#wade fire au

[boog-how]

MORE Wade Fire AU 🔥

[keepofkandrakar]

i just had thoughts of a zutara elemental au but i’m so conflicted on how it would work best — zuko be the ember to katara’s wade? or would katara work best as a water!ember and zuko a fire!wade???? I MEAN COME ON THIS WAS BOUND TO HAPPEN

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Hi, I was the anon that had brought up the high seas adventure!! I'm glad you took interest in it, and hearing your ramblings to add onto it just made me imagine so many fun things! (Poor Eddie, haha. With your description, I just imagine a dog trying to stand up in a moving car.) Ohh, now I imagine a case where the ship wrecks and their stranded for a few days until another rescue ship comes! Perhaps on an island?? I hope some of them know how to hunt!

the very first thing that came to mind was Eddie sobbing while pointing one of Howdy's guns at a crab. Sally just comes up & stabs it through the shell before taking it back to the fire for eating. Eddie collapses to his knees, wracked with guilt-

[bazi-x]

concept Elemental Swap

character design V2 and new names

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

If You Can't Dance 1

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: this is what you get when you encourage me. Please leave any and all feedback! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Part of The Club AU

“It's so nice to finally meet you in person!” Melinda beams as she holds out a bright drink. The layers of blue and purple make you wonder about its contents.

“Yeah, so awesome,” Faye hollers as she sips from a yellow cocktail. “Must be lonely working from home.”

“Oh, uh, not really,” you sway, trying to avoid the bodies around you. Your throat scrapes as you have to yell over the pumping bass. “It's…quiet.”

“Quiet!? Carly giggles, “then It's good you got out! This merger is going to be lit.”

“Lit?” Melinda, the eldest of the trio rolls her eyes, “you young ones.”

You wade with them through the crowd, the heat of the clubgoers catching beneath the wool of your sweater. You feel out of place in your dowdy pullover and long peasant skirt, especially as sequins and bright prints refract in the rainbow of lights. Even your coworkers belong, blouse sleeves rolled up and blazers handed over to the coatroom.

“Hopefully they're still down for work drinks!” Faye trills.

“Bigger and better. Work mandated cocktails should just be a thing,” Carly guffaws.

“Mmm, and what about work mandated flings?” Faye ogles past you.

You crane to follow her eyeline. You see several men, striding through the crowd with ease. Tall and not bad looking by common standards. You see nothing especially alluring but you understand what people look for; good posture, nice eyes, broad shoulders.

“Erm,” you look back and taste your drink, giving a face. “Is there alcohol in this?” You call over.

“Duh!” Carly laughs again, “oh my god, you're so adorable! Oh, you know what, you should start coming into office. We do lattes on Friday.”

“I er… don't mind….”

You don't finish your protest as the tempo shifts and Faye squeals, “oh this is my song, girls!”

They throw an arm up each, balancing their drinks in their other hands. You sniff the glass and try another gulp. You cough and hide it behind your hand. They barely notice you. No one really does, you're tiny and dressed like wallpaper.

As they shimmy and swing to the music, you don't know what to do. You wiggle awkwardly, but you don't dance and have no rhythm. You find yourself downing the drink out of anxiety.

You feel an odd sensation in your eyelids and a ripple in your brain as you get to the bottom of the drink. You copy Carly and leave your empty glass on a table. Another song and the heat beads on the nape of your neck.

The flashing lights and wall of sound makes you dizzy. You shouldn't have finished the drink. You don't feel right. You look at the others and how they giggle and joke. You don't fit in. Just like always. You know your coding and you know how to be alone.

You sidle close to Melinda, she seems like a mother, well, she kept mentioning her kids. “Is there a bathroom here?”

She laughs, amused by your obvious question, “over there.”

She points through the crowd. You see the top of a sign but not enough to read it. You smile and wave to the other girls, fleeing as they barely notice.

You get caught between a couple as you try to squeeze by. You squeal and get knocked around by a large guy on the other side of them. You're caught in a tidal wave of people as you peer desperately at the neon blue sign.

You can't get there but you need to get out of here. Your skin is on fire, your vision is streaming, and you can't breathe. The air is hot and humid and putrid.

You claw before you, forcing past the crush around you, stumbling towards the entryway. You trip out the door and heave in, gulping down cold air, trying to get your head straight. Your chest hurts and you're shaking. You need help!

You look around for anything. Anyone. The bouncers are distracted with those seeking entry and those in line don't seem to see you. You lean on the corner of the building and put your hand on your sweater.

You clutch the wool and shake your head. It's been a while since you felt this. The world spirals around you as you struggle to steady yourself. You keep your other hand on the wall and murmur. You're going to pass out.

You shouldn't have come here. You knew this would happen. But they didn't give you a choice. The email said mandatory. You need this job. What are you going to do? Everything is falling to pieces.

“Pardon me, are you alright?” A lilting voice startles you. You part from the wall, nearly falling against it as you teeter on your feet, “oh, woah, watch yourself.”

The man catches your arm, keeping you from tipping over. His touch surges in you but you know you can't stand on your own. You gulp and gurgle, fanning yourself.

“S-s-sorry,” you pants, “I just… I can't breathe.”

He leans in as you can barely speak. His blue eyes are intent on you as he keeps you upright, firm but gentle. He nods as he listens to your staggered words.

“I… too hot… inside…”

“Oh, dear, yes, I agree,” he smiles kindly, “here, why don't you…. lean here, yes,” he eases you against the brickfront, “catch your breath,” his accent is soothing, “and…” he looks around, gesturing to the bouncer, “Pardon, yes, would you fetch some water for the lady?”

The man grumbles but glances inside the club. He must know the stranger before you, “you have some water and it'll be just fine. Hmm? Will you count with me?”

You give him a bewildered look but he's already counting, “one, two, three…”

[brandileigh2003]

Fic recs: (this is not exhaustive and I know I'm missing some that I loved)

All are wolfstar (mix of jily and jegulus) Complete unless marked. Check tags, some are dark or sad.

*My absolute favorite: Crimson rivers by bizarrestars aka zeppazariel - angsty hunger games au. Best remus and Sirius characterizations. Wolfstar is top notch. The friendships and black brother dynamics are all 💯

Hogwarts/magical

-The Standard Book Of Spells Series by imparfait connected fics and 1 shots, still wip: wolfstar is so in love, I want to melt multiple pov. no voldy.

-Would That I by third_crow (wip currently updating) soulmates, canon divergent, no voldy, autistic remus

-snakes and lions by her_smile_forges_galaxies (read tags though! Slytherin remus, platonic soulmate remus & regulus turns death eaters, angst with happy ending)

-just lovers by bizarrestars/Zeppazariel divergent fic, fake dating (wolfstar isn't main but they're heavily featured)

Au/modern/non-magical

-like real people do by third_crow (disability coffee shop)

–wolf's heart by mizdiz- heartbreaking. Meet in bookshop, Remus has heart problems, they fall in love, Remus tries to push him away to save pain of watching him die but Sirius won't let him.

– best friends brother bizarrestars/zeppazariel: has it all, jegulus as well, moonwater friendship, black brother dynamics

-wading in waist-high water by colgatebluemintygel- bake off fic where sirius is host and Remus is a disaster

– text talk by merliwhirls: great banter and flirting firming a solid connection through text before they meet in person.

-lessen my load by moonymoment (university, so sweet together)

-pb to my j by aqua_myosotis (texting fic, so cute together)

-my only sunshine by loua29xx- remus is sick and asks Sirius to help him die

-Berlin Angel by de_sire: Remus helps him really begin to live, asks the deep questions help him discover who he is. Sirius helps remus open up as well, sees his layers, thinks remus is Sirius' own sun

-Second Generation by MsAlexWP older wolfstar, single parents, getting back together. The sequel is so perfect too! It's a Nice Day for a Wolfstar Wedding

-An infinite ocean by orphan_account (raising teddy au, he has cf)

--Evolution is spelt with an R by de_sire: Remus never went to Hogwarts, saves Sirius and Sirius gets involved with pack by being healer

Other magical:

–Stealing Harry by copperbadge (wolfstar raising Harry)

–After the fire by Coriaria lie low at lupin's, a dark look at remus' past (check tags)

--good old-fashioned lover boy by all2well (both teachers at Hogwarts)

–that’s the art of getting by by sarewolf Remus raises Harry then Sirius lays low with them

exes, horcruxes, and other reasons to panic by lynxindisguise: divergent from 1st war, picks up 7 yrs later

-canon so far **shifting Lines by dovahtobi (wip currently updating)

-wip or maybe abandoned but good: Of Leaves and Stars (modern magical texting, trans remus and genderfluid sirius)

as well as Of Initials and Postscripts (Hogwarts era, remus is homeschooled and sirius is his penpal) both by irrationalmoony & LadyAmina

-Saccharine by moonymoment (au) Sirius is a ghost in remus' apartment

Authors in general

third_crow disability rep!

Peachyybabe he is great at portraying disability

Littleoldrachel disability and trans rep

her_smile_forges_galaxies

MsAlexWP

de_sire

moonymoment

MesserMoon

beautywolfstar

xinasvoice

Brigidfaye

Eyra

MollyMaryMarie

Check out my fandom wifey lucigoo

Some of my fandom friends moon_stars, raggedypond, beautywolfstar, and speckinthevoid

Other things I've re-read

-Did You Miss Me? By Fantismal, Krethes long text fic, angst and humor. Check tags

-An Interesting Grasp by TheBiButterfly: remus with tourettes, artist sirius, moonflower friendship, au

-Six Feet Apart by Belle_Lestrange101: pandemic fic, remus is high risk

-Living Like We're Renegades by orphan_account deaf/hoh remus and genderfluid cheerleader remus

--Forever Is a State of Mind by orphan_account (raising teddy, deaf remus)

-taste of honey by biremus: British bake off fic, each other's competition but ofc fall in love

-Let Them Eat Cake by OpeningMyEyes: another baking fic

-This Is the Way the World Ends by YouBlitheringIdiot: sad but beautiful MCD

--A Brief History of Dragons by eyra: nuerodivergent remus

-Choosing You by Cruisinwritealong: one shot, they're cute

-Heat and balance by eyra: beautifully depicted disability/illness fics, au

-from white-hot anticipation to cold-blooded fear and back again by drowsyanddazed: ravenclaw remus unimpressed by prank idea and they get close

-this is erosion by cruelrage: modern magical, texting at Hogwarts, remus homeschooled

-Engaged for 43 years by halfravenhalfclaw: sirius proposes at first sight at 11, follows til the afterlife (divergent)

-Befriending A Ravenclaw by kreestar: slow burn with pining. Remus is ravenclaw prefect

-ten reasons (to go to michigan) by greyeyedmonster18: falling in love au author remus, artist sirius raising Harry with regulus angst+ slow burn

-We’ll Make It Out Alive by wolfstar_addict417: texting fic with angst/fluff and disabled remus (au)

-summer you let your hair grow out: Sirius goes to remus instead of James'

-Boys Will Be Bugs by the_Infamous_Jack: Hogwarts era with trans remus

-sweater weather by lumosinlove: hockey fic they're so cute

-Highland Fling by picascribit: summer disability strangers to lovers (au)

-Dear Your Holiness by MollyMaryMarie check tags but some of the quotes still stick with me.

- Heavy In Your Arms by MollyMaryMarie: slytherin Sirius as padfoot finds injured ravenclaw remus and takes care of him

-everything's connected by mizdiz- magical realism, boarding school. Witty banter, alternating sarcastic and socially withdrawn/awkward remus and larger than life Sirius.

-we can be heroes series by YouBlitheringIdiot school years through the war. Divergent ending

-the sea is a good place to think of the future by peachyybabe first in series is happy/open ending. Love them reconnecting and how disability is written. Check tags. 2nd in series has mcd. But it's oh so good, broke my heart.

-As It Was by peachyybabe mix of fluff, angst and hurt/comfort

-Honey If I'm Not by BrigidFaye: divergent post war where remus left, jily lived, and wolfstar only reconnects years later by chance. (Also has a Sirius pov)

-casting moonshadows by moonsign Hogwarts era. Wip abandoned

-Of Memories and Milk Thievery by moonymoment older wolfstar, raising teddy, get back together

-Let's Play Pretend by MsAlexWP fake dating, single parents, remus and teddy are wonderful disasters

-The Horcrux Hunt by Keysie 1st war divergent main focus remus and Regulus friendship and working together. Funny and angsty.

- it's a new dawn by ilbaritz: Remus never went to Hogwarts and met everyone after school. Trans remus

-Tertiary Colors by krabapple mpreg 1st war divergent, potters live

Ofc feel free to check out mine:

Silence Between Us by brandileigh2003 a soft wolfstar falling in love, features Sirius dealing with anxiety, and remus who is deaf and has an adorable service dog.

I've made a themed list of trans remus fics too if you want to check out

[sashaisready]

Chapter Six - You Already Know

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again.

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Series Masterlist

Chapter 7

You felt like a zombie during your shift, lifting your limbs was like wading through water. You’d nearly called out sick, but didn’t want to leave Wanda to hold the fort by herself – especially if Bucky and his stalkery thugs paid a visit. You had hardly slept after you discovered Sam in the car. It was unsettling. You wondered how long Bucky had been doing it, kicking yourself for being too oblivious to notice that you were being followed. You hated how violated it made you feel.

You had gone to work looking at each car that passed you, eyes searching for the familiar vehicle. You checked parked cars, cars halting at stop signs, cars turning down parallel streets. You didn’t see anything, but resented the paranoid wreck you’d become in a matter of hours. Then it hit you that they might have switched vehicles and you’d have no idea if they’d already passed you.

Wanda took one look at you and knew something was off, grilling you until you gave it up. You were embarrassed, truth be told. You’d gushed to her about Bucky and then you had to confess that he’d had you followed for God only knows how long. You felt foolish. It was arrogant of you to think you could tease a mob boss for months on end without any consequences.

Wanda’s eyes bugged in shock, horrified by this development.

“That’s so fucked up…” she said gently.

“Yep” you sighed sadly as you laid out the fresh stock.

“And you haven’t spoken to him since?”

You shook your head, stifling a yawn. “Nope…But if I had a crystal ball I’d assume that might change today”.

Wanda thought hard. “Are you going to go to the cops?”

You glared at her. “And say what? The employees of a man I flirt with at my bakery were parked outside my house at 3am on a public road where anyone can drive? They didn’t approach me, they were just sleeping in their car? Oh and that man just happens to be notorious mob boss Bucky Barnes, who you probably take bribes from?” you respond, sharper than you intended to.

Wanda gritted her teeth. “Well…when you put it like that…”

You sighed again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I know you’re trying to help. I’m just tired. And y’know…weirded out”.

Wanda nodded. She moved towards you and pulled you in for a hug. You accepted it gladly, allowing her embrace to comfort you.

“Thanks…I needed that” you murmur.

“Anytime. Look…I don’t mean to scare you, but I have to ask. Do you…do you think you’re in danger?” she asks cautiously.

You pause for a moment, considering the question. “Honestly? No. I don’t feel like I’m at risk. I’m just…very spooked” you explain.

Wanda nods, chewing her lip. You can tell she’s worried.

The bell above the door rings, breaking you two from your thoughts. Your heads spin to check who it is, only to see Bucky, Steve and Sam walk in. Their faces are solemn, it suddenly feels very warm in the room, as if you are standing right by the oven.

“Morning, gentleman” you call over to them, your tone indignant. “I would tell you what our specials are today, but I’m guessing you have already sent someone by to check”.

Bucky exhales, staring at you fiercely. His eyes are as penetrating as ever, hard to tear away from.

“Can we talk?” he asks gruffly.

You pretend to think for a moment. “Uh…no” you fire back sarcastically.

“C’mon Doll…” he replies, taking a hesitant step towards you.

“Don’t call me that” you spit.

He holds his hands up defensively. “Alright. I won’t. Look, I just want five minutes of your time. No tricks. And then I’ll be out of your way. Deal?”

You eye him suspiciously. “Just five, and then you’ll leave?”

He nods. “You have my word”.

“And you’re not going to send your goons to follow me home or anything creepy?” you ask sternly.

He shakes his head. “Nobody is going anywhere near you. I promise”.

You glance over at Wanda who gives you a small smile, reminding you that she’s here if you need her.

Your head snaps back to Bucky. “Alright, five minutes. But I don't want an audience”. You look to his men.

Bucky signals to Steve and Sam who swiftly exit the shop. You follow behind them to the front door, putting the latch on and flipping the ‘We’ll be right back!” sign in the window to be sure that you aren’t interrupted by any customers. Wanda looks at you expectantly but you nod to show you’re okay, she nods back before disappearing into the back room.

You fold your arms in front of your chest and lean against the counter, waiting for Bucky’s justification.

He clears his throat and begins to speak “So-”

“How long?” you interrupt briskly.

“What…?”

“How long?” you repeat, knowing full well he understands what you’re asking.

“Uh…since the start” he admits sheepishly.

You splutter. “Jesus fucking Christ” you hiss, covering your eyes with your hands.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot…”

“It’s so creepy! What the fuck?” you bark.

“Can you just let me talk? Please?” he snaps back, irritated now.

You shrug angrily and wave a hand gesturing him to speak.

“I’m sorry. I know how this must look. It must’ve been scary for you when you found them. You were never supposed to know…”

“Oh, well that’s fine then!” you scoff.

He looks at you warningly and you roll your eyes, allowing him to continue.

“…The fact is I do a lot of that. It comes with my job. After that first day I knew we’d be coming here a lot because the food was good and the men would want to. And that means I’d be interacting with you a lot. And that means I had to check you out. I have enemies everywhere, Doll. You’d be amazed. And you’d be handling my food so…”

You scoff. “Oh come on Tony Soprano, I’m just a Baker”.

“I know that now. But I didn’t. Look, I know it sounds crazy. But you know who I am. What I do” he looks at you earnestly, his eyes glued to yours as he talks.

“Also Tony Soprano is in the mafia…not the mob…”

You scowl at him and he holds his hand out defensively. 

“Not the time…okay I get it…”

He takes a breath and continues.

“Years ago, I started going to this coffee shop downtown. Loved the place, went several times a week. Until one day I’m grabbing my latte and the damn manager tries to turn a gun on me. Turns out an old client of mine with a grudge had cornered him, tells him he knows I’m in his shop every week and offered him $3000 to take me out when my guard is down. Said he could guarantee the cops wouldn't pursue it either. He didn’t get very far, poor kid had never pulled a trigger in his life, but it made me very cautious about where I spend my money, you get it?”

You gasp. “God, that’s horrible…”

He nods. “I know. $3k? I’m worth more than that…” he chuckles.

You shake your head with disapproval but are unable to hide your smirk.

“So you see, that’s what it was. Just to check you weren’t going to be slipping arsenic into my doughnuts or meeting with any of my...ex associates. And so we kept an eye on you. Maximoff too, very briefly”.

Your eyes widen as you listen to him talk, shocked by how casual he is about it all.

“It was soon pretty obvious to us that you weren’t cold blooded killers and didn't have any criminal ties. And here’s where I fucked up…because I know I should’ve stopped but…I don’t know. I started enjoying my time with you more and more. And I started feeling protective of you, I just wanted to make sure you were safe. So my men continued to keep an eye on you. It wasn’t all the time, just here and there. I know it’s creepy and you have every right to be mad…but that’s why. I’m sorry I scared you. I promise they won’t do it anymore. I think sometimes I’m so caught up in my world that I forget how it appears to people outside of it”.

You’re struck by the sincerity of his tone, if he was spinning you a yarn to keep you sweet then he was doing it convincingly. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come to you as you try to absorb everything you’ve heard. You’re horrified that you’ve been followed without your knowledge, your instincts tell you to get as far away from this man as you can. Yet a tiny part of you lights up at his admission that he enjoys his time with you, and that this was all motivated by wanting to protect you – as twisted as that might be. You're like a moth to a flame, unable to keep away.

“You don’t have to protect me” you reply with irritation. 

He nods, the beginnings of a warm smile curling onto his perfect mouth. “I know. I’ve overstepped, I’m really sorry”.

You find yourself annoyed that you can feel yourself relenting. He’s just so smooth, his words roll off his tongue so effortlessly – his charm envelopes you as you’re swept downstream, unable to keep your head above water. If he’s manipulating you then he’s doing a great job.

“You really enjoy your time with me?” you ask shyly.

He grins, cocking his head to the side as he drinks you in.

“Well, put it this way. This bakery is all the way across town from my home. I can’t get here without getting stuck in traffic, and I pass at least three other bakeries on the way. I've spent thousands of dollars in here. So what do you think?”

You blush, dropping your eyes to the floor. “Well, we are the best…” you reply gently.

His grin widens. “That’s also true”.

You sigh. “Alright. You’re not totally forgiven…but let’s put it behind us. BUT I don’t want to see an SUV anywhere near me from now on”.

He exhales, clasping his hands together in gratitude. “Thank-you, that means a lot to me”.

He leans in and places a gentle kiss on your cheek, your face burning as his lips make contact with your skin.

You nod, slightly flustered by the whole exchange.

“I should get going” Bucky says as he checks the time on his phone. “But I’m glad we straightened this out”.

You nod again, still slightly unnerved by it all, but giddy from his attention.

“Hey, do you think I could get your number?” he asks, handing you his phone.

You feel a surge of excitement in your belly, nodding as you take it from him and add yourself to his contacts. A burst of images fly through your head – being on a date with him, kissing him, walking hand in hand, sinking onto a mattress with him…

“I’m surprised you don’t already have it…” you say coyly as you pass the phone back.

He smirks, looking at the entry in his phone. “Well, I could’ve…but I thought you’d prefer the old fashioned way”. He winks at you as he heads to the door.

“Bucky…” you call out to him.

He turns to face you expectantly, one hand already on the door.

“What…uh…what happened to the coffee shop guy with the gun?” you find yourself asking, unable to resist scratching that itch.

Bucky’s face hardens, he drops his gaze to the floor momentarily before his focus shifts back to you again. His eyes are suddenly cold, a world away from the affection you found in them just moments before.

“You sure you want to know?” he asks chillily.

You pause, shaking your head as you stare at your feet.

You already know.

His face softens again, flipping over the sign and unlatching the door.

“I’ll see you around, Doll”.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

Do you have a wip right now? I just read all 3 of your fics and I must say I enjoyed them a lot. I would gladly read a 40k slowburn from you jdjajhsjaj

helloooo anon thank you for the lovely message! i do have a wip, it’s a James Bond AU promptfill for @formulaonekinkmeme. this one feels like a lot of toil at the moment (but then again, most writing does if i’ll be honest). hopefully will wade through it and the edits soon.

thank you for saying you’d read a long story from me, one day i might actually get around to writing one 🥺

sample of the bond AU below if ppl are interested?? context: vaguely *waves hands* rival agents, this is them working together for the first time

++

Max is working out how quickly he needs to knock the security guards out to get entry to the back rooms. As he’s doing so, Charles grabs his face. Max flinches, as if to withdraw his jaw, but he’s also curious about where this might be going.

“Darling.” Charles says. “You must learn to do things a little more elegantly.”

Then Charles’s grip is confident, firm on the back of Max’s neck and his shoulder. This close, Max is alarmed to know that the other agent smells like vetiver and orchids.

Max wavers, knowing exactly why Charles is doing this, but still unsure, unaccustomed to his body being commoditized in this way, even if the very nature of his work means there is violence at the end of the ends of his fingertips, in his grip, at the end of his gun.

When Charles’ mouth slants over his, all Max can do is lean into it. Kiss him back - because what are they if not good at putting on a show, donning an identity for a performance. Fine, Max thinks, let us dance. He slots his hands around Charles’s waist, leaning fully into the other man, letting himself believe that the kiss with the fire of a small solar system in it is real enough to warm him in all the places he is cold.

If Charles is concerned about any of it, he doesn’t relent. Instead opening Max’s mouth with the seam of his tongue, daring Max to edge deeper. And Max does in response, knowing his part, yawning the both of them open. It’s all heat, barely controlled, but deliberate in design to embarrass the people that they’re standing in front of. Engineered in a way to say this is what we are. Look, if you dare.

Just as Max fights the instinct to back him against the wall, just as Charles starts to purr in a way that could drive Max insane, just as Max thinks I could shove my knee between your legs and show you what I really am capable of –

Charles laughs into his mouth, and breaks the kiss. The other man wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The security detail are pointedly not looking at them anymore, content to let their gaze rove elsewhere, back towards the ballroom. One of them elbows the other.

“Europeans.” They mutter.

[moorishflower]

a fic I'm reading in a different fandom references the Chinese fable of the Magpie Bridge a lot, and while reading, I couldn't help but think, okay, but this could also be a great concept for a Dreamling fic 🤔

Two lovers, one a goddess, one human, so their love is forbidden. Separated by the Milky Way, they can only meet once a year when a flock of magpies form a bridge across for them.

Swap in 100 years for 1 year and ravens for magpies and there you have it!

oh this is a GOOD one

there are so many good bird-related fables and folk tales! I've been tooling around with the idea of a Dreamling AU of the Crane Wife story, especially because it's one of my favorite songs/series of songs by The Decemberists.

Like, imagine Hob, poor, humble, a mercenary in a time of peace, laid down his sword, and he's glad of it, he's SO glad, but his sword was what brought him coin, and now he has nothing. He has a little house that was gifted to him, and a little copse of woods in which he can hunt and cut wood, but winter is coming on, and the house wants for repairs, and he has no money to purchase supplies. He's doing the best he can and winter is so cold.

The stars fall like streaks of rain on glass, the twilight sky a scattering of silver and bruisy blue, and it is December 1st, and Hob Gadling chops wood for the fire. Stupid, to let the embers dwindle, and he with no logs to feed it, and the sun sinking deep below the horizon. It's bitter cold in daylight, and already the chill bites into his fingers, and numbs his hold on the axe.

Dangerous, to chop wood at night, in the dark, in the cold. Dangerous, too, to fall asleep in a cottage that's more holes than thatch, where the wind whistles at him through the timbers, with a dead hearth and thin blankets.

So Hob chops wood, and tells himself he's grateful for the chance the king has given him. For services rendered to the crown, a home and a plot of land in times of peace. A princely gift indeed. And perhaps, when winter thaws, they will find his body curled upon the bed, frozen stiff, with a dead hearth and empty pockets. Firewood, he thinks, does not buy food. A run-down cottage does not put clothes upon your back.

He sets the axe down to blow into his hands, and the stars blow like milk across the sky, a beautiful line of white that he tracks with his eyes, as though he could navigate by that curling stream. The temptation to return to his cottage, to bundle up beneath his few blankets and await the dawning, is sorely tempting.

The winter is bitter cold, and Hob reaches for the axe again.

The third sapling is not yet even half-felled before he's interrupted by a shout. Hunters come, sometimes, to his little copse, to flush out partridges and hares, and sometimes he is too heartsick for company to deny them, but tonight he is freezing, and his chest is heavy with anger. He swings the axe upon his shoulder and goes towards the noise, wading through the underbrush, following the bay of a hound, and the sharp whistle of its master.

"Oy!" he calls out, and hears the noises stop. "These are my woods, mine by gift of the King, and if you've felled some hart or hare I'll take my share of it!"

"Fuck off!" comes the answering call, and laughter, and the retreating sound of footsteps. The panting of a dog, disappearing into the brush.

He wants to return to the cottage, where at least he has the illusion of warmth. But he heard the crush of the branches, and the hound's eager signal. The hunter had found something, and he needn't even fully butcher it tonight. The cold will keep it well so long as he bleeds it and takes out the entrails, and, heartened by the thought of a warm meal come morning, Hob pushes through the darkening woods, following broken twigs by the light of the rising moon.

When he comes upon the clearing, the silver gleam of the tumbling stars casts it all in shades of cream and starkly alarming shadow, but even in the dimness he can make out the small body in the center, and smell the hot tang of blood.

"Oh," he says softly, and lets the axe fall from his hand. No hart, nor hare, nor even a fat partridge. Only a raven, glossy and nacred black, thrashing weakly in the rotting leaves of winter. An arrow through its wing. "Poor thing. Sweet little thing. It's all right."

He could snap its neck, he thinks. The meat would be gamey and thin, but even leather, boiled long enough, will make a tolerable soup. And surely it would be a blessing, to put it from its misery. A raven with a single wing cannot fly. A raven that cannot fly is not a raven.

Still, when he goes to it, and kneels beside it in the dark, he reaches not for its neck, but for its tiny, heaving breast. "Hush," he croons, and strokes a finger through its downy feathers. "It's all right. Let's get that out of you."

The arrow is black-fletched, perhaps the reason a hunter would bother to shoot a raven in the first place. Needless fancy, when goose feathers fly straight and true, and afterwards one can eat the goose besides. But the shaft of the arrow is wood, the same as any other, and easily snapped. The raven writhes and croaks, miserable, pained, and blood dampens Hob's hands as he pulls the broken arrow from its seat. He can see the white flash of bone, and the blood that slicks the ground turns dark as the loam of the earth under the rising moon.

"Christ's nails," he says, and the raven turns its head, its eye a perfect, black little button, its mouth open and panting. It makes no attempt to flee, not by wing and not by foot. The ravens in London are uncommonly clever, he thinks -- perhaps this is one of them, blown far off course. Perhaps it senses that he tries to help.

He has no healing salves, nor needle and thread to try and stitch the wound closed, and no knowledge of birds' wings, besides. But he has his tunic, worn but clean. Hob takes up his knife from his hip, and begins to cut long strips from the bottom of his tunic, until he has a loose coil of woolen cloth, and a hole that bares his belly to winter's bite. Gooseflesh raises on every inch of his arms, and he shivers.

"This is my only tunic," he tells the raven. "I hope it brings you some comfort." He puts back his knife, and peels the raven's wing apart from its body, stretching out the pinions full and beautiful, long and slender as fingers. Blood oozes sluggishly from the wound and, one-handed, Hob begins to wind the strip of wool around the shape of the raven's wing, tight as he dares, until red spots it through, but, at least, no longer waters the barren earth.

When he ties off the cloth, the raven yanks its wing back, and tilts its head at Hob. Birds cannot have expressions, but if he were to label it so, he would say the thing was confused. Alarmed. Considering.

Then it shakes its sleek little head, the ruffed beard at its throat puffing out. When it croaks, it almost sounds like a word.

Name, the raven rasps. Name, name, and Hob laughs.

"Funny little thing," he says. "You've spent much time around humans, then. Maybe you are one of London's ravens. Hob Gadling is my name, for what good it does me. If the winter gets much colder, it will accompany me to my grave. No coin for food, nor clothes, nor nails to patch the king's cottage." His laughter turns bitter in his mouth, and he cuts it off before it can become a scream, or worse, a sob. "But I can help a raven. If I do nothing else in this life, I can do a few kindnesses before I go. To make up for all the men I've killed."

The raven tilts its head, back and forth, and back and forth. It fluffs out its feathers, and rights itself upon the ground. It's a fine-looking bird, he thinks. Thin, but so beautifully feathered that one can hardly tell at first glance. The down of its chest and wing had been softer than a woman's breast, and Hob thinks of his straw mattress, and his cold, thin blanket, and wonders if the raven will make it through the night.

"I'd keep you, if you'd let me," he offers, feeling foolish for speaking so candidly to a wild bird. The raven blinks its liquid eyes at him. "The nights are longer and lonelier than ever, and I've no wife to warm me at home. But a raven is a fine companion. And I've got some bread and salt beef left that I can share." He offers it his wrist, expecting nothing.

When the bird steps lightly up, spreading out its wings to balance, he feels some small ember kindle in his breast.

"All right," he says, and dares to try and stroke the raven's throat with his finger. It tolerates him for a moment, seeming as surprised as Hob, and then snips at him with its beak. "Cheeky thing. Pretty thing. Will you be mine, then?"

The raven tilts its dear little head. Blood has oozed through the bandage around its wing, a startling red exclamation against off-white wool.

Mine, it croaks. Mine.

And Hob laughs, and tucks the little thing against his chest to shield it from the wind. His axe he leaves buried to its haft in cold soil. He will return come morning to fetch it. For now, he will make do with the wood he's chopped, and hope it burns the night through. If not for his sake, then for the raven.

And if he passes in the night from cold, well. He hopes the raven makes use of him then, too. It would only be fitting.

The stars are falling still, when Hob trudges through the darkened woods towards his cottage. They gleam like specks of dew on morning grass; they fall like snowflakes in the depths of winter, and in the raven's eyes they reflect in silver splendor, a dozen times refracted into an endless night-blooming sky.

[hwaightme]

After Hours on Christmas Eve

- pairing: seonghwa x fem!reader (implied woosan, implied yungi, hongjoong has a gf?) - genre: fluff, office au, young love, slice of life, a sort of slow burn - summary: instead of playing along to the buzz of the festive season, you chose to spend Christmas Eve at your desk. Could this decision make your wish come true? - wordcount: 5.7k - warnings: light sprinklings of curse words, overworking, cynicism

“Are you sure you can’t come? My wife and I would be more than happy for you to join us…”

“Yes, I’m afraid, but thank you so much for inviting me.” You were doing your best to escape your line manager’s over-enthusiastic attempts to coax you out of the office to ‘have fun’ and to ‘embrace the festivities’. Although with the best intentions, you had no desire to spend an entire evening on edge and at a metaphorical gunpoint.

“Do you at least have something planned? I don’t want you over-working yourself,” the gentle-faced man inquired, smoothing down his salt-and-pepper hair in front of a desk mirror left behind by one of your colleagues. “Besides, there isn’t much of a point. Business in the west is very slow today and tomorrow so we can relax.”

You hummed in response and got up from your chair, seeing your boss approach the shared coat rack. Exchanging holiday wishes once more, you were officially the last one on the floor from what you could see.

There definitely was something special about an empty open-plan office. Not quite ghostly, but you could feel a certain energy about it that can’t be found in other types of workspaces. Maybe it was the echoes of the buzz that is normally prevalent. Maybe it was just the overwhelming row after row of monitors and desks, identical corporate soldiers. Maybe it was not even the office itself, but rather the impressive view that could be glimpsed through the glass walls that embrace it. Colossal skyscrapers peeking from the chilly mist that was already settling on the city. Concrete jungle, a stunning architectural feat, marking human evolution in perfectly engineered geometries.

Normally you wouldn’t pay as much attention to your surroundings as this eve, but the sudden solitude made you ponder. Oh, how small you were. A worker ant, crawling to and from nests of varying sizes. So small, in fact, that it was impossible to even begin to comprehend how little influence you had over most things. Take even another person’s thoughts, for instance. At the end of the day, it was not you who made them believe one thing or other, but it was the way in which their neurons fire and how a grand variety of influences came together to turn into a singular notion.

A light flickered and turned off a few rows away from you – the team that normally sat there collectively took their holiday around the same time, leaving the seats pitifully vacant. Inadvertently you glanced at the fluorescent cylinders hanging above your head, wondering if you were frozen for long enough, would you be enveloped in the darkness?

With a sigh you ambled back to your desk, attempting to supress the pang of loneliness in your chest. If only you were on a higher floor, then you would not have to entertain yourself by people-watching out of the corner of your eye. Instead, all your attention would be consumed by the myriad of emails that you have yet to wade through, and the programming tasks that you have lined up for yourself to compensate for your lack of ‘spirit’.

It wasn’t that you were a manifestation of Scrooge or the Grinch, it was just that you, simply, could not be bothered. Some time ago you would have probably made an effort to gather some friends, or plan a romantic evening with a significant other, but with the former all being preoccupied with their own new family lives or winter getaways, and the latter being nowhere on the horizon, you perceived yourself as the odd one out, and as such, exempt. There was no need to be festive to the point of aggression, methodically “decking the halls” and planning dinner with more rigour than a military commander.

If Christmas was not that big a deal to you, then why were you escaping all its mentions and expressions in the office? As a matter of fact, even here you could not fully rid yourself of reminders. Among the desks and meeting rooms you could find remnants of small parties and attempts to ‘brighten up the place’ – a forgotten packet of sugar cookies, a mini tree from the supermarket… a Santa hat? This level of décor was more than enough to confirm that you just wanted the next few days to pass silently, and your present camping out at your desk was you feeding into the illusion that you could be more productive than your colleagues. You sincerely wished you could experience the rush and excitement, but at it did was made you put your phone on “do not disturb” and ghost your friends and family. Perhaps tomorrow you could face their grinning faces and social media spam, but tonight… no… tonight it was just going to be you, your virtual desktop and the snack vending machine.

Right, time to wallow in self-pity and spend Christmas Eve coding.

Soon enough, you found the right playlist, cleared your mind of aimless musings and let your fingers dance across the keyboard to the rhythm of a jazz rendition of Last Christmas. The tune was soft and light, barely audible as, even though you let yourself assume you were the only one left on your floor, you were too anxious to be sure no one would walk by. There you went again, with your myriad of social concerns. No, focus, focus.

You managed to sit through a good number of jolly tunes until it got a bit too much and you switched to good ol’ Chet Baker. As soon as the first notes of Almost Blue began to resonate from your phone, you could not help but take a deep breath and lean back in your chair, eyes shut in delight. What could be better than this? Probably nothing… or all of this and some tea. That would be lovely. Your hands still behind your head you peeled one eye open to glance at the paper cup on your desk – the cup you had bought at the canteen had long gone stale, and they were probably shut by now. If only-

“Do you want some tea? I could recommend a certain blend if you would allow me.” A familiar voice rings out right next to you, making you yelp.

❆❆❆❆❆

A little while earlier...

“If you dare leave the office before she does and do not even attempt to make conversation, I swear, Seonghwa, I will beat your ass.” Although the threat was said in jest, judging by the mischievous glint in Wooyoung’s eyes, he probably had already imagined new ways to sadistically tease his friend about this ‘office crush’.

Seonghwa was watching his colleagues gather their belongings, eavesdropping on discussions of plans and organised outings, and could not help the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that reminded him – he was cornered and could not flee. Any other evening and he could have made some kind of excuse but no… not tonight. Not on Christmas Eve. And it was all because he carelessly exposed himself through his changing habits, assuming his best friend Hongjoong would not read him like a book.

Whether it was going all the way around the floor just to walk past where you sat, or during any of the larger meetings to wait for you by the elevators, or to somehow learn your beverages of choice and your break times so that you could ‘accidentally’ meet in the floor’s kitchenette. According to his friends, Seonghwa was hopeless. That was also probably why he hauled a ‘Christmas Tea Blend’ to the office to give to you as a gift, only to discourage himself upon hearing that you were ‘not really celebrating this year’. The last thing he wanted was to unintentionally upset you. So the tinned tea leaves that he buried in his briefcase was now burning into the back of his brain, somewhere beside the adorable outfit you wore to the office festive jumper party.

Once Hongjoong noticed that Seonghwa was very much unlike his usual self – more shy, overly polite and cautious, the devious lightbulb began to repeatedly flash above his head – soon enough, his entire group of comrades in chaos was aware of the infatuation and promised to not let it go until he actually made an attempt to get closer to you.

“Hey, did you hear me?” Wooyoung’s voice summoned Seonghwa back from his mental wanderings, causing him to flinch. He spun in his friend’s direction, to see that he was already fully dressed and was finishing wrapping a monstrous scarf around his neck.

“Sure, yes, totally. And I can see you are literally disappearing under that thing.” Seonghwa motioned with his hand, earning himself a bashful grin.

“‘Cause baby it’s cold outside~”

“Did you just…”

“Oh yes, I did just. Anyways, I am off, San just texted that he’s waiting outside. And I know for a fact that you did not hear me, so Yunho, care to repeat? Bye guys, merry Christmas!”

And just like that, there was one less menace to worry about. Sliding back to his desk, he caught the sight of Yunho, who sat right across, slowly rising and logging off. Upon meeting gazes, the younger flashed him an apologetic grin, mentioning something or other about plans. His departure was considerably less dramatic; instead, every step appeared efficient, elegant, and well-calculated. No wonder he got to present in front of senior management. With a wave goodbye and a cryptic “Hongjoong will probably say the same thing that Wooyoung said, but better, so I’ll leave it to him. Merry Christmas!”, Yunho made his way to the elevators, with Seonghwa’s progressively more distressed gaze following him.

He fixated on the clock at the bottom right of his screen, imagining it ticking away on the many faces he would check during his commute home. Him and Hongjoong could be at their local convenience store right now, picking out their favourite items, the location of which they know by heart. Then they could waddle back home, and while still swaddled in puffer coats, get the cup ramyeon going. But no, not this time. This time, Hongjoong decided to remind his friend that he was, in fact, a man in a relationship and had to spend time together with his girlfriend at least sometimes. And even though Seonghwa had attempted to appeal by reminding Hongjoong of brotherhood and ‘all they had been through together’, the latter brushed him off by explaining that this Eve was a perfect chance.

“-… right yes, thank you so much! Definitely. Let’s discuss next… Thursday then? At 11AM your time? Perfect, I’ll book that in. Yep, right, happy Christmas!” a victorious fist raised to the ceiling, with the other hand rapidly returning a nearly-dead headset to its stand, Hongjoong was elated to finally be done with his calls for the day. Although it did look great to have ‘English’ on his CV, the exponential rise in the number of meetings that he had to lead because of that was astonishing. He proceeded to stretch and yawn, reminding Seonghwa of a cat he saw online.

“These people can’t catch a break, huh?” casual small talk that both knew they did not really need, but did it anyways. Hongjoong nodded in agreement, rolling his eyes at the fact that he still had a calendar invite to send. While lazily clicking away, skimming over scheduling suggestions, he commented as-a-matter-of-factly, much like he would if he was talking about the tasks in his sprint:

“I heard that Y/N is staying late at the office tonight.”

“I know.” Seonghwa mumbled, running a hand through his dark locks. Out of habit, he reached out to poke his mouse when he noticed his monitor’s screen going dark. Even though it was highly doubtful that anyone would check attendance at all, especially over the next week, Seonghwa was devoted to making his activity status as impressive as possible.

“And you know that I will not let you back in the house unless you have an update, right?” his friend was beginning to sound more and more like a mentor, much to his dismay. Though to be fair, he made it work.

“Yes sir.”

“Atta boy.”

“Of course, that is if you are not going to be rocking around a different tree…” Seonghwa tried, chuckling at the speed at which his friend’s eyebrows flew up and a curse fluttered out in defence.

“The filth of this man. And to think that this is the same guy who can barely make eye contact with a certain someone.” Hongjoong retorted, rising off his chair, and slamming the keyboard with a newfound force. Once satisfied with the darkening of his screens, he spun on his heels and made a beeline for the collection of outerwear he left lying around by some cupboards off to the side.

Finally, the disorganised pile that was driving Seonghwa up the wall the entire day would be out of sight. Along with any hope of supressing his feelings with misguided extroversion. As much as he appreciated the gentle nudges from Hongjoong and Yunho, and the not so gentle ones from Wooyoung (to the point where many a time he would purposefully orchestrate some awkward one on ones because, apparently, that was the only route to romance development), they did little to ease his pacing heartbeat.

Seonghwa decided to accompany his friend part of the way, though his offer to share the elevator ride was coolly rejected with a knowing shake of the head. He bet that if he were to be asked to pitch a business idea to a group of executives in that exact moment, he would be less nervous. At least there he would be basing everything off what he had learned, implemented, and could improvise about. You? Well, you were a completely different story. He could only wish that he could read as much as a page from your book. Beyond the office chapter, that is.

You joined the company a year after he did. Ambitious and hardworking, you were very easy to notice. Whether it was a major contribution to a top-priority project, or a breakthrough in one that was previously at a standstill, your name came to circulate among many professional circles, and even though you were not direct collaborators, Seonghwa grew to be familiar with your style of work. Out of your cohort you were the one to arrive the earliest and leave the latest, regardless of the season. He was not sure whether it was purposeful or preferential, but you hesitated or simply avoided the louder social events, choosing to either spend that time at the office or to make a quiet exit. At the same time, he never saw even the tiniest sliver of toxic competition that was a regular occurrence among new recruits, especially in the early months. You were simply existing in your own lane. Working because you loved it. Doing what you did because you wanted to. You were very easy to develop a crush on.

By a sheer stroke of luck Yunho had been assigned to be your official ‘seonbae’, to be your point of contact about life in the company, any networking and general, more informal-style support. Soon enough, Yunho had introduced you to his team, which, after continuous warm greetings and amiable exchanges of pleasantries and classic office banter, turned to the occasional collective lunch outing and twice to after work drinks. So, even though his friends poked fun and teased him for being distant and passive, Seonghwa did share a foundation with you. You knew him, and he sure as hell knew you. He even had you added on LinkedIn (a step which he patted himself on the back for – still within bounds and very professional, but still gave him another connection to you).

But there was no guarantee that he could ever go beyond that. Beyond being colleagues of a similar age, trying to make it big in the industry. If only he could run predictive analytics on the mess that was in his brain because of you to figure out the best steps forward. Maybe his job had spoiled him too much, and he got too used to taking calculated risks, rather than merely shutting his eyes, and taking a leap of faith.

Alas, here he was. Acting every bit an agitated teenager trying to drop a letter in their crush’s locker and hope that by doing so, they will get their happily ever after. Seonghwa had finally come to terms with himself and the limits which beating around the bush had. And it most definitely did not take him an unreasonably long amount of time, including procrastinating by completing mandatory trainings, reviewing his to-do lists, and reorganising his desk for the umpteenth time.

There was that tin again, staring him down. Ornate packaging, with miniature etchings of the spices included in the tea. Though it was nothing particularly special aside from being reflective of the season, Seonghwa was drawn to it, nonetheless. To put it simply, he wanted to brighten up your day, even if just for a fraction of a second. Even if the tin were to just be left behind in the shared pantry. He took out the gift bag which he packed away in a secure compartment of the case to prevent it from bending. In a couple of moves, the gift was ready.

Alright, Seonghwa. Here goes nothing. You have been sitting here long enough. What if she already left? What if you are wasting your evening at this point for… nothing?

Once he had conquered half of the way to your side of the floor, however, all doubts of you possibly having left flew from his mind, instead being replaced by a sudden swelling. Although he had to strain to hear it, your humming along to some tune was, needless to say, adorable. The way in which you had adjusted your desk and chair to allow for your feet to dangle to the upbeat tempo added to the wholly different Y/N. At the same time, you were focused. Entirely enveloped in the realm of your digital escapades, writing line after line on an editor on one screen and checking data on another. It was at this moment Seonghwa proclaimed himself to be a bit of a goner. He took a couple of steps closer to you.

His breath hitched in his throat when he noticed you break your focus and change the song that was playing to one he had also listened to far too many times to count. Almost Blue. Chet Baker. While you relaxed into the song, eyes fluttering closed, he took it as an opportunity to finally come close enough to announce his presence.

Now or never.

In the split second that he had before you would undoubtedly turn and see his form hovering barely two meters away from you, he took note of the old paper cup on your desk. It was a wild guess that it was tea, but he was already far out of his comfort zone to stop.

“Do you want some tea? I could recommend a certain blend if you would allow me.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Back to the shared present times…

“Oh my word who in the- Seonghwa! Whew, it’s you… I’ll be honest I got a bit spooked there.” You exclaimed, keeping a hand pressed right below your neck in a futile attempt to settle the sudden spike in adrenaline that shot through your body. Though it did little, seeing as it was Seonghwa you were facing.

You were not quite sure how to call him, considering that you wanted to desperately avoid the title of ‘friends’ when it came to him. So, when you had just met, you had chosen “Park”, but your kindling closeness changed that in a matter of weeks. Now, it was Seonghwa. The kindhearted co-worker, Seonghwa. The one to drop by with snacks when you were bombarded with calls, Seonghwa. The one to open and hold doors and perfectly match pace, Seonghwa. The terrifically handsome in a fitted suit and tie, Seonghwa. But most certainly not someone who you expected to see in the office on an evening when most of your co-workers of similar age were going out or at least pretending to.

“So sorry, that was foolish of me. I should have… probably pinged you or something.” Head lowered, he fired out an apology, worried that he was acting out of line.

When he did not hear anything in response except a push of the spinning desk chair, followed by a pair of stylish dress shoes entering his field of vision, Seonghwa finally returned your gaze, which was exceptionally cheery. It made him think of the sight that he had the chance to admire only a few minutes ago – of just you in your own world.

“Well… there is only one way to make things right. You mentioned tea?” you questioned, hands folded, a smile threatening to ruin the mock disappointment that you were attempting to sustain.

“Tea… yes! That’s right. Recall how we had spent quite a few of our breaks admonishing the disgrace that is our floor’s coffee machine?”

“Yes, Seonghwa, and I recall you nearly going into cardiac arrest when your manager turned the corner during one of our roast-roasting sessions,” you elaborated, the memory making you let out a soft laugh. With new-found colour on his face and boyish confidence, he continued.

“True. To this day I look twice. Anyhow, in the spirit of the festive season, and generally in the shared appreciation for nice-tasting drinks, I hope that you will enjoy this blend. Merry Christmas, Y/N.” he outstretched his right hand, which had been clenching the strings of the gift bag a bit too strongly to seem nonchalant.

Your lips formed an ‘o’ as you rose from your seat to approach Seonghwa. Taking the bag from him, your fingers lightly brushing against his, you were beyond excited. The gift itself was nothing too special – though the store from which it was, was impressive enough. But the idea that Seonghwa had prepared a gift for you and had obviously had it on his person the entire day was turning your mind fuzzy. You could feel your cheeks getting hotter by the second and you were now the one to find the carpeted floors interesting.

“Thank you so much, Seonghwa. And merry Christmas to you too. I am so sorry, I don’t have your gift on me right now…” you began, words stumbling over each other.

Seonghwa was caught off-guard. His gift? You prepared a gift? For him? He could not help but let out a quick ‘huh’ under his breath, causing your eyes to shoot right back up and peer straight into his. Enveloped in a momentary silence, you were frozen. Hesitant to act, out of fear that the fragile unknown between you would be broken, neither you nor he could bring to fill the pause. Eventually you managed, repeating yourself:

“I am so sorry… I really do like your gift. A lot. I’ll let you in on a little secret, but I was eyeing it for a while, but never bought it. So, you hit the mark. For real. I promise I’ll bring you something cool. Well at least I hope so-” trailing off again, your delivery was unusually garbled. It was hilarious to think what would happen had you been the same way during stand-up calls.

“Seriously, do not worry about it. I am just happy as is.” Seonghwa responded, face lit up by a toothy grin. He was trying his best to not pay much attention to how close you were standing.

“Then how about we try this tea out?” you blurted and side-stepped to make your way around your colleague and crush.

He followed you closely as you ambled between the rows of desks, taking note of how different his place of work felt in the afterhours. Even though it was not completely silent due to ambient electric buzzes and the music spilling from your pocketed phone, the floor had gained a certain sleepiness to it. Much like the heaviness of the looming low clouds outside. Surprisingly, right here and now, he felt safe.

The open plan kitchenette was a simple number, complete with the bare minimum of a sink and dishwasher, cupboards, a microwave, a vending machine and a coffee machine. Approaching the last of the list (and the most popular), you pried open the paper cup storage, taking out two and shutting the compartment once more with the back of your busy hand. In the meantime, Seonghwa was searching the shelves for something that could potentially serve as a strainer, since he was silly enough to buy loose leaf tea without considering the actual drinking process. Just as you were about to ask him about what exactly he was doing, the young man produced a box of coffee filters from a long-forgotten drawer, wiggling it in front of himself in a miniature celebration.

“Okay that is actually genius, Seonghwa. I was about to ask,” you commended, reaching out your hand and squeezing his forearm without giving it a second thought. Initially you wanted to slap yourself for potentially overstepping some boundary. However, once you turned to the counter beside the sink and set down the gift bag and cups in preparation for a tea ceremony on a budget, you felt Seonghwa cautiously rest his palm on the small of your back.

“Let’s assemble our innovation for tea-making then?” he joked, positioning the box beside the rest of the items, and pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers. His touch still lingered on you, mind replaying the moment an unnecessary number of times like you have seen variety shows do.

Your improvised tea production tactics worked surprisingly well. Aside from a couple of stray leaves and one spill (which Seonghwa had promptly cleaned up, unable to look at it for longer than five seconds) you now had yourselves two large cups of spiced tea, well brewed and ready to enjoy. Upon entirely clearing up the aftermath, you and your companion decided to change location. Only a couple of steps and you were seated at a round wooden table, positioned right in front of the floor to ceiling windows. Without mentioning it at all, you moved the chairs slightly closer to one another, so both of you could admire the view and the inexplicable comfort that being alone together, in the most unlikely place, brought.

If you could stop time and live in that moment forever, you would agree to it without a second thought. Chet Baker was continuing his extended concert, only now in a legendary collaboration with legends: Bill Evans, to name one. What a pleasant coincidence it was that ‘Alone Together’ was playing. The slow tempo, alluring, like the perfectly warm beverage you were cradling in your hands. The exhaustion of the day that passed was melting, tenseness of your muscles easing with every crumble of time that fell away. You were grateful for this. And yet, an inkling of doubt still managed to settle, and you couldn’t help but ask your partner in daydreaming if the music was to his taste.

Which led to you discovering he was an avid fan of the cool jazz genre and kept up with you when you started listing of one musician or singer after another. What you were not aware of, however, was the reason behind his understanding and pleasure to enthuse about improvisation with you. About five or so months ago he, you and Hongjoong were caught up in a lively debate about sampling in music, and at some point in the conversation, jazz floated to the surface, and left a deep impression on Seonghwa. He saw it as an opportunity to get to know you, your tastes and how you heard the world. So, he went through every playlist he could find, even attempted to curate his own. Behind the scenes, he was trying to fall in love with what you loved. Evidently, it paid off, as he could now share beauty with the most beautiful person sitting behind him, knowing that he was the one who had made you smile.

Your peaceful chat came to another halt. Caught up in your own musings you peered into your cup of still-hot tea, which you had not failed to compliment a number of times already. When was the last time you had experienced such childish delight because of a simple treat? Better yet, when was the last time you had experienced a lack of rigidity and social obligation around the festive season? True, you had prepared presents for your work friends, hence why you had not felt too terrible about accepting the gift from Seonghwa, but it did not feel like a gesture of political correctness. It felt like a genuine expression of joy and of the ‘Christmas spirit’ that many raved about. You had forgotten that it was a real thing, rather than a capitalist gimmick made to sell more items at higher prices during the seasonal rush.

The festivities were not so scary to you in this moment. You could not find your previous self anywhere, the one who was so sure that any bit of Christmas sentiment was sentiment wasted. Your eyes darted to your right, to see a pair of dark orbs resting right on you. A shared chortle. Back to your individual giddiness. You would not trade this Eve for any other.

“Oh, would you look at that…” you heard the man beside you comment while pointing at the windows with his cup. Guided by Seonghwa’s direction, you noticed the prima-donnas of the winter, the first snowflakes waltzing down, illuminated by glimmers of fluorescence emanating from the gargantuan steel pillars. “…it’s snowing.”

The phrase rang out, not dissimilar to the final notes of a piece’s movement. The culmination of one story, only for another to begin.

“How will I get home?” you wondered, asking the question to no one in particular, fully captivated by the scene. As if on cue, a flurry of white rushed past the building, suggesting the snowfall would only get heavier.

“I’ll go with you.” Seonghwa replied, while setting down his now finished tea.

“But I take the…”

“I know. I remember. Down to the station,” he snorted at your confused shock, before adding “we take the same line.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you, Seonghwa.”

“My pleasure,” his voice, mellifluous and soothing, beckoning you, to join him right by the windows where he had moved. Setting your own cup aside, you rose, adjusted your trousers and went to stand close to your taller partner.

Music had long faded into the background, with you attuning yourself to any sound coming from Seonghwa’s motions. Be it a breath, a shoe or his suit jacket rubbing against his shirt as he rocked once, twice. Anything to aid you in memorising the features of his man. Unbeknown to him, you had already learned the rhythm of his gait – something of a habit that you had if you were particularly close to or interested in a person. So, when he had approached you this evening, your subconscious was already leaping and celebrating.

In the quietude that snow brought to the metropolis you both resided in, you wanted to take time and share it. Just like now. In a wordless trance you felt as though you had deeper comprehension of his enigmatic nature than ever before, and even so, you only wanted more. You wanted to protect this fragile atmosphere you two had built on this very floor, your office, your second home, and carry it with you. Your heart swelled as you felt a gentle caress over the fingers of your resting hand. Not daring to look down out of fear that you were imagining the sensation, you stared out into the darkness beyond the neighbouring buildings. Moments passed, and a warm palm was pressed against your own, fingers intertwined.

How could two hands of two separate beings fit so ideally? Brought together by serendipity, or was this what Christmas miracles were for? The night you dreaded, turned into a precious memory to last a lifetime. You were sure. This was the beginning of something only fate knew.

❆❆❆❆❆

BONUS ENDING: And just like that, hand in hand, was how you left the building, longing to make up for the months you could only exchange glances and work-related stories. You ambled to the entrance of the metro, struggling against the gusts of wind that were threatening to steal your hats and your warmth. But on this Eve, it was hard to imagine anything stealing away the pure adoration in your and Seonghwa’s souls. This was the joy you swore to cultivate, protect and cherish.

“See? I told you they would figure it out. C’mon, man, have a bit more hope. It’s Christmas after all.” A bleary-eyed Yunho poked his companion in the shoulder, causing him to roll his eyes.

Yunho, being the ultimate sucker for potential romances and betting against his friends, did not need persuading to hide out at the nearby bar in hopes of seeing whether Seonghwa would make successful moves or not. He dragged poor Mingi, who was working in a different department but aware of all the office drama thanks to Yunho, along with him. Evidently, the instigator of the impromptu gathering was Wooyoung, who, after losing and having to pay for a round of drinks, was especially sulky.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. But this is only after we drilled through his skull and did his head in. Isn’t that right?”

“Exactly, so don’t question your own teachings, master Jeong.” Yunho retorted, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“Don’t worry about it, Woo. Look, I managed to take a pic-”

“San, you make me prouder day by day. Send it to me, Hongjoong’s got to see this.”

[comatosebunny09]

Thanks to @shadowofroses, my heart feels happy with this thought.

Warnings: C*ckwarming, Female Anatomy, Exhibitionism (?), Language, Modern AU

Imagine Kyojuro with you, his darling wife, seated in his lap, your back pressed to his lean chest.

The warmth of the fire pit amid your patio wades over your body, its shadows waltzing over your skin. Milky stars dot the lilac sky overhead, the moon glowing serenely, casting a special spotlight on you. Crickets chirp merrily around, their serenade contending with your wanton moans and the subtle squeak of the cushions beneath.

Marshmallows lay spilled and long forgotten across the concrete, Kyojuro’s sweltering tongue acquainting itself with the slick crevasse of your mouth. He wraps powerful fingers around the base of your neck, applying enough pressure to your jugular to remind you of his potency, hastening the thundering of your heart behind your rib cage.

Kyojuro dribbles his desire into your mouth, drunk off the feel of you wrapped snuggly around his cock, which twitches and throbs within the moist cavity of your sex. You’ve been like this for what feels like hours, the crown of his bulbous dick kissing your lush cervix. Neither of you has made a move to further things. You’re perfectly content with cockwarming your beloved husband.

When you both part for air, Kyojuro chuckles throatily. Swipes his thumb across the corner of your mouth, chasing away a smudge of chocolate leftover from your impromptu s’mores. “Messy little thing, aren’t you?” the blond croons, lustful gaze fixated on your quivering lips. Before you can fix your mouth to retort, you rapidly blink away your amorous haze when the sliding door swishes behind you, the pair of you quickly covering your conjoined bodies with a flannel blanket as Tengen meanders out onto the patio with slumped shoulders and a downtrodden expression weighing down his features.

The silverette plops down amongst the pillows of your outdoor sectional opposite you. Seemingly oblivious to your sinful ministrations, though the smell of your arousal singes the air alongside the earthy scent of burning wood. Tengen drops his head into his hands, a sigh tearing past his lips. “Fuck man,” he curses, causing your heart to plummet to your feet despite Kyojuro’s veiny shaft pulsing against the sensitive nerve endings of your pussy.

You resist the urge to reach out and pat your friend on the shoulder, knowing that maneuvering yourself towards him will only divulge your plight—you are so incredibly soaked down there. Any such movement will create the most obscene suctioning sound. As if sensing your thoughts, Kyojuro casts you a warning look in your peripheral, idly bucking his hips to remind you to behave. You bite your lip, swallowing a pitiful sound.

With a cleared throat and heat blossoming into your face, you ask, “you alright, Ten?” trying your almighty damnedest not to sound like a wanton whore in the company of your woeful friend.

[boog-how]

steam 🔥💧

[smolmakerel]

I decided to do it. I'm writing a full story. Let's hope I can complete it. 😂

Edit: I have a name for this au.

Home on the Range

Part(s) 1 . 2 .

■■■■■

“Mami?”

“Tara, I really don't want to hear your excuses anymore.”

Tara sunk down in her seat, shoulders up to her ears in shame. Her rumpled clothing pressed uncomfortably around her skin, no doubt leaving behind the indent of the inseam of her clothing. She gave a small tug at her shirt collar and wrinkled her nose at the pungent vodka dried into the fabric.

She took a glance at her mamá and ducked her head to keep from catching her eyes. Her face was carefully set, her eyes staring at the empty chair across from them. Her silence was loud, Tara was uncomfortable.

“You just had to go out after I specifically told you not to. Do you know what something like that does to this family?”

Tara scoffed, anger rising. “What family?”

The squeak she let out was of fear when Mamá snapped her head to the side to glare daggers at her.

“Don't talk to your mother that way,” Mamá snapped. “You don't get to talk to me like that after all I've done for you.”

Tara felt a flare of pride, or maybe it was remaining liquid courage. Either way, she was unfiltered and wading towards the danger zone rapidly.

“You haven't done anything for me! Look at where we are! You think this is what you call good parenting?!”

Mamá's face grew red. Before she could yell some more or worse, hit Tara, the door opened and a man in sleek khaki dress pants, white button up shirt, and a loud green tie stepped into the room. He barely paid the two women any attention before sitting down at the empty chair.

“I've looked at your case,” the lawyer started slowly, and Tara and her mom shared a look. “The police want to charge you for driving under the influence. Now, from what I've seen evidence-wise, your fingerprints weren't on that tank of gas, so arson won't be added to your charges.”

Tara let out a sigh of relief.

“But that doesn't mean the other charge is going to drop.”

Mamá hummed. She twisted the ring on her thumb slowly, intimately. It was nauseating.

“What are our options?” Mamá asked sharply. Tara flinched despite herself.

He sighed. “If you plead not guilty, you'll end up serving time in the county jail before being moved to a state prison. CCTV footage shows you and your friend leaving that building intoxicated and you getting in the driver's seat. And the police didn't like a fellow policeman's daughter being involved with troubled youths; especially one who supposedly set fire to that same building. Luckily everyone inside was okay.”

Tara winced. No, that's… They've got it all wrong.

“The jury won't appreciate the raw evidence contradicting what you said. You're not guilty? They won't believe you,” he said. Leaning forward, he rested his chin on her folded hands. “I have another option.”

Mamá sighed. “Out with it, then, I don't have all day.”

Tara rolled her eyes. This was probably the first time she's been decently sober in years, she's probably having spasms.

“You plead guilty.”

Tara froze. Mamá froze. The lawyer stared cooly at the 2 women processing this information.

It should be funny but it's not. Innocent little Tara Carpenter arrested and charged with a DUI and probably arson, too, managing to escape the actual fire but not the police. Graduated top of her class as valedictorian, shoved down to the bottom to grovel for mercy.

She was no better than her.

Tara grit her teeth at the mere thought of her.

“I will not have a daughter with a criminal record!” Mamá stood suddenly in anger. Her chair screeched and clattered back to the floor. “She's 18, she can deal with it herself!”

Fear filled Tara's body. “No, Mamá, please don't leave!” She turned back to the blank lawyer and shook. “Tell - Tell me what would happen if I plead guilty. Please.”

He quirked his lip. “You take a hit to your record, of course, but it can be requested to be expunged later down the line should you take probation seriously.” He waited for Tara's hurried nod before continuing. “You will stay in county jail for 5 days before being let out on probation in compliance with California's laws.”

Tara looked at her mamá, but the woman stood where she was with her arms crossed and face hardened. Swallowing, the teenager turned back to the lawyer.

“A-and the laws are..?”

The lawyer tutted, eyed her with distaste. “18 and you don't know the laws of your state?” Tara fought back her scowl. This lawyer was the worst. “For the entirety of your probation, you will need to be near this city where the sentencing will take place. I assume you live close by?”

… Oh. Oh no. Mamá was going to kill her for real.

Mamá set her hands on the table. “No, I don't. But…” Tara jolted at the word, confusion growing. “I do have someone just thirty minutes north of here with decent traffic. She lives on a farm by herself, but I'm sure she'd be glad to help out.”

Tara shakily breathed while the older adults were speaking.

What was her mamá talking about? Since when did she know some strange farm woman nearly 3 hours away from Woodsboro? She hoped it wasn't another Tía Isabel who she was pretty sure wasn't actually related to her.

“There is one more condition.”

“What is it?” Tara warily asked.

The lawyer smiled.

[lilac-hecox]

If you're still accepting Damien fic requests, maybe a camp au with a puppy love crush on one of the counselors (Ian or Anthony) and/or having a reciprocated crush on Shayne

I wrote this in the camp au that was written by @wow-ihateithere

Damien/Anthony and Damien/Shayne - Summer Camp

--

“You’re acting like one of your kids,” Angela says with a grin.

“Huh?” Damien says, coming back to his senses, turning his gaze away from where he had been watching Anthony animatedly eating with his campers.

“You’re staring at Anthony like a thirteen-year-old with a crush,” she adds, mimicking a love sick expression.

“Stop!” Damien says, feeling his face get hot. “I am not.”

“You are!” Angela says around giggles. “I hang out with the same age, but the girl version. I can spot a crush a mile away.”

Damien scoffs. That absolutely wasn’t true because if it were Angela would know that Amanda’s been into her since the beginning of summer, instead of being utterly oblivious.

“I don’t have a crush on Anthony,” Damien says more firmly, but his face gets red.

“Okay,” Angela says in a sing-song voice, going back to eating her lunch.

--

Okay, so, maybe Damien did have a small crush, but it’s small! It’s manageable! He just thinks Anthony is cute and funny. He’s good with the kids too. Damien finally accepts the crush on Anthony when he watches Anthony strip off his colorful camp shirt and toss it on the grass up beyond the shore. Anthony is muscled and lean and gorgeous in the bright light of the warm summer day. Damien watches as water splashes on to Anthony as he begins to wade into the lake, Anthony letting out a shriek as the cold-water splashes on him, Ian laughing from where he had committed the crime and swimming away before Anthony could retaliate.

“Mr. Damien! Come on!” one of his students yells from the water. “We need you for chicken!”

Damien smiles and peels off his own t-shirt as he wades into the cool water of the lake.

--

Damien catches Ian and Anthony kissing after one of the staff bonfires in the deep warm night of summer. They are sat together on the same log, Ian’s hands in Anthony’s hair and Anthony’s hands on Ian’s waist. They kiss urgently and fervently in the night, the warm glow of the fire illuminating them.

Damien isn’t crushed. He didn’t need Angela’s supposed ability to see crushes developing to realize that the two counselors liked each other, to see the momentum between them building like an unstoppable freight train where they were always meant to collide.

He vows to let go of his crush that day out of respect for both of the other counselors.

--

What takes him by surprise is when they do the camp talent show Shayne sits next to him while they watch the acts. How whenever Shayne laughs it is so bright and cheery and how more often than not, he’s looking at Damien to see if he’s laughing too.

Damien and Shayne’s talent is performing an improv skit together. They make it cheesy, making the younger kids laugh and the older kids roll their eyes and “die of cringe.” At the end of the skit Shayne gets down on one knee and then offers Damien a plastic flower, declaring his love.

The younger kids giggle, the older one’s groan, the other counselors crack up laughing. Damien accepts the plastic flower, and he sees Shayne smile with bright blue eyes crinkling in the corner, a big cheesy grin on his face. What takes Damien by surprise is the fondness in his heart, the way it speeds up when Shayne pretends to plant a kiss on his cheek, big, wet, and sloppy.

Angela gives him a knowing look from the stands and Damien pointedly ignores her.

--

It’s August when Shayne presses Damien against the side of the staff log cabin and kisses him in the darkness of the night. When he presses his nose against Damien’s and says, “I’ve been waiting all summer to do that.”

There are fireflies all around as Damien leans in and kisses him back.

[owladaptive]

What about the other people the family interact with? It's pretty obvious gyro is a mad scientist but what about Fenton, Is he still still gyzmoduck? What about Daisy ?

Continuing the Daisy discussion from previous ask first, because I like her and she deserves it.

Daisy in the addams au has abandoned the idea of sucking up to a boss that doesn't appreciate her, and instead is starting up her own business in clothes design. That's not to say it's going super well yet, but it's a work in progress. She has a website and a plan, just not a boutique. That is until she runs into Donald. A kooky, clumsy guy with no fashion sense and a fishy disposition. He weirds her out and has octopuses in the pockets of his wading suit. But... at least he's polite? If confrontational... He's also not bad looking... discounting the deep rings under his eyes and the shiny scales stuck in his hair. But if you're imagining a scenario wherein Daisy swoops in to try and woo the nephew of a renowned billionaire in the hopes that she'd get access to his money and finally get her business up and running... you're wrong. No, what happens is Daisy is appalled and taken aback by the obviously overworked-to-being-crazed sailor, but promotes herself by saying if given the chance, she could construct a glamorous wardrobe that anybody would die for. And Donald... takes her seriously. Asks for the price of the commission. Daisy needs cash. For the sake of her business. She had no idea she'd end up taking measurements in the dank halls of McDuck Manor but she's a professional about it. Even though there's a ghost on the stairway. And the children are throwing a fizzing bundle of dynamite like a ball. And there are cracks and holes and spiders everywhere. And the maid (?) tried to kill her with just her glare alone. And now she's trying to appeal to the abstractly galling fashion sense of a weirdo from a whole family of weirdos, and... it's just the last straw. All Daisy's stress boils over. She has a breakdown and rages - crying about nothing ever working out the way she plans, even as hard as she works. About this crazy house, her life, her failures. But Donald sits with her and listens, talks her through it. Offers genuine understanding and encouragement. Daisy sees him for the who he is, then - a kind and supportive and wacko man who happens to have unusual interests. And, oh..... well, he does have a sort of... eccentric charm about him doesn't he?

You're right that Gyro is a mad scientist. That's not even a question. He's almost unchanged from his canon self, except his mad science isn't constrained by what's permitted by his employer, who permits everything. Gyro is unhinged, unchained and unmatched. His hair is crazy, his goggles charred and he's living his best life. Don't mind the giant red septic tank at the back of the lab, that experiment is on a time out.

Fenton is tired, stressed and needs a hug. He's a down on his luck young adult who has been kicked out and fired from every job, gig or side-hustle he's tried after graduating his robotics class. All he really wants is to help people and make a difference, but that's a pipe dream he doesn't entertain. Life is unfair and tough. He'd pretty much given up on being a scientist too until late one night he follows a strange light and the sound of screaming into a dark corner of the city, and falls (literally) onto a scene of carnage orchestrated by one Gyro Gearloose. The mad doctor yells at Fenton to stop gawking and help out with these escaped brain beetles already before they overrun the neighborhood. Fenton of course panics and starts whacking gross, squishy thing that moves with his bag until Gyro casually hands him an iron maul to fight with. When the bloodmist clears, Gyro laughs in triumph and gloats over his victory over his creations. This knocks a traumatized Fenton out of his white-faced shock and the guy instantly starts questioning how, why and HOW Gyro created those malignant monstrosities!!! He starts listing biological inaccuracies, scientific queries and all manner of hypothesis while Gyro "hmmms" in thought. Then Fenton has panic #2 when Gyro snatches the back of his collar and starts dragging him off into the night, decrying that he'd been thinking about asking Mr. McDuck for a new assistant recently, anyway. Which shuts Fenton right up. (Fenton's mother is a Detective. She knows about the crazy McDucks in their hellish mansion on the top of Killmotor Hill. So, naturally, Fenton's heard about them too. She told him scary stories about them when he was little. But....... Blathering blatherskite, is he desperate for a job.) And honestly.... I might have to think about the Gizmoduck aspect for a bit. It's a tricky one. I might have an answer later.

[f1-birb]

for @f1-disaster-bi, a silly thing I wrote set in her mafia au

Lando wakes up slowly, still feeling groggy as he tries to wade through the leftover haze of sleep. His eyes ease themselves open, vision blurry until he blinks the world into focus and sees Lance standing at the end of his bed, arms folded tightly across his chest and mouth pulled into a frown.

Lando groans.

"Don't you fucking groan at me you little shit."

Lando groans again to be childish and then pouts at the much lighter than it probably should have been smack to his blanket covered foot.

"You're a trouble magnet and very annoying."

He blinks big eyes at his husband, looking up through his lashes juts his bottom lip out a little bit further. He counts to three and fights back the smug grin as Lance sighs and comes to sit in the chair near the head of the bed.

"In my defence," he watches Lance's eyebrows creep closer to his hairline, "what was I meant to do? Let him shoot up the supermarket?"

"That's so not the point. You didn't tell anyone you were going out." Lance huffs.

"I am more than capable of getting myself ice cream, thank you husband of mine."

Lance's eye twitches and Lando reaches out with his good arm to offer his hand. That's when he notices the thin bandage wrapped around the skin below his elbow.

Lance suddenly looks guilty, bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

"What. The fuck. Is that?" Lando breaks up the question, squeezing Lance's fingers tighter and tighter and eliciting a wince.

"Nothing. There was something on the ground of the shop, cut you, you wouldn't have noticed with the adrenaline."

Lando yanks on Lance's arm sharply and hisses, "Liar liar, pants on fire. What the fuck, Lance?"

"ImighthaveaskediftheycouldputatrackerinyousothatIcan'tloseyoueveragain..."

Lando blinks. Lance sighs and opens his mouth to repeat himself, knowing it'll be Lando's demand but he isn't expecting the nasty little pinch to the thin skin on the back of his hand.

"Do not put trackers in people, what the fuck is wrong with you?!"