly. When he was in Boston, right after his brother died.” Elsa doesn’t respond immediately. Emma blinks. Twice. And one more time. “Thoughts,” she says, dragging the word out cautiously.

“Several thousand, honestly. But mostly...he was in Boston? At the same time you were in Boston? Like, maybe the same days, even?” Emma will promise for the rest of her life that she doesn’t freeze. And she doesn’t really – she’s blinking almost hyperactively, breath coming in pants and the fist she makes at her side causes her fingers to ache. She doesn’t freeze. She does everything else. Because she doesn’t have an answer.

And the thought hadn’t ever crossed her mind.

“I don’t--” she starts, jerking her head up when she hears cautious footsteps and he doesn’t move any further, standing stock-still with his tuxedo jacket gone and his hands in his pockets and the ghost of a smile lingering in the corners of his mouth.

“What day did you get to Boston?” Killian asks.

“What? That’s---I don’t understand.” Elsa’s saying something in the phone. Emma hangs up. She’ll apologize for that later.

“The date, love, please,” Killian says, and he still hasn’t moved. “Or the month. What month did you get there?” “What day did you get to Boston?” Emma challenges. His smile wavers, turning into something almost incredulous. Emma understands that. She can’t believe she’s asking for qualifiers, more misplaced hope lingering at the base of her spine. “Did David tell you something? Some crazy idea of this working and happily ever after? Because it doesn’t add up. It doesn’t. I’ve, well, I’ve been here for two years. It can’t--it’s not what you think it is.” “And what do I think it is?”

Emma glares at him. “Stop it. This is--” “--How long were you in Boston? A straight answer, Swan, it’s not that hard.”

“Yes, it is! It’s--” She shakes her head, jumping up and her phone crashes to the ground. Her skin is cracked. That’s probably a sign. “And it’s so stupid because soulmates are just forced love and expectations and I hate it. I hate the whole idea of it.”

Her whole body sags as soon as her jaw snaps shut, completely pitiful and just as sad as advertised. She’s crying again, tears blurring her vision which is probably why she doesn’t see Killian until he’s crowding into her space, an arm wrapping around her middle.

Emma’s hands move to his chest.

“It’s so stupid,” she repeats. “But I knew. I knew as soon as you walked in and you ordered that stupid coffee. I’d heard you before. When I was sixteen. I’d just been dropped off at a new group home because the last thing had been a disaster and it was like getting struck by lightning and--I knew, Killian, I knew.” She pulls in a deep breath, trying to regain her bearings but that’s admittedly difficult when Killian’s fingers lace through hers. “That was the moment. But it wasn’t for you. There was no--”

He doesn’t let her finish.

It’s incredibly cyclical.

One second she’s stammering out explanations and tears and the next his lips are back on hers and she’s pushing up on her toes to meet him easier and she should arrest herself for self-inflicted torture.

It’s better than it was the first time, more metaphors to be made about space and probably something about gravity and Emma briefly wonders if there are magnets in Killian’s hair.

It makes her laugh, the sound bubbling out of her. She can feel his smile, the arm around her waist tightening and she genuinely can’t believe she didn’t realize before.

She should have known as soon as she saw the world’s ugliest carpet.

Killian pulls away, dragging his mouth against her jaw instead and Emma’s back arches when he lands on her neck, tracing across skin and that spot behind her ear and she refuses to be held accountable for whatever noise she makes as soon as she hears the words.

Her words.

In her voice.

“It’s you, Emma.”

And just like that, it’s as if everything has settled. The world takes a deep breath, everything calm and normal and perfect in the way that nothing has ever been before and couldn’t ever hope to be again. “This whole time, Emma,” Killian continues, “it was you.”

“How?” “How? Did you just ask me how? What do you mean how?” “Exactly what that word means,” Emma mumbles impatiently, and that should not be an adverb she’s using in this situation. Her calves are starting to ache. “Ok, ok, I’m very confused. You don’t have a soulmate anymore. That’s...that’s right, right?” Killian shakes his head. “When did you leave Boston?” “Um, it was...December. It was freezing cold. It had snowed the night before, some kind of record-breaking thing that probably had to do with the water or whatever.”

“Record-breaking,” he repeats, a mix of disbelief and something Emma refuses to acknowledge in his voice. “December 20th? Did you leave on December 20th?” Emma clicks her teeth, trying to pinpoint dates and frustration over a moving service that blamed the snow for showing up three hours late. “Yeah, I think that’s right, actually. Where are you going with this?” He kisses her again. A little bruising and a little determined and as if he’s very certain of the next few words that are going to come out of his mouth. “I got to Boston on December 19th. I was supposed to get there the next day, but I couldn’t stay in Norfolk anymore and I just...I got in my car and drove and I was in Beacon Hill when I felt it. You.” Emma gapes at him. She’s doing that weird breathing thing again. “But, I--you said you met Milah three days later.” “I did. And I was very sure of a lot of things for a very long time, Emma. I really did love her. That--that hasn’t changed, but it was...I didn’t think I’d ever be able to feel what I felt in that moment again or even believe in much of anything after I lost her. Until you.”

She should respond without kissing him. She doesn't. He doesn’t seem to mind much. And they are very good at it.

