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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 1 year

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if I can never give you peace — nine || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x reader // Word count (chapter): 9.1k // Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers

↳ It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fights and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Warnings and tags (chapter): angst, guns, threats, generally dark, violence, car crash.

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Hours easily blend together when they’re left to stretch ad infinitum. That was a lesson that you had learned on the very first hectic night you had lived through under Mr. X. Back then, it had been a mere attempt at secession — one of the powerful groups of the Organization had thought they might be able to stand up on their own, without the Family’s support. They had wiped out all the people Mr. X had placed in one day, swift and efficient, and had announced their intentions mere hours after that. You remember that they had been delivered by a man bruised and bloody who could only slur his words, and you remember the thoughtful way in which Mr. X had tapped his fingers on his cane.

You didn’t think anyone in the Organization had gotten so much as a wink of sleep that night.

You had known from the second you had gotten the text that tonight would be no different. As a result, scrambled on the white board inside the conference room that you had not yet gotten the chance to inaugurate, were all the important events of the night.

6.00 pm: bomb goes off in front of HQ

6.34 pm: attack on a drug carrier exiting the harbor. cargo stolen.

6.48 pm: casino The Imperial announces its separation from the Organization. Followed by most similar establishments.

6.55 pm: raid

7.05 pm: departure from HQ

9.23 pm: attacks on two of Lucas’s clubs

10.58 pm: attacks on establishments under protection; two thwarted

2.41 am: storage warehouse burned down

5.10 am: altercation near the Circle. 8 dead, ? wounded. police intervention.

It had now been two hours since you had last received information you had deemed important enough to write it on the board, but your fingers still twitched in anticipation. People and informations had come and gone the entire time, and even now, your phone was still buzzing every few seconds, your eyes scanning the messages quickly as they appeared. Numbers, locations, defections, all things you would have to file after getting some sleep.

None of them had quite managed to shake you out of the numbness you had been feeling since the raid of 6.55 pm.

You had been the first one to get the texts, but Jungkook and Suga had not been far behind.

‘Descent on hybrid district,’ the text had read. ‘Scorched earth’.

Jungkook’s face had darkened, murderous rage filling his eyes. You hadn’t tried to hold him back after that, even the fear you felt for him not quite managing to seep through the horror you had felt at that statement.

This was a targeted attack. There were numerous innocent families, children, people who were just living their lives in the hybrid district. This was intended purely to hit where it would hurt Jungkook the most.

It had worked as intended.

You had attempted to send Hector home at eleven, since there were still men left in the building, but he had simply shaken his head. He was now sitting on a chair, by the door, in a drowse. He did not even stir when you made a phone call, but you had noticed his eyes lifting whenever there was a noise outside. You supposed you would feel guilty about it if there had been any room left for guilt within you in the last twelve hours.

The flow of information had been non-stop, and what you were putting out was almost as consequent. After that first night, Mr. X had compared you to a computer, able to treat the data in seconds and to figure out the best course of action from there. You had been the one who had been responsible for the plan that had effectively choked the opposing group to death. All exit routes methodically cut, all options taken into account.

None of them had made it out alive.

Tonight, you had done everything in your power to ensure that your side would not be put in the same situation.

“You might wanna head home, ma’am,” Hector suggests from his seat, and you look up at him. Your eyes have been open so long they burn.

“I probably won't be long,” you reply, and even you don't manage to keep the exhaustion out of your voice. “Just a few minutes more.”

You see, in the way that his eyebrows rise, that he does not find your decision to be judicious, but he doesn't say anything and you're thankful for that. If he did, you might have to confront the real reason you’re insisting on staying here, awake, and that is because you're desperate to hear from either Jungkook or Suga. Though you have gotten messages from people surrounding them — few and far between, as you don’t have that many informants around there — and they seemed to still be alive a few hours ago, it’s been a long time and you just—

God. You just want to know that Jungkook’s okay. You just want to know that he’s found somewhere safe and that he’s managed to minimize the damage. You know, realistically, that you would have heard far more about it if that wasn’t the case, and yet there’s this deep, dull throbbing in your chest that has not gone away once since Jungkook walked out the door, prepared for a fight to the death — though you doubted he had feared it would be his death.

And so, even though you should, you cannot find it in yourself to abandon your seat, to allow your eyes leave your phone for even a second.

The call comes long after you’ve stopped expecting it, and you pick up in an instant, index finger sliding on the screen.

“Hello?”

“They’re gone,” Suga’s voice comes through the phone, thick and tired. “We’ve run them out of the district. Gonna stay a bit to ensure no one comes back but—” There are some intelligible words coming from behind him. “By the time we arrived, they had barricaded themselves in a bar,” he sighs after barking an order you don't catch. “It took a while.”

“I see,” you say. “Are there many losses on either side?”

“Lots of wounded on ours, a few dead.” And then, with cold, furious satisfaction: “On their side, everyone.”

“Good,” you reply, and you surprise yourself with how sincerely you mean it. “I will call for an emergency meeting tomorrow. Will you and Mr Jeon be able to attend it, or have you been injured severely? Do you need me to call one of our doctors?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other side of the line.

“We’ll make it,” he finally answers. “But yeah, send someone to Jungkook’s place.”

Your heart jumps painfully in your chest, and you have to steel yourself to stop your voice from wavering.

“Is he alright?”

“He'll be fine,” Suga just says, and though it does nothing to calm your worry, you drop the subject. It should be enough to you, knowing that he’s alive and mostly okay.

It isn’t.

“Good. In that case, I will see you both tomorrow.”

The second the call ends, you’re getting up from your chair, Hector already on his feet.

“There’s a car waiting for you, and I’ve had men check out your apartment, ma’am.”

You nod at him thankfully. For a second, at the door, you think you’re going to falter, that your legs won’t be able to carry you any further. But they do, they always do, taking you one step further even when you feel you cannot, simply because you have to.

And they will carry you tomorrow as well, and the day after that, and the day after that. Never once allowing you to collapse.

The atmosphere is crackling with tension when you walk back into that very same room the next day. In a glance, you verify that every person who you had thought would answer the call yesterday, based on the new developments, is here. A sigh of relief bubbles in your throat, but you keep it contained as you make your way through the room, setting your computer down next to the place where Jungkook would soon be sitting.

The faces around the table are all more or less familiar, but their dark expressions are not. Fred Lucas’s signature smile has been wiped from his face, the corner of his lips pointing downwards. His usually impeccable suit is crinkled, and dark circles seem to have been dug under his eyes. He looks like he’s taken on ten years in the last night. He doesn't even bother nodding at you.

Most of the other humans here are more or less in the same state, but some of the hybrids look significantly worse for wear. They have to be the ones that joined Suga and Jungkook the night before, several of them sporting significant injuries. Your eyes land on Junho, and you instinctively dig your nails into your palm to stop yourself from flinching. You can see a compress on his neck, coming out from underneath a black shirt, but he doesn’t seem to be doing too badly.

You find some comfort in it — not because of him, but because in that sight, you find some hope that Jungkook won’t be doing too bad either.

“You got a problem?” he snarls, baring his teeth at you and you realize in horror that you’ve been staring.

This doesn’t happen to you. This never happens to you and, fuck, this is why you can’t ever let your guard down. Fear sets your veins on fire, and though your mouth opens, you have no idea what to reply.

Shit. Shit.

“I’m sorry you got injured,” your tongue miraculously answers even as your brain remains frozen, and you’re thankful for the years of training you have in this. He growls, pushing himself up on the chair. The movement seems fluid and easy, confirming your impression that he isn’t too severely injured, but this time you don’t let yourself get caught in that thought. Instead you brace for impact, straightening your back. You know that it’s your voice that set him off, that it was too flat and even, that it didn’t carry any concern. You also know that Hector is staring at you, just waiting for a nod from you to intervene, and that Fred Lucas’s hand has come to rest lightly on his belt, near the gun you’ve been informed he’s carrying by security.

The fear doesn’t quite leave you, but you’re not afraid of him anymore.

“Listen to me you—”

“Fucking drop it, Junho,” Jungkook’s tired voice orders as he walks in through the door.

“She just—”

“Welcome back, Mr. Jeon,” you interrupt him, bowing your head in his direction politely.

Your eyes meet his when you look up. Your gazes lock for a second, and your legs almost go weak from the overwhelming relief that washes over you. You only allow yourself a second to take him in fully, to see for yourself that, though he walks with a small limp, one hand over his abdomen, he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.

He’s still staring at you with an undecipherable expression once you’re done with your brief check.

“If you would please take a seat,” you say, and you don't know if your ears are deceiving you or if your voice is indeed softer in that moment, “there is a lot we have to cover today. The sooner we can start, the better.”

“Sure,” he says and, despite his obvious injuries, he makes his way through the room with wide strides, letting himself fall on the chair next to you with a groan. Suga leans against the door, golden eyes watching over everything. He gives you a nod so small you think you might have imagined it. You certainly cannot think of anything you would have done to earn it, but you suppose events like what happened last night would have that kind of effect.

You press a key on your computer, and a slide appears behind you.

“For an overview of what happened last night—”

“What I’m saying is that you don't win a fucking war with fucking Powerpoints—”

“If you had two working fucking braincells, you’d see that we need to know the situation we’re in before we decide on—”

“None of you now what it’s like to actually fight your own fucking—”

“You’ve been in this position for two goddamn—”

You’re not sure why Jungkook is letting the argument unfold, insults shouted from across the room as no one listens to the answer nor seems particularly interested in reaching a productive decision. Mr. X would not have let that slide, you know that, but you also realize that no one would have dared raise their voice in his presence. Mere suggestions were uttered begrudgingly, as even some of the most powerful people in the Organization cowered in front of him. His word was law, and he didn’t hesitate to use that to pit people against each other.

You wonder for a second if that is what Jungkook is doing too, letting the tension build, dividing to conquer, but it doesn't seem to be the case. He doesn’t look amused by the situation, dark eyes attentive to everything going on in the room — for once, certainly more focused than you are. Slumped in his chair, probably to protect his injured side, you notice his fingers tapping on the table at a fast rhythm.

“Will you be taking on more security?” you ask quietly, knowing that it likely won’t be picked up on by the hybrids in the room, considering the degree of agitation.

He throws you a surprised glance, eyebrows scrunching either in confusion or from being torn away from the spectacle, you can’t tell.

“Why would I do that?”

“There will likely be more attempts against your life from now on,” you reply. “Having a couple of guards should deter some and ensure that you remain safe.”

“I can do that myself,” he says, though not quite with anger. “If anyone should take on more security, it’s you.”

You think of the gun that’s in your purse at this very moment, that you checked before leaving your apartment was filled with ammunitions, even though you’ve not once emptied it, and then you glance at Hector, who is surveilling the situation, arms folded over his large torso. You don't think anyone could keep you safer than he can, but that’s not what you tell Jungkook.

“That might be a good idea indeed,” you nod. “I will look into it as soon as we’ll have decided on a course of action here. I can also look for some men for you in the process.”

His frown deepens, a flash of anger in his eyes, and he opens his mouth, obviously ready for a sharp retort, before closing it again to study you. Under the attention, you feel your face growing warm. You have no idea what he’s looking for, but you’re all too aware of the way his eyes search yours, roaming over your expression like there is some sign in there that he cannot find. Finally, he leans back in his seat with an annoyed sigh and closes his eyes.

“You need to stop interfering in my business. I’ll have Yoongi around, and that’ll be more than enough.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You should drop it.

“Would you consider having at least one additional man until your injuries heal?”

If it were up to you, he wouldn't leave the building without a full escort, but you’re— you’re trying, dammit.

“It’ll be fine in a couple of days, the knife didn’t go that d—”

“The knife?”

His eyes snap open at your tone, and you're not quick enough to school your features back to normal. He catches something on your face this time, though you’re not sure what — could be shock, could be fear, could be sadness or anything else — but again, there’s that spark of satisfaction in his eyes, and you feel yourself retreating immediately.

“Suga didn’t inform me of that,” you say, voice as emotionless as ever. “I suppose it’s—”

“Just— get me the dude. Or dudes. I don't care. I’ll get rid of them when I’m healed.”

It’s your turn to try to find something in his expression and to fail. You just can't seem to understand what he's doing these days, but you bite back the question you desperately want to ask. This is a positive in your book, and it’s probably better not to ask.

“I… will,” you finally say with a slow nod, unsure of what just happened there and unable to make sense of it. His eyes don’t leave yours, but his expression falters.

“Do you—”

“Listen to me you son of a bitch, you don’t get to—”

You both snap back to the room, in which two men have almost come to blows. One of them holds the other by the collar, while that one is reaching for something in his pocket that has to be either a knife or a gun. Just as you open your mouth, Suga appears between the two and they suddenly let go of each other without him having to say a word. He looks small, both in frame and in height, between the two, but you remember the day he took out some of Mr. X’s best men too well to underestimate him based on that.

“Alright,” Jungkook says, “what’ve you got, Yoongi?”

“No one’s expecting us to counter-attack this quickly, so I say we go for it,” Suga shrugs, and some in the room holler in approval while others grimace and shake their heads. “But we should only go against one district for now. After last night, it’d be suicide to do anything else. We have the city pretty well mapped out, so I say we try to eat at them slowly for the time being, then see what happens.”

Jungkook nods, then glances at you.

“What about you?”

One blink, and the surprise you feel at the question is gone.

“The casinos will be under heavy surveillance,” you say, “so they should be avoided for now. Based on the intel we got, it seems last night’s attack came from some of the Families that are mostly involved in the protection business, so it would make sense to go after them first. Some inner reorganization will also need to be done to ensure drugs are still being passed smoothly and ideally to block the supply for the other side. I can start looking into that.”

“Alright. Junho?”

The shark hybrid starts to answer, followed, one by one, by all the people present in the room. You scribble some notes down, watch Jungkook shoot down some ideas, tell people who to work with, and you certainly notice the glances exchanged by the people who, like you, were used to working with Mr. X. Though some seem skeptical, none appear to view it as a sign of weakness, which is a good sign.

The meeting is starting to fizzle out — roles have been attributed for the most part, only a few details remain to be explained — when a security guard walks in.

Immediately, a room full of some of the most dangerous people in the city, if not the country, spin around to glare at him, and he takes a cautious step back.

“Um, ma’am,” he says, looking somewhat relieved once he’s found you, “I have someone downstairs who says they have business with a Mr. Jeon?”

Jungkook sits up straight, and you hold back a curse. You’ll need to tell them to give the information to you in private next time.

“And who’s that person?”

“A lady called… Anna Xanders?”

Great. Great.

As Anna makes her way towards the conference room, the only people left inside waiting are yourself, Suga and Jungkook. You wish he hadn’t allowed her in the building, but you hadn’t made that opinion known, all too aware of the fact that it wouldn’t be well received. He was the one who had asked the two of you to stay, though, and that meant that you had to fight every fiber of your body to stop yourself from fidgeting. Above all, there was the creeping fear that he’d go back to the Circle after meeting with her, when he was in no state to do so.

Suga looked unbothered, but then again, so did you. Jungkook, on the other hand, seemed perfectly relaxed, and you supposed that had to be somewhat close to what he was really feeling.

“You shouldn’t be seeing her,” Suga says flatly. “Unless you want me to kill her.”

If that was the case, she should be taken to a remote location first. You didn't want that happening in the building. It would be a pain to get cleaned up.

“I’m not killing her,” Jungkook replies, rolling his eyes. “Just want to know what she has to say.”

You suppose in any normal situation, that would be good news, but in this case God do you wish he wanted to kill her.

Through the opaque glass, you make out her silhouette, leaving you a few seconds more to prepare yourself. One deep breath, one more attempt at getting rid of the surprisingly strong emotions swirling in your stomach, and then she opens the door.

