#this is finally escaping wip hell congratulations guys !!

[sashthesloth]

POV the pathfinder is taking diplomatic relations a bit too seriously

[serenxanthe]

Zakuul: A SWTOR WiP

Seren and Theron try to have a conversation after five years apart while dodging skytroopers and Lana’s ire.

This is one of the eleventy million WiPs I’m working on rather than editing the final three chapters of my Coruscant story to upload to AO3.

I just typed this on my phone this morning so it’s 100% unedited, and I’m still on my phone, so apologies for any formatting weirdness that appears.

This is a small snippet of my story based on the rescue from carbonite through to founding of the base of Odessen section of KOTFE. It’s a bit of a fixit fic for where the hell was Theron for nine chapters?

Seren and Lana headed off a group of approaching skytroopers while T7 and Theron hacked into yet another security terminal, frantically trying to cover their trail and confuse and slow down their pursuers. An unfamiliar male voice sounded over their comms asking Lana if she had ‘The Outlander’. That was what she was here, Seren supposed.

Seren learnt that the man’s name was Koth Vortena and that he was piloting the shuttle that would meet them at the planned pick-up point. The shuttle that Theron had piloted in would be abandoned to further confuse Zakuulan Security. Lana and Koth’s relaxed banter was unusual for the Sith, or at least it had been five years ago, so Seren asked her, “Is that your boyfriend Lana?”

Theron snorted with a suppressed laugh, “That’s a good question!” he congratulated her.

Lana’s face was unamused, and her only answer was, “I’ll pretend that isn’t your greatest concern at the moment.”

Lana’s love life wasn’t Seren’s greatest concern, but she had successfully mostly satisfied herself that if Theron did have a new boyfriend or girlfriend, at least it wasn’t Lana, or this guy Koth.

Seren sighed inwardly, she should probably just ask Theron rather than trying to rule potential love interests out through a process of elimination. She was thirty now, wasn’t she? Maybe she should try to behave in a slightly more mature way. But in her defence she’d stepped into Valkorion’s palace having just turned twenty-five and now she was suddenly five years older. It would take time to adjust, she told herself.

They continued their escape, their pace by necessity frenetic, until a long lift journey of hundreds of stories within the spire forced them to pause. Seren had so many questions; what had happened in the galaxy, were the Republic and Sith Empire fighting the Eternal Empire, or each other, both, neither? Was Lana aware of Marr’s death? Where was the rest of Seren’s crew? She rested her hand on T7, grateful he was here at least. She didn’t know where to begin.

Theron was staring at her, seemingly unable to take his eyes off her face. Suddenly, her most urgent question was clear.

“Theron, are you… single?” Seren asked him, her heart in her mouth.

“WHAT?!” Theron exclaimed, “No, of course I’m not single, I’m…”

His voice and facial expression were so outraged that Seren took a step back, startled.

“Sorry Theron, of course you’re not. Of course. It’s been five years, I’m sorry. I wasn’t assuming, just asking, I…”

Lana rolled her eyes so hard she was worried she’d hurt herself. How had these two idiots ever managed to be in a relationship for five years when they seemed completely incapable of communicating with each other effectively? Their two year break-up somewhere in the middle of that was beginning to make more and more sense to her.

Theron was staring furiously at Seren, and she was looking anywhere but him, trying surreptitiously to brush the tears from her eyes.

“If I can interject here…” Lana started.

“Back off, Lana!” Theron snarled at her.

She ignored him and spoke to Seren, “Seren, what Theron is trying, badly, to say is that he’s not single because he still considers himself to be in a relationship with you.”

Seren looked up at her, her face suddenly suffused with shocked hope.

“Theron, what I believe Seren was asking is whether or not you are in a relationship with somebody else who you’d met during the five years she was in carbonite. Yes?”

Seren nodded in silent confirmation, then turned to look at Theron again, her eyes huge. “You’re not with somebody else?” She asked him, wanting to be clear this time.

Theron shook his head, “Never. I’d never… I waited for you Seren, I waited.” His voice sounded muffled, as if he was close to tears himself.

Seren swallowed, “You waited? Do you mean that… you didn’t meet anyone at all while I was gone?”

Theron shook his head, “I didn’t, I… couldn’t.” He broke off, furiously trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Seren stepped towards him and took his hands. “But Theron, you thought I was dead. How could you have been waiting?”

“I was grieving, then I found out you were alive, then I was waiting. Why is that so difficult for you to believe? Do you really have such a low opinion of me?” Theron was sad. And angry. He wasn’t completely sure at whom.

Lana was almost relieved when the lift jerked to a halt on the ground floor and they were greeted with a barrage of blaster fire from yet another group of skytroopers. This ongoing conversation between Seren and Theron was painfully protracted, and she was sick of hearing it, sick of being the dues ex machina in their space opera. They all needed to focus on surviving this escape, and the ache in her abdomen was purely anxiety over that, she told herself firmly.

[a-bang-for-your-bucky]

Welcome Home (Part One)

(NOT MY GIF)

Summary: After not speaking to her brothers for over a year, Peyton Rhodes’ life is turned upside down when her boyfriend of four years cheats on her. She uproots her life with WWE and returns home to Atlanta. She finds herself among great friends and she is finding herself again after being lost for so long.

WORD COUNT: 2,624 (well shit). 

Pairings: Cody Rhodes x OFC (Sister), Brandi Rhodes x OFC (sister), Dustin Rhodes x OFC (Sister), past Seth Rollins x OFC, future Kenny Omega x OFC (maybe?), MJFx OFC( maybe?) Could end up being Matt Jackson x OFC (who knows) let the writing gods surprise us.

WARNINGS: explicit language, mentioned cheating, possible future smut (Warnings are subject to change as I continue writing and will be updated as needed).

A/N: This has been a WIP for over a year now. This will be multiple parts. It will be a slow burn. (MAYBE) I’m a sucker for the friends to lovers trope. Please do not think that this reflects my feels toward a certain wrestler (Seth). This story is strictly fiction. I do not own any of the characters except for my OFC(s). Please, please, please, give me feedback. I’m slowly working myself back into the fanfic world. <3

“Cody was right.” I cried as soon as my brother’s wife answered the phone. I hadn’t spoken to my brothers since they left WWE. Cody was upset that I wouldn’t leave with him. Brandi was my way of communication with them. She’d call at least twice a week. This week was different. 

“I caught him. I went to congratulate him after his win over Finn and they were,” I sniffled, hurt coming over me again. “It was Mandy. I thought she was my friend.” I explained to my sister in law.

“Pey, I am so sorry. Please come home. You know AEW has a spot for you whenever you want it.” Brandi offered. It was the same thing she said to me every week, but now I’m ready. 

“I just don’t know why.” I cried. “I was the perfect girlfriend. I basically put my career on hold for him. I thought he was, I thought he was it for me.” Brandi had said that they were going to be home for Cody’s birthday in a few weeks and invited me to come to the party. 

“I’ll talk to Hunter.” I choked out. 

Luckily, my contract was almost up and as soon as Vince heard I didn’t want to re-sign, he settled for my release. We didn’t have the best relationship, but Hunter advocated for me stating that it was best for the company as well as myself. He knew the situation and didn’t blame me for wanting to go.

I knew I had to go back one day. I just never thought it would be this soon. I parked my car in the drive. I could hear Pharaoh announcing my arrival before I could make it to the door. I made my way up the sidewalk to the porch. I took a deep breath and knocked. 

Brandi opened the door immediately. “Well I'll be damned.” She said, “I can’t believe you came!” I smiled, embracing my brother’s wife. 

“Like I would miss my big brother’s 35th birthday.” I lied and she knew it. If Seth hadn’t cheated on me, I wouldn’t be here. 

Brandi led me inside where there were some guests who had gathered in the foyer. Brandi introduced me quickly, leading me through to Cody. “Hey, babe. Your surprise is here.” Cody, who was standing by the fireplace, talking to Dustin, turned and saw me. 

Awkwardly, I raised a hand to wave. “Hi.” I whispered. Cody sat down his drink and walked over to me. I expected him to cuss and yell, but instead, he threw his arms around me, hugging me tightly. 

“Peyton, I'm so happy you’re here.” He whispered. Dustin came up behind him. 

“Long time, no see sis. You know, they invented this thing called a phone. You should look into it. Call your big brothers sometime.” Dustin fussed before hugging me too. 

“It is really good to see you guys.” I tried to hold back the tears, but some escaped anyway. “How have you been? AEW has really taken off huh?” I said making small talk.

Cody nodded, “Yeah, I have the best business partners. I can’t wait for you to meet them.” Looking at my brother, he was truly happy. WWE had given him a few more stress lines, but seeing him now, you couldn’t tell. 

He grabbed my hand, pulling me to follow him. He led me to Matt and Nick Jackson, standing with Kenny Omega and Adam Page. “Guys! Guys! Look who decided to show her face.” Cody beamed, smiling big. The four guys waved. 

“Finally! We get to meet the prodigal sister.” Kenny Omega spoke first. 

“Peyton, these are the guys.” Cody pointed to each of them. “Matt. Nick. Kenny. Adam.” 

“Nice to meet y’all finally. I watch your show every week. You are all very talented.” They all mumbled a “thank you” in tandem. 

The rest of the evening went by smoothly. We all sat and talked. Getting to know The Elite was amazing. It was almost as if I hadn’t been AWOL for a year and a half.  When the party was over, I was helping Brandi clean up. 

“Pey, you don’t have to help. You’re a guest.” She said, grabbing the glasses from my hands. I shook my head.

“I’m family. And family helps.” I smiled, taking the glasses back and continued to the kitchen. Cody walked in behind me with plates. 

“Hey,” he started, “Thank you for coming.” He finished, placing the plates in the dishwasher. I added my glasses. 

“I’m sorry.” I blurted out, turning to face him. Cody looked at me, confused. “I should have left with you. You were right about that place. My career, my relationship, everything, became a shitshow after you left.” tears began to fall. 

“Pey, it’s okay. I’m just happy you’re here now.” Cody wiped the tears away. 

“Code. I lost my title. Seth cheated on me, and I barely got any TV time.” Cody scoffed. He never liked Seth.

“He cheated on you?” Cody growled, and paced around the room. 

I nodded, “I caught him. I went to congratulate him after his win one night and they were,” I sniffled, explaining to Cody. “I don’t know why.” I cried. “And then I lost my title, and then stopped getting TV time, unless I was on Seth’s arm.” I darted my eyes to the ground. “We still had to work together. After everything, I had to pretend like we were the perfect couple, until my last appearance.” Cody pulled me into a tight hug. 

“I pissed a lot of people off with the way I left. I’m so sorry that affected you.” he whispered into my hair, like it was his fault. 

“I don’t blame you, Code. I was granted my release.” I mumbled into his chest. He pulled back. 

“What?” His eyes were wide. 

“I asked for my release and Hunter pushed it through. I’ll be a free agent in 90 days” I explained. Cody smiled like a Cheshire cat.  

“Babe! Dustin! Get in here!” Cody yelled, startling me. The both of them came running, looking for an emergency, but they only saw Cody pouring champagne for a toast. Confused looks covered their faces. 

Cody gave everyone a flute and started a toast. “To our baby sister, the newest AEW superstar.” Brandi squealed and hugged me tight. The guys joined in. 

I was finally home. 

It was hard, walking away from my life in WWE; However, finding my place within the Elite was easy. Especially with Kenny Omega. He quickly became one of my closest friends. The next 3 months were the best of my life. The break from wrestling gave my body and my heart time to heal. Everyone did their best to hide that I was coming to AEW, even leaving fake trails that I was going back to NJPW.

After working out the details of my contract, I was officially signed with AEW. Cody wanted me to make a surprise entrance, interrupt one of his segments. Creative loved the idea of brother and sister reuniting, but they wanted to make it interesting. When my debut date came, I couldn’t have been any more nervous.

Sitting in catering, I was alone, lost in thought, picking at my food. It had been a long journey here, but they made it. AEW came to life and it was thriving. Double or nothing had passed, and that meant tonight was Dynamite.

“Guess who?” Someone had snuck up on me, covering my eyes. I smiled because I knew exactly who it was.

“Hmm, Prince Charming?” I guessed quickly. Kenny placed a sloppy kiss to my cheek.

“Close, but better.” He said uncovering my eyes. “Hey, princess. Just thought I’d come save you from your thoughts. What’s going on in that head of yours right now?” he asked, knowing I’ll tell him, taking the seat next to me. 

I sighed, rubbing my face. “I was thinking about my journey, how I got here.” Kenny nodded, but didn’t say anything. “I was thinking about how I get to see Jon again, since leaving WWE, and I was thinking about Seth.” I finally spit it out. Seth, his name leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

“I knew something was bothering you. Talk to me, doll.”

“I was scrolling through Insta earlier. He’s engaged. I know I shouldn’t care, but I do. Not because I still have feelings for him, but because she is, was, my friend, and I don’t want him to do to her what he did to me.” I explained to him.

“That’s understandable, Pey, but people gotta make their own mistakes. Mandy knows what he did to you and she still said yes, so that’s on her.” Kenny said, ever the voice of reason.

I nodded in agreement with him, knowing he was right. I needed to focus on my new path, my new future.

“Peyton!” Cody called from a distance, Brandi following him. It was time.

Cody stood, center ring, proudly. He had won the TNT title at Double or Nothing. He went on about how he was issuing an open challenge every Wednesday.

I stood nervously behind the curtain, waiting for my cue. I was about to make my debut. My life has been a little crazy since I left WWE behind, but definitely for the better. 