“But that’s,” Emma starts, and part of her soars when Killian makes a noise as soon as she pulls her mouth away from his. “Ok, ok, hold on. So, I have my moment when I’m sixteen. You have yours two years ago and we’ve just been--” “--Idiots? Yes, I think that’s blatantly obvious. Why didn’t you tell me?” “About the moment?” Killian hums, and maybe he can actually see the pattern he’s following on her back. Something magical, probably. “Because it happened a lifetime ago and I’d been through so much shit and the Neal thing blew up in my face and I--David said you didn’t believe in soulmates.” Emma blinks when the realization slams into the back of her head. “Oh. That’s why. It hadn’t happened for you yet.” “I don’t understand. What hadn’t happened?”

Emma swallows, nodding at the arm still wrapped around her middle. “I couldn’t feel anything,” she whispers. “There was--” “--No hand, huh?” “I’m so sorry.” “That’s not your fault, love,” Killian says, brushing a kiss over her hair. “That’s...well that’s the world and I--well, you’ve been here for both of those things, Swan. Even if neither one of us realized it.”

“What do you mean?” “You never did ask why I decided to come to New York.” He does something ridiculous with his eyebrows and it takes Emma half a second to realize he’s having fun. She’s having fun. It’s exciting and ridiculous and, well...fun. “And I wasn’t going to,” Killian continues. “But Locksley was adamant and it was a good opportunity and all the hype. I just...I didn’t really decide to come until I got in my car and started driving and I knew it was right.” Emma has no idea what sound she makes. A laugh. A cry. The pure sound of complete and utter joy. “You knew?” “It felt like I was supposed to. That this was where I needed to be.”

“But wait, why didn’t you say anything? Did you realize it was me when you got here? Or feel something? And what did David say to you?” “Several very pointed things in the last two minutes, actually. But mostly that I was an idiot and that it was obvious how much I was into you, which is very true, just for the record.” Emma bites her lip.

“Anyway,” Killian continues. “He said he knew about Milah, but had been thinking about it and wasn’t it interesting that you and I might have been in the same city at the same time before?” “And you figured it out just like that?” “I’m very perceptive. Plus, I’d, well...I’d been thinking things. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I felt it again, that pull and the want and we were sitting on my couch and it was as if I’d only just realized the sun was still rising every day. I was sure I was going insane, but I figured even if we weren’t soulmates, it was--I would have followed you anywhere, Swan.” “That’s stupid romantic.” “Yeah, that was the goal.” They really are exceptionally good at kissing each other. They linger in each other’s space for awhile, more than content to press lips anywhere they can reach and she’s not sure which one of them makes what noise when another set of footsteps join the fray.

“Go away,” Killian says, not bothering to move his mouth away from Emma’s. She laughs again.

She can’t really help herself.

David does not, in fact, go away. “Did I do something good?”

“Are you here to gloat, Detective?” “I mean, a little? Was I right?” “Oh man,” Emma groans. “Were you following some kind of lead here? Was this just an exaggerated hunch?” “Not at first,” David admits. “But I did follow the overwhelming evidence that you two were spending nearly all your free time together and I knew you were both faking this date to get me off your back.” Killian scoffs. “Were we faking this, Swan? I’m not sure that we were.” “Nah,” she says, grinning when David rolls his eyes. “Probably not. Hey, you want to go on a date or something? Like...tomorrow.” Emma is very proud of the flush that forms on Killian’s cheeks immediately. “Tomorrow?” “Yeah, or like...today. Dates end with kissing, right?” David mumbles a string of increasingly creative curses, Killian’s eyebrows doing something impossible and the butterflies in the pit of Emma’s stomach feel strong enough that they could very easily plan world domination.

“Yeah, they do,” Killian nods. “C’mon, love, let’s go critique alcohol options.” They don’t wait for David to say – or curse – anything else, Killian tugging Emma down the hall with smiles on their faces and her phone still on the floor. She assumes David picks it up, shouting something that sounds like “I knew you’d do that” at them.

He dances with her.

She’s never danced with anyone before.

Emma can’t stop smiling, spinning and twirling and she’s never thought the world twirl before in her life.They dance and they drink and, at some point, someone asks Killian if he’s there with his soulmate.

His answering smile could probably power whatever machine this piece of garbage DJ is using.

Emma can’t believe Regina’s wedding has a DJ.

“Yeah,” he nods, the arm around her waist tightening slightly and it’s difficult to understand the words when they’re pressed against the top of her hair. “I am.”

Mary Margaret’s answering squeal can probably be heard on the moon.

She calls Ruby. In the middle of the reception.

Ruby’s answering scream is piercing.

“Can’t keep a secret to save her life,” Emma mumbles, but then the music shifts and they’re moving again and she can’t seem to catch her breath. “Hey, um,” she adds, glancing up and she’s fairly certain he already knows what she’s going to say. She says it anyway. That’s a nice feeling. “I love you.”

They keep moving when he kisses her, an impressive show of balance and romance and really sticking it to the whole soulmate trope because Emma’s fairly certain she’d mean it without the labels or the names and--

“I love you,” he says, mumbled against her lips and the curve of her jaw and the bridge of her nose. Over and over. A repeat and return and some kind of joke about rhythm that’s appropriate with a really shitty DJ in the background.

It’s perfect.

And they don’t actually do much except sleep later, curled up in the middle of a very expensive hotel room bed because it’s still a castle and Killian mentions something about liking the color of your dress, love and Emma closes her eyes with a smile on her face, certain, for the first time that she can hope for everything.

And get it. 

They go to Disney World two years later.

After they elope.

No one is surprised.