She’s wearing all black, save for a long, elegant white scarf. She’s still carrying that look of hurt dignity, head held high, blonde hair falling down on her shoulders and behind her back. It must be so easy to fall for it, hook line and sinker, you think. Maybe if you made yourself look hurt, you would benefit from people’s sympathy as well.

Or maybe you would be dead.

“Jungkook,” she says, and then she releases a shaky little breath that makes her look weak under the strength she’s trying to present, and you refrain from rolling your eyes.

She is just as in control of herself as you are.

“Anna,” he replies, and you’re relieved that he at least doesn’t look impressed nor moved by the spectacle. He just looks somewhat— bored. “What do you want?”

There’s a look of hurt on her face at his direct approach, but she conceals it quickly.

“I— I heard about what happened last night,” she says softly. “I just wanted to check on you. I know— I know you haven’t replied to me and you probably don’t want to see me, but I— I just needed to know you were alright.”

You clench your teeth, unusual rage constricting your chest. Surely he’ll know that she didn’t once check on him when he was at the Circle, surely he’ll see through—

“Replied to you?” he asks, rising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you, haven’t you…?”

You certainly don’t miss the tiniest spark of satisfaction in her eyes, even if she glances down to the floor to hide it. Jungkook glances in your direction with a frown.

“Anything suspect must have been thrown away,” you reply with a shrug. Not a truth, but not a lie either.

“Surely flowers aren’t suspect,” Anna says, and though her voice remains soft, you know that she’s annoyed, probably less because of your interference than because it means you have power over her. You’ve always been beneath her, at her beck and call. Now, she is the one who’s nothing.

“They’re an inconvenience to hybrids if they smell too strongly,” you say.

“But the engraved knife wasn’t,” Anna adds, sounding just a little too triumphant, and you annoyingly miss a beat to answer her, unsure what she’s talking about. A knife…?

“Oh, yeah, we assumed it was probably a threat,” Yoongi drawls from the other side of the table. “Figured there was no reason to bother the boss with it.”

Anna’s quick to mask her defeat, letting a small, soft ‘Oh’, while Jungkook rolls his eyes once more — but you’d swear you saw a grin on his lips.

“Next time, just transfer it,” he says. “I can deal with that shit. What d’you want?”

“Right, sorry, I— I just wish you and I could talk. There’s— so much I never got the chance to tell you, and I— I think I could help you with some of the issues you’ve been having. Many people are quite loyal to me, because of my father, you know. I’m sure I could have some sway over them and ensure that you and— and everyone remains safe. If that’s something you’d like, of course.”

Of course, your first thought is that this offer should be rejected. Anna should not be trusted, not in any scenario. The second one is more… puzzled. You know for a fact that she wasn’t very involved in the Organization, even if she very much enjoyed the money and status her father’s identity offered her. Could she have been approached by people? Was she trying to test the waters, to see who the highest bidder would be?

There was not much loyalty towards Mr. X, just fear — in most circles. Those who were loyal, you should be able to look into fairly easily. Maybe that was something you should get on, when you’d get a second.

“Yeah, that may be a good thing,” Jungkook says, and you jolt back to the present scene just in time to avoid throwing him a horrified look. Instead, you slowly tilt your head in his direction. Nothing. He’s not smiling, doesn’t look particularly annoyed either.

“There are other ways to gain loyalty,” Suga comments, and you know Jungkook also hears the dangerous, warning edge in his voice. Clearly, he wants this as little as you do.

“And we'll look into them as well,” Jungkook says, tone final. “What do you say? Do you want to schedule a meeting?”

A lovely blush colors Anna's cheeks, and she coyly pushes a lock of hair behind her ear.

You could rip her face off.

“How about having dinner together?”

Again, no emotions from Jungkook.

“That works too.” He glances at you. “Think you can find a time?”

“You’re going to be quite busy from now on,” you say, mostly stalling to swallow down anger, worry, and other things you don’t want to dwell on. “But I suppose I could arrange for you to have some time free next week.”

“Oh,” Anna says, softly, “this might be urgent, don’t you think you—”

“Next week it is then,” Jungkook interrupts her, giving a nod of approval in your direction. “We’ll handle the details.” Then he lifts his chin to point at the door. “You know the way.”

She presses her lips in disappointment, but that fades in favor of the victory she’s just gained — and which she knows she’s just gained over two of Jungkook’s closest advisors. Suga is obviously seething, and she knows you well enough to be able to tell. You can only watch as she exits the room.

She’s good enough of an actress not to smile until she’s out of sight.

“You two don’t get to decide that shit for me,” Jungkook’s voice resonates in the silence that follows. You expected anger, but there’s none there.

“We wouldn’t have to if you made good fucking decisions,” Suga hisses. “What the fuck are you doing? We’re not taking her in. She’d have sold her own fucking father to make it that day.”

“I know.”

“Then what—”

“My problem. Not yours.”

There’s a growl, and then Suga’s storming out, leaving you alone with Jungkook. Not a situation you want to be in right now, so you bow politely in his direction.

“If you'll excuse me, Mr. Jeon, I—”

“Why’d you hide the roses from me?”

He’s just asking, you see it in his eyes. The lie, or the half-truth, that you didn’t want him to ally himself with her, comes to you easily, fully formed. But it’s not what ends up making it past your lips.

“Last time you heard from her, you had to be picked up from a bar, where you got into a fight with a customer after hours upon hours of fighting at the Circle. I don’t believe that she is... good for you, Mr. Jeon.”

There’s more, too, but that will have to do for the moment. Even now, your entire body is screaming at you that you shouldn't have revealed that much about yourself, and there’s nothing you can do to calm your thundering heart.

Jungkook stares at you, then speaks slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“I won’t do it this time.”

“Certainly,” you nod, “I’m sorry I—”

“No, I— I won’t do it this time. Seriously.”

You don't know what to say to that. You haven’t got a clue. What you do know is that Jungkook is looking straight into your eyes, your heart is pounding in your chest, and you’re sure that you're letting things show on your face that shouldn’t be here.

So you don't say anything — don't trust your voice, really, not when the rest of your body is failing you treacherously —, nod.

And then you flee.

If you could avoid it, you don't think you would leave the office at all in the days that follow. You have considered transforming one of the offices into a small bedroom anyway, it’s always good to ensure there is place for people to rest — or to discreetly operate on someone who cannot go to a hospital because the wounds would raise too many questions — and in the current circumstances, anytime someone highly ranked in the Organization takes a step outside, they are putting their lives in danger.

Of course, everyone else is aware of that, and none of them would limit themselves in such a fashion, but the difference is that you hear about everything. Every attack is brought back to you, whether it is threats hurled at someone from across the road, a stabbing in an alleyway, or a car chase on the freeway. If someone switches allegiance, you’re the one who writes it down and updates the relevant people. If there’s a shootout, if a car burns down, if a gun goes missing—

You. It all comes back to you.

You suppose it makes sense, then, that you are the one who wants to take the most precaution to protect your life, though you know others are doing it as well. Fred, you’ve heard, doesn’t stray outside of the area he has full control over. You’ve also been told that even Junho has barely been seen outside of the hybrid district, not even showing up to the Circle. They could afford that, but you still had to leave your apartment every morning to take your car — was anywhere more dangerous than these metal boxes these days — and get to work.

Yet you kept doing it.

It wasn’t that you thought they couldn't get to you, you were nowhere near that naive. You had reinforced your security, were always followed by a second car, and you had men keep an eye on your apartment day and night, but even then you knew issues could arise. Corruption, carefully planned attacks, or even sheer bad luck, everything was possible and there was no way of accounting for it all. It had worked out for you so far, which you took as a sign that you were doing your job well, but it could all change at the drop of a hat.

It wasn’t some stupid, self-sacrificial decision either. You supposed some people in this new version of the Organization might see it that way, those who were loyal to Jungkook to the death. Thinking that there was something ‘noble’ about putting their lives on the line. The idea could almost rip a laugh out of you. There was nothing noble about your job, no matter who you were working for. You were receiving word of enough stabbings, arsons and grand larceny coming from your side not to have any illusions on the topic.

You were also fully aware of how important your role was in the Organization at the moment. You had tried to make yourself indispensable earlier, and now you were, without most of your previous efforts having played much of a role in that. It seemed that you shone through specifically in times of crisis. If something happened to you right now, you would not be replaced easily. And yet, every morning and every evening, you still stepped out of the towering glass building that was the current headquarters, and went back to your apartment.

Because, once more, it all came down to the image you were giving.

If the number three of the Organization didn’t dare to walk outside, if she didn't trust her own men to protect her, if she didn't believe that she was powerful enough to protect at least herself, then what was the rest of them to do? Lie down and await death?

You had even hesitated before taking on additional protection, only allowing yourself to do so because you thought that Jungkook’s presence and his very visible confidence in the people that surrounded him could counteract the fear that that decision would display coming from you.

‘Thought’. Ha.

The right word would be ‘felt’, but you didn’t make decisions based on feelings. You never did.

You weren’t going to start now, were you?

If you felt uneasy going to and then coming back from work, that was nothing compared to way your agitation spiked when you travelled through town with Jungkook. The two of you being together like that, that made you the easiest, most interesting preys, like pheasants’ release on the opening day of the hunting season.

You could explain the decision by pointing to the image it gave once again, but you weren’t sure if that wasn’t crossing the line between confidence and simple stupidity. Maybe you should have fought Jungkook harder on it, but the truth was you had barely brought it up. Because if you were in the car with him, even if that put the both of you at risk, it at least meant that you didn’t have to spend your days in fear of the phone call that would tell you he’d died.

What was wrong with you these days, you couldn’t have explained.

At least, as he’d told you, he had mostly healed from his injuries in less than a week, which allowed him to sit comfortably across from you, back straight, legs spread, as he looked out at the city with the eyes of a man who knew he owned most of it. His long ears were, as always, skillfully hidden underneath a discreet, black hairband. It made you wonder how much of his behavior was a façade. He was, clearly, at least as aware of the importance of the image he gave as you were.

You weren’t faring quite as well as him, though. You knew that, despite your best efforts and your years of work, there was tension vibrating through you that you couldn’t quite hide. It was in the slightly too quick cadence of your voice, in your movements that were just a touch too jerky, in the glances you were constantly throwing around the car — rear-view mirror first, then windshield, then left and right windows.

There had been two attempts against the two of you since the war had begun. Both had been easily thwarted, and none of them involved firearms, but you knew it was a question of when, not if.

“Hey,” Jungkook calls, and you're thankful that you at least don’t jump at that, but you’re still too quick at looking in his direction.

Dammit. You need to get your rhythm under control.

“Yes, Mr. Jeon?”

He rolls his eyes, you think at the name you use rather than at you. You don't know what he wants you to do with that. He’s the one that asked you to call him that.

“I know you don’t do chill, but seriously, you’re going to explode if you keep it up.”

“There’s a war going on, Mr Jeon.” You think you manage not to sound reproachful. You wouldn’t want him to be in the same state you are. You just can’t help yourself.

“I’m aware,” he replies and, where an explosion would have occurred just a couple of months ago, there’s only a frown on his face. “This still isn't helping.”

Before you realize what you’re doing, you’re allowing yourself a deep breath. When you do, when you brain starts screaming at you, asking you what the fuck is going on, you’ve already done it, and all you can do to try and save face is stop yourself from freezing like a deer in headlights.

Jungkook is just looking at you. You see something twitch in his jaw, his fists clenching, and then he’s the one who looks away, tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek.

“You might be right,” you say, dropping the usual ‘Mr. Jeon’ but unable to bring yourself to call him Jungkook, “but this has kept me alive so far. I— have no reason to believe that anything else would do the same.”

He closes his eyes shut for a second, then he looks back at you. His elbow is resting on the window, thumb hovering a few millimeters from his lips. He looks at you — really looks at you, takes you all in — and you feel a now familiar burn spreading over your body. You have no idea if he can tell.

Right now, you're not even quite sure whether you want him to or not.

He opens his mouth.

And that is you catch movement from the corner of your eye, and before you can turn your head, shock explodes through the car and then it's spent spinning.

Your hand shoots for the handle and you hold on to it desperately, eyes tightly shut, pulled back against the seat with bruising force by your seatbelt. You hear the window exploding, feel the tiny cuts the shards of glass leave on your skin, hear Jungkook curse, the smell of burning tires reaches your nose, your stomach lurches in your chest, and then it stops, but there is no time for the ringing silence to settle. By the time you manage to open your eyes, heart pounding so loud you think it might escape from your rib cage, there’s shouting outside, and then Jungkook’s pulling your head down as shots start to ring.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, hand still in your hair, as his body forms a shield between you and the direction the shots are coming from — you think, you’re too disoriented to tell at the moment, but he seems not to hesitate. What does hit you in that moment, when you inhale, trying to bring air into your frozen lungs, is the earthy smell coming from him, touches of pine, probably from his soap, and something musky that is definitely him.

If you could slap yourself for losing the precious second that thought takes to formulate, you would, but at least the rush of something that this proximity sends through your body easily blends with everything else happening at the moment, and Jungkook doesn't seem to notice.

“We’re followed by another car,” you manage to say, though the words stumble out of your mouth way too fast, “they should take action—”

“Yeah, but we still need to get out of here,” he growls. “We’re too good of a target. They’ll get brave and get closer any time now.”

You have to take his word for it. You’ve never been in that kind of situation before. Adrenaline is running through your veins almost painfully and you feel your fight or flight reaction kicking in — with one hundred percent of your energy going towards ‘flight’. One glance in the direction of the driver tells you that he’s slumped over the wheel, possibly unconscious, but likely dead.

You should probably feel more at that thought than annoyance at the fact that you’re going to have to replace him, but truth is if you felt sadness over every death that happened in this city, you would have crumpled a long time ago.

The loud screeching of tires on concrete outside tells you that the reinforcements have arrived.

“Alright,” Jungkook says. “That should buy us some time.”

For the first time, he looks down at you. Your heart flutters inappropriately — oh my God, just shut the fuck up — when you meet his eyes, but all it solidifies is the fact that he, unlike you, knows exactly what he's doing. In that moment, you don’t doubt for a second that, if you make it out alive, it will be thanks to him.

He kicks open the door behind him, the one facing away from all the turmoil. One of his hands holds a vice-like grip on your wrist, pulling with him in that direction. You stumble after him, your heels wholly unadapted for the situation, and crouch behind the car as he glances over it to surveil what’s happening.

The shots, briefly interrupted by the arrival of the second car, are picking up again, and with them your heart rate. You manage to take in the surroundings, but there isn’t much to be gained from it. It’s a quiet area by the river, long stretches of concrete and not a soul in sight.

You’ll have to do a better job at keeping to more populated areas.

“I think they only have one car,” Jungkook tells you, crouching back down next to you.

“So do we, for now,” you say with a frown. You have enough safety protocols in place to think that the men that are here must have called for help the second they saw something was wrong, but for now the forces are pretty much in equal number.

Which means that you’re stranded next to wrecked car, on a road on which nothing can move at the moment. The two of you might as well be sitting ducks.

Your phone buzzes and you fish it out of the purse that you have somehow kept in your clenched fist this whole time. As you open your hand, you grimace slightly at the traces your fingernails have left inside your palm. Shit. You didn’t even notice that.

Right next to your phone, you feel your gun. You've never used it in this kind of situation, and your fingers hesitate, hovering above the grip for a second before you decide against it. You'll still have it, should you need it, but it just feels so small and useless out here in the open, with shots and shouts ringing behind you, that you don’t want to give yourself some false comfort by holding on to it.

Your phone, on the other hand, is your life line in any situation, this one included, because on the screen, you see displayed four names and telephone numbers.

Someone is getting a raise this month.

Jungkook frowns, nose scrunching, when you type a reply, and even more when you press the dial button and bring the phone to your ear.

“There’s more important—”

“Who is this?” a voice groans on the other side. Even if it's hard to tell with all the noise, you think you're hearing the shots echoed through the speaker.