As an avid Fall Out Boy fan, I had struck a deal to have my favorite song as my entrance music. I had been using it for most of my career. The music hit, the crowd went crazy. “Holy Hell, that music can only mean one person. The sister of the American Nightmare. That’s Peyton Rhodes!” JR yelled into his mic as I strolled down the ramp, ignoring the crowd. “Peyton” chants filled the arena as I made my way to the squared circle. 

“Peyton Rhodes has joined  AEW and the crowd couldn’t be happier,” Excalibur added. I walked around the ring to the time keeper, grabbing a mic from Justin, and strolled on toward the ring. 

The music cut, and Cody was first to speak. "Oh yeah. I guess we didn't announce this but Peyton Rhodes is AEW!" The crowd screamed at Cody's news, chanting "AEW". 

I soaked in the cheers because I knew it was all about to change. I had been a face for most of my pro-wrestling career, and now I finally get to pursue the heel turn my fans had been begging for. I took in a deep breath and adjusted my leather jacket. 

“Oh, Atlanta, shut the hell up!” I groaned into the mic. I revelled in the audible gasp that could be heard. “That’s right. No more sweet ‘Georgia peach’ Peyton Rhodes. I came to AEW to raise hell, and that’s what I’m going to do.” I wandered around the ring, stopping in front of a camera. “I’m sick and tired of wanting your approval. I’m here to get what I want. And I want it all.” I punctuated as I looked dead into the camera.

“Hear that big brother,” I turned and faced Cody, “Hell just arrived in AEW I hope you’re ready.” I gestured to the crowd, “I hope you’re all ready, because if you thought Cody was a nightmare, wait til you see me, the Dream Killer.” I dropped the mic, and rolled out of the ring. The crowd loved it. “Dream Killer” chants echoed in my ears all the way backstage. 

I was greeted by Dustin, Brandi, and Kenny. “That was perfect, Pey, they loved it.” Kenny said as soon as I was in sight. I grinned, running up to him, jumping into his arms for a hug. 

“The crowd loved you. They’ve been hoping for this heel turn since your WWE debut.” Cody said, smiling from ear to ear as he returned to the back after finishing his promo.

“For real, Pey! You pull off the ‘heel’ thing. I can’t wait to work on your wardrobe!” Brandi squealed, embracing me in a dancing hug. “Just think about the shoes, Pey, the shoes.” Brandi was way more excited about the outfits than the actual turn. She had helped me pick the one I was wearing. Black jean shorts, a front-zip black and white crop top, leather jacket, and black boots. 

“I can’t wait to see where this takes me.” I said before we were joined by the rest of The Elite.  

Nick was the first to speak. “Not bad, Rhodes. You might be a better heel than your brother here.” He elbowed Cody in the ribs.

Matt nodded in agreement, “For real Peyton, the crowd was so hyped for that turn.” He said with a soft smile, bringing me in for a quick hug. 

I turned to face everyone. “Thanks guys. All of you. You gave me this chance.” I thanked them, “I promise I won’t let you down.” 

“You’re a great addition to the AEW family.” Adam complimented, “Come on Ken, we got a match to get ready for.” he said before walking away. Kenny gave me one last hug before following him.

Cody and Brandi also parted as she had a segment coming up, leaving me with the Young Bucks. “Come on, Pey, lets celebrate!” We had walked back to catering where some more of the AEW stars were waiting. In the back, I spotted the one person I couldn’t wait to see again. I told The Bucks I’d catch up with them. 

“Jon!” I screamed, almost running to him. When he saw me rushing toward him, he opened his arms, inviting me in for a hug. Hugging him was a blast from the past. 

“Peyton fucking Rhodes. I heard rumors you were coming. Sweetheart, you knocked them dead.” He spoke into my hair. I gave him one more tight squeeze before pulling away. “Well, you look great.” He said, gesturing to my outfit. 

“I’m heel now. Finally.” I boasted. I’ve been waiting for this for the longest time and no one was taking it away from me. Jon and I talked, catching up. I asked about Renee and he lit up. He was happy and that’s all I wanted for him. He was finally able to be the fighting champion everyone knew he could be. 

“What about Seth? What happened? The last time I spoke to him, he said you guys were happy and he had bought a ring.” Jon asked, and it knocked the breath out of me. I knew he would ask, but I wasn’t expecting him to mention a ring. 

“He cheated on me. With Mandy. They’re engaged now.” I said without choking up, which was a good sign. I could see the disappointment well up in Jon’s eyes. 

“You were always too good for him.” I knew he and Seth were still good friends, but I appreciated the words nonetheless. Jon gave me one last hug before he got called away for his match, leaving me alone in catering again. 

I found a table close to a TV so I could watch the end of Kenny and Adam’s match. They were well on their way to becoming tag team champions. I started thinking about what Jon had said about Seth, about him buying a ring. I couldn’t believe it. He was going to ask me to marry him and I would have said yes, had I not found him with Mandy. I was pulled from my thoughts by my phone vibrating. It was Seth. 

I saw your debut. 

You look good. 

You’re gonna be a great heel.

I miss you. 

I wish you would talk to me and let me explain. 

I read and reread the messages a hundred times before replying. 

Okay, Seth. When and where?

[immortalcoelacanth]

Between the Walls, Chapter 3: To Earn His Keep (Dream SMP fic)

*hits table*

I have so many wips, why is my muse just like this?

Word count: 5313

Summary: Jobs are assigned and questions are asked as to why the hell Tommy and Techno are still putting up with one another.

Tommy had been confused as to what Techno meant by him having to work to earn the right to stay in his house. What work could he possibly do that would benefit him?! He couldn’t chop wood, or mine any precious resources. Crafting was also out of the question since he could only make things that were good for someone his size, so that left…

Nothing.

There was nothing he could do. There was no possible job that would suit him that Techno would benefit from, so he honestly had no idea what would come of the deal they had made. Perhaps nothing at all, and he would be allowed

Yeah right, as if he had ever been that lucky.

“TECHNOBLAAAAAADE! YOU FUCKING DICKHEAD!” Tommy howled as he clutched the wooden bars of the makeshift cage he was in. It was practically a repurposed box, the gap between the bars being too slim for the borrower to slip through, but even if they were big enough, he wouldn’t dare escape.

Primarily because of the large pit of groaning mods below him.

Apparently, the “work” Techno had planned for him was nothing more than him acting as bait for a basic mob farm. He was suspended above a pit, his cage attached to a wooden outcropping, and the faint glowing of the strange, red and orange cubes below him allowed him to easily see the hoard of zombies, skeletons, and the occasional creeper milling about.

He glanced back at the house and scowled, knowing Techno was probably sitting inside, all safe and warm. The cage barely blocked out any of the freezing winds, and since Tommy hadn’t been able to grab a jacket before being put out here, there was nothing to protect him from the cold. He was stuck, freezing and yelling at the top of his lungs.

Damn that stupid pig-

… Or hybrid.

It was a term the borrower was vaguely familiar with, he had been eavesdropping when one of the farmers back in Borrowton mentioned “hybrid plants” and how useful they could be. From what he knew, hybrids were like a sort of mixture, two different things being used to make one. Two different plants producing a new one.

He guessed one of Techno’s parents really was a pig fucker.

Tommy snorted at the joke before shuddering in the brisk breeze, arms wrapping tightly around himself while he huddled up on the floor of the cage. It sucked, being out here with nothing but the mobs for company. At least when he had been with Techno, he’d been able to interact, to socialize. It was something that he had always craved, to be able to reach out and connect with people. Even Techno’s occasional barbs, jokes, and the anger he caused Tommy to feel was better than being stuck outside.

Bastard, going from acting like he wanted to protect him to sticking him out here.

… Speaking of which, it had been very strange to witness that exchange. See the way that Techno hesitated to reveal his presence, and the fact that he had tried to hide Tommy further after the librarian made it aware that he knew the borrower was there. Some part of him had cheered, recognizing that maybe the pig-hybrid actually cared about him in some way, even though they had only known one another for about a day, but Techno’s actions earlier-

“What’re you making?” Tommy hesitantly asked as tried to stare at the crafting table. He had basically been told, ordered, to wait on the table while Techno finished whatever it was that he was making. Not wanting to anger the pigman, he had reluctantly done his best to stay in place.

Fidgeting the entire time, of course. Staying put had never been his strong suit.

“Just something to help with your new job.” Techno explained before turning around and showing off the cage he had made. “Gonna make things a lot easier.”

“... What’re you gonna put in it, then?” Tommy questioned, not at all liking where this was going. Of course, the answer he got was one he had expected, but still never wanted to hear.

“You, duh.”

Techno grinned, and Tommy felt his heart drop.

“You’re gonna be the bait.”

Had obliterated the small sparks of that hope. Techno didn’t care about him and only saw him as a means to an end. Probably why he got so huffy when that other guy noticed him. Clearly no one was allowed to mess with or torment Tommy unless it was Techno himself-

Twang!

The borrower let out a startled yelp as an arrow slammed into the side of his cage, making it rock and sway. He scrambled to the side of the enclosure and tried to spot what had shot at him. His eyes scanned the empty yard, briefly landing on the empty stall that Techno must have built for some reason. It was weird to just have that structure sitting there, all empty and ready for some animal to inhabit it-

There!

Tommy shook himself out of his thoughts as he spotted the source of the arrow. A lone skeleton that had, somehow, not stumbled over and fallen into the pit, was aiming at him, bow drawn and another arrow pointed in his direction. He immediately backpedaled, arms flailing as the newest arrow was released, just barely missing the cage.

Shit, shit!

“Fuck off you stupid bitch!” Tommy howled as the skeleton readied another arrow. As it was aimed at him, his panic and the pitch of his voice increased until he was practically shrieking. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU-”

Twang!

Another arrow slammed into the skeleton’s skull, bone shattering and turning to dust. The monster dropped to the ground, the fallen bow and arrows the only sign of it ever having been there, and he quickly looked over at what, or who, had shot the arrow.

Technoblade.

Of course.

“Couldn’t have shown up any sooner, you bitch?!” He shouted, internally cringing when those too bright, red eyes landed on him. He watched as the hybrid rested the crossbow he had used to kill the skeleton on his shoulder before making his way over to the wooden post. He glared down at Techno, more than aware of how not intimidating he looked as he shuddered in the cold. Although, his glare lightened up when he was finally removed from the post, less exposed to the winds as he was unintentionally sheltered by the hybrid’s body.

“I was just testing a hypothesis I had.” Techno simply responded. The borrower waited to see if he would elaborate on what that meant. A moment passed, then two, and then-

“Well tell me then! You don’t need to act so secretive!”

That tiny, near invisible smile on Techno’s face grew as he started to speak. “A hypothesis on whether your voice is annoying enough to instantly agro mobs, and it is from the looks of it. Congratulations-”

“Wh-you bitch!” Tommy sputtered as he raged and pointed aggressively at the amused hybrid. “I have the voice of an angel! It’s not annoying!”

As if trying to prove Techno’s point, and in turn prove the borrower wrong, another arrow was launched at the duo. Techno easily dodged it, hardly sparing a glance at the new skeleton as he returned fire and took it down, while Tommy was jostled about thanks to the sudden movement. He just barely managed to stop himself from smacking his head against the wooden bars, and that scowl on his face grew deeper.

For some reason, Techno possessed the uncanny ability to infuriate Tommy no matter what he did. Whether it was his occasionally smug, know-it-all attitude or how obtuse he could be at times, there was just something about him that never failed to upset the borrower.

… Not that he would ever tell him, of course.

Of course, his general unease and anxiety towards this new situation did not help in the slightest, leaving him on edge and ready to snap when something potentially bad happened. It was a miracle he had not been killed yet, and he quietly wondered how much longer his luck would last.

Not that such a thought would stop him from acting like how he typically did.

So, as was in his nature, Tommy immediately started shouting and cursing once more. “And why the fuck did you stick me up there for so long, anyways?! It was freezing up there-”

“You wanna go for round two?” Techno interrupted, lifting the cage up so Tommy could easily see the wooden post he had been hanging from. Immediately, the borrower backed up and started shaking his head.

“No! No, c’mon man! I was just teasing you!” He backpedaled. “Just a little joke, I swear!”

“The only joke here is your accidental pun.” Techno quipped, his smile growing as he watched realization, and then horror, cross Tommy’s face.

“Listen! It’s-it’s a crime to make jokes about me being small, because I’m not! Absolutely criminal!”

Techno let out another chuckle as he shut the door behind him and made his way towards the table. “It’s a good thing I don’t follow laws, then.”

Tommy didn’t dare ask what that meant.

Fortunately, a distraction soon appeared in the form of the cage being set down on the table, followed by one of the sides being removed. He quickly jumped out once there was enough room for him to move, stumbling a bit over the lip of the cage before he straightened himself out.

He ignored the amused snort he heard from beside him, not at all looking at Techno, and instead chose to bask in the sensation of finally being indoors, even if he was still freezing. Tommy shuddered as he wrapped his arms around himself, doing his best to heat up after being exposed to the cold for however long he had been stuck outside. The roaring fireplace definitely helped to chase away some of the chill, and he found his eyes lingering on the large pot that had been added to the fireplace. The air smelled… nice, and it looked like Techno had decided to make soup for himself.

Strange, since he swore the hybrid’s diet consisted of nothing but steak and the occasional, weird sparkly apple.

God, he’d been dying to bite into one of those and see what they tasted like…

He jumped in surprise as Techno placed a small, obviously handmade, wooden bowl filled with soup on the table. Curious, he slowly walked over and checked it out. It was still a bit too large for him to use, he’d probably drown himself if he tried to drink straight from it, but it was definitely much more manageable for him to use.

“Is… is that for me?”

The hybrid just nodded as he got himself his own bowl of soup. As such, he was unaware of how Tommy’s jaw dropped in pure shock, as he carefully traced the side of the bowl. The guy who’d spent the last twenty four hours tormenting him had made something for him, made something that would make his life easier!

He hadn’t been given any cutlery when he’d been kicked out of Borrowton, all he had were some basic tools and rations of food. The absolute bare necessities. And, instead of letting him suffer and search for something he could use, Techno had made it using his own two hands.

It dawned on him, in some strange, iconic twist of fate that he had unintentionally helped Tommy out more than his own people had. Invested more care into making sure he didn’t just survive, but was also comfortable.

… And not spilling soup all over the place-

Regardless, it was one of the last things he would have ever expected from Techno, and he quietly wondered if the hybrid had been working on the bowl while he had been stuck outside. Was this…

A reward?

Tommy’s breathing hitched and he quickly wiped his eyes before any of the budding tears could fall, idiot, crying over something as stupid as a bowl. By the time he had gotten his emotions under control, Techno had looked over to find him just staring at the bowl, appearing to be doing nothing.

“Did you expect me to spoon feed you or something?” He chuckled, waiting for Tommy to respond. When the borrower said nothing, his smile faded. “Bruh-”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Tommy objected, nearly knocking the bowl over as he turned his attention to Techno. “I’m just surprised! Big, bad, Blade making a bowl, never thought I’d see the day. Guess you’ve got little dainty girl hands for that!”

Techno rolled his eyes as the borrower continued rambling, tuning him out as he went about his supposedly dainty hands, and questions about if he made bird houses in his spare time. Eventually, Tommy got that he was done interacting, and the duo focused on their respective meals, with the borrower burning his tongue in his haste to try the soup.

“Fuck.” He hissed, waving a hand over the bowl to help it cool down as he cringed in pain. After waiting for the burning sensation to fade, as well as checking to see whether the soup had cooled down enough, he carefully tried again.

As he slowly sipped away at his soup, he watched as Techno made his way over to a chair, picking up the book that had been placed on it, as well as putting on his reading glasses. They were surprisingly worn, primarily held together by tape, and just barely managed to stay on the hybrid’s face as he sat down and cracked open the book. He then quickly realized that the book was the one he had gotten from the librarian.

The one about borrowers.

He felt… weird knowing someone was basically researching him, studying up on the supposed myths about his kind, and wondered to himself when he would get interrogated. Would Borrowton be mentioned in that book, or one of the other settlements? Tommy had never visited them, but he knew they were out there.

Knew about the rumours of the secret tracks that had supposedly connected each settlement to one another and was used to ship goods back and forth. He and Tubbo had tried searching for them one day and had only wound up with bruises and a stern scolding from the adult borrowers, telling them it was foolish to believe in made up stories.

But he never listened. Those tracks were there, had to be there. He and Tubbo had spent so many nights dreaming of how they’d get away, racing down the rails in a minecart. The angry yells and shouts fading as they raced off into their newest adventure.

They had planned to find a home using those rails.

And they would, Tommy promised himself as he grit his teeth. They would go on that adventure, they would find a home. He would get back to Tubbo, no matter what. All he needed was to figure out how to get back to Borrowton, and perhaps snag some supplies from Techno when he wasn’t looking.

… Maybe that book would come in handy after all.

Not that he had any hope in hell of stealing it, or even really reading it since the book was considerably larger than him, but it was the only chance he had at figuring out where Borrowton was and how he might get there.

It was ironic, to think he had spent so long dreaming about getting away from that hellhole and then ending up stuck in a situation where he needed to do everything he could to get back.

All in the name of Tubbo, of course.

He’d rather spend the rest of his life stuck with the annoying prick known as Technoblade instead of going back to Borrowton if it weren’t for Tubbo.  

… He did need a proper plan, though. He had to survive, figure out how to escape the hellish tundra he was in, get supplies for his journey which would probably last several days, and figure out what path he needed to take to reach Borrowton. Plus he’d need to figure out how to sneak in and find Tubbo, too.

So many things… did he even have a chance at completing them all? He could easily freeze to death in the snow, get mauled by some monster, starve, get lost and never reach his destination-

Don’t think about it.

He let out a sigh and placed the bowl down, distantly noticing he had finished his soup. It was nice, tasted like potatoes and something else. Unconsciously, he started rubbing his thumb against the smooth rim of the wooden bowl. All in all, being exiled wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it was going to be, aside from him missing Tubbo of course. Techno was a bastard, a prick through and through, but he was surprisingly…

Nice wasn’t the word. Less cruel than he thought he would be? He thought back to the discussion with that nerdy librarian and let out a snort. Borrowers and hybrids working together, living together, sounded like a load of crap.

… Even if he was technically doing that just now.

But it wasn’t like there was some mystical force making them act all soft! Like… like they were best friends or something! He and Techno weren’t buddies or allies, they were just stuck together until either Techno got tired of him and kicked him out, or he left.

Nothing more, nothing less.

With both his meal and mental contemplation finished, he stood up and made his way over to the edge of the table, attaching his grappling hook to the end and throwing the rope over the side. He didn’t bother to check on what Techno was doing as he slid down, bowl carefully pinned between his arm and his body, and felt no need to tell the hybrid he was leaving. The last thing he wanted was to piss him off or something.

As he made his way over to the hole in the floor that would lead to his home, he was unaware of the contemplative, glowing red eyes that followed him. Nor did he see how those eyes narrowed as they landed on the bowl he was still carrying.

The next day, Tommy jolted awake as the sound of knocking reverberated through the hollow he lived in. He yelped in surprise and promptly tumbled out of his makeshift bed, a pile of wool and other fabric he had managed to steal from Techno. For a moment he stayed on the floor, looking up at the carved ceiling as he contemplated whether it was worth it to get up or not.

The more trust you gain, the more you can get away with. Work. Take what you can. Find a way back to Tubbo-

Yup, that was enough motivation to get him moving.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright and got ready for whatever Techno had planned for the day. Since it was morning he doubted he’d be acting as bait again, nor did he think he would have to deal with any mobs. Perhaps he would get a chance to relax?

Maybe he might be able to scope out some of the more valuable items Techno had that could help him since he didn’t have to worry about sneaking around as much. Or he could always try and check that book out and see if he could actually move the pages enough to read it.

But before he could even consider doing that, he had to figure out what Techno wanted from him.

It didn’t take long for him to finish freshening up, and soon enough he was quickly making his way back through the tunnels towards one of the few exits he had made. Fortunately, the section of the tunnel that Techno had damaged had been replaced.

Of course, the hybrid had left it up to Tommy to actually carve out the replacement tunnel, which left the whole system feeling pretty disconnected since the walls no longer lined up.

The prick.

Eventually he made his way out of the tunnel, climbed out of the hole in the floor, and walked out into the open. Instinctively he shuddered, hating how exposed he felt. This feeling only increased as he felt the ground shake with each of Techno’s steps. In no time at all, he found himself in the hybrid’s shadow once more, reminded of just how vulnerable he was.

He hated it, hated it so damn much, but he did his best to swallow his fears and not retreat back into the comforting shadows of the shelf.

“So, what’s the plan for today, big man?” Tommy asked, rocking back and forth in place as he stared up, and up, and up, at the hybrid. Damn Techno and his stupid tallness, making his neck hurt with how far up he had to look.

He let out a startled yelp when he was picked up, the back of his shirt pinched yet again as he was moved from the ground and carried over to the crafting table. It took all of his willpower to stop himself from struggling, lest he was dropped, and he felt no small amount of relief when he was put down.

“The fuck was that for?!”

“I didn’t feel like watching you fumble with a rope.”

“Fumble?” Tommy scoffed and flexed his arms. “There ain’t no fumblin’ with manly muscles like these-”

“Are they just for show or do you actually know how to use them, then?”

Well that question definitely caught him off guard. The borrower paused, momentarily uncertain as to how to respond, before he that cocky smile appeared on his face once again. “I’ve won plenty of fights with these bad boys-”

“Great.” He didn’t miss the way Techno rolled his eyes, nor did he miss the heavy sarcasm that laced his voice. “Try this out.”

The item that the hybrid nudged over was… surprising to say the least.

“It’s… a stick.” Tommy blinked as he picked the stick up and looked it over. It was a bit longer than the length of his forearm, and if it weren’t for the lack of a sharpened end he would have assumed it was just a toothpick. “You gave me a stick.”

“It’s for practice, I’m not gonna give you a sharpened one and watch you trip and stab yourself with it.”

“I wouldn’t-practice?” All the anger Tommy felt at the implication of being a clutz, which he absolutely was not, evaporated as what Techno was saying registered. “For what?!”

“Self defense.” Techno shrugged. Upon taking note of the aghast expression on Tommy’s face, he elaborated further. “Not everyone you meet is gonna be as nice as me.”

Especially if I need you to spy on L’Manberg.

“Yeah, like you’re just the shining beacon of goodness.” Tommy scoffed while rolling his eyes.

“Beacon? Paragon has more impact to it. You really need to work on that lexicon of yours, kid-”

“And there you go makin’ up words again! Paragon! Lexicon! What’s the next word you’re gonna make up? Ontological?”

“... Tommy, that is a word.”

“Your mum’s a word, and that word is bitch!”  

“Are you going to keep throwing a tantrum over the tiny dictionary you call a brain, or are you actually going to listen to me?”

Tommy grumbled and kicked at the ground before sighing and looking up at the hybrid. It was time for him to pay attention, no matter how reluctant he was about this whole practicing thing.  “Yeah, so what should I practice, huh?”

“Stabbing me.”

A burst of high pitched, somewhat hysterical laughter escaped the borrower upon hearing Techno’s deadpan response. He slapped a hand over his mouth as he struggled to control his response, not wanting to piss him off further.

What a weird day this was turning out to be.

“You want me… to poke your hand? What the fuck, man.”

“Are you planning on just asking questions or are you going to use those manly muscles of yours?” The narrowing of Techno’s eyes combined with the immense amount of sass in that question told Tommy that his patience was running thin. The borrower quickly nodded and took a step forward.

As the hybrid’s hand stretched out in front of him, fingers uncurling and palm facing upwards, Tommy quietly realized this was the best look at Techno he had ever gotten. Previously, he had only ever really processed snapshots of the hybrid. The long braid, the glowing eyes, the sharp tusks that seemed to shine in the light, everything had only ever been pieces and not the whole.

But now here he was, and his situation felt far more real than it had before.

He could feel the heat radiating off Techno, the natural warmth his body produced reminding Tommy of the furnace he would huddle next to with Tubbo when the weather grew too cold. He could see the scars that littered the hand in front of him, and the callouses that covered the palm and fingers. He could also see the nails, dark in colouration and dangerously sharp, that tipped each digit.

He had been wrong about Techno having dainty hands, and for some reason this realization only made his appreciation for the gift he had been given grow stronger. It was so easy to imagine the hybrid hunched over with a tiny block of wood held in his hands, struggling to carve it and muttering curses when it accidentally broke. How long had he spent working on it-

“Tommy.”

Shit, he’d zoned out.

He could practically feel Techno’s eyes narrowing in disgruntlement, and he immediately looked up and threw his hands into the air in exasperation, nearly conking himself on the head with the stick in the process. “Don’t give me that look! It’s all so… so weird!”

Weird to be doing this! To be so close to someone who could kill me! It’s all wrong!

And yet, it felt right in its own way. The weight of the makeshift weapon in his hands, and the part of him that longed for some shield to hold up. Tommy had always been a fighter, using dirty tricks to get out of dangerous situations while quite literally throwing hands with anyone who threatened him or Tubbo, but this was another kind of fighting entirely.

A style that felt both familiar and alien at the same time.

The hybrid, choosing to not engage with the turmoil visible on the borrower’s face, decided switch tactics. Demonstrations would happen later when he was more settled and less likely to break down in borderline hysterical laughter, the time for basics was now.

For the next several minutes, Techno explained where it was best to attack in order to do the most damage and even disable his opponent for a short period of time. He was… strangely calm, and knowledgeable as he pointed out which parts of his hand were softer than the rest, more vulnerable.

It was unexpected, and Tommy could only ask himself one question.

Why?

Of course, he got no answer, not that he had ever asked the question to begin with. Rather, he just threw himself into practicing the maneuvers he had been shown over and over again, quietly thinking about how helpful they might be.

Tubbo, he might have to fight to get to Tubbo, and if practicing whatever Technoblade taught him would help, he’d do it.

Meanwhile, the hybrid silently studied the borrower as he thought about all that he had learned so far, from the book to his general observations of the kid. There was obviously something else going on with him, from the way he randomly spaced out at times, to that determined look that would sometimes appear on his face. Anger would occasionally appear, too. A kind of anger that Techno was intimately familiar with.

Tommy was expressive, too expressive.

At least that made things easier for him, but it also left him with far more questions than answers. Questions he didn’t really want to ask, but was still curious about.

It was obvious that the borrower had lived somewhere else before he had decided to invade his cabin. According to the book, most borrowers either stuck to a house they stayed in for their entire lives unless they were forced to move, or lived in community settlements. There were also the “wild” ones, but Tommy’s clear lack of any self-preservation instincts made it clear he did not fit in that category, and yet both of the remaining options made little sense as well.

There were no nearby houses nearby that he could have previously lived in, he doubted the kid would have been living in the village without the librarian’s knowledge, and a tundra biome was one of the last places he would expect to encounter a settle of tiny people. So, what had happened that wound up with him being out here in the first place? And why did he care so much?

Ah, the greatest question of all.

Why?

Why was he putting so much effort into this obnoxious kid? Sure he had his reasons, but were those reasons enough to justify the work he was going to have to do. Why had he let Tommy stay instead of throwing him out like he would have done to anyone else, aside from Phil.

Why had he gotten so protective of the kid at the library? It didn’t make sense-

“Look Techno!”

Tommy’s shout snapped Techno out of his thoughts, and the hybrid looked over to see that he was now holding one of the other practice sticks. He grinned and enthusiastically waved them.

“I’ve got two sticks!”

He raised a brow as the borrower started hitting some made up enemy, swinging the sticks through the air and letting out noises that he probably thought were intimidating, but only made Techno quietly laugh to himself. His laughter grew louder when, during one of his more enthusiastic swings, Tommy ended up smacking himself in the face.

“You’re supposed to hit other people with those.”

“Oh fuck off!”

Hours later, Tommy let out a groan as he flopped into his makeshift bed, burying his face into one of the pieces of fabric. The cloth was cool and soft, and he let out a happy little sigh as it helped him cool down. His muscles ached, and he wanted nothing more than to pass out for the next couple days, but his mind was abuzz with thoughts.

Techno was teaching him how to fight and was apparently making him armor. It sounded like such a horrible idea, teaching the person who was practically a pest in your house how to fight back, and it made Tommy wonder why.

Why was he being taught how to fight? Why was he being given weapons and armor? Was there something he needed to keep himself safe from? Someone?

“It’s a good thing I don’t follow laws, then.”

The hybrid’s “retirement”. The amount of weapons and armor Tommy had seen. The potions.

Was… was Techno a criminal? Had he unintentionally put himself in more danger by choosing to stay here? He knew nothing about him other than his dry sense of humour, his aloof personality, and how intimidating he was.

Dammit, this is why he needed Tubbo. Tubbo would have warned him about the possible dangers, discouraged his ideas, and brought reason to his chaotic thoughts.

It was at this moment that Tommy also realized that among the training and sparse breaks, he hadn’t been able to check out the book either.

Fuck.

                                   xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ah yes, the slow development from “you’re a pain in my ass and I’m only putting up with you for personal gain” to “okay, you might be decent”.

Also, there are many things I'm gonna make Tommy kind of cry over. A bowl of soup is just one of the more out there instances XD

[jhsbrat]

the dick & the dancer, pt. 1 | knj

part ½

genre: brooklyn 99/cop au, enemies to lovers au

word count: 11.9k (there’s still another part to go, i hate myself)

warnings: crass humor, general idiocy, lightest of angst

a/n: i enjoyed writing this so much even though my other wips are staring at me in disbelief from my drafts page asfklsflk

special thanks goes to @guktwt and @seokinkjin for reading my drafts and convincing me that this wasn’t a total dumpster fire, ily :’)

“All units, come in. We’ve got a 10-31, back up needed.”

“Unit 2 here, what’s the situation?”

“Looks like a robbery in progress in the kitchen.”  

“Copy, I’m en route. Did you get a good look at the suspect?”

“He’s got his back to us, but it looks like-“

“Son of a bitch! I knew it!”

“Wait, don’t-“

“Unit 1? Unit 1, come in, what’s happening?”

You charge at the silver haired man standing at the kitchen counter, sandwich still in his hand. Tomato and mayo go flying as he falls to the ground on his back, breath punched out of him. He blinks once, then twice, dazed, looking up to see you sitting on his chest.

“What the hell just- are you cuffing me?”

“That’s what happen to people who steal, Jimin, they get arrested.” You snap back, clicking the silver metal over his wrists.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, it was a sandwich!”  

“Theft is theft, buddy.” Pulling the man up into a standing position, you huff and blow away a loose strand of hair that escaped from your braid when you rushed him.

“Nice job, officer.” Jungkook comes up from his crouching spot behind the door. “Although in the future, you should probably let me know before you decide to assault the perp.”

Rolling your eyes, you prepare to respond when Taehyung comes skidding into the room.

“Jimin, they’re coming- oh. Uh, hey guys.”

You quirk a brow at the out of breath cop, his chest still heaving from running in response to your call. Jungkook’s eyes shift between the man you’ve got in cuffs and the one standing at the door.

“Don’t tell me-was this an inside job?”

“Tae!” You exclaim, surprise coloring your features, “I can’t believe it, you know how important my lunch is to me! I have to go all the way downtown to get the specialty ham imported from Spain!”  

Taehyung sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry guys, it’s just that-well, sometimes Chef Boyardee just doesn’t cut it anymore and you’re so good at cooking and-“  

Jimin lets out an exaggerated sigh and shakes his arms in annoyance, cuffs clinking together noisily. “Can I remind you all that we’re talking about a sandwich?”

You round on him, jabbing a finger into his face. “And let me remind you that I carry a taser and I’m not afraid of using it on a civilian-“

“What exactly is going on here?” A voice boomed.

All four of you whip around to see Seokjin standing at the entrance, arms crossed over his chest. Yoongi is leaning on the pillar behind him, clipboard in hand and a blank expression on his face.

“Captain!” Your voices chimed out simultaneously, all of you drawing your backs up straight to stand at attention.

“Can someone answer the Captain, please?” Yoongi drawled, “Something tells me this isn’t worth the public service salary I get paid.”

“Uh, well. You see-“ Taehyung begins, stuttering.

“We were really just-“ Jungkook tries to continue, coming up with nothing.

You sigh and pinch your brows together. “Captain, we caught Jimin and Taehyung as the ones who keep stealing my lunch. So, naturally, I cuffed him to teach him a lesson.”

There’s a long pause as Seokjin stares at each of you in turns, all of you waiting with bated breath.

“His arms should be behind his back, it prohibits balance and prevents suspects from running off. You should know better, Detective.” He finally says, wagging at Jimin’s hands linked together in front of his body.

You blink in surprise. “Of course, sir, you’re right.”

He nods and walks off, Yoongi shaking his head and following behind him. All of you exhale, letting out the breath you had been holding in. Jungkook high fives you as Taehyung moves to release Jimin from his restraints.

“You’re all idiots,” Namjoon calls from his desk, “Every single one of you.”

Bodies crowd into the briefing rooms, people fighting over the limited number of seats at the tables. Yoongi stands at the front, flipping through papers and scribbling last minute notes, before he clears his throat and begins to speak.

“Good morning. Last night-“

“Hold that thought, Sergeant.” You say, walking into the room late, boot heels clicking against the over shined linoleum floor. Stopping at the seat in the very front, you tap on the shoulder of the young beat cop currently occupying it.

“Out of my chair, pipsqueak. You get the back.”

“But-but I was here early.” The boy stammers. You glance down and read his nametag.

“Beomgyu, is it? Listen here Beomgyu, I’m gonna give you some advice, free of charge,” you squat down to look him in the eyes, “When a ranking officer gives you an order, you follow it. Now up, you’re making my seat warm and I’m not a lizard.”

The boy gathers his things and walks to his relegated spot in the back as you plop down and prop up your feet. Next to you Namjoon scoffs and shakes his head, turning back to face front.

“Nice of you to join us, Detective. I was actually just about to mention you.” Yoongi says, focusing his gaze on you.

“Was it to congratulate me on my 98% conviction rate? Because I’m flattered, Sergeant, but I don’t do this job for the thanks. I do it for the fans.” You smile cheekily up at him.

“You have absolutely no fans,” Taehyung calls from his seat.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Yoongi continues, “Because I was not going to thank you. Actually, I was getting ready to reprimand you in front of everyone. You know why?”

Your shit-eating grin slides off your face. “Why?”

“Because the train pick-pocketer you arrested on Thursday has been released.”

Everyone in the room simultaneously lets out a groan and Jungkook throws a paper ball of his crumpled notes at you. Leaning forward to place your head on the table, you cover yourself with your hands.

Over the melee of sudden noise, Yoongi goes on speaking. “Would you like to tell everyone why your suspect has been released and cleared of all charges, even though three cameras and two cops clearly saw what he was doing?”

“I forgot to Mirandize him,” you mutter from your hiding place under your arms.

Commotion breaks out again as everyone decides to let you know exactly how annoyed they were with you.

“We’ve been trying to catch him for weeks!”

“That’s the first thing they teach you in the Academy, how do you just forget-“   

“Listen!” You sit up and turn in your seat to face the crowd of your angry coworkers, “I was caught up in the heat of the moment, okay!”

“He was a seventeen year old kid, dummy.” Jimin quipped, perched on the windowsill at the other side of the room. “Even I know you’re supposed to Mirandize first during an arrest and the closest to being a cop I’ve ever been was binge watching Law and Order for 48 hours.”

“SVU?” Taehyung asks.

“Duh, dude.” The pair laugh and high five each other.  

“If I can all have your attention again,” Yoongi taps his pen loudly on the podium he was leaning against, “I want to finish the briefing by talking about The Dancer.”

The noise quiets down immediately and everyone leans in to listen closely. Yoongi pulls up a slide show on the board and flips through photos of a crime scene: an upscale penthouse.

“Last night, between the hours of 7 pm and 1 am, a Caravaggio art work was stolen from the residence of Royston Cornwallis Staley, a local businessman. At the time of the burglary, Staley was at a charity event with his wife.”

“And how do we know it’s The Dancer who did it?” Jungkook questions.

“The same way we always do. He left his calling card.” Yoongi clicks to a photo from the scene of a barely consumed and still smoking cigar, the side stamped with the words Cohiba Behike.

“Jesus, those Cubans are expensive. He’s a real prick for just leaving them there and not even having the audacity to finish one.” Jungkook huffs.

You sigh and lean back in your seat, tapping your foot against the table leg. “He’s taunting us. It’s his way of proving how much money he’s making off these heists.”

“I’m sorry, but who’s The Dancer? And why do we call him that?” Beomgyu asks from his place in the back.

“He’s a fine arts burglar that we’ve been trying to catch for months. We call him that because he’s light on his feet, newbie.” Namjoon explains, turning around to look at the boy. “And the next time you have a question: Don’t.”  

Beomgyu blushes in embarrassment as Taehyung raises his hand to get the Sergeant’s attention. “How much was the painting worth?”

“Wait! Don’t answer!” Jimin cries, jumping suddenly to his feet. “I’m taking bets on people’s guesses. Irene, go.”

“10 million,” The petite crime scene investigator answers. Jimin jots down her response.  

“No way, isn’t Caravaggio an Italian name? Gotta be at least 25 mil,” Jungkook posits.

“32!”

“You’re crazy, it’s like 13.”

“Staley is a rich guy, must be somewhere in the 50s.”    

Jimin nods, writing down everyone’s names and bets, then turns to you.

“You wanna put down a number?”

Shrugging, you offer, “98.”

“Million?” Jimin’s eyes bug out of his head, “Are you sure?”

“Nah, let her bet it, I’m tryna win this money.” Jungkook says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“Alright then. Sergeant, if you can do the honors.”

Yoongi looks down at all of you, bored expression still unchanged from when you first walked into the room. “The private appraiser Staley hired valued the work at around $101 million.”

You stand up and whoop, much to the dismay of about everyone else in the room. They all reluctantly hand over their money to you when you go around to collect it. You nearly have to pull the cash from Jungkook’s hands, who gave it up with a grimace on his face. Shaking his head, Namjoon regards the scene. “This is really just sad, guys.”

“No, what’s really sad is the hole in the ozone layer from all the hair spray you used this morning to make that coif of yours stick up.” You turn to face the other detective, counting the bills you hold. “Seriously, do you use butter in there? I can see it shine from the parking lot.”

“Yeah, I did. Borrowed it from your mother last night.” Namjoon retorts without missing a beat.  

“Oh, real classy, Kim-“

“And you think you’re one to talk about class-“

“I’m glad to know the two of you get along just as well as you always do,” Yoongi says, not bothering to raise his voice any louder than his usual speaking tone even though the two of you were yelling over each other at this point. He had a tendency to do that instead of shouting, forcing other people to lean in closely to listen. It gave him a sort of weird power trip to know he didn’t need to do much to catch people’s attention. You just found it annoying, but stopped your bickering long enough to hear what your superior wanted to say. He has a small smile on his face as he looks between you and the detective on your right, knowing there was only one reason Min Yoongi would smile like that-  

“Because I’m putting you both on this case.”  

You whip around to face the man in disbelief. “Sergeant, you can’t be serious.”

“Sir, I’ll work with anyone else, even Tae-“ Namjoon pleads.

“Hey!” Taehyung cries out from his seat.

Yoongi shook his head. “Not happening. You two have the highest conviction rates of anyone on the team and I needed this guy behind bars yesterday. I want you both on this.”  

“Sarge, I’m sorry, but I can’t work with this dick breathing down my neck-“

“And I don’t want to be blamed when she eventually commits a lawsuit worthy offense!”

Yoongi holds up a hand to stop your pleas. “You,” he points in your direction, “are sloppy. The rules are a suggestion to you and I need to make sure there’s someone responsible watching what you’re doing.”

Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest in defeat.

“And you,” the blonde continues, swiveling to Namjoon, “are too uptight. You don’t know how to think outside of the box and quite frankly, that’s something you can learn from your new partner here.”  

The other detective’s lips harden into a straight line at that.

“The only way either of you get off this case is if one you gets shot and honestly, I don’t want to fill out the paperwork for that. So you’re going to follow my orders or you can pack up your desk and find a new precinct. Have I made myself clear?”

You and Namjoon nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get out of my briefing room.”

“Hey, Jimin?”

The man in question picked up his silver head to regard you. “Oh, hey, I thought I smelled the scent of failure.”

Speaking through a clenched jaw, you continue with the reason why you came to the assistant’s desk. “Is the Captain available? I really need to talk to him.”

“To chat with you about changing partners? No, he’s not. Busy man, you know, being the Captain of a police precinct and all.”

You glance up to look through the window into Seokjin’s office. “I can see him, Jimin. He’s playing with a yo-yo.” The man in question stares at the toy in his hand and proceeds to try and throw it forward, resulting in the hard plastic whipping back to hit him in the face.

Jimin just gives you a simpering smile. “Like I said. Busy.”

Pursing your lips in annoyance, you turn and stalk back to your desk where Namjoon waits for you.

“No luck?”

You fall into your seat. “Nope. You can go ahead and try, but I’m pretty sure he still has a grudge against you for the St. Patrick’s Day parade last year.”

“I didn’t recognize him with all that green paint on, all I saw was a drunk guy pissing in a public park!”

You lean forward to place your chin in your hands. “Look, the sooner we start this case, the sooner we can finish and get out of each other’s hair.”

Namjoon lets out an exasperated breath and nods. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go talk to the Staley’s.”

“Wait, what?” You scrunch up your nose in confusion, “What do we need to talk to them for, we already got their statements. We should be looking into The Dancer.”

“Like I’m going to follow the advice of someone who forgot to Mirandize a perp,” Namjoon snorts, “We’re doing this whole thing by the book. And that includes getting our own statements from the victims.”

“This is seriously a waste of our time.” You stand up to look at him and he straightens up to do the same. Although your boots gave you a little lift, Namjoon still had inches on your height and he used them to stare you down.

“I’m not arguing about this. Right now we need to talk to them while their memory’s still fresh.”

“Ooh, I love it when you use your cop voice,” Taehyung snickers as he walks by, tossing an apple for Namjoon to bite into.

“Just go, dude,” Jungkook sits next to you. “You can always do the research later. Stop being stubborn just because of that one thing years ago-”

“Alright!” You squeal, swatting at him before he could finish his sentence. “I’ll go!” Taehyung’s brows raise and Namjoon watches smugly, still chewing.

And that’s how you found yourself in a ritzy, high-rise apartment an hour later, speaking to an annoyed housewife in a designer dress worth more than your yearly salary.  

“I already told the other cops everything I remember from that night,” Victoria Staley shrilled. “I don’t understand why this is taking so long!”

“We’re just trying to be thorough, ma’am.” Namjoon grit his teeth into a polite smile.

You chuckle and look back down at your phone, tapping away its keys.

“Well, I have nothing else to say other than we came home and the painting was just gone. No broken glass, no door ajar, just our missing property. It was one of a kind, you know. Italian, Baroque, not another like it.”

Namjoon made a noise of understanding. “Could there have been anyone else with access to the apartment? A maid, maybe?”

The woman twirled the earring dangling from her ear, thinking. “Yes, of course. The maid, the cook, the nanny, and the gardener. But they’ve all been vetted and checked by us before. Besides, none of them were working that night.”

“In any case, it would still be helpful for us to speak to them. Are any of them here now?”

Ms. Staley sighed dramatically and uncrossed her legs to stand up. “No, none of them are here. I’ll give you their contact information so you can find them instead.”

“That will work, thanks,” Namjoon’s face dropped as soon as she left the room. “Hopefully one of them knows something.”

You give a noncommittal hum, phone still in your hands. He turns to look at you.  

“Detective! Can you stop texting and focus, please?”

You look up and blink. “I am focused. What do you think they pay the gardener to do here, anyways? They live in an apartment.”

His lips straighten into a thin line as he regards you. “How did you even get this job?”

“My brilliant wit and killer fashion sense,” you deadpan back. He doesn’t have the chance for a retort before Ms. Staley saunters back in.

“Here’s all of our staff’s contact information. Now please leave, I have a very important charity event to get ready for.” She hands Namjoon a list and crosses her arms over her chest, Manolo Blahnik clad foot tapping against the marble floor in impatience.

The two of you are quickly hurried out the door and back down the stairs, sharp autumn air hitting you once you step out from the posh private residence and back into the chaos of the city streets. As you stride down the sidewalk, Namjoon begins to deliberate aloud.

“I’m thinking we can start with the maid, she probably might have been the last person in the building before-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Before all that, I need another cup of coffee if I’m going to be stuck with you for a while.” You interrupt him, cutting through cars onto the other side of the road towards 14th street, your eyes still on your phone. Namjoon trails after you, long legs easily catching up with your brisk pace.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to look both ways before you cross the street?”  

You pointedly ignore him in favor of pulling open the heavy wood and glass door of the café in front of you. The scent of caramel and chocolate infiltrate your nose and you step forward in line behind an office worker with dark rings under his eyes and a college student yakking away on a call. Your eyes peruse the menu above the counter and your lips curl into a frown when you realize they weren’t yet selling their annual festive options.

“It’s November, you would think they’d have holiday drinks by now,” you murmur to yourself, resigned to the idea of a plain cup of joe.

Namjoon moves closer and looks down at you. “I thought you hated the holidays, anyways?”

“No, I just hate you.”

At that, he sighs. “Listen, we’re going to have to figure out how to be cordial if we want this to work.”

You shrug half-heartedly. “I think what we have going for us right now is working well.”

“Look, I don’t know what you have against me-“

You snort in derision, moving forward after the beleaguered office worker completes his order and steps aside. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that you think you’re better than everyone else. Or like to namedrop where you attended college in every conversation. Or that you attended college at all, unlike some of us. Or maybe a million other things that I can’t list right now, because I would die before I get to them all. Just a thought.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, frustrated. “You’re not the easiest person to deal with either, you know. You reek of overconfidence and never know when to shut up. Just because you’re a brilliant cop doesn’t override that fact that you’re rude and crass and a bully.”  

“Mhm, keep sweet talking me, Kim.”

“You’re so insufferable-“

“Detective!” A honeyed voice calls and you both turn your heads to see the barista at the counter smiling sweetly at you. Her upturned lips, lobbed short hair, and reddened cheeks from the heat of the espresso machine made her look like an elf.

“Yeri!” You walk up to her and grin back. “How’ve you been?”

“Better. The usual?” The girl is already writing the order on a blank cup.

“Sure. And whatever this guy is having.” You point back at Namjoon and begin digging through your wallet.      

“Small coffee, black. No sugar.”

You hand the girl her money and fix him with an unamused look. “You really fulfill every cop stereotype, you know that?”

“I think it’s cute.” The barista smiles at him and the man blushes, coughing and looking away.

You chuckle and lean against the display of mugs emblazoned with the café logo for sale precariously piled one on top of another. “Anyways, Yeri, I wanted to ask you a question. You’re an art history major down at the university, right?”

“Yep!” The petite brunette beams excitedly, “Just a semester away from graduation.”

“Great, so maybe you can answer an art history question for me. What do you know about the Baroque period?”

The girl’s eyes light up. “Oh, what don’t I know? It started in Italy and it’s all about really ornate, grandiose aesthetics. Think dramatic lights and shadows, gold glided architecture, and Michaelangelo-esque sculptures.”

Namjoon leans forward to whisper in your ear. “Shouldn’t we get going? We still have other people to interview.”  

You ignore the heat from his peppermint-scented breath tickling against the side of your face and wave him off instead. He huffs, walking away to wait at the other end of the counter. “Interesting, so they’d be pretty expensive pieces?”

“Oh yeah, hella expensive. There’s an art gallery down the street that is actually displaying one for an exhibition on Rembrandt. If you’re interested, you should totally check it out-“

At that moment, Namjoon’s walkie-talkie buzzed insistently. “Unit 1, there has been a 10-65 in your area.”

Yeri’s eyes widen. “What’s that?” She whispers to you as Namjoon picks up his device.

“Burglary,” you whisper back to her.

“Detective Kim here, go ahead.” Namjoon grabs his coffee, nods at the girl in thanks, and begins to head out the door.

“Someone reported a break in and theft from an art gallery on 14th street-“

His back stiffens and he slowly rotates around to face the two of you again, tongue pressed against his cheek. “Yeri. Where did you say that gallery was?”

“So you’re telling me,” Yoongi lets out a long, exasperated exhale, as if he had just caught his two year-old drawing on the walls with permanent marker again, “That the Dancer pulled off another theft. And the two of you were blocks away?”

You and Namjoon look at each other as if to confirm, then face him again. “Yeah, pretty much.”

The sergeant groans and slumps his entire body over the podium, sending papers flying to the floor. You wait a few seconds to see if he would straighten up again before going on.

“To be fair, sir, we did figure out-“

“Kid, I could give two shits about what you figured out, unless it happened to be who the hell this guy is,” Yoongi snaps, face still planted against the wood. “And I don’t think it was that because you’re still sitting here talking to me.”

His rebuttal leaves you reeling, mouth snapped shut and grimaced in a straight line. Though your cheeks don’t turn red, you feel your face heat up in anger and you have to fight to force your retort back, irritation sliding down your throat like bile. Namjoon glances at you for a moment, taking in your response, then turns back to your superior.

“Sergeant, we’ll get him next time, we swear.”

“There better not be a next time, Detective. Because next time, I want him behind bars. Now get out and do your job.”

You stand up without another word and exit the briefing room, letting the door slam shut behind you in frustration. Jaw clenched and shoulders hunched forward, you’re marching back to your desk when you feel a hand clasp onto your wrist. Bristling, you yank yourself away and pivot to see Namjoon behind you. He takes a sheepish step back and looks down into your eyes.

“I’m sorry he said that to you, it was uncalled for-“

“This is all your fault,” you hiss at him. His brows shoot up.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your need to ‘do things by the book’, even though it was a waste of time. If you had just listened to me, we could have figured out the gallery thing hours ago!” You blow out your cheeks and rub your temples.  

“We found out about the gallery by accident, just because you happened to want some coffee!” He barks back. “It wouldn’t have mattered anyways!

“I didn’t want any coffee, you dolt, I was doing research!” Your hands are balled into fists at your side, trembling against the urge to smack him in the face. “I know you could only fathom doing that by typing in a database, like some nerd, but some of us do it by talking to actual people!”

Namjoon falters, blinking in surprise, and you take that moment to fall onto your chair and release the irascibility you had been holding in until now, breathing in and out deeply. When you feel your heart rate return to normal and your hands steady themselves again, you open your eyes to see the man still standing in front of you.

“Look,” you begin, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees, “I get a lot of shit for a lot of reasons on this job. I’m young, I’m a woman, and I’m not highly educated. That would make it hard for me anywhere, but it makes it especially hard here.

It doesn’t matter how bright or quick I am, I’m always going to be judged differently than you. I’m sure he didn’t even realize it, but the Sergeant called me ‘kid’ in there while you referred to you by your actual rank. And it’s like that every day. I have to work twice as hard as you to get the same amount of recognition.

So, yeah, maybe my methods are a little unorthodox. Maybe I am too brash, or loud, or ‘don’t speak like a lady’, whatever the hell that means. But a few mistakes aside, mistakes that are no where near as bad as the ones other people on our squad have committed,” You look up to stare at him directly in the eyes, “I’m a damn good cop and I demand you to treat me as such.”

Namjoon opens his mouth and then closes it again, at a loss for words. He simply nods and grabs the chair beside you to sit down. The precinct slowly returns to its previous hustle and bustle, noise level rising back up after everyone in the immediate vicinity had paused to witness the spat.

“Hey guys, I have the statement from the gallery owner,” Beomgyu walks up and smiles brightly at both of you, unaware of the tension still lingering in the air.

“Learn to read the room, rookie,” Taehyung comes up from behind him and takes the paper in his hands to hand off to you. “Understanding body language will save you from getting shot someday.”

The boy’s eyes widen comically, making him appear like one of those anime characters Jungkook loves to watch so much. “Has that ever happened to you?”

“Get lost.” Namjoon grunts, still watching you. The younger cop takes off and you chuckle, running your gaze down the notes from the interview with the gallery owner.

“So it was the Baroque piece Yeri was talking about that he stole…”

“Ba-what?” Jungkook comes to join you all, hand buried in a bag of Taki’s.    

“Baroque. Renaissance era art style, heavy handed and elaborate.” Taehyung rattles off. The three of you look up at him in shock and he shrugs casually. “I took a few art classes at the local community college. Could have been a painter in another life, you know.”

Jungkook snorts. “Yeah, and I could have been a pop idol.”

Namjoon disregards both of them and still keeps his gaze locked in your direction. “What’s our next move, Detective?”

You look up at him for a split second, then back down at the page in your hands, thinking. “Tae, did the owner mention hiring any new people recently?”

The man scrunches up his nose in thought. “No, I didn’t think to ask him that.”

You hum and then cock your head back towards Beomgyu’s desk. “What about you, noob? Notice anything?”

The boy startles up and almost trips over his own feet in a hurry back to you. “Uh, well, I did see carpenter’s materials- a ladder, couple tools. Maybe he was renovating the building for a new exhibit and temporarily hired a contractor to do the work.”

The corners of your lips lift and the gears in your brain turn faster, a pattern beginning to form in front of you. Chewing your lip in silent contemplation, you give it a second more thought before you decide to posit your hypothesis to the rest of the team.  

“As suave as he’s been, the Dancer has proven to be incredibly predictable. I looked up the past jobs he’s done and each city he’s been to, he’s focused on a specific historical period or origin. In London, it was all Spanish Cubism. New York City, French Impressionism. Brussels, Russian Futurism,” you explain, words falling out of your mouth as soon as you think of them. “His mind thinks like a collector, a curator. And here, he’s only done Baroque pieces so far.”

The men sit in stunned silence, taking in what you had presented. “When did you have time to research this?” Namjoon asks, confused.

“When I was texting earlier,” You shoot him a pointed glance and then press on. “Unlike those other big cities, though, we don’t have a bunch of art pieces from the same period strewn all over the place. Baroque art is expensive, costly to procure and there’s only three places in the entire city that currently house any works of its kind. Two he’s already hit and I’m thinking he can’t stand leaving here without attempting the last one. That’s where he’ll be next.”  

“Okay, so tell me what was so important that you insisted on interrupting my practice time,” Seokjin demanded, rolling up his yo-yo to put away in his desk drawer.

You, Namjoon, Yoongi, Jungkook, and Taehyung were all currently huddled in Seokjin’s office, the crowded space making the air a little warmer. The younger two detectives were standing by the door, while Yoongi stood next to the Captain, eyes watching the clock on the wall tick closer to five pm.

“Well, sir, we’re fairly confident we know The Dancer’s next move.” Namjoon starts. Seokjin cocks a brow and leans forward in interest.

“I looked into the past jobs he’s done in past cities,” you explain, “And I noticed a repeating theme.”

“You gotta talk faster than that, folks. I’ve got a bottle of wine and a bubble bath waiting for me at home.” Yoongi interjects, eyes still on the clock.  

“We have reason to believe that he has one more heist to pull off in our very own city.” Namjoon continues in a rush, “Because guess where one of the world’s most expensive pieces of antique Baroque jewelry is currently located?”      

Seokjin sits back in his chair, grinning. “I’m thinking it’s right in our very own city.”

You nod. “It’s housed at the Museum of Art downtown and they’re having an after hours benefit gala tonight. It’s the perfect opportunity for him to steal it and all we need to do is be there.”  

“So we attend the event as security and just wait. That sounds easier than I thought.” Jungkook bounces on his toes in excitement.

“I’m thinking not quite, buddy,” Namjoon shakes his head. “My partner also realized that both the victims had recently hired on new employees; the Staley’s a gardener and the gallery owner a contracted carpenter. Both of whom were left alone with the art and both of whom have not shown up for another day of work since the pieces were stolen from each place.”

“So he found a way to get inside access, making the theft easier to pull off.” Seokjin murmurs, rubbing his chin.  

“Exactly. This guy is a professional and I don’t doubt he’s done the same for the gala. He’ll be tipped off immediately if we show up in uniforms and squad cars and then he’ll slip away because he’ll look like he belongs.”

Surprised with Namjoon’s mention of your discovery and sudden change in thought, you turn to look at the man. “What do you propose then?”

He beams and you can’t help but stare at his dimples. “We go undercover.”

“Ah, fuck yeah, a sting!” Taehyung punches a hand in the air, then quickly covers his mouth. “Sorry, Captain.”

Seokjin gives him an unimpressed look and then turns to Yoongi. “Looks like you’re not going to be making that bubble bath, Sergeant.”

Yoongi drops his eyes from the clock, seconds away from 5 pm, and releases a long sigh. “Why are you all trying to ruin my life?”

Things moved quickly from there on. Papers were signed, calls were made, and soon enough the entire precinct was scrambling in order to provide extra support to your team. Catching this thief would be a big deal for your squad and could be the kind of high-profile case you needed to propel you forward in your career. So you did everything you could think of in order to make it work. And that included squeezing into the only formal dress in your possession.

Huffing, you stare at yourself in the mirror, eyeing the red sequined fabric stretched a little tight since you had bought the piece years before you joined the force. You had packed on more weight in muscle since then, a necessary requirement in your daily life of chasing down and wrestling with criminals. But it gave the cloth material little room to move and made you a slightly hesitant about wearing the piece while on the job.    

A loud knock sounded on the bathroom door, a signal to hurry up and leave. You take one last look at yourself and then walk out to come face to face with this rest of the team.

Taehyung whistles at the sight of you. “Someone call Tyra Banks, cuz we got America’s Next Top Model right here.”

You brush past him to grab your gun and holster from your desk. “Shut up, idiot.”

Jungkook comes up behind you to squeeze your shoulder. “Honestly, though, why are you always wearing leather jackets and jeans, you’re smokin’. I don’t know what Namjoon was thinking back when-“

You throw his arm off and whip around to look him in the eyes. “Keep talking, Jeon, I’ll tase your nuts here and now.”

“Absolutely no unnecessary tasing, I promised the Sergeant that-“ Namjoon walks into the room and then stops dead in front of you, mouth agape. “Um.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” You bend down to lift up your skirt and attach the gun holster to your upper thigh, Namjoon’s eyes following your movements. Snapping the band once to check that it’s secured, you raise back up to catch him staring.  

“You’re gonna catch a fly, dude.” Taehyung walks up to shut Namjoon’s mouth close. The man blushes and pushes past you to the whiteboard in the back of the room. He takes a few moments to write figures and draw diagrams, then turn back to the rest of you.

“Alright, well, here’s how we’re going to do this. Jungkook and I are going to be in the control van out back, manning the communications and camera systems.” Namjoon gestures his crudely drawn map of the Museum’s premises, then points to you. “Taehyung is going to pose as a waiter and you’re going to be a wealthy patron attending the gala.”

“So how are we supposed to figure out which person is The Dancer? He’s not exactly going to show up with a name tag.” Jungkook asks.

“We’re going to keep an eye on people hovering around the exhibit the necklace is in. That’s why we need two sets of eyes in the actual room to check everyone out.”

“I feel like we need a seducing aspect in here somewhere. Detective, how about it?” Taehyung leers at you and leans his elbow on your shoulder.    

“Oh, what, because I’m the only female on the squad- which points to some larger issues with our hiring practices, may I add- I have to be the honey pot?” You shrug him off and re-adjust your fallen dress straps, not noticing Namjoon’s gaze on your exposed collarbone.

“Honestly, my first choice would have been Jimin. He’s prettier than you.”

“Thanks babe!” The administrator calls from the lobby.

You roll your eyes and start to head out the door. “Let’s get this done.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jungkook maneuvers out of the parking lot and onto the busy city street.

“Shoot.” You’re readjusting your earpiece, making sure your hair hid it well.

“I know you want to avoid this subject, but I have to know: Why are you still holding this grudge against Namjoon?”    

You look over at the man driving, eyes trailing from the strained veins in arms from gripping the wheel up to the gentle turn of his nose and the small scar on his cheek, a parting gift from a criminal he apprehended years ago. He was smart and sweet and supportive, everything anyone could want. And you wished with all the strings and sinew of your heart that he was the one you had feelings for.

“Because he was a dick and you know it. I won’t forget that easily.”  

Jungkook frowns. “Give him a break, he had just found out that his drunk hookup from the night before was his new co-worker. It’s not that easy to-“

“It wasn’t just that!” You suddenly explode, pent up emotion finally getting the chance to escape after years of seething below the surface. “You were late that morning when we were all being introduced, you didn’t see it. His eyes glazed over me like he’d never seen me before, like he’d never want to be associated with me. He essentially refused to say a word to me until Yoongi basically forced him to by pairing us up for that first case. And you know how well that one went.”

The man stops at a traffic light, red glow illuminating his face as he looks over at you. “Yeah, you lost the guy because you were too busy arguing and you were both put on desk duty for a month. But we both know that’s not it.”

You stare at him, mouth set and gaze unwavering. “Then what else could it possibly be?”

“He’s everything you’re not. Graduated from a top school, comes from a wealthy family, probably had an uncle score him this job. You cut your teeth on working your way up from a rookie traffic cop, poured the salt of your blood into getting where you are today.” Jungkook’s eyes are unforgiving as he looks right back at you.  “You like to talk big and bad, but deep down, you’re just insecure. And when he ignored you that day, your mind immediately went to the worst possible place and it was that you’re not good enough.”

You bite down on your lip hard enough to pierce the skin, taste of iron bubbling on your tongue. The light switches to green and Jungkook accelerates, leaving you to face front again in silence. The two of you stay quiet for the remainder of the ride, an uneasy strain hovering between you both.

Minutes later, you arrive at the museum. Red carpet is laid out to welcome the loaded guests and waiters with platters of champagne glasses stand at the entrance to ply them with free booze. Taking a deep breath, patting your upper thigh once to ensure your gun was still secured, you prepare to exit the vehicle when Jungkook lightly touches your arm.

You don’t turn around and he doesn’t give you the chance to before he says his final piece. “I don’t think Namjoon was right, or even a decent person for what happened. All I’m saying is that your reason for treating him the way you do stems from a deeper place than just being a jilted one night flame and it’s time you confront it.”    

A pause. Then you nod once, opening the car door to stand up and paste a brilliant smile on your face.

“Holy shit, they’re pouring you all Costco brand wine.”

You pick up a flute of champagne from a nearby tray and smile politely at the waiter before whispering; “I wouldn’t classify that as pertinent information, Taehyung.”

“I would,” Jungkook scoffs, “Considering how much a ticket costs to get into this thing.”

“Let’s stay sharp, people.” Namjoon comes in on the line. “Tae, anything you’ve noticed so far with the wait staff?”

“Uh, yeah, I think I went to high school with one of these guys.”

Namjoon sighs. “Anything happening on the ballroom floor?”

Your eyes run over the room, soft chandelier lights sending all the Tiffany necklaces and diamond cufflinks twinkling. The gold glided walls draw your gaze up to the second floor balcony, lined with wealthy philanthropists decked out in their designer brands. They all had on the same polite, uninterested smile wealthy people had while shopping for their next big purchase. Expected for an event like this, crafted exclusively for them. You shake your head in response to Namjoon’s question before you remember that he couldn’t actually see you. “No, just a lot of older people. Nothing suspicious.”

“Maybe try heading to the exhibit room where the necklace is held,” Jungkook adds. “He could be hanging around there.”

Your eyes scan the room until they land on the bar, its seats raised up a little higher than the rest of the space. It would give you a good vantage point to check everyone out and a decent reason to people watch without appearing strange.

“No, too obvious.” You walk up to the counter and slide onto a stool, gesturing to the bartender to catch his attention.

“What can I get you?” His lips stretch wide to reveal white, even teeth, and his eyes crinkle into half moons. You take in his high cheekbones, the gentle slope of his long, straight nose. Caught off guard for a moment, you blink at him.

“Uh- whiskey sour.”

“Coming right up.”  He smiles again and moves away to prepare the drink.

“Detective, you’re on the job.” Namjoon hisses into your earpiece. You ignore him in favor of picking up the glass the bartender sets down in front of you.

“Let me know if that tastes alright, it’s my first night doing this.” The man grins sheepishly at you and watches as you take your first sip. It’s sweeter than you would have liked, heavier on the lemon and sugar than bourbon, but you weren’t going to tell him that and risk his smile disappearing.

“Perfect.”

He lets out the breath he’d been holding in, earlier confidence returning. “I’m Jay, by the way. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

Something more than customer service civility is laced in his voice and a throbbing hum fills your head. It takes you a second to remember that you were indeed on the job, here to catch an internationally renowned art thief and not flirt with the museum wait staff.

“Thank you, Jay.” You shoot him a polite smile and swivel around on your stool, facing the rest of the grand ballroom once more. Taking small sips of your drink to appear casual and stave off the sudden throbbing in your head, your eyes dart among the crowd, looking out for anything and nothing in particular. The room was full to the brim with the wealthy, expensive perfume doing nothing to cover the entitlement oozing off them in waves. You watch them get schmoozed by museum staff, writing off donation checks like it was nothing, and feel starkly out of place.

“Fuck!”

You narrow your eyes in worry, unable to respond lest someone nearby saw you talking to yourself. Jungkook does it instead.

“Tae, do you copy? What’s going on?”

A moment passes and your blood heats up in panic. Then the line crackles to life again.

“They put me on bathroom cleaning duty, the lazy shits. Someone puked in there already!”

You groan and close your eyes in frustration, anxiety dissipating.  

“You’re officially cut off from using this line unless it’s absolutely an emergency.” Namjoon barks. You hear Taehyung wince before the line goes dead again.

“Bad drink?”

You startle and turn to your side to see a man in a suit leaning against the bar next to you. He smirks at your surprised expression and leans in closer.

“C’mon, I’ll buy you a new one. What will you have?” His hair is slicked back, an obscene amount of gel used to get it to lie flat like it does. A neatly trimmed beard and clean-cut suit defined the sharp angles of his face, the hollow of his cheeks. Your nose crinkles on instinct when he moves nearer, the heavy scent of cologne surrounding him like a cloud. He wasn’t ugly by any means, just the kind of handsome that only money could buy. You find yourself longing for the softness of full cheeks instead, of deep dimples that hold a promise.  

“It’s an open bar.” You reply coolly and turn back around, finishing off the glass in your hand.

He chuckles, undeterred. “Alright, so no drink. Fancy a cigar?”

You fix your eyes determinedly in front of you. “I don’t smoke.”

“Pity. It would complement all this Bernini here perfectly.” He gestures to the glinting bronze and gold of the museum ceilings and you snort, unimpressed. Then there’s the click of the lighter and you glance at him again, shocked at his boldness.

“Sorry, sir, no smoking allowed.” Jay declares, tapping the stranger on the shoulder. The man’s mouth stretches, wolfish, and he turns to blow a ring in the bartender’s face.

“Careful, kid, I’ll have your job.” He sniggers, sucking in another breath of tobacco.

You curl your lips in disgust, contemplating the consequences of slapping the asshole right there, when your eyes land on the gold seal of the cigar in his hand. Cohiba Behike.

Pulse racing, you get up out of your seat and head towards the restroom, ignoring the stranger’s calls for your return. Struggling to keep your expression neutral, you whisper desperately into your earpiece.

“Tae, meet me in the ladies bathroom now.”

“I’m still cleaning up puke here.”

You clench your jaw and rip off the earpiece to speak directly into it. “Right the fuck now.”

The urgency in your voice gets across and minutes later, he finds you in the last stall, sitting on the toilet in your dress.

“What is it?” He leans against the stall door, crisp white waiter’s shirt drenched in rings of sweat from the exertion of mopping.

You release a breath. “I think I found him.”

“Found who?” Jungkook asks.

“The Dancer? You think you found The Dancer?” Namjoon follows up, frantic.

“Which one is he?” Taehyung looks ready run out and pounce, matted honey brown hair a boyish contrast to the gun you knew he had tucked in his waist.  

“I don’t know, I’m not sure!” You’re frazzled by the multiple voices speaking at once, unsure of who to answer first. “The guy talking to me at the bar, he mentioned another artist from the same era, and then he pulled out a cigar-“

“So?”

“It was the same Cuban cigar that The Dancer always leaves behind, it can’t be a coincidence!”

Taehyung chews on his inner cheek. “I don’t think that’s enough. We haven’t witnessed him actually do anything.” Jungkook hums in agreement on the other end. There’s silence for a moment while the three of you wait on Namjoon’s vote.

“What does your gut tell you?” He asks softly.

You sigh and put your head in your hands, squeezing your eyes shut in thought. The throbbing hum returns at full force and it’s what convinces you. “It tells me that he’s in this building somewhere. That I’ve talked to him tonight. It has to be that guy.”

A beat, then: “Okay, we’re coming in.”

You stand up and nod at Taehyung, straightening your dress and pulling out your badge to brandish. He does the same and rolls his shoulders to ready himself, leading the way out. On the other side of the door, you’re met with chaos.

“It’s gone! It’s gone!”

“Did anyone see? Who could have-“

“Someone call the police!”

Blood running cold, you grab ahold of one of the museum employees as they run past. “What’s going on?”

The woman is frantic, sleek bun gone astray, glasses on the tip of her nose and threatening to fall off. “One of our most valuable pieces has just been stolen!”

Taehyung steps forward and thrusts his badge in her face. “Which one?”

“An antique necklace! Baroque!” The woman wails.

Your breath stutters in your chest and you drag your gaze back towards the bar. The stranger is still leaning against it, puffing on his cigar and watching the turmoil unfold in confusion.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Good morning. I’d like to begin by congratulating our team of detectives on their job last night.”

A polite round of applause follows and Yoongi nods his head.

“Just really amazing work, you guys. The Dancer escaped from right under your nose with his loot not once, but twice.”

Sinking lower into your seat, you pull the hood of your sweatshirt over your head and tug on the ends until it tightens to hide your face. Beside you, Namjoon is staring determinedly down into his lap as if it hid the secret spell to magic him out the room.    

“I don’t think I need to tell you that this case has been pushed to priority 1. The Dancer has no reason to stay in town now since all the works he’s been after are now gone, so we need to figure out where he is before he dips. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Taehyung mutters, arms crossed over his chest.

The rest of the briefing carries on in its usual fashion, but Yoongi’s words go in one ear and out another. There’s a buzzing in your ears and your lip has become bruised from biting it so hard. Your leg is jittering under the table, knee knocking against the wood, until Namjoon reaches out to rest a hand on it.

You shift to look at him, but his gaze remains locked downwards. He squeezes once and leaves his hand there, preventing you from fidgeting anymore. You let it happen, loosening your teeth’s hold on your lip and the buzzing quieting down a little.

The briefing ends and everyone shuffles out of the room. The remainder of the day passes by in a blur of paperwork and collecting statements from witnesses. It did absolutely no good, however, since no one saw what happened. Or rather, no one could remember clearly what had happened. The museum staff’s plan of boozing up the gala’s attendees in order to get them to empty their pockets had the most undesirable effect in ensuring that nearly everyone was drunk and no one was a reliable witness. To make matters worse, the surveillance van’s camera lines had been hacked, so that the screens Namjoon and Jungkook were watching had really been just a repeating minute loop. There was no way to recover the lost data or get people to remember their night. The clock was ticking closer to the end of the day and you still had not figured out your next move.  

Namjoon rubs his eyes and lets out a breath. “He had to have had inside access some how. Tae, you’re sure you didn’t see anyone or anything with the wait staff look out of ordinary?”

The man shakes his head, honey brown hair mussed from running his fingers through it in frustration. “Nothing. If anything, everyone couldn’t wait to leave.”

“We’re missing something, guys. C’mon, what is it?”

You stay quiet. It was your fault they had all been distracted, your fault there had been a brief window of time where the thief could go in and do the job. You were so sure you were right, something about the moment at the bar screaming that he was there in front of you. It was the first time your instinct had failed you and the knowledge of that shook you to the core. The rest of your team followed your dejected mood, Namjoon the only one still determined to tease out the solution somehow.

“We’re not giving up, we’ve gotten this far. Snap out of it!” He comes up to shake Jungkook on the shoulder, but the other man just brushed him off.

Seokjin walks by your team on your way out, yo-yo dangling from his finger. He pauses next to your desk and looks down at your forlorn face. “Why so glum, sugar plum?”

You hit refresh on the police database page profiling The Dancer, hoping it would miraculously reveal some new information, like his current whereabouts. “Sorry, Captain, we just kind of…”

“We don’t know what to do, sir,” Jungkook finishes for you. “We’re stuck and have no idea what’s next.”

Seokjin makes a noise of understanding and moves to sit on Taehyung’s desk, scattering piles of folders and papers astray. The captain pays no mind as the detective huffs, kneeling to reorganize the mess.

“Well, I certainly can’t let you leave before coming up with something concrete.”

All four of you groan, the possibility of overtime something you were trying to avoid.

“This isn’t even our case, sir!” Taehyung says from his spot on the floor.

“We’re a team, Detective. So their case is your case and you’re not going anywhere.” Seokjin replies righteously and looks around at each of your faces, desolate expressions still unchanged. He sighed and walked back to his office, returning moments later with a handle of rum and a couple of paper cups from the water cooler. He sets them down and proceeds to fill them up, all of you watching in shock.

“You just need to relax,” he says, handing off a cup of the amber liquid to each of you.

Namjoon coughs, uncomfortable. “Sir, is this really…appropriate?”

“Jesus, you really are uptight, Kim.” Seokjin chuckles. “This is what my generation would do when we hit a rut. Sit back, have a drink, and come back to the problem later with a fresh mind.”

You blink. “Captain, you’re barely older than us.”

He swings back his cup and grimaces at the taste. “And yet, so much wiser. Drink up, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.” Gathering his belongings again, Seokjin tips his head in goodbye and walks out the door.

All of you watch him strut out, then turn back, eyes flitting between each person to see who would be the first to take the plunge.

“Fuck it,” Namjoon grumbles and downs his cup, filling it up again immediately after. Taehyung just whoops and follows in his stead. Jungkook sighs, then shrugs and does the same. They look expectantly in your direction; your mouth still dropped open in shock at the turn of events.    

All you can do is groan and pick up your own cup in solidarity.

Hands slid over your body, from the nape of your neck down to your back. They were rough to the touch; palms calloused from years of gripping the handle of a gun. A leg is shoved between your own and a groan resounds through the room. Your breath turns into labored panting and your arms tremble in anticipation.

“Taehyung! Stop trying to knock me over, that’s cheating!” You’re holding yourself up on the mat, body posed in a bastardized downward dog, right foot on yellow and left hand on green.

Taehyung finds a way to lean over you and successfully plant his hand on blue, a winning grin on his face, eyes nearly becoming slits. He shifts his leg; movement threatening to tip your precarious position over and you jerk your head over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Where did you even manage to find Twister in here?” Jungkook hiccups, cheeks glowing red from the booze. He had tapped out of the game five minutes in, collapsing on his second turn after trying to execute a move to somehow get both his left foot and right hand on the same red circle.

“You’d be surprised at the shit they keep in evidence lock up,” Namjoon answers from his seat, legs splayed out and cup still in his hand. He had refused to play altogether, stiff attitude still unchanged even after having a couple drinks in his system. Instead, he preferred to watch you twist and turn according to the rules of the game, intent on beating Taehyung. The other man had drunk the least out of the four of you, rambunctious personality needing no more aid from alcohol. So his limbs remained adroit and nimble, easily able to coil himself to where his hands and feet needed to go. It was a stark difference from you, sheer determination and stubborn refusal to lose being the only things still keeping your body up when the rum sloshing around in your belly insisted you fold to the ground.

“Alright, right hand blue.” Jungkook calls out. Both you and Taehyung immediately go for the same circle, the closest one to either of you. His hand lands first, but yours falls right over it, all the weight of your entire body lending its pressure to push down against it. He yowls in pain and his knees buckle out of position, pulling his arm out from under yours to cradle it.

You scramble up and cheer. “I win!”

“No way, that was cheating! You broke my hand!” Taehyung whimpers, still massaging his sore fingers.

You scoff and get up, dusting off your knees and stretching out your arms. “If that was cheating, then so was the round where you tried tickling me so I would fall.”

The man’s only response is to stick out his tongue childishly. Chuckling, you move to pour yourself another drink when you realize the entire handle of alcohol was empty. “How did we manage to finish the whole thing?”

“Why are you asking as if you didn’t guzzle your first few cups like water?” Jungkook responds, eyes opening blearily, blush now extended to the tips of his ears.

“Just go buy some more,” Taehyung suggests, still cradling his hand. “The bodega around the corner sells Fireball, get us that. And some snacks while you’re at it.”

You snort but grab your wallet anyways. “Just because you designated this task to me doesn’t me I’m going to do it well. You’re getting some shitty Captain Morgan.” As you move towards the door, the sound of footsteps follows and you turn to face Namjoon. He nods at you, as if right there was exactly where he needed to be.

“Didn’t want you to go alone. It’s dark out.” He offers as an explanation.

You cock a brow. “I’m trained in two different kinds of martial arts and carry a gun.”

“Humor me.” He brushes past you to walk out, cool city air gusting into the police station for a moment before the door closes shut again. Your lips purse before you follow the man out into the street. The two of you walk for a few minutes in silence, sounds of bustling metropolitan life around you providing the background music. At a cross walk, you stop to wait for the light to turn and decide to glance at the officer next to you, his features doused in the sallow light of the street lamps.

His jaw is sharp, regal. It’s a contrast to the softness of his cheeks, the pillowy padding of his lips. Though his expression was neutral now, you knew that if he turned his lips up in a smile, two twin dimples would appear on either side, deep and unforgiving. Your eyes drag up to the gentle curve of his nose, then to the straight line of his dark brows drawn against the tan of his skin. Though it pained you to admit, Namjoon is handsome. Always was handsome, it was the first thought that run through your vodka muddled mind when you first laid eyes on him years ago in that bar. He looked exactly as he did now, though his dress shirt had a few buttons undone then, collar splayed open to reveal the blush creeping up his chest. You hazily remember the clutch of his hands on your hips, the bite of his teeth when they sank into the skin of your neck-    

“See something you like?”

You blink, startled out of your reprieve, only to see Namjoon’s back as he strolled across the street. The cross walk signed glared in front of you, little green walking man taunting. Shaking your head, you jog to catch up to him, already walking into the entrance of the bodega.

“You were just waiting for the perfect moment to say that, weren’t you?” The bell of the door rings as you enter and you find him standing in the beer aisle, inspecting a 6 pack of Bud Lights.

“I mean, you also were staring.” He decides on Natty Light instead and picks it out, turning to face you. “I know I’m devastatingly good looking, but you need to be a little more discrete with your ogling.”    

You bite the inside of your cheek, embarrassed at being caught. “I was looking at your hair, dorkus. Was considering calling NASA since that shit is defying gravity.”

His smile softens, then falls from his face slowly, expression turning serious. “I wanted to apologize.”

You jerk your head back, perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

He shifts from one foot to another, clearly a little unsure. “I mean for how I’ve been treating you. And not just since we started working together on this case.”

Your mind goes blank and your nose fills with the scent of peppermint as he shifts a little closer. There’s no way he’s talking about what you’re thinking of, right?  

“I haven’t been fair to you.” Namjoon continues, still holding your gaze firmly. “I know I called you overconfident, but so am I. On the first day, I came in all cocky and that ruined what we could have had between us.”

I can’t believe he actually admitted it. Your heart rate picks up speed at his words.  A beat passes and though you have no reply prepared, your mouth opens-

“I shouldn’t have been so stubborn on that first case. I was so sure I was right just because I know I got the highest scores on the detective’s exam. I didn’t stop to listen to you and if I just had, we could have caught the guy-“

Your mouth snaps shut in confusion. “What?”

“The credit fraud guy? The first case we had together? You talked about how people don’t take you seriously and I realized I did the same thing all those years ago and that’s how this whole stupid feud started-“

You can hardly hear the sound of your own voice when you speak over the loud ringing in your ears, anger slipping over you like a shadow. “Namjoon, you think I hate you because of the fucking credit fraud case?”

His brows furrow and his mouth hangs open dumbly. “I-what? Yeah, what do you think I was-“

“Just go pay.” You turn your face up and keep your gaze locked above, fighting back the prickling feeling behind your eyes. A long moment passes as you and Namjoon stand there in the aisle, an awkward silence enveloping the two of you. He breaks first and eventually leaves you to stand there alone, moving towards the cash register.

You release the breath you had been holding and open a freezer door to stick your face in, determined to dry out the wetness growing in your eyes. Counting down from a hundred, you stand there and wait until you were sure your voice wouldn’t shake when you spoke.

Inhale. Exhale.  

After picking your head up and closing the freezer door, you grab a random bag of chips and pay for them at the counter. You smile, thank the cashier, collect your change, and walk out to see Namjoon still standing there, waiting for you. He looks like there’s more he would like to say, but you don’t give him the chance before turning and heading in the direction of the station. He catches up easily, your brisk pace no match for his long legs. But thankfully, he decides to keep quiet.

The two of you reach the station after what feels like hours, the silence between you dragging out the seconds. You reach for the door, determined not to get caught outside in another failed conversation with Namjoon, when you catch sight of someone leaning against the brick wall of the police station. Brows furrowing, you pause. Namjoon does too, eyes flitting between you and the person.    

“I’m going to stay out here for a second.”

Namjoon glances at you, but concedes, most likely thinking you need a moment alone and were using questioning the poor innocent guy probably just waiting for someone as an excuse. You watch the door swing shut behind him before walking up to darkly clad figure.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

The man’s head rises and at this angle, you can now see under the cap that shaded his face, revealing a small smile.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

The lift of his cheeks and the crinkle of his eyes ring familiar.

“Do I…know you?” It comes out of you in a staccato, hesitant lest this random stranger be only just that.

His smile widens and he turns to fully face you. “Don’t have the best observation skills, do you, detective?”

You squint at him. “How do you know what I am?”

He tilts his head, eyes watching you like a bird in a cage. “In my line of work, I’ve learned to pick out cops from a mile away. Besides, you made it pretty obvious when we met. Picked out the best vantage point in the room to observe everyone, just like someone on a stakeout. I just had to come by and see if my guess about you was right. Settle a bet with myself, you can say.”

A throbbing hum fills your head and you straighten, arms folding over your chest. He mirrors your motions, smile never leaving his face. His gaze unnervingly never left your own and you racked your brain, trying to figure out where you had seen him before.

“C’mon, detective,” he teases, voice lilting, “Surely someone as smart as you can figure it out.”

His teeth appear, pearly white and straight. The motion turns his eyes into crescents and accentuates his high cheekbones, the slope of his nose.

You’re wary to speak, unsure of what the feeling in your head meant, before the realization came crashing back into your mind. “Jay?”

“Bingo!” He laughs and claps his hand onto your shoulder. You’re startled by the action, but if he noticed, he didn’t care. “Though I don’t really answer to that name, I’ll let you call me whatever you’d like.” His grip slides down your arm to the side of your torso and you’re made suddenly aware of the firearm you have sheathed under your jacket. As his hand inches closer, you jerk away like you were burned and take a step back.

“What are you doing here? How did you know where I work?”

He raises his hands up, palms towards you, as if he was calming a nervous animal. “I guess you can say it’s my job to find special things. I’d love to tell you all about it, but I have a meeting to run off to.”

Your head is absolutely pounding now, your vision practically vibrating as you watch him pick his back up off the wall. Panicked, you blurt out, “I’m a cop and I’m telling you to stay here.”

He laughs, the sound hollow in the suddenly deserted street. “We both know that doesn’t mean anything. Besides, this is a very important businessman I can’t keep waiting. Most important in this whole damn city and you know what rich people are like. Think their money can buy our time.” He winks and steps around you to leave, the faint smell of smoke following him.

You’re left frozen for a split second, trying to piece together all of what he said. Then your instinct kicks in and your limbs move, turning to follow him. Your lungs whine in discomfort as your feet pick up into a run before your mind even realizes what was happening, skidding around the corner to chase after the mysterious man. But when you make the turn, he’s nowhere to be seen. The road is empty and there isn’t a soul in sight for blocks. There is only you on the empty sidewalk, soaked in the yellow light of the lamp and an insistent hum in your ears letting you know you’ve found what you’ve been looking for. You spend a moment more standing there before turning back to push open the doors to the station and find your team. The three of them look up at you, cheeks ruddy and mouths stretched in the ghost of a laugh before they catch the determined look on your face.  

“I know where he’s going to be tonight.”  

e/n: i genuinely enjoyed writing this so much and can’t wait for the next part! come tell me your thoughts :)

[birdiethebibliophile]

{fic} Sight Unseen

Rating:  G (no warnings) Relationship:  Lucien/Cassian Word Count:  1,828

Tagging @squaddreamcourt. The promised Lussian fluff.

Also tagging @filippaeilharts and @hazelestelle because y’all encouraged me with my Lussian WIPs, like, MONTHS ago and here is one FINALLY.

Here on AO3.

Summary:

Based on @yalenayardeen‘s Cutthroat Fanfiction: ACOTAR Edition Generator!  (Yes, I’m still using it.) Prompt was:

CHARACTERS: cassian and lucien; TROPE: blind date; TWIST: you must drink 3 alcoholic beverages (or 3 cups of highly caffeinated coffee/tea if you don't drink alcohol) just before writing the fic

(note: I did not follow the twist very exactly, but alcohol, caffeine, and late nights were involved)

__________________

Lucien was nervous.

He hadn’t been on a date in years. Years. He thought maybe the last time he went on a date was that twenty-seven-year-old hipster with the goatee and the beanie. His name was – God, Lucien couldn’t even remember what his name was, but he’d been a terrible kisser.

It didn’t give him high hopes for the date tonight.

His friend Feyre had been the one to set him up. Apparently now that she was getting laid on a regular basis, she thought that was the cure to all ills. You’ll like him, I promise, she’d wheedled when setting up the date. He’s totally your type.

Gay? Lucien had replied sarcastically.

Feyre had pouted. Lucien. You’re being difficult.

Can you at least tell me what his name is? What he looks like? So I don’t have to twerk on every guy under thirty in Rita’s to figure out who my date is?

All Feyre had told him was that the man’s name was Cassian, and he was an acquaintance of Rhys’s.

Lucien was not getting his hopes up. Especially as this Cassian was now – he checked his watch – almost ten minutes late.

He was sitting at the bar, next to Elain and her SO, Amren. Elain had happily volunteered to accompany him just in case, as he had said. Though from the way the two were making out now, Lucien didn’t think they’d be much help if this Cassian turned out to be a creep.

“Lucien Kelly?”

Lucien turned on the stool, and then – looked up. And up. He blinked several times. In front of him was an exceedingly tall, exceedingly buff, exceedingly handsome man. He was the kind of fit that you didn’t get from working out – the kind of fit you got from a job where you were lifting heavy things every five minutes. He must’ve just come from that job, whatever it was, because he looked a bit disheveled:  flannel shirt partly unbuttoned, hair escaping from a messy bun, crooked smile surrounded by a five o’clock shadow.

Realizing the man was still waiting for an answer, Lucien cleared his throat. “That’s me.”

The man’s smile broadened, making his eyes crinkle. “I’m Cassian,” he said. “Your date.”

“Oh. Well. Nice to meet you,” Lucien said weakly as Cassian slid onto the barstool next to him.

“Buy you a drink?” Cassian offered.

“You don’t have to –”

Cassian cut him off with an airy wave of his hand. “Nah, I owe you for being late. Sorry about that.”

“Sure,” Lucien said, hard feelings draining away.

“It’s my boss’s fault,” Cassian confided as he motioned the bartender over. “Excuse me – a Guinness and whatever my friend wants.”

“Tullamore Dew, neat,” Lucien told the bartender.

Cassian grinned. “You have good taste. Anyways, I work at a farm about an hour away, and I told Mor that I needed to get off early because I had a date, but she said, and I quote, ‘Time and tide wait for no man, Cassian, and neither do cows, so get your ass in that barn.’”

Lucien laughed. “You really milk cows for a living?”

Cassian rubbed the back of his head self-consciously. “And lift hay bales and groom horses and shit. I hope I don’t smell like work – I didn’t have time to take a shower before coming over here.”

Lucien leaned in slightly, inhaling. “You do, but not unpleasantly,” he decided, unwilling to tell Cassian as yet that Lucien found the other man’s scent of hay and manure and sweat to be kind of… attractive.

“Well, I’m glad you don’t mind.” Cassian’s eyes swept down Lucien’s form. “I thought maybe –” He broke off, flushing. “Um, what I mean to say is that you look very nice.”

“You thought that I might be a stuck-up rich pretty boy?” Lucien supplied bluntly. “I know I look it. And smell it,” he added, thinking back to the touch of cologne he put on before heading out the door. He regretted it now; he didn’t want anything to obscure Cassian’s natural scent.

Cassian grinned sheepishly. “Maybe. Anyways, what do you do for a living?” He grabbed the glass of beer the bartender slid over to him and took a sip.

“I work in human resources,” Lucien said with a sigh. “Not nearly as interesting. It’s a lot of filing papers and answering angry phone calls.”

“Wait – like, you’re a secretary?”

Lucien scowled. “Okay, yeah, I’m a secretary.”

Cassian grinned. “Nothing wrong with that. I just can’t see you fitting in at an office, with the eye and the hair and everything.” He reached out and wound a strand of Lucien’s hair around one finger, rubbing it between the finger and his thumb. “Do you like it?”

“Eh.” Lucien shrugged. “I’m pretty good at it. My boss can be a bitch sometimes, but he’s a pretty good guy, and it pays well.”

“So you’re not stuck-up, and you’re not rich.” Cassian grinned, tugging lightly at the strand of Lucien’s hair before letting it go. “But you are pretty.”

Lucien took a hasty sip of his whiskey to hide his growing blush. “You’re prettier than me,” he argued once he’d set his glass down again.

Cassian gave him an exaggeratedly doubtful look, so Lucien leaned over and pinched his arm lightly. “Well, there’s more of you, isn’t there?” he said with an impish smile.

Cassian burst into laughter. “You have a point there,” he admitted. “Rhys didn’t mention you were funny.”

“Oh?” Lucien said, voice casual. “What did he say about me?”

“Nothing much,” Cassian said. “He said you were a friend of Feyre’s, and that going on a date would help me, quote, get over myself.”

Lucien raised his eyebrows at Cassian over his whiskey glass.

Cassian grinned. “I’ve been teasing the bastard non-stop about him and Feyre. Serves him right. He’s been swooning all over the place. Can’t say a word to him without him bringing her up. Anyways, Rhys insisted that being single was as good as being dead, so he’s been setting me up on dates for the past month.” Cassian leaned in, as if to tell Lucien a secret. Lucien noticed that his lips were slightly chapped, in a nice sort of way. “Between you and me, you’re the first one who hasn’t made me want to run out of the room. Congratulations.” Cassian lifted his glass and touched it to Lucien’s.

Lucien’s face felt hot as Cassian sat back up and took a drink of beer. “Thanks – I think. Though I’d like to think I rate a little higher on the date scale than that.”

Cassian made a thoughtful face. “It all depends,” he said. “I have high standards, I’ll have you know.”

“And what might those be?”

“Pretty simple, really. Be a good person. Like me for my personality as well as my good looks. Oh, and you have to like cats. I have one.”

Lucien grinned back. “Well, I can’t speak to the first qualification, but you have an absolutely sparkling personality to match your impressive biceps, and I have a cat as well.”

“Two thirds of the way there, then. What’s your cat’s name?”

“His name is Pumpkin, and he’s gigantic and orange. What about yours?”

“Muffin. She’s a tiny tortoiseshell,” Cassian said fondly.

Lucien snickered. “Did you pick the most stereotypical cat name ever on purpose?”

“Maybe,” Cassian admitted. “But I say having a cat named Muffin is one of the great joys of this life, you know?”

“Sure,” Lucien said agreeably. “Along with good whiskey –” he raised his glass in demonstration “– and winning at Monopoly.”

Cassian laughed, and Lucien felt a rush of ridiculous pleasure at being the cause. “I can’t imagine you can treat yourself to the second too often on a secretary’s salary,” he started to tease, then stopped. “I think there’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

“Hmm? Oh, hi, Elain,” Lucien said in surprise, turning on his barstool.

“Hi,” she said. Judging by the breathy quality to her voice, and the presence of at least two visible bruises on her neck, she and Amren would need to get a room soon. “Do we need to kill anyone?”

Lucien exchanged a glance with Cassian, who gave him one filled with mock horror. “No, we’re good,” he told Elain.

She beamed at him. “I’m going home with Amren, then,” she said.

“Okay.”

“To have sex.”

“Okay, Elain,” Lucien said, rather more loudly than before. “Have fun.”

“We will!” Elain said in the sing-song voice she used after three drinks, as Amren tugged her towards the door.

“I am so sorry,” Lucien said, turning back to Cassian. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t, you know, an axe murderer.”

“No offense taken,” Cassian said. “That was – erm – Feyre’s sister?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I can see the resemblance,” Cassian said thoughtfully. “They’re both equally obsessed with fucking.”

Lucien snorted into his glass. “That’s one way of putting it. Feyre set me up with you because she thinks getting me laid will cure my depression.” Then he processed what he’d just said and turned crimson. “Shit. I mean – not that – God, there were so many things wrong with that sentence.”

But Cassian was laughing. “She and Rhys were made for each other. Do you really have depression?”

“Yeah,” Lucien said. “Does that freak you out?”

“Nah,” Cassian said. “I’m on meds for ADHD, so no judgment here.”

Lucien let out a silent exhale. “I bet working on that farm helps as well, huh?”

“Hell yeah,” Cassian said. “I’ve been working for Mor since I graduated high school. College was never really for me, you know?”

Lucien nodded, then grinned. “Good thing you have the body for it, huh?”

“Are you ogling me?” Cassian accused.

“Maybe,” Lucien murmured, eyes dropping to the unbuttoned V of Cassian’s shirt. “Or maybe I’m admiring your personality.”

He was rewarded for his wit with Cassian’s laugh.

He was really starting to like that laugh.

*****

Cassian checked his watch. They’d been at the bar long enough that hordes of already-drunk college kids had started to pour in. “I guess I should head out – I start work at five thirty, and plus, Muffin gets upset if I feed her any later than eleven.”

“I should go, too.” Lucien started to stand up, but was stopped by Cassian’s hand on his arm.

“I really like you, Lucien Kelly,” he said softly. “And I’d like to do this again sometime. What do you say?”

“I’d like that too,” Lucien said, and he found that he meant it.

Cassian’s sudden smile – genuine, and bright as morning sunshine – took up his whole face. “I’ll see you soon, then.” And he leaned in and pressed his chapped lips to Lucien’s cheek.

“See you,” Lucien murmured, watching Cassian make his way to the door, with a dazed expression on his face and one hand to his cheek like he could still feel Cassian’s lips.