“Mr. Lee,” you say, “I recommend you stop shooting at us.”

There’s a silence, during which you glance at Jungkook, who now looks at least somewhat impressed.

“That’s— Wha— How d’you— How d’you know—”

As the man tries to find his words — and you don't doubt that he must be feeling sheer terror at the idea that you even know his name — you see Jungkook lifting up his head suddenly, one of his long ears, which slipped out of the bandana in the turmoil, twitching. You try to catch a glance of what’s happening, but you see nothing. He’s either smelling or hearing something you can’t, but it makes him nod decisively before leaning towards you.

“Keep him talking, and don't move from here,” he whispers in your ear, breath warm against your skin. You tell yourself that everything is just heightened in that moment, that every sensations are stronger, and that that is the only reason why your skin tingles where his hair brushes against it. Even then, you're thankful he leaves immediately after, quietly getting around the car, so he doesn't see the slow way you swallow after that, or the slow breath you let out.

It almost pained you, to have him so close to you, and even if you don't have time to think about it, even you are starting to realize what is happening within yourself.

“Mr. Lee,” you keep going nonetheless, compartmentalizing like it’s second nature — because it is —, pulling up the additional informations you’ve just been sent, “please think about what your sister would think about what you're doing right now.”

“Don’t you fucking dare—”

“She’s a school teacher,” you continue. “She sounds like a good person. So does Mr. Kang’s wife— a nurse, isn’t she?”

You think you should feel disgusted with yourself, right about now, but there’s only place for cold determination within you. You know that you would never go after anyone for their familial relationships, and that is enough for you. They don’t seem to know. Probably would, if they’d done their research, it’s something that’s been whispered about for quite some time in the Organization, but they’ve either been sent without any information, or foolishly saw this opportunity as a way to climb up in the ranks.

Either way, what a waste.

“And Mr. Min has two young children, isn't that sweet.”

A curse, and then he shouts a name.

“I’ll make you eat your fucking heart if you hurt them, you fucking bitch,” another voice yells in the phone, and you just stare into the dark, cold waters that stretch in front of you. None of these men will be getting back to their family alive. Even if they manage to kill you, you doubt they'll escape this place. “You’re just scared,” he adds, and you blink. You should be scared, he’s right, but you mostly feel empty. “You didn't even have to be in there. Could have just picked the right fucking side instead of being a hybrid’s whore. I swear to God, if you touch my kids, we’ll—”

“Mr. Min, I already have men on their way to your house,” you interrupt him. “The sooner you surrender, the sooner I can call off my orders.”

On the other side, a number of muffled ‘fuck’, and then a brief exchange between the group. You don't think the others will back up, and it's only a matter of time before they get desperate, but for now you get a second to try to see what’s happening — and, ideally, spot your boss.

It’s when you do that you see Suga, crouched on top of the car. Based on the way the men are talking amongst themselves, they have no clue he's here.

“I’ll get your head on a fucking spi—”

Things don’t last very long once Suga springs into action. The first kill is quick and messy, knife slicing into one of the men's throat, twice, back and forth. Blood splatters all over the floor and you wince in disgust. By the time he falls to his knees, Suga's already moved on to the next one. He gets a little more time to protect himself, but the killer’s movements are too fast. His hands wrap around his neck and he squeezes with inhuman strength.

As he struggles, the other two seem to regain their focus and start to take aim at him.

It only lasts a second before Jungkook is on them. He’s slower than Suga, but there’s also more power in his movements. His fist catches the first man’s jaw as the other hand rips the machine gun — where the fuck did they get that from — out of his hands. By the time the fourth man has spun around, he’s balancing on one leg, his foot coming up to kicking him in the chest and sending him reeling for several steps.

The gun spins in his hands, and then he's using the grip to hit the man he punched, still standing. It only takes three strikes before he falls, you think, but Jungkook lands a few more before he hits the ground. When he turns around, there’s no amusement on his face, unlike what you were used to see when he was at the Circle. There's just determination and anger, maybe, if you’re reading him correctly — an ability you’ve been doubting lately.

The only man left doesn’t stand a chance, but even then, Jungkook doesn’t drag the fight on any longer than he needs to. There are, you suspect, some unnecessary punches, done more to inflict pain than anything else — these ones get the man in the stomach, have him keeling over and spitting out blood — but really, it’s all over in a few minutes.

The guy Yoongi had been strangling is also down for the count.

Jungkook and him are the only ones left standing.

There’s a brief exchange of glances between them, then a nod, and Jungkook gestures at the men on your side, who are slowly coming out of the second car. You suspect that this was a baptism of fire for them, used to blades and fists, but much less so to the kind of guns these guys had been operating; one of them remains in the car, likely wounded and you see Suga walking over to them.

You get on your feet as well. Your brain seems to have a hard time registering the fact that the threat is gone, your muscles feel too tight to move. As you take your first step, you feel pain shooting up your leg.

Shit. You hadn’t noticed you’d hurt your ankle.

But that doesn't stop you from making your way over to the group. You’ll have it checked out later, you don’t think you’ll have a choice, but for now you’d rather people not know about it.

“Why did it take you so long to intervene?” Jungkook’s snarling by the time you arrive.

“We had to turn around,” one of the men, a tall, lean cat-hybrid replies. “They knew which car you were in.”

“And how the fuck would they—”

“We have moles on their side,” you offer as you come to stand next to him, “it’s no wonder they would too.” You don’t add that, while it could have been someone at HQ, it could just as easily be one of these men. If it is the case, you don't want the mole to do something desperate right now.

Jungkook’s eyes scan you briefly. Aside from your ankle, you think you only have minor injuries. He gives a sigh of relief, or maybe he’s just breathless from the fight.

“For now,” you continue, “we need to get out of here. The police will want to interrogate us, I’ll let you know what story we’ll be going for later, but we can't be caught—”

“Watch out!”

From the way the men rush out of the way, you have to assume the threat comes behind you, but your reflexes aren’t anywhere near as fast as the hybrid’s, and as you turn your head, catching sight of the car, the thought occurs to you, clear as day, as while it rushes towards you.

This is how it ends.

Honestly, you’d feared worst.

Much to your surprise, your body forces you to lunge forward, survival instinct kicking in where you thought you had none left. Your bad ankle just does not have the strength you need to make it completely out of the way, though, and you make yourself no illusions. At least, though, you go out trying to survive.

You hadn’t thought you would.

And then arms close around you and you’re pulled forward, barely hearing the scream of effort it takes over the roaring of the engine.

You blink at the car that goes past you, see it crashing one last time in the low concrete wall that runs alongside the river. The driver collapses on the wheel, and then Yoongi’s running past you, no doubt ensuring that he doesn’t move again. He makes it quick.

In your world, that is no small mercy.

But you don't get to think about that, not when the heat coming from Jungkook’s body is spreading through yours and when his hands grab your shoulders tightly as wide, panicked eyes search yours.

“Fuck, are you okay?”

You can’t do anything but nod.

He’s gripping you tightly, fingers digging into your skin, and he looks— he looks terrified. You don't know what to do with that.

So you lower your gaze, clear your throat. One of you has to keep their head on their shoulders.

“I’m alright.”

Still no ‘Mr. Jeon’.

“We need to leave this place.”

As you say that, you raise an arm, brush your fingers over the back of his hand. He jumps at the feeling, glances down at you even as you let your arm fall back down again, then back to your face. His gaze drops to your lips — you think — and then he takes a step back.

“Yeah. You're right, I just— fuck. I thought he was out for the count. I’m sorry.”

“You've saved my life twice today,” you say — softly, you think, but it’s hard to tell. “You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“Still, I—”

“Jungkook. Thank you.”

He looks conflicted, but then he sighs and gestures for you to get in the car.

In the crowded vehicle, you allow yourself a second to close your eyes. His arm, tense as bowstring, is brushing against you, and for a second, there’s just static in your brain, just exhaustion and his warmth that’s transferring to you.

Soon, of course, you go back to the planning, to the things you’ll need to change to ensure this doesn’t happen again, to everything that is to come and everything that needs to be done, the never ending list unfolding neatly in your mind.

But there is a second of quiet first. A second where, for once, you don’t try to fight the complicated feelings that have been going through you lately and where you almost — almost, but not quite — let yourself melt against the man who’s saved your life twice today.

So there it is. Uh. This might be the fastest chapter I've written as well as the longest. I did use a different writing method for this one so I don't know how this worked out. Because I wrote it on the heels of the last one, I was still in 'OC's voice', so it wasn't as hard to get back into it. I also wrote a lot more regularly. So... yeah, I would love it if you'd let me now how you feel about this, and hopefully getting another chapter in less than a month isn't too much of a shock for you lol. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

#jungkook x reader #bts #bts x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jjk #hybrid jungkook #bts mafia au #bts hybrid au #candywrites #if i can never give you peace #iicngyp

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cupid-styles · 7 months

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maybeee idk smth with mia and h and maybe theyre like at a business meeting or dinner and hes decided to take her with him OR hes at a meeting and shes teasing him by texting fun pics or smth and shes constantly teasing him and he gets more and more worked up and finally snaps and then when either he gets home or they get home together the filth ensues and hes absolutely brutal like completely relentless until shes like a mess and like completely wrecked and he doesnt fucking let up

IDK i feel like im bad at this shit lmfao😭💀

omfg STOP IT NO this is so good!!!!!! you're definitely NOT bad at it hehehe (I changed it just a lil bit but I hope u still like it!)

word count: 898

content warnings: DEGRADATION, name calling, mutual masturbation (but mainly just on mia's side), phone sex/nudes, kind of public play?, daddy kink (wow apparently I can get a lot done in less than 1k words !) enjoy!!!! :)

It started out innocently enough.

Mia liked the outfit she was wearing today and she wanted to show her boyfriend, who had already been at the office for three hours just as she was getting ready to leave the house. They both led busy lifestyles, with Mia being knee deep in work for the end of the semester and Harry being the CEO of an entire company, so it was hard not miss each other when they were apart. Hence why phone calls, photo messages, voice notes, and even FaceTime calls kept them afloat during particularly tough weeks.

The mutual need for one another was apparent. They hadn't been together in days, and the last time they were, it was for some silly event Harry had been forced to go to. Mia fell asleep on the drive home and his heart strings tugged guiltily, feeling awful for dragging her out on a school night.

So, when Harry replies to her picture with an influx of compliments, telling her she's such a pretty girl and he's so lucky to have her — well, it has her craving more. It sets off some part of her, making it so he's the only thing she can think about all day, and it's when she's in her second lecture of the day that she has the idea of traipsing off to the single use bathroom, locking the door, tugging her sweater and bralette up over her chest and snapping a picture of her tits to send him.

The response is nearly immediate.

From: Harry🩷

Are you trying to kill me?

She smirks, quickly typing back a response.

To: Harry🩷

of course not!! just miss u daddy🥺

The three dots instantly show up on her screen and she bites her lip, nibbling on it as she waits for his reply.

From: Harry🩷

Put your pretty tits away and go back to class like the good girl you are.

She swallows harshly, knowing she's not ready to end her game quite yet.

To: Harry🩷

what if i don't wanna be a good girl?

what if i wanna make myself cum in this bathroom, thinking about ur fingers making me squirt?

From: Harry🩷

If you do that, I'm picking you up from campus to give you a punishment.

Instead of sending back another picture, she's dialing his number in the blink of an eye. She wiggles her tights down and brushes her fingertips over her mound, a short gasp leaving her lips as Harry picks up the phone.

"Mia. Go back to class." he answers gruffly.

She moans softly into the receiver as she wiggles her fingers under the fabric of her underwear, tenting it over her knuckles. Unlike Harry, she's impatient, never interested in edging or teasing herself, so she makes quick work of finding her clit, gentle pads running over the nerves.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he mutters, and her eyes roll back at his exasperated tone, "You're being a slut right now, you know that? A dirty fuckin' whore that can't keep her fingers to herself for a minute."

His degradation only spurs her forward, dipping down to her hole where her juices are already collecting between her thighs. She pushes a finger in, knowing her time is limited before someone from her class notices her elongated absence. The whimper that leaves her mouth is embarrassing, and she hopes no one car hear her from outside.

"Jesus," Harry says in disbelief, "How many spankings do you want tonight, little girl? 10, 15? If you make yourself cum, you're in for at least 20."

The thought has her clenching around her finger as her palm rubs messily against her clit. She curses to herself lowly, adding a second finger to the mix. They're not as long as Harry's so she has more trouble reaching deep inside of her, but the stretch feels decent enough to push her to an orgasm.

"G-gonna cum soon, daddy."

"Brat," he spits, and she swears she can hear slick passes in the background of the call, "Maybe I should overstimulate that dumb little pussy tonight. Make you cum so many times you're drooling all over yourself like the messy bitch you are."

"Oh— fuck, fuck—"

"You'd probably like that too much, though, your daddy abusing your swollen hole until you can't even breathe. Guess I'll just edge you instead, keep you tied up with a vibrator between your legs— have you go for hours while I ignore you, all because you just had to cum all over your fingers."

That's what does her in — the visual of him dismissing her as she writhes around in his bedsheets, arms and legs tied to the posts of his obscenely expensive bed frame, her pussy pulsating around nothing as she begs and pleads to cum. She whimpers breathily as she feels herself squeezing her fingers, milking them until the dreamy sensation subsides, leaving her a sweaty, panting mess with a mess in her underwear.

"Fuck— fuck, that was good."

Harry chuckles, the sound warming her chest as she wedges the phone between her neck and shoulder. She quickly cleans herself up and washes her hands, shimmying her tights back up her legs.

"Seriously though, go back to class, Mi. It's been like 20 minutes since you called."

"Mm, I will," she says softly, fixing her hair in the reflection of the mirror, "Will you still come over tonight? I miss you so much."

"Of course, angel girl. You didn't think you got out of that punishment, did you?"

#writing #sugar daddy h

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bitterie-sweetie · 1 year

Text

Set it up

Pairing: Seokmin (DK) x reader Genre: fluff WC: 6.2k A/N: happy bday and seokmin day nat @syuperseventeen !! this is the fic that i've been writing in our dms foreverrr and now it's finally here (*´∇｀*)

You have absolutely no idea how to get closer to your crush, but perhaps asking his best friend for some advice is the way to go.

The whole point was to get close to Mingyu. That’s really all you wanted.

You don’t remember when you first met him, exactly. For the longest time, he’s just been someone who’s there—the tall one at the center of the group, the one cheering for you when you finally scored a strike during bowling night, the one waiting for you by the bathrooms when the rest of your friends have already headed out the door. He would smile at you and ask how you were doing, but otherwise, the two of you have never really talked. Truthfully, you’re not sure he even knows your name.

But despite that, you do end up learning a lot about him at all these events your friends drag you to. You know he's a lefty, and that he's good at bowling and just about any sport under the sun. You know he's an amazing cook, or so everyone says, and on top of that he also likes to clean. Though what really sealed the deal might have to be the time he let you walk on the inside of the sidewalk, as if he were a character straight out of a drama.

Now, months later, you’ve finally acknowledged these budding feelings for Kim Mingyu. But while acknowledging is one thing, the problem that remains is how do you get closer to him? You’ve tried to strike up a conversation many times already but what is there to talk about? At the pizza place a couple of weeks ago, you nearly mentioned the Marvel movie you saw the previous weekend only to stop yourself—what if he’s also a fan and you accidentally spoiled the entire thing? Or maybe he's not a movie person at all and would just smile awkwardly and pretend he didn’t hear you. Is he a book person then? He might be. But you also couldn’t ask about that when you haven't read a single book since high school, and there's no way you'd be able to keep up with the conversation if that's what gets him talking.

So here you are, finally turning to his best friend, Seokmin, for advice. Saturday morning has you out at a cafe instead of getting your eight hours, but such sacrifices are necessary for the sake of love.

Seokmin comes back from the counter, carrying both of your drinks and setting them down on the table in front of you. He’s wearing his usual bright smile that you’ve seen a few times before, and it calms your rapid heart a little. You try to smile back at him.

Out of the people you know to be Mingyu’s friends, Seokmin seemed the most approachable. He’s friendly and outgoing, loves to laugh, and during your group outing at the arcade, the two of you even played a few games together. Besides, you definitely weren’t going to ask the one with the glasses when he hardly spoke and never looked your way once, and the one that dances—Minghao, according to Soonyoung—might just laugh at your request more than he’d help. Thus, Seokmin was the obvious choice. You thought that if anyone could help you out, surely it’d be him.

“So?” He looks at you, unblinking. “What is it that you wanted to talk about?”

You open your mouth, and then close it again when the words feel like they’re sticking to your throat. Maybe you shouldn’t have done this. Is it too late to turn back? But you remind yourself that it’d be a waste to have come all this way just to not go through with it. “Um, you know your friend Mingyu?”

“No, who’s that?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you how I could get closer to him. Like, maybe you can tell me what his ideal type is? What are his interests? Does he have siblings and is he close to his family? Do you think you could maybe put in a good word for me the next time you talk to him? Maybe even… set us up on a date or something?”

Seokmin simply stares at you for a while and then blinks. Silence lingers in the air and each second that passes only makes your cheeks heat up more and more. Great, you said way too much. What kind of person bombards their crush’s friend with a random session of rapid-fire questions anyway?

And then, just as you imagined in your worst-case scenarios, he laughs. "Oh? You want me to be your wingman or something?" He manages to squeeze out.

Oh.

You don't laugh with him.

He stops laughing. "You can't be serious?"

"Well, not exactly a wingman but you're Mingyu's friend. Maybe you could give me some advice? Help me out a bit?"

“Hmm,” Seokmin considers for a moment. "Yeah, I've known Mingyu for a long time..." He raises a brow, and the corner of his lip lifts a little. "He's a tough person to get to know; usually he’s so friendly with everyone that you'd never know what he actually likes.”

“Right, that’s exactly why I need your help.”

“Are you sure about this? Because you're going to need some intensive training."

You don't know what he means by that. Is he saying you’re unworthy? That you’ve got no game? That—well, actually, he’s probably right. You’re here begging for his help after all. But despite this being a slight bruise to your ego, you’re sure whatever advice he can give must be better than the things Soonyoung has been telling you to do.

“Yeah,” you give a firm nod, “I’m sure. Let’s do it.”

“Okay!” Seokmin lifts his cup, holding it out for you to bump yours against, and then the deal is sealed.

And so, the plan begins.

After the initial meeting at the cafe, you meet him every few days when the two of you have time. Tuesday afternoon at the library is when Seokmin tells you where Mingyu usually hangs out—at the lounge in the finance building—and then Wednesday is when you swing by and entirely miss him. You get dinner with Seokmin on Thursday, just in time for your next opportunity, which presents itself as another group outing. This time at a board game cafe.

“I’ll create an opportunity so that you can sit beside him,” he says nonchalantly like it’s the easiest thing in the world, then proceeds to shove nearly the entire sandwich in his mouth.

“Right… but then what? What do I do after that?”

He looks at you mid-chew. You wait. Ten minutes go by. “The rest is in the hands of the OTP gods, Y/N.”

You do end up sitting next to Mingyu, with Seokmin on Mingyu’s other side, but that turns out to be the least of your worries. Sitting there has you picking up a stack of twelve cards during a game of Uno, when the two best friends stack their plus four cards to pass the punishment along to you. So much for sitting beside Mingyu. At least it gets him to laugh, though it’s Seokmin who’s having a good time at your expense, eyes sparkling and lip curling automatically when he meets your gaze.

Then the Saturday cafe session comes around again.

Seokmin sits down and crosses his arms, face unreadable. "Y/N, I barely pay attention to what’s going on around me and I still managed to see the way you tried to not-so-subtly get Mingyu's coffee order out of him yesterday. Please tell me it’s something you’ll never do again. You’re way too obvious. I am embarrassed for you."

Oh. So that’s what this is about.

"Okay, well," you frown at him, "if that was so bad then how would you do it then?"

"For starters, maybe don't mention it five times in a row while intentionally staring at him like you're waiting for an answer." He gives you a pointed look.

It was more like three times! Not five! "I wasn't staring," you mutter under your breath, though you know he's right. You're probably a lost cause at this rate and you still don't know what to do with the information that Kim Mingyu likes americanos.

As if he can sense your displeasure, Seokmin stops with the teasing after that. "Okay, first you just have to act natural. None of the googly eyes, the strange walks by his table when we're hanging out, and especially no interrogation questions."

“Uh huh.” You're skeptical. He’s making it sound way too easy. “And then what?”

“Then you talk to him like he’s just some guy.”

In the next moment, Seokmin puts on an impression of Mingyu so awful that it makes you entirely forget that you’d embarrassed yourself this time.

Soonyoung picks the arcade for the next week’s outing, and Seokmin tells you about all of the games that you could play with Mingyu. Shooting games, he says, are especially a good team bonding experience. Or you could battle it out on the DDR machines. But two rounds into the shooting game, Mingyu’s character is already dead, and while you manage to score a D on the DDR game, he ends up failing halfway through the song.

“So much for that plan,” you mutter, putting down the gun from the shooting game you’re about to quit. “Do you think I should’ve picked something easier?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t be fun.” Seokmin shakes his head and then takes out some tokens from his pocket. He puts them into the slot, then joins you by the spot where Mingyu left a moment ago. “We didn’t get to the end of the story last time, remember?”

You nod, feeling the grin creeping onto your face already. Seokmin is a good shot based on when you played this with him last time, and the two of you have perfect teamwork. “Let’s get it,” you say, high-fiving his outstretched hand. And before long, the night flies by and the two of you have used up all of your tokens.

Just like that, the two of you fall into a routine. Seokmin would give you a piece of advice, you’d attempt to use it the next time you see Mingyu, and then it’d fail. Then rinse and repeat.

It’s far from terrible, though. Seokmin might tease you a bit about your embarrassing moments and lack of progress, but you can’t be mad about it at all when spending time with him is ultimately a mood booster. He’s great at distracting you from not only your failure of a love life but from all of your school stresses as well, and more often than not, your hangouts tend to derail into something crazy and fun.

Sometimes you find yourself joining him in doing the awful impressions of your favourite Marvel characters, and other times you’re going to the convenience store to get late night snacks while having the world's largest debate over which kimbap flavour is the best. At some point you even dare each other to slurp the last of your bubble teas in the library as quietly as possible (spoiler alert: it doesn't go so well).

Even when it’s not so crazy, there’s never a dull moment with Seokmin. You get to learn a lot about him—after getting kicked out of the library, he shares his secret spot on campus with you and the two of you end up studying together there into the early hours of the morning. When you ask for a drink recommendation, he shares his extra customized Starbucks drink recipe. And when the sunrise slowly appears on the horizon and the two of you have given up on studying for the next midterm, he doesn’t shy away from telling you what he aspires to do after graduation, what he’s always dreamed of.

You end up falling asleep on his shoulder, and you think he’s going to make fun of you forever for it, but he simply smiles at you. An extra warm smile, washed by the golden rays of first light.

Then the two of you part ways and promise to meet each other again in a few days, although it never takes that long before he texts you a meme and you swing by his secret spot.

It does, however, make your friends notice your absence. Soonyoung corners you after your shared class one day to ask you where you’ve been, what you’ve been up to, and why he doesn’t seem to ever see you when you’re supposed to be best friends.

“Y/N, you’re not even going to study with us?” Soonyoung stands there, jaw dropping and mouth open in shock when you stand up to leave. Beside him, his girlfriend wears a milder version of the same expression. “Where are you going? We barely get to see you these days.”

“I have to go meet Seokmin now,” you say, picking up your bag. “I’ll see you guys next time, okay?”

He gives you a strange look. “Seokmin? Why are you meeting him? Did you guys become besties or something? Is that why you’ve been so MIA lately?”

“Yeah, kind of. Something like that.”

“Something like that,” Soonyoung repeats, unconvinced. “Are you guys dating?”

“What?” It’s your turn to give him a weird look. “No, Seokmin is just a friend. We’ve been hanging out and studying together, and he’s helping me with—”

Mingyu.

Kim Mingyu.

Even his name sounds unusual in your head, as if it’s a word you’ve repeated so many times that it has lost its meaning. But you know it’s the complete opposite of that: Mingyu’s name is unfamiliar to you because it hasn’t come up in a very long time.

“Y/N? You good?”

“Um, never mind. It’s a long story,” you quickly say, forcing a smile on your lips to hide the way your world has abruptly flipped upside down. “I’ll hang out with you guys next time, okay? I’ll even treat you to coffee.”

At the sound of that, Soonyoung’s frown turns into a grin but you barely have time to glance at it before you’re taking off.

The student center looks the same as it did last week and the week before that, and yet, it feels completely different this afternoon. You’re taken back to the first day you stepped in here to meet Seokmin, months ago, long before your memories of this place were filled with laughter and his funny impressions and all of the silly inside jokes you share.

Because how could you have forgotten the reason why you started all of this in the first place? How could Mingyu have slipped from your mind? You like him, for goodness’ sake! Perhaps you should be glad that Soonyoung’s questions served as a wakeup call and yanked you out of whatever reverie you were in, but now your stomach feels all queasy at just how far you’ve managed to stray from your original intentions.

“Hey,” Seokmin greets with his usual bright smile. He takes a seat across from you, and you can feel the corners of your lips instantly curving up. It really is that easy to forget, you think. One look at that smile and you’re in a bubble, with the outside world melting away. But you can’t forget any longer.

“Hi.”

He nearly does a double take. “Everything okay?”

“Um, yeah.” You need to figure out how to bring this up without making it weird, but at this point, it’s going to be weird either way. “I was just thinking about, um, well, we haven’t really gone out as a group for a while since everyone’s been busy and all. Maybe we can go after midterms.” You throw in a shrug to keep it nonchalant. “And maybe you can tell me if… Mingyu would be interested in that trendy restaurant we went to last month.”

You’re bringing that time up because it totally could’ve been a test run, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. That day, the rest of the group had cancelled on the original plans since some of them were busy, and so you and Seokmin spent the night looking for something fun to do followed by some good food. But maybe it’d be a good date spot with Mingyu; it was a great place after all. Maybe you wouldn’t feel like throwing up if you keep telling yourself that all of these activities you did, all the time that you invested over the past few months were for Mingyu.

You can see the moment Seokmin realizes it. The light that’s ever present in his eyes slowly fades until it completely disappears, and for the first time ever, his smile is gone. It makes one thing clear—you weren’t the only one who’d forgotten about Mingyu. Seokmin had forgotten about him too.

“Right,” he nods slowly, “I can ask him about that.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you, but not in the way it’d felt before. This time it’s dense, suffocating, foreboding, although you can’t exactly tell why you feel it and what it’s leading to. What’s the big deal about having gotten off track anyway? You can just correct your route and continue.

“Seokmin? And Y/N? Wow, I haven’t seen you guys in so long,” a voice comes floating over.

And when you look up, it’s Mingyu. Right in the flesh.

You can tell that his hair has grown out a bit and he’s dressed far more casually than you’ve ever seen him, but he still looks as good as always.

The two of you mutter your hellos but when no one seems to pick up the conversation, Mingyu ends up looking between you and Seokmin in a way that might lead to the same kind of misinterpretation that Soonyoung experienced.

No, you can’t risk having him get the wrong idea. “Mingyu,” you impulsively say, “do you want to go out for dinner with me this weekend?” There’s a slight emphasis on the me, so he doesn’t think it’s an us question.

A questioning look briefly flashes across his face, but to your surprise, Mingyu ends up nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

If it were the you from last term, there’d be no way such a bold question would ever come out of your mouth. But now, things are different. Now you can rashly throw out such propositions all for the sake of correcting yourself and getting back on track before more people get the wrong idea.

After chatting for a while, Mingyu leaves the two of you and says he'll talk to you soon. Oddly enough though, you barely feel any satisfaction afterwards—you're not jumping for joy or squealing in excitement like you once thought you’d be when in this situation. But isn’t this what you wanted?

Well, it’s no big deal. You tell yourself it’s because you’re still dumbfounded over his answer, especially when the two of you haven’t connected recently. Yes, that must be it. That must be why he slipped your mind in the first place; it’s not that your feelings for him faded, but just that you’ve been too busy.

You pack away the other thoughts into a box and seal it tightly. What would you do with the fact that you asked Mingyu the question thinking he’d turn you down, and weren’t upset at the thought of being rejected?

Across from you, Seokmin also appears to be taken aback by this whole encounter. He's quiet for once, almost as if he doesn't know how to react, and there’s a neutral expression on his face that you’ve never seen before. When you meet his eyes, they’re missing their usual warmth.

“Congrats, Y/N. You won’t be needing my help anymore.” Then he looks down to check the time on his phone. “Ah, I have to go for my tutorial session now,” he mutters, standing up and then slinging his bag on his shoulder without giving you another glance. “Have fun on the date.”

“Yeah—” you start to say, but he’s already out of earshot.

It’s only after you get back to your dorm that you realize: Seokmin doesn’t have a tutorial session today at all.

The rest of the week passes by quickly. You don't get a chance to see Seokmin when you're wrapped up in assignments and latched onto by Soonyoung, who insists on dragging you from store to store to pick an outfit for your date. And while you’re looking forward to the date and you’re content that everything is back on track, for some reason the stone in your chest doesn’t disappear. You feel it pressing down on you every time your eyes drift to your phone and see the lack of notifications.

Soon enough, the weekend approaches and it’s time for your date with Mingyu. You end up reluctantly wearing what Soonyoung picked out, figuring it can’t be any worse than what you have in your closet, and then head out to meet Mingyu at the restaurant you agreed on.

The night starts off just a little awkward—he speaks so quickly that you only end up catching half of each sentence, and the noise in the restaurant definitely doesn't help your case. Is it too much to hope he doesn't ask any questions and that your half-laugh is enough to cover yourself? Oh and you end up dropping a fork. Unintentionally. But it turns out to be the best thing to happen, for when you meet Mingyu's eyes after bending to pick it up, the two of you burst into laughter and it's like all the ice between you melts away.

After that point, it's pretty much what you expected: the food is good, the vibes are nice, and it's everything you could've hoped for. Mingyu is really nice and talking to him reminds you of what caught your eye in the first place, and the night seems to quickly fly by.

But if you expect your heart to flutter at every smile Mingyu shoots your way, and for your cheeks to heat up when you accidentally bump your knees against his, then you’re left hanging. This feeling is like the same, strange emptiness you felt the day he agreed to go on the date with you.

Perhaps it could very well be due to how distracted you are, though. Every embarrassing moment, every funny joke—they all turn into stories that you save in your mind to tell Seokmin the next time you see him. It’s all too easy to picture him gawking at some and then laughing until he’s crying at others, and it’d be a fun time. Plus you’re acting natural just like you practiced, and when you tell Seokmin, he’d be so proud of how far you’ve come.

At the end of the night, Mingyu walks you to your dorm and even gives you his jacket to wear when the wind becomes colder than you anticipated. You thank him for a good time, and then you say your goodbyes and that’s that.

Afterwards, life goes back to a time before you ever knew Mingyu or Seokmin.

You find yourself studying in the library with Soonyoung instead of going to any secret spot on campus, and when he asks for all the details about your date, you have nothing to say.

There’s only one person you want to talk to about it, and he’s nowhere to be seen. He doesn't answer your texts, leaves them unopened, and stops posting on social media entirely. You can't even tell if he's purposely avoiding you or if he's just caught up with school work or other things going on in his life.

“You know what’s funny?” Soonyoung abruptly sets down his pencil, the noise of it making you flinch. He’s probably had enough of your endless sighing all throughout the hour that you’ve been at the library.

“No.”

“I haven’t seen you this miserable before,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “And that includes the time you didn’t get into your exchange program and when you failed the midterm in first year.”

“Are you done yet or—”

“That also includes all the times you got ignored and rejected by Mingyu.”

You stop typing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Y/N, you went on a perfectly good date with him and you’re about to go on a second date, yet you’re here, more miserable than before when he used to barely look at you.”

Yes, you’re willing to admit that you’re miserable. But Soonyoung likes to talk around the point a lot instead of directly addressing it, and you’re tired of trying to figure out just why you feel this way when everything should be perfect by now.

“So?” You heave a sigh. “Soonyoung, what are you trying to say?”

“Y/N.” He turns so that he’s facing you, rolling his chair forward so that he can put his hands on your shoulders like he’s giving you a pep talk. “You’re miserable because you think you’re supposed to like Mingyu, but really, you’ve completely fallen for Seokmin instead. And now you have no idea what to do about it, hence your state of denial.”

You’ve completely fallen for… what? You study Soonyoung’s face, trying to tell if he’s cracking another one of his jokes, but nothing indicates that he is. He’s completely serious which makes it all the stranger why he’s saying you’ve fallen for Seokmin. Because how can it be true? Seokmin is a great friend and you’re really missing him since he’s been avoiding you and all, but having feelings for him? Is that possible?

“Wait, are you for real? You actually didn’t know until I told you just now?”

“Um…” You don’t know what to say to that.

Soonyoung looks at you for a moment longer before smiling and patting your arm. “It’s okay to not know. Take some time to think about it—what is it that you really want? Who do you think of when something good happens to you and you want to share it with someone? And don’t lie; I know it’s not me.”

You give him a weak smile, unable to deny the last bit, and then the two of you part ways to head to your respective classes.

Over the course of the week, you do give it some thought. You slowly go through all of your past interactions with Seokmin, examining them from different angles to try to pinpoint whether you might’ve actually developed feelings for him. And when that doesn’t give you enough information, you take a closer look at the moment Soonyoung inadvertently reminded you that Mingyu was the start of all of this.

Why did you feel so disappointed at the time? Was it really because your brilliant plan had been derailed, which meant no progress with your crush, or was it because Mingyu was simply the excuse to keep meeting up with—

A loud ring cuts through the silence of the room, pulling you out of your thoughts. It’s your alarm. Great, if you don’t head out right now, you’d be late for your date with Mingyu, so you quickly grab your things and leave the house.

This second date has your stomach in knots. You don't know why you agreed to it, but at the same time, you didn’t exactly have a reason not to. Truthfully, you never expected him to ask for a second date, and you didn't expect to see him again. And it’s not that the first date went badly at all; no, it was fun and enjoyable and just an overall good date. But that’s all it was. You could probably be having an even better time with Seokmin—

Seokmin.

Already, Soonyoung’s words are echoing in your mind again. Okay, maybe he really was onto something.

This time your date with Mingyu is at a new cafe a block away from campus. By the time you get there, he's seated at a table and looking as handsome as always with two drinks in front of him.

“Hey,” you greet, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Hey, Y/N.”

It’s far more awkward than the first time. The two of you exchange small talk and you ask about how school is going, what he’s been up to lately, and he tells you he started that show you recommended. You tell him you tried his favourite food stall. Then the conversation dwindles, and you can’t help but feel held back by the thoughts swarming your head. Should you talk about what’s really on your mind? Should you, Y/N, ask him, Kim Mingyu, about his best friend, Lee Seokmin? When you’re supposedly on a date? Should you—

"So... you and Seokmin, huh?” Mingyu says slowly.

Oh.

You can't believe what you're hearing.

“W-what?”

He lets out a sigh, a wistful smile appearing. "Yeah, I know all about it. The two of you weren't exactly subtle."

"What do you mean?"

"The way you were talking about Seokmin that night when we had dinner, and when I saw the two of you in the student center that day. It's pretty obvious that the two of you have a connection."

You open your mouth to deny it, but you can't.

You can't, because it's true. There's no doubt that this is why you've gone through the five stages of grief or whatever just because Seokmin hasn't texted you back in weeks. This is why the first date with Mingyu seemed underwhelming, and why you feel slightly reluctant to even be sitting here with him now. Beyond the initial favour you'd asked of Seokmin, none of this was ever about Mingyu. It has always been about Seokmin.

Soonyoung was right, and it seems like everyone around you could see it perfectly clearly. And now, it all makes perfect sense.

You swallow nervously. “Um, yeah. I guess you could say that.”

“Look, Y/N, I’ll be straightforward and tell you that’s why I asked you to come here today. We had a great time the other night—don’t get me wrong—but I think we both know that’s not where your heart lies.”

You nod, and it’s like the weight in your chest lessens just enough that you can breathe again. That had been part of your worries—how were you supposed to tell him that you’re no longer interested in him? That maybe you never really were in the first place because you’ve fallen for his friend? The last thing you wanted to do was to mess things up between friends, so hearing Mingyu say that this date isn’t a date at all is truly the light at the end of your tunnel.

“I don’t know what happened between the two of you specifically, but he hasn’t been himself lately, and I get the feeling that it has to do with… us.” He grimaces. “I talked to him, but I think this is something you should clarify.”

“Trust me, I’ve been trying. He’s been avoiding me though; he won’t reply to my texts and I can’t seem to find him on campus anywhere.”

Mingyu stares at you for a moment and you can’t tell at all what he’s thinking. “Tonight at seven. Meet him at your usual spot.”

“What?”

“He’ll be there.” He nods firmly, and then stands up. “Go for it, Y/N.”

“I’ll be there. Thanks for letting me know.” You stand up as well, picking up your unfinished drink. “Oh and—Mingyu?”

“Hmm?”

“If you knew that there was something going on between me and Seokmin, why did you agree to the dinner that day in the first place?”

Mingyu hesitates for just a moment as if the question takes him off guard, but then a smile starts to appear. “I thought you wanted to talk to me about him.”

“Ah. Right.” You give him a quick smile, wave, and then leave the cafe.

You’re never asking a crush’s best friend for advice ever again.

You practically count down the hours, staring at the clock on your phone every few minutes.

There’s still no word from Seokmin himself, and your heart pounds like crazy over the fact that you’d have to blindly trust Mingyu and believe that he’ll show up. What should you even expect from this meeting? How could you possibly prepare for it, having no idea what Mingyu has told him?

And what’s more than that is the other thought that pops into your head: what if he doesn’t feel the same way? Sure, everyone may have implied there was something going on between the two of you, but what if his avoidance was because he thought you used him? That the two of you were becoming friends—nothing more—and that you tossed him away the moment Mingyu looked at you? What if all of this is yet another misunderstanding?

Well, you figure it doesn’t matter anyway. You’ll go in there and tell him the truth regardless of whether you get rejected or whether he never wants to see you again.

So you get to the student center and then climb the stairs two at a time, unsure of whether you want to get there faster or slower. Because this time, there’s truly nothing to hide behind. This time when you see him, you’re no longer using Mingyu’s name as your shield or excuse, nor is Seokmin your crush’s best friend.

When you step into the room, you immediately see him curled up on the couch. It’s just as Mingyu said—Seokmin doesn’t look like himself. The usual brightness is missing from his face, seemingly replaced by the dark circles under his eyes, and the smile that he attempts when he sees you is just an attempt.

You gently take a seat at the opposite end of the couch. There was some sort of speech you practiced on your walk here, but after seeing him, everything leaves your mind at once.

“Hey,” you start. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Seokmin nods. “Yeah, um. It’s—sorry. I have no excuse for avoiding you. Just needed some space and some time to think.”

“Yeah, of course.” Then silence. “Seokmin—”

“Um, I—”

You stop. “You can go first.”

He hesitates, but ultimately continues. "I'm assuming your date with Mingyu went well? That things are going well between the two of you?" He doesn't wait for a response and simply nods to himself. "That's good. The two of you are good for each other."

"What?" You're almost worried for him because what exactly did Mingyu tell him? Nothing, judging by the sounds of it, or it’s that Seokmin has decided not to believe any of it. "What are you saying?"

He turns to you. "I know you were trying to get Mingyu to fall for you, but I think it worked on me too."

Oh.

Suddenly, it's like his confession makes everything click. You aren’t the only one who thought it was way too easy to forget Mingyu's name over the course of your hangouts, or to not have him cross your mind entirely until you were reminded. And you’re not the only one who was disappointed when his name was brought up again, or who wasn’t excited about your date with him.

Originally, you might've wanted to get advice from Mingyu's best friend and then developed feelings for said best friend along the way, but now you know that said best friend has also fallen for you.

“Too?” You shake your head. "No, it didn’t work on Mingyu. It never did; he only went on the date because he knew I—” you pause to take a deep breath, “he knew I liked you. He thought I asked him out because I wanted to talk to him about you.”

Still, Seokmin doesn’t say anything.

“But I'm not here to talk about Mingyu. Our hangouts might've started because of him, but we've spent more time forgetting about him than talking about him. And I think I must've spent more time talking about you than about myself during my date with him."

“Why would you do that? What do you mean…” he trails off and then meets your eyes, and you can see the moment it clicks for him. The light in his eyes—it seems to come back gradually like a candle flickering back to life or colour restoring in a monochrome landscape. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yeah, Seokmin. I don’t know when it started to happen, but the whole asking you for advice thing turned into an excuse to see you. I didn’t know it at the time when I asked Mingyu out and just—I freaked out and messed things up.” Your pulse is racing at this point, and it’s hard to swallow but you have to push on and ask one last thing. “So maybe… you can give me some advice on how to win your heart instead?”

“You already have, Y/N,” he says softly, and the warm smile that you missed so much is now back and glowing more than ever.

Then a moment later, as per typical Seokmin behaviour, he bursts into laughter. He laughs like he's finding the whole situation absurd—which it is—and soon, you join in too. You laugh at how Mingyu is the one who unknowingly brought the two of you together, how asking Seokmin for a mere favour has bloomed into an unlikely friendship.

And now, maybe into something more.

390 notes · View notes

softstraykidshours · 2 years

Text

~skz & their reaction when you call them from a police station~

pairing: ot8 stray kids x gn!reader

genre: fluff, headcanon

length: 746

warnings: getting arrested, jail, profanity

chan

he’s going to come and immediately pick you up. he seems super sweet and defensive while he’s filling out the paperwork, letting everyone know that he “has no clue how this happened” and that “there must be some sort of misunderstanding.” but, the second you leave the police station he’s going full dad mode and low key lecturing you. like “should we talk about why you got arrested?” you’re going to be hearing about it for the entire drive home and then for the next few days as well. he’s so protective that he doesn’t want your reputation damaged, but he also isn’t going to tolerate delinquent behavior.

minho

you wouldn’t have to explain anything, literally just tell him you got arrested, and he will just show up and bail you out. he will end up finding out why you were arrested in the first place because you blurt it out on the way home. he’ll just be driving peacefully in silence, not at all worried about why he had to go to the police station at 3 am, but you can’t take it anymore so you spill everything.

changbin

he low key speeds the whole way over to pick you up, because he wants to see you in jail. he thinks it’s so funny that you got arrested, because it’s over something ridiculously stupid. he's laughing his head off the entire time in the police station. it takes you reminding him you how horrible and gross jail cells are to get him to shut up for even five seconds.

hyunjin

hopefully your cell mates are nice, because picking you up from jail is a whole event for him, so you better not expect efficiency. he’s going to be putting on one of his most expensive fits and will most definitely be keeping his sunglasses on the whole time (even though it’s middle of the night). he’ll make sure to pay your bail with a metal american express black card and will act so disappointed the whole time. like you’re the one who went to jail, but somehow this whole situation ended up being about him.

jisung

you’re not calling him from the police station, because he’s most definitely there with you. you two are always doing dumb shit together and getting in trouble for it. you’re constantly relying on chan to bail you out. at least half of the time, he will just leave you there for the night, because he’s so sick of dealing with your antics. you’re there so much that the two of you have like a “personal routine for jail.” the guards are low key your friends and hang out with you on the nights chan leaves you there to “think about what you’ve done”.

felix

he is so scared of the jail in general that he won’t go. like he loves you so much, and he doesn’t want to leave you there, but he can’t bring himself to go. so, instead, he will pay chan to pick you up for him. he will try and play it tough when you get back in a macho “have you learned your lesson” kind of way, but he cracks so easily and ends up cuddling you, talking the whole time about how traumatic that must have been for you.

seungmin

he will show up when you call, but he’s going to be taking his sweet ass time to fill out the bail paperwork. you’re so embarrassed that you got arrested, and he will be playing it up the whole time. like he’s taking selfies with you on the way out, while you’re pouting about it. when he finally gets you to the car, he’s loudly saying something like “you’re welcome for picking you up from jail” so that everyone around you can hear. is definitely going to be giving you shit about it for weeks.

jeongin

this is a regular event for you two. he just doesn’t acknowledge consequences for actions, and you like to see what you can get away with, so the two of you are constantly getting arrested for stupid shit. but, one of you is always the “designated responsible person,” so when one of you inevitably gets arrested for doing something dumb, there is always someone to bail you out. at this point, it’s a very quick process and only a minor inconvenience for your nightly shenanigans when one of you gets arrested.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #bang chan imagines #lee know imagines #changbin imagines #hyunjin imagines #han jisung imagines #felix imagines #seungmin imagines #jeongin imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids #gn reader #stray kids headcanons #headcanons #mine #soft stray kids hours #q: painting with hyunjin

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whatgaviiformes · 3 months

Text

Fic: Grannies (part 1)

A/N: When I am in a writing lull I default to two things: crafting and post-Hydrofoil/post-SOS. I hope this is still enjoyable - dedicated to the craftyfam for inspiration. In this part: Scott

On a new day, Scott realized he wasn't alone in the lounge. Sometime in the early morning his younger brother must have stumbled in, still encumbered as he was with the cast helping his leg to heal, but Scott had been too engrossed with the work begging for his attention to notice.

He apologizes for it now.

Gordon has used pillows to prop himself up against the arm of the sofa so that he's sitting, and there's a space right past the injured limb for Scott to gently position his weight. This couch is made for Scott’s height, so Gordon seems entirely too small against the decor pillows.

He’s healed nicely after the events of finding Braman - the strain on his arm and shoulder had just needed rest. Their caution saved his neck and spine, though he hadn't been able to escape the head injury, which still gives him headaches from time to time. And the leg - well that needed a bit more than just TLC.

Scott’s hand finds the ankle attached to the uninjured leg, his voice crackling a “good morning” from the lack of use and dryness he hadn’t realized was there. Gordon, with honey-brown eyes that shine with a knowing amusement, pauses the movement of his hands and lets the strand of orange yarn drop at the reminder of Scott’s presence. They both share in the explosion of color just outside the lounge windows.

Clouds like peach fluffs remind Scott of just how long it’s been since they were able to enjoy the dawnslight together. Prior to the accident, their routines aligned with daybreak, the timing of their exercises overlapping. Gordon’s, of course, included laps in the pool. The pool which was decidedly off limits with Gordon’s current accessory. Scott would often go for a run, chasing the sun. Scott’s not so much a fan of this new normal created by the Hood’s attack - the world where Gordon is unable to partake in what runs through his blood, and where the rest of them are spread far, far too thin.

“Granny for your thoughts?”

Scott shakes his head. “They’re not worth the - wait, what?”

In response Gordon tosses him a square of fabric, blaming aerodynamics when it lands on his own foot instead of on Scott’s face where he was aiming. “Well, I can’t reach my wallet and you don’t need my pennies anyway.”

“So this is your substitute?” Scott picks it up between two fingers to inspect it. He’s not trying to make it seem like there’s a practical joke here… but it’s Gordon. So there’s a practical joke here somewhere.

If anything, it’s the color combination. Gordon’s never been afraid of putting clashing colors together, though Scott’s never been sure if that’s truly fearlessness or whether it’s just Gordon being oblivious about it. There was a period when they were younger where Dad thought Gordon might even be colorblind - had him tested and everything. But when all was said and done, Gordon could see what he was doing when he dressed himself with one green sock and one orange - he just didn’t care.

The square’s got the same energy, the only pattern being that no color is repeated. Otherwise, it’s random and clashing, and oh so Gordon.

He loves it immediately.

Even the Barbie pink near the autumn orange.

“Can I keep this?”

“Sure. What’s one granny?” Gordon cuts the orange yarn with a flourish and loops it back through his work. “I have hundreds more where that came from.”

“Oh, wow, that’s … a lot.” Scott wonders if they all channel Gordon’s chaos the way his square does.

“Yeah, well. Not being able to swim is a lot.”

“Oh, Gordon…”

“Don’t. I’m irritated, and it’s not your fault. Pick a color for me.”

“Hmm. Teal.”

There’s a basket on the floor. Gordon reaches for it, placing it instead on his lap while he digs through his options. In the end the color he holds up for Scott is more turquoise than teal, but it’s close enough to the bird feathers outside the window, which inspired his choice in the first place, that he nods his approval.

For a while, Scott watches him work the green-ish blue over the row of orange. Without knowing exactly what Gordon’s doing with the hook and the yarn, Scott catches the general pattern: spaces over the clusters of color and new stitches where the previous row had spaces. Each row around the row before it with corners shaped into a square.

He understands the principle.

“What do I do with it?” he asks. It's small, despite the volume of its color. “Will it work as a coaster?” Scott hopes so; he could use some life for when working at Dad's desk.

“It's perfect for a coaster.”

“What are you doing with them? You can't possibly need hundreds of coasters, can you?” There's actually very little Scott assumes about Gordon’s logic. This is one he feels fairly certain about.

“Ha, no.” Gordon's sly smile would make warriors cower. “Virgil's making me a blanket.”

“Virgil is?”

“Well, yeah. He doesn't know I know. But it's Virgil so of course he is.” Gordon leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “I'm leaving them around the villa for him to find. There's one in his favorite coffee mug right now.”

Gordon cackles. An actual full belly laugh. “I haven't had any sent back to me in retaliation,” he explains further. “Ergo…”

“Ergo,” Scott echoes, the pieces coming together. He absolutely understands now that Gordon is doing just the part he enjoys, a welcome distraction from his current misery. The injured aquanaut gets to enjoy the instant gratification of the small project while Virgil…

…does the heavy lifting.

That’s so entirely them it makes his teeth hurt grinning.

Scott glances at his square with a rush of warmth being welcomed into the language his brothers seem to share over yarn. He never learned when Mom taught Virgil her magic, but he knows it’s important to the two of them and that Virgil taught Gordon at the hospital all those years ago now.

There is still one more thing he’s wondering.

“Gordon? About these ends?” The square looks unfinished with the strands dangling with each color change.

“Oh, do they bother you?” He beams. “I don't mind them so much.”

Scott's gaze immediately jumps to Gordon's gaze away from the trailing yarn. That little shit. Virgil will hate that. Hell, Scott can't stand them unfinished like that himself. And Gordon knows exactly what he's doing.

“You're maniacal.”

Gordon shakes his head. “No, I'm bored. And Virgil likes fixing things, remember?”

#Gavii Scribit #fic: grannies #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction

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yeenybeanies · 10 months

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This is sort of a two-parter

Was part of why Price was so sad to see that Soap had hybridized himself because he knew it effectively halved his life expectancy? (Just saw your new tweet about hybrids rarely living past 50) and did Soap know it would do that?

Additionally would Gaz be any sort of exception because his species is so long lived? Or would it be burning the candle on both ends because he never stops growing, hence taxing his body faster

And then pt 2.

You said Ghost is effectively blind, how does that affect him with using firearms and how did the task force find out about that? I imagine he doesn't go about advertising it

aaaa i'm LIVING for these questions aaa thank youuuu!!!

putting under a cut bc it's a lil lengthy.

SO yes! that is definitely part of why price was sad! i haven't worked out a full timeline yet of events but price has been a hybrid for most of his military career (underwent the change when he was 19; he is currently 37, but him reuniting with soap was probably a couple of years ago). price was pretty well-informed on what hybridization would/could do to him, & how it would, among other things, shorten his lifespan.

when he was mentoring soap early on, working to get him into the SAS, soap had expressed a passing interest in undergoing hybridization, but price strongly advised against it. said he didn't need it. truly no one needed it. never went into much detail, though. soap didn't bring it up much after, so price figured it was settled. moved on.

so, when price does reunite with soap after soap's hybridization––which he did without telling price (he wasn't obligated to, & hadn't talked to him in a while)––price feels more than anything a sense of guilt. regret. like it's his fault for not doing more to talk soap out of essentially ruining his life.

made worse still because soap wasn't fully informed on what hybridization does. not for a lack of trying to find out so much as he was more or less lied to about it. he was fed the perks, while the downsides were downplayed or omitted.

gaz would not be an exception partially for your reasoning, yes. the continuous growing, even if it's slow, does tax the body significantly. & crocodilian longevity, it doesn't counteract the other strain that's put on the body as a result of the hybridization. the fact of the matter is that human bodies are not meant to be spliced together with these animals, & hybridization is not done with the recipient's health in mind. hybrids are created to be tools & weapons. so long as they can do what they were made to do, that's good enough.

so ghost is largely blind, yes. pretty much entirely blind in his left eye, & his vision is still pretty bad in his right eye. he can detect light (which he is still very sensitive to, despite the poor vision) & shapes, but not much else. he does wear contacts/corrective lenses, though. not a whole lot can be done for his left eye, but it's salvageable in his right, which is the eye that he shoots with anyway. it gives him decent enough distance vision that, with a scope, he can snipe just fine. (reading things up close, however, is a bit more of a challenge, as the contacts make him far-sighted.)

for closer situations, he doesn't really rely on sight at all. he instead uses his sense of smell, hearing, & echolocation. & he's damn good with it too. most people don't know that he's almost blind, because he moves & behaves like anyone with decent vision would. he tracks movement with his eyes, makes eye contact, & he can fight/shoot perfectly at close/medium range. hell, he can shoot better than most because he can work in pitch black with ease, & he doesn't need to be facing a target to know it's there.

price does pick up on the blindness almost immediately, since he's known ghost the longest & was there to help him adjust to his forced hybridization. & also because he's price. ghost knows gaz the next-longest, & probably just ends up telling him eventually. gaz suspected something was up (bc ghost is always wearing sunglasses, even at night), but never asked, & certainly didn't think that ghost's vision was as bad as it actually is. that surprised him, considering how ghost can still snipe. soap likely figures it out on his own after a while. just because of how his relationship is/grows with ghost & how close they end up becoming. soap is observant. notices how ghost squints sometimes, how he occasionally asks someone to read or summarize something to him, & other small things. & he might not ask about it either, but he'll start doing things to try & accommodate. writing/drawing things bigger. offering to read stuff for ghost (or just doing it unprompted). sharing audiobooks & music he thinks ghost would like. & when ghost does admit that he's mostly blind, soap's just like. oh. i know, but i'm glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me 🥰

#cod #john price #john mactavish #kyle garrick #simon riley #hybrid!price #hybrid!soap #hybrid!gaz #hybrid!ghost #hybrid au #guess i gotta make a tag for this now lmao #hyena asks

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prof-peach · 1 year

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What do you mean when you say Minerva no longer belongs to Peach? Was she traded? Did she not want to be Trainer owned?

Minerva is a fussy Pokemon, she likes things the way she likes them, indulges in fine fabrics, enjoys being brushed and preened, and of course peach has always done this for her, catered to it her entire life, even when money was tight, she would do her best. So much so, she learnt to sew and tailor so she could enjoy new outfits for cheap. Not once has that Pokemon ever had to ask for anything, she’s been adored.

This did not change when grey turned up, he was more fashion forward than peach, and he got along with Minerva, they shared a lot of love for finer things.

And then plum came along. Since she started coming and going from the professors home, she had been drawn to Min, and in turn, the lopunny gravitated to her too. Every time the trio got five minutes to relax, plum would mindlessly brush out her fur, or help her put outfits together. They truly bonded. It has been two years, and they’ve become thick as thieves. When Minerva isnt with her actual trainer working or hanging out, she’s with Plum. This did not go ignored. Peach often looked over at the sofa and saw them flicking through a magazine together, or swiping through fashion blogs on a phone, discussing trends, figuring out new uses for old items once they cycled back into the hottest trends. They clicked. She’d be a fool to ignore it.

And so, knowing plum’s only Pokemon was Missy, a less than strong dragonair with a tendency to get distracted, and the fact that her family was now a well known threat to them all, she decided it was a wise move to perhaps bring the subject of changing Minerva trainer officially. She took her old friend out to the berry fields, normal work, min liked to collect fruits and do these odd jobs, and while they worked, the subject was brought up. Minerva though shocked, wasn’t against it, she would still be able to come and go from the house, she would forever be peach’s darling friend, nothing would truly change, but it was painfully clear that she belonged with the ranger, they got along like a house on fire.

Peach did not tell plum of her plans, instead initiating a battle with her as training, a little fun more than anything else. Missy the dragonair, vs Minerva the lopunny. The poor dragon didn’t stand a chance, outpaced by the normal type. Defeated and somehow not surprised, plum laughed it off, caught unawares by the professor handing her a pokeball and a smooth mega stone for Minerva.

Peach trusts plum to love her partner, to cater to her, and sees that they truly fit as a team. She also knows Minerva will keep her safe should there be an invasion, an attack, or god forbid, her family turn up and start to cause trouble. She feels better knowing that Missy isn’t her only defence.

It is the highest honour peach can possibly bestow, handing one of her beloved personal partners over, trusting her to do right by them. Seeing as she got Minerva as this dusty flea ridden little mess many years ago, and helped her grow into the fabulous, perfect Pokemon she is today, there is a lot of love and respect between the two. Enough to know when it’s time for a change for the better.

Plum of course cried like a baby because she’s like that, nothing surprising, and mega-evolution training has begun, peach no longer needs the skill set, and so she was happy to give her own keystone up, and help the ranger learn to do it safely, it’s become their little weekly event, a tough session sure, but plum enjoys it, and Minerva is happy to spend time with both her partners working hard together.

So while Minerva is still in the house, still around and part of everyone’s life like normal, technically she is plums partner now. A mutual decision. Peach has picked up Riot instead, a midnight lycanroc she travelled Galar with, who is incredibly brutal in nature, and needed more hands on time.

#I will draw a comic for this one day #but my family are here for winter and make me want to die #so my motivation to work is dead and in the ground #prof.peach #pokemon

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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

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Okay but if we consider pro heroes akin to pro athletes who all mostly retire by 40 bc they get put through the wringer physically……. silver fox retired Bakugo would absolutely be a househusband 🫣

tags ; gn!reader, househusband!bkg, there's a pretty big age gap but both characters are well into adulthood lol

swear we share braincells because this is genuinely the one scenario i can see househusband bkg to its fullest and most canon extent and GODDD it makes me crazy.

bakugou is a late bloomer when it comes to interpersonal relationships. he’s the word busy in human form. he spent his entire adult life on one long, strenuous path to number one and achieved what most people could only hope to do in 3 lifetimes. he has accolades, wealth, charity - and time has softened his public image to something of a lovable grump and less of a raging hot-head.

all that being said, there's very little in his life in the way of meaningful romantic partnerships. the number is closer to 0 than it is one, really. he's had feelings for people but not enough energy or time to make something of it. and he's good at repressing those feelings in the first place so they've never surfaced or blossomed. he didn't want them too.

after the war ended, there was more regulations with being a hero than before. mostly of social expectations. a documentary of allmights early life struck the public and it became custom to retire before 50 - or at least work significantly less. that, ontop of the sustained injury in his knees leaves bakugou retired in his early 40's.

and surprisingly, he wasn't as against as he thought he'd be. maybe he was just tired deep down, but more than that - he achieved what he wanted. he spent a long few years as number one and since then has gone back and forth with deku on the charts. he's done the only thing he really wanted, which was to have some sort of historic impact on the world like the hero admired so much.

and he achieve that before 50. so now he was retired. somehow it's anticlimatic.

after he's done, he can't find what else to do with his life. he does what anyone else who's retired to but he's still spry and healthy. he gardens. he cooks and cleans. he goes to film festivals and drinks with friends and rock-climbs and helps on cases. he lectures sometimes, when they want him somewhere and goes to some public events. he even volunteers. takes care of his friends kids all of which are teens now.

and all of that is fine, but he does miss the work. he misses feeling like he's needed somewhere instead of sitting on his hands all day.

bakugou meets you coincidentally. it's an informal meeting, and deku introduces you. just about how to handle his assets moving forward, you're some kind of finacial advisor.

you're in your mid 30s, professional and charismatic. it's very clear your good at your job, and bakugou likes competent people. one meeting turns into a few more less casual ones. becomes hang-outs, becomes drinks together and a dinner date and at some point he has to admit to himself.

for the first time, in his whole entire life, bakugou has feelings for someone in a completely viable way. he's a little weary about the age gap for a while, but you're both well into adulthood by now. and he probably needs to stop nit-picking whats maybe his last chance at a love life.

he gets over it, eventually. and finds himself in your company, learning about your life as an office worker. about you, and the smart way you talk and the way you soothe some of his growing pains. he's deeply in love before he has a chance to think twice.

you both shared two woes, the first one being a house too big and the second one being needs.

you needed to take better care of yourself. bakugou needed something to do that fulfilled this perpetual emptiness.

he wasn't trying to rush marriage. in fact, you brought it up first over dinner. he thinks that's a very you thing to do, in hindsight. it was an unromantic proposal to many - but the practical conversation was merely a reminder of all things bakugou adored about you to begin with.

it's weird, in a way. when he'd imagined his possible married life as a young hero - he thought it'd be inversed. he'd marry someone who he came home to.

but he's well into his mid-forties, with a ring on one-hand and a grey apron he wears around the house. he packs bentos and makes protein shakes, and even writes up a work-out routine that he explains carefully how to do it on your tight schedule. you have a career you'll probably do until you're retired.

and neither of you need the money. you could probably retire right now if you wanted to - but bakugou likes the way things have unfolded. he likes that you're busy (only sometimes). he likes being at home and looking after you like some mother hen and he likes that he's the person you kiss at the door every day before leaving and when you return.

he remembers wondering often why his dad was doing something like this when he was younger - but he finally starts to wrap his head around it in full. hairs starting to go grey, the lines in his face starting to show more.

he's just as happy being your househusband as he was when he's off fighting crime. and sometimes, he catches himself smiling about the way his life turned out.

#return to sender #househusband!bakugou #hes so important to me plu...#also you sent this in NOVEMBER im so sorry dsfkfsjdk #writing tag #katsuki <3 #im just clearing my drafts up a bit

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walviemort · 2 months

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Expecting a Secret [1/3]

Summary: After the events of 3x19, Killian is at his lowest after being rejected by Emma. When Snow's labor turns out to be a false alarm, Zelena offers Killian a deal: she'll leave the Charmings alone…if he gives her the baby she needs for her spell instead. There's just one hitch: he has to keep it a secret. At least it will only take 10 days, right? a/n: (slightly belated) HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET FRIEND @sancocnutclub !!! This is the full fic from the manip I posted last week. I meant to get this done in time for you bday, but it kind of ran away from me…and ended up being a three-parter instead of the one-shot I thought it would be! Hope you (and everyone else) likes it! I just really liked the idea of him trying to keep a whole entire pregnancy hidden. rated T | AO3 | 3.1k

Killian left the hospital feeling—-well, the worst he had in a long while. Perhaps he’d been rash in trying to get Henry out of town without his mother’s permission, but it was the only way he could think of to get around Zelena’s curse on his lips.

Worse, though, was the fact that he’d lost the trust of not just Emma, but her family. It wasn’t entirely his fault—but some of it was.

It’d been clear he wasn’t needed or wanted at the hospital after it appeared Snow was going into labor, but it ended up being a false alarm; thank goodness, as they were far from prepared to protect the babe from the witch.

After a rather long moment of self-flagellation—in the form of watching the family take a well-deserved breath together in Snow’s hospital room, something he’d never be part of now—he shuffled off without goodbye, into the night.

His feet found him instinctively wandering toward the docks—further reminder of his shame, but he wanted to wallow in it tonight, punish himself further; it was what he deserved.

The vacant berth that had once held his ship was a fairly accurate metaphor for how he felt: empty, adrift, far from port, with only the churning sea to match his jumbled emotional state. He took a swig of rum, but the familiar burn did nothing for him.

“I warned you.”

He didn’t even flinch when he heard Zelena’s voice behind him; honestly, he expected it.

“It was pure luck they all showed up when they did. Otherwise, you’d have some more blood on your hands,” she went on, heeled footsteps sounding as she approached his side.

“The bloody hell do you want?” He was annoyed, but his reply had none of its usual bite.

“I want what I came here for. But now that you’ve told all the Charmings what my intention for you was, and now that they have their memories back, that’s all been dashed. Highly doubt the Savior is letting you get anywhere near her now.”

His heart somehow fell further, and it had already been near his feet. “No, I don’t imagine she will,” he concurred; were he and Emma’s situations reversed, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same.

“That said, I still need your help to continue my plans.”

“Like hell,” he spat, then began to walk away—but she was suddenly in his path.

“Let me put it this way, Captain—you have two choices,” Zelena told him. “Either you can help me, and I leave Emma’s family alone,” she started, holding up one hand, “or I continue to go after all of them, no holds barred,” she finished, holding up the other. “It’s entirely your choice.”

Neither option was ideal. Knowing that Zelena basically wanted to wipe out the existence of Regina and Snow (and, consequently, Emma and Henry), he was loath to aid her in any way, shape, or form—especially considering she had no leverage anymore.

But perhaps, if he did take her offer, he’d be able to find a way to subvert it—and redeem himself in their eyes.

“Fine,” he replied, albeit reluctantly. “I’ll help. Do whatever you need with me. But you must leave Snow, Emma, and their family alone.”

The wicked grin that took over her face should have been his warning. “Then we have a deal, contingent on one thing: you’re to actually keep it a secret this time.”

“Done.” It’s not like they’d listen to him, anyway.

She offered her hand to him to shake on it; he moved closer and took it. “It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you, Captain,” she said slyly.

He tried to let go of her hand, but she held tight. And her other hand began to glow that awful garish green, now held outstretched in front of her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suddenly worried.

“What we just agreed on,” she answered, her eyes wide and seeming slightly unhinged. “Using you to get what I need.”

Then she swiftly stepped forward and shoved the ball of magic into his stomach. He hunched over for a moment, a slight cramping taking over, but then it dissipated, merely leaving him slightly sore. “What did you do?” he demanded, slightly out of breath.

“I still need a baby,” she said matter-of-factly. “So now you’re going to provide it.”

He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “That’s impossible,” he breathed, though his hand immediately flew to his stomach once she let go. “I’m—I’m a man.”

“Anything’s possible with magic,” she sing-songed.

His insides certainly felt different; that could be anything, though. “But won’t that take a while?” he asked, trying to call her bluff. “You’ve always struck me as the impatient type.”

“I am. Which is why this is going to go just a bit faster than usual. You only have to keep that under wraps for about 10 days.”

Shit—he’d already forgotten about that part, he’d been so distracted by the absolute insanity of what she’d apparently done. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to keep something like that hidden?” His mind immediately went to Snow and the very obvious protrusion of her stomach.

“You’re resourceful; you’ll figure it out.”

“Where did it even come from?” he nearly shouted, incredulous.

“The same place they all do,” she shrugged, but there was a glint of something else in her eye. “See you soon!” she farewelled, then disappeared in a cloud of green smoke, leaving him alone to figure out just what he’d gotten himself into—and what to do next.

——————————-

Part of Killian was convinced Zelena had been lying, playing some kind of cruel trick on him. Magic aside, it just didn’t seem possible. He fell into a deep slumber that night in his rented room, and the following morning, just chalked it up to an incredibly vivid dream, or perhaps the result of too much rum.

But at some point that day, he noticed a bit of nausea settle over him. He wanted to attribute it to something slightly off in Granny’s seafood special, especially when he found himself making a mad dash for the toilet around midday (making sure to take his meals at off times—hours he knew he wouldn’t see Emma there, mainly to avoid both her ire and his shame). But he’d been through his fair share of food poisoning—and this wasn’t it.

For starters, food poisoning usually ended. This, however, kept going. All that night and into the next morning. He left his room long enough to try to get something simple from Granny’s—just some bread or oatmeal—but even that wouldn’t stay down. Oddly, the only thing that sounded even vaguely palatable was sardines, of all things; he thought longingly back to the store of them on the Jolly Roger, but they were obviously inaccessible at the moment.

(He did manage to keep his stomach calm enough to run out to the convenience store and purchase some, as well as some ginger tea—and took a long, hard look at the devices that apparently verified pregnancy. However, he moved on from them; time would surely tell.)

The nausea continued to follow him through the afternoon, but the ginger tea helped a bit. Still, though, he was surprised by the urgent knock at his door that evening—the end of the second day of the 10 that Zelena had foretold—as he flushed the latest bit of bile down the toilet.

“Hook? What’s wrong?”

He blinked and stared at the door before he answered; it was Emma—and she sounded concerned. That was a far cry from their last interaction.

Slowly, he opened the door; she looked like she’d been about to knock again, and indeed, there was a worried furrow to her brow. “‘M fine, love,” he told her, though his voice tiredly betrayed him.

“Please; I’ve heard you puking all day. These walls are thin. What’s up?”

“Just drank a bit too much,” he lied, staring at the floor. (Even the thought of rum made his stomach churn.)

“You know I know that’s not true.” He had no counter to that. “Well, whatever you have going on, just—take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do,” he threw back.

“I know.” It looked like there were a multitude of things on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated too long to say them. “Get some rest, okay? Have a good night.”

“You too, Swan.”

She headed back into her room across the hall, but he closed his door before she went away. He didn’t know how to interpret her care versus her statements to the contrary the other day.

Besides, his stomach turned again, so he had to make another mad dash off.

Not much later, another knock came to his door; Ruby had brought him some soup. “Heard you might need it,” she said; he had to wonder whether that was her own preternaturally strong hearing or some other voice whispering in her ear, but he was just grateful for the gesture.

Amazingly, it finally stayed down, and though the nausea lingered, he at least didn’t find himself losing anything else in the toilet.

His sleep that night was the deepest it had been since he had arrived back in Storybrooke.

————————————-

He felt surprisingly well rested the next morning—almost normal, though there seemed to be a weight that had settled in his stomach deep within, not unlike the guilty feeling he was used to carrying around for all these centuries. Perhaps the previous days had merely been an anomaly? A stomach illness?

David stopped by during the morning and invited him out on some rounds. He had no reason to refuse, regardless of whatever Zelena may or may not have done to him, so he joined in—especially because he could see it for the olive branch it was, even if it was never specifically stated as one.

David did seem a bit lighter than he had in days past; he said Snow and the baby were still doing well, and the fact that no one had seen the witch had them somewhat worried, but also finally felt like they could breathe for a bit.

If that was the case, then Killian had few regrets in his deal with the witch—though he hadn’t yet figured out a way to thwart her plans, especially without seeking help.

If he still needed to, at least. He wasn’t wholly convinced that she’d actually done anything to him. The only real difference he noticed in anything that day was the return of his appetite, in dramatic fashion; he was never one for gluttony, and propriety (as well as manners lessons back in the naval academy) demanded he never overindulge and eat politely, but he devoured his breakfast and lunch in record time. He was getting over a stomach bug, though—right?

Were it not for that, and the persistent dense feeling in his gut, he’d still think Zelena was messing with his head. A man giving birth? Preposterous.

However, after bathing that night, he caught something in his reflection that likely confirmed he was with child: it wasn’t significantly noticeable, but when viewed in profile, there was a curve to his belly that hadn’t been there earlier, just behind his navel. And while he could partly attribute it to the copious french fries with his dinner, the very tiny wiggles he felt inside were definitely not from digestion.

“Fuck,” he cursed. He gently traced it, knowing that this was only the beginning of what was to come. But—it would still be worth it if it meant Emma’s family was left alone.

———————————

The next morning, after another rather large breakfast, he headed to the library; Belle was still doing research on ways to thwart Zelena’s plans, so he decided to offer his aid. They’d come to a tenuous peace in the time since Neal had passed away—and, really, it was his only plan so far towards defeating the witch without revealing the reason for her sudden pause in assault.

(He may have had to loosen the laces of his vest a bit in order to avoid revealing it in other ways; his stomach was somewhat larger in the morning, but one would still have to look very closely to notice the difference.)

Belle did seem a bit surprised at his offer of help when he arrived—she said she assumed he’d be out doing reconnaissance with the Charmings—but seemed glad to have another set of eyes on the ancient tomes she’d been poring through.

After a couple hours of fruitless searching—having no particular theory on how to stop the spell, they were casting a wider net when it came to neutralizing magic—he got up to stretch his legs (and ease the bit of ache that had settled in his hips). He wandered the stacks a bit, the naval officer in him still in awe of all the knowledge they held. Perhaps someday, he’d have the time to more thoroughly peruse their contents, but he did have a somewhat ulterior motive for heading to the library today.

“The pregnancy books?” He jumped when Belle found him skimming a volume entitled What to Expect When You’re Expecting; shit.

“I’ve been…curious, is all,” he replied, quickly and bashfully. “We never had this kind of information in our realm, and with Snow…”

“I get it,” Belle replied, thankfully. “It’s overwhelming how much more they know here, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he sighed, glad she believed his quick cover.

She just smiled when he brought it back to the table. He didn’t read it too in-depth—gods only knew he was about to devour it later, probably far too late into the night—but he did skim it and—oh no.

It just got worse and worse. He finally got to the chapter on labor, and all it entailed; all he could say was “bloody hell.” Oh, he was in for it.

Belle was reshelving books and glanced over his shoulder—and laughed. “Yeah, that was my reaction the first time I looked through it,” she told him. “What? I was curious too,” she added when he raised an eyebrow at her in question. “Good thing you won’t ever be pregnant, eh?”

He swallowed, and paused for probably too long a moment before muttering out a “Yeah, thank goodness.” Then quickly reached for another magic book and shoved the medical manual aside.

(He didn’t see Belle’s furrowed brow at the delay in his answer—or the sidelong glances at how quickly he ate his lunch.)

Sometime that afternoon, Henry popped in, inviting him to join in a sparring session with him and David out behind Granny’s. Again, he was touched, and hoped the lad didn’t notice the sudden wetness of his eyes. Were it not for that book, he’d wonder where that had come from, but apparently heightened emotions were a thing he had to look forward to.

It felt nice to get a workout, and the verbal battle between him and David as they taught Henry differing styles of fighting was just as entertaining. They were sharing a laugh when they were suddenly asked, “What’s so funny?”

He stiffened and turned, to see Emma standing off to the side, smiling at them—though it didn’t fully reach her eyes.

“David’s idea of properly blocking a parry,” he replied. “It works fine if you’re fighting someone who plays by the rules.”

“Which I’m guessing you don’t?”

“What fun is that?” he flirted back.

Her subsequent smile (and blush) was genuine. The sudden southward rush of his blood, though, was caused by something far different—and he just hoped no one noticed it.

They put away the practice weapons and headed into the diner, but Emma grabbed his arm and held him back. “Hey, I just wanted to say—I’m sorry for what I said the other day.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Beg your pardon?”

“About not trusting you,” she clarified. “I was upset at what had just happened. You haven’t really given us any reason to doubt you; I was just jarred by everything that had happened with the witch there, and you were an easy target. But you didn’t deserve that.”

“I…” he started, but found himself speechless—and attempting to hold back tears once more. “Thank you, love,” he finally said, sounding a bit more emotional than he’d like. “I’m…I’m glad to hear that, and I hope you never have reason to doubt my intentions again.”

“I know I won’t,” she said confidently, and there was a confidence to that statement that had him in awe.

Which made it all the worse that he was holding in—quite literally—an actual, fairly large secret.

(Well, only about the size of a grapefruit yet, according to the book, but—semantics.)

They invited him to dine with him—not taking his weak excuse at being tired—and conversation over their meal seemed to focus on future plans, even though Snow’s imminent birth still loomed. The oddest part, though, was they seemed to automatically include him in these plans. Gods above, he appreciated it, but hopefully they wouldn’t think it too odd when he had to inevitably bow out in a couple days, if not sooner.

He decided to get some practice in that by making an early exit from dinner. “You okay?” Emma asked, seemingly worried.

“What, is that tap Henry gave you on the shoulder acting up?” David joked.

“Indeed,” he played along, rubbing his left bicep in feigned emphasis. “Best rest it up.” (In truth, he was sore, but not there—more around his midsection—and he needed to get back to the book to find out why).

“See you tomorrow,” Emma said with a soft smile; he could only nod back.

Guilt was yet again plaguing him when he returned to his room. That didn’t stop his sigh of relief, though, when he undid his vest; he felt around his stomach, and it was definitely bigger than it was this morning, though still fairly small (and therefore easy to hide).

Perhaps he had indeed been too rash when he made this deal with Zelena. As much as Emma and her family had written him off in the moment, he too had underestimated their capacity for forgiveness. But no—anything that kept them out of danger was worth it, even if he still wasn’t wholly confident in what lay ahead of him, or how to ensure the witch didn’t succeed.

As if sensing his worries, the small life within gave a strong kick, one he could almost feel from the outside. It was a solid reminder that there was no going back on this.

He just hoped he could get through it with little issue.

—————————————————–

thank you so much for reading! tagging a few: @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @mathiaskejseren @88infinity88

#cs ff #killian mpreg #expecting a secret #my ff

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tavyliasin · 7 months

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I liked it thank you but I’m confused will there always be something like a threesome with Haarlep? As you mentioned him for the Raphael headcons? ❤️ would you rather Raphael or Haarlep? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Oooh well now that's an interesting one. I can't truly separate the two in my mind, their stories are so finely entwined, it's like they have been married for longer than they can remember. Or perhaps something akin to what marriage might be for two such as them~ However, I have written just Raphael and Tav on their own too. As well as the huge Halloween orgy with Haarlep, oh that one was so delicious to work on it practically wrote itself through feverish fingers~ As a summary of my Cambion and Incubus content on my AO3: ATG 4 - Dream? Nightmare Raphael and Tav meet in a "dream", alone. There's no sex, but there's longing and tension, a building of their dynamic. ATG 7 - Love? Lust Raphael and Haarlep, showing their dynamic on their own together, with some hints of how Raphael is feeling about Tav ATG 9 - Mouse? Rat and ATG 10 - Cat? Claw In 9, Tav arrives at the House of Hope desperate to find help for a missing companion, but what she finds instead is an incubus with the same voice as the cambion she was looking for and an interesting offer. 10 is where Raphael comes home to find Tav in his bed with his incubus, and ends up joining in. ATG 11 - Deal? Done and ATG 12 - Friday? Freaky In 11, a bored Haarlep has a devious plot and entices Tav into joining. She's not sure why she agrees at first, but the details of the deal are far enough in her favour to be worthwhile. 12 is the continuation where Haarlep's plan comes to fruition as the pair of them trick Raphael. This one is a personal favourite for the plot and how the little game plays out for all 3.

Tricks and Treats in the House of Hope This is a Halloween special, in which Haarlep invites Halsin, Tav, and Astarion to join their masquerade party. Raphael is there, but not as active a participant as he might want to be... This one is "the orgy special" as we have group sex with the 4 main mentions. The Sleepless Dream This one is a standalone one shot of Haarlep x Reader, where they're appearing as your sleep paralysis demon. Short, only a little spicy, and maybe inspired by a bout of insomnia. The Mouse Trap Pure Dom Raphael with a bratty f!Tav. Just wish fulfilment for those who prefer an entirely Dominant cambion flavour compared to my usual Spicy Switch writing for him. Gala of the Damned A prequel to the game events, this is Raphael and Haarlep in their standard interactions together. The push and pull of Raphael holding the power, until they are back in the bedroom in the House of Hope, the place where Haarlep has all of the control in their claws once more and can take revenge. Tavylia's Short Drabbles Requests and practice shorts that didn't become full length fics, but deserved to be preserved and shared. Our fiends appear in chapters 1, 3, 4, and 6 so far. I even wrote the "canon accurate" of "Raphael is bad in bed" as a request for this and I hated it but wanted it to be fun anyway.

OK that is my entire catalogue (so far) of works featuring Raphael and/or Haarlep - each title is a link to the AO3 page where you can find the whole work. ATG is a larger series with ongoing continuity, which is available as single chapter works collected into a series, or there is one single work with all the chapters put together but I found that one doesn't allow for accurate tagging of each chapter unfortunately. If you, or anyone else reading this, has a request fic for pretty much any main/major/recurring characters (other than Dammon and Minsc, who I will only write SFW for), please do let me know. I have a few on my list to get through, but I find them fun and enjoyable whether they stay as a short drabble or grow to a full size work. Anyway that's more than enough from me on this one darlings I could talk about this all night, I have only been writing smut since late September, and I have 28 unique works which total likely over 100k words by now. My next release will be Abdirak x He Who Was which is still being written and already over 6,000 words. What can I say, loves, I'm enjoying their dynamic...

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #bg3 tav #ao3fic #a tav's guide #bg3 raphael #haarlep #I write so much fic it's ridiculous #this is how I live now #just smut all the way down #go back to early September and tell me I would be here now and I would have laughed so hard #I owe a lot of it to the community particularly discord for some amazing support #honestly couldn't write without the validation of at least a couple of lovely readers #thank you for enabling me #I hope you enjoy the mess I make with words~#a kudos a day keeps the sadness away

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luminitewrites · 1 year

Text

In a Different Light: Scene Two

Back with part two of the Sleuth Jesters!actor AU! AO3 link is above, but the entire chapter will also be included below, as usual. And of course, many thanks to @naffeclipse for these characters who have lived rent free in my head for months now hehe <3

Hope you all enjoy! It's time for those other kisses.

Rating: T Word Count: ~23,300 Content Warnings: Very mildly suggestive content Summary: The animatronic sighs heavily.

“Yes, I know I should have gone with the handcuffs instead. But why else am I supposed to wear suspenders if not to seductively slide them off for you one at a time?”

As he says this, he reaches up and hooks a finger underneath one of the straps. His air is nothing short of coy, like an idea has just taken shape in his devious mind, and he slowly eases the fabric across his shoulder, flirting with slipping it over the edge. A curled metal digit suggestively rubs the suspender. It would probably have a much greater effect on you if his little show wasn’t currently being backed by cheery elevator music, and that alone has your lips spasmodically twitching.

Sun gives the impression of waggling his brows, rife with an emotion you refuse to label.

“Are you seduced yet?” he croons.

~~~

The city streets on New Year’s Eve paint a scene of winter white awash in the pale yellow shine from stores and lampposts. Strings of warm lights keep the sidewalks appearing deceptively cozy, but you know that just beyond the cold glass of the car window is an even brutally colder world. The temperature at last dipped to the single digits today, and with the sun having just disappeared below the horizon, casting the sky in a dark blue and gray mix, everything will freeze over tonight.

Craning your neck so that you can see the sky better, you know that the heavy darkness that greets you from above holds layers of clouds thick with snow. The forecast you caught a glimpse of on the TV before Moon had ushered you out of your home stated that the snowfall accumulation was anticipated to reach an extra five inches.

Probable reason to stay indoors. That hasn’t stopped your work party from staying on schedule at some ritzy, swanky hotel the city is known for, and nothing short of a disaster will impede the event. The show must go on, or so the producer had said. Attendance isn’t mandatory, as today is a company-observed holiday, but it is heavily encouraged since the one previously planned earlier had to be postponed to tonight. Maybe you’re the fool for going to this one, but you’ve actually been really looking forward to it. It’s a chance to celebrate with everyone all the hard work they’ve put into each scene. When the final episode of your team’s triumphant efforts airs, another party will be due, but this one feels extra special despite filming not being done yet. You’re welcoming in the new year together, and after all the time you’ve spent getting to know your coworkers, not going to the party held tonight would feel like you’re missing out immensely. You need this reprieve just as much as everyone else does.

And… well. The present company attending the party certainly factors into your desire to go. One-third of your favorite attendees sits next to you now, and you pull away from the window of the car to peer at Moon instead.

The beloved hat from his detective costume remains firm on his head—the sole piece he seems to have grown a deep attachment to. It suits him well and almost makes you feel like you’re still in the middle of a shoot, acting out a scene with Detective Moon in his patrol car as you scour the city together.

His gloved hands rest on the wheel, and his eyes remain fixated on the road ahead. A very good thing, given his typical driving habits and the fact that you’re sure he knows most of the city police by name now. Not by choice either. That’s exactly why you didn’t relay to Sun or Eclipse how you were getting to the party until you’d fastened your seatbelt. For one, when Moon had offered to come pick you up and escort you to the hotel, how could you have possibly said no to that? It sure beats paying for an expensive lift to the event. For another, the texts you’ve since received are nothing short of concerned. After the string of praying emojis Sun had posted in the group chat, you’d decided to just put away your phone for the time being.

You’ll be fine. Moon hasn’t hit any obstacles yet, literal or figurative, though that was a bit of a close brush with a tree he had on that last turn.

As he often does, he senses your eyes on him without needing to check.

“I can feel your stare digging into my faceplate. What is it?” His voice starts out in that soft grumble you’ve come to adore, but then his low pitch lifts to a little more lilting—a tease. “See something you like, maybe?”

The instinctive response that wants to clamber out of your throat is quickly choked down. Even though he’s the one who’s mentioned it, you suspect he has no idea. You’ve long since soared past “liking” him. That conversation you had with Eclipse weeks ago has not left your thoughts since. Every day at work, every night in bed, you’ve thought about what he’d said. What he’d done. You now know that the attraction you feel for the others is not just in your head. That part is indisputable. Having a relationship with Sun, Moon, and Eclipse is appealing to you in no small amount. You just needed the time to realize that on your own and make sure that this attraction wasn’t only a passing fancy.

Judging by how every single one of your waking thoughts has been centered on them for countless hours, you’re pretty sure you have your answer.

In a rare burst of what’s either bravery or stupidity, you decide to throw caution to wind. Your fingers wiggle as they sneak over Moon’s arm that’s closest to you and then dip around his wrist. There is a flash of red as he briefly glances away from the snowy roads, but he has to snap his attention back to the traffic around him. A car honks not too far away.

Honey couldn’t be sweeter than the smile that curls up your face.

Buoyantly, like you haven’t spent hours agonizing over how to approach your feelings for him, you say in a singsong, airy tone, “I might.”

Moon chuffs. His dry amusement at your antics never fails in elevating your mood, though you couldn’t be happier as it is. You squeeze his wrist playfully, and his hand clenches around the steering wheel. Only a matter of time now.

The swish of the windshield wipers fills the quiet, broken only by the clicking of the turning signal as Moon takes a harrowing left. You’re honestly surprised he remembered to signal at all. His fingers drum atop the wheel while his processor tries to determine if this is a game worth playing. He knows as well as you just how risky diverting any of his fleeting attention from driving is, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t against having a fun time.

Your fingers skirt along the edge of his glove, cheekily dipping in just an inch, and Moon shakes his head.

“You’re betting your life, piccolina.”

You wrinkle your nose at the pet name.

“I’m not that small.”

Moon, contrary to his trepidation, lifts the hand you’ve been toying with off of the steering wheel just to give you a so-so gesture. You snatch the opportunity to claim your prize, but you get the impression that Moon purposely lets you take his hand. His glove creaks as leather intertwines with your own fingers, lacing together and squeezing.

You beam proudly at your catch, and Moon rubs his thumb across your knuckles. He thankfully doesn’t look away from the streets, so you take full advantage of smiling at him and enjoying the moment with your friend. Moon’s presence always embodies a sort of calm that lulls you. He’s someone you can sit with in quiet and not worry about filling the space with words. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up from snoozing on his shoulder. Whenever that happens, you always apologize profusely, but for some reason, it just keeps repeating itself, and Moon thoroughly basks in it—both in getting you to relax that much and also being able to razz you relentlessly about it when you wake up.

You suppose it’s a small price to pay.

“Comfortable?” your companion’s voicebox thrums.

Yes. Very much so. Incredibly so, in fact. But you can’t say that because you don’t want to drop the teasing nature that Moon evokes. The kindness in the simple question wraps around you like a warm hug.

“I suppose,” you trail off with a shrug, and though Moon isn’t even peeking at you, he can certainly see the movement in his peripheral.

He flicks the signal again when he reaches his next turn. You don’t have the heart to tell him he’s signaling in the wrong direction though because at least he remembered to do it, and that’s what counts. As he slowly twists the wheel with only one hand, you hold your breath and hope some of the praying emojis Sun spammed in the group chat have a good effect. The tires skid a little in the slush of the road, but Moon miraculously doesn’t lose control, and he navigates onto the next street without further incident.

You breathe again.

“You suppose?” Moon drawls now that he’s not intensely focused on not crashing into a pedestrian or oncoming traffic. Or not as focused, you should say.

“Mhm.” You tap your free hand on your thigh and assess the current arrangement that begs to be malleable and crafted to your liking. An idea begins to form.

You glance at the time on the dash. The party started a half-hour ago, which means you and Moon are already late. It’s fifty-fifty on who’s to blame for that one, so you don’t really feel too bad. What’s a few more minutes? Granted, his brothers will probably begin a search party if you don’t show up soon, but you’ll take that gamble.

“So I was thinking,” you cautiously open with, and the words roll across your tongue as you draw them out.

Moon groans.

With a dour metaphorical tongue, he drones, “Here we go.”

He’s already clued in on what you’re doing, and you have to bite your own tongue to stop the laugh that wants to come out when he tightens his grip on your hand. Depending on his mood and how charitable he’s feeling, the lunar animatronic can be swayed by your charm into going along with some scheme or another as long as it’s legal. Often, he’s one-half of the voices of reason in keeping you in line while another brother backs him up (the third being more easily swayed by your wily ways, and you’re not going to name names, but it’s Sun). However, Moon is overlooking one important fact: He’s currently alone with you. You don’t need much more than that.

The seconds drag on as Moon waits for you to lay out your clearly devilish scheme befitting only the worst of criminals. When it becomes apparent that you won’t, he gives another synthetic groan that is entirely disproportionate to the situation at hand, and at the next red light, he comes to a full stop only a little past the white line. Then, he turns to you.

“What is it you want?” he gruffly demands, like you’re about to ask him to commit petty crimes with you again.

Honestly. You’d only asked him that once, and that was just because you’d wanted to see if the vigilante style would suit you in this life too. Moon had acted like you’d offered to start a mob instead, the very opposite of what you were going for, and you think that maybe playing detective has gotten a little too into his head because he’d threatened to turn you over to the cops he apparently knows so well if he caught you doing anything nefarious.

Maybe you should have approached Sun first about that. He seems more like the type to let you do some shady Robin Hood-esque business while covering for you.

But a little vigilantism isn’t on your plate tonight. Instead, you flutter your eyelashes at Moon, teeth peeking past your lips as you lose the fight in controlling your smile.

“I’d like a coffee please.”

A few more seconds of silence. His eyes don’t leave you for any of it, but you can practically see the mathematical formulas floating past him as he tries to parse for anything illegal in your request.

Slowly, like he’s defusing a bomb, he says, “I’m sure they’ll have that at the party.”

To that, you then amend, “Yes, but I’d like a specialty coffee.”

“…And this coffee would be special how?”

“Because you’ll stop at that really good café a few blocks from the hotel to get it for me?”

It comes out as a question, but your hopefulness is tinged well throughout. You’d clasp your hands in front of your chest if you weren’t already holding his.

Moon is sometimes difficult to get a read on, and even with no distractions around you, you can’t quite discern if he’s on your side this time. He searches your face like he’s studying some ancient script, committing lines to memory. His thumb still hasn’t stopped the soothing paths it follows across your hand.

Two quick presses to a car horn from behind jolt you and Moon. He resumes driving again, focusing back on the snowy road, and you reluctantly accept that you won’t get your way this time. That’s okay. Disappointing, but you can’t win them all. You’ll finagle things into your favor next—

“Tell me where to go,” comes the defeated exhale from your beloved companion.

You resist the wild urge to cheer and instead gleefully direct him to your new destination. It doesn’t take long to find it at all since the shop is directly along your current route. Incredibly, it’s still open even this evening—just what you were hoping for. Since the storm has begun to worsen, few people are out and about, which means rare street parking is open. Moon pulls into a space that is just a little ahead of the café, and you give his parallel parking the compliment that is due.

He’s actually really far from the curb in a way that would have not flown if he were taking his driver’s test, but there’s enough room for other cars to squeeze past his if need be. So you’re still proud of him. He gives you a sort of suspicious, sideways frown, but you can tell from the bashful hunch of his shoulders that he’s preening at the attention nonetheless.

Whoever approved his driver’s license is either an angel or an advocate for causing trouble.

You offer to go into the café alone, but he quickly shuts that down and tells you to give him your drink order instead. You reluctantly do, and as you’re rummaging in your coat pocket to give him money for the drink, he’s already out the door and telling you to stay put. The door then slams shut, and Moon hurries through whirling snow to the well-lit doors of the café.

Slumping in your heated seat with an exasperated sigh, you watch him with fondness budding in your chest. He left the car running so you wouldn’t be left in the cold—just another gesture that makes you feel odd inside. Like you’re restless and full of energy that you don’t know what to do with. You’re overflowing with affection for someone you hadn’t known until just months ago, and now, you consider him to be one of your best friends.

For some reason, your head is spinning with emotion.

In the cozy interior of the car, you watch through the snowflakes dotting the passenger window as Moon’s dark silhouette flutters about in the store. The edge of his thick overcoat sweeps around the back of his knees, and the hat he stole from set casts most of his head in shadow. You don’t think he ever intends to part with it. Maybe you should take a page from his book and nab some spare ribbon and bells when all is said and done. The character you play isn’t you, but you can’t help the connection you’ve developed with the vigilante over time. Parting from the show without taking a memento seems wrong. After all, it’s this role that led you to meeting some truly amazing people.

Moon wraps up with the order in little to no time and hustles back to the car as fast as his spindly legs will carry him. The winter wind whooshes inside the car when he opens the door and scurries inside. Just as quickly, the door shuts behind him, and he whistles from the cold shock.

“Might become a block of ice if it gets any chillier out there,” he hisses in a fizzle of static. “I can feel the snow getting in my joints.”

“Don’t worry, mon clair de lune,” you reassure, cranking up the heat to full blast for him. “I’ll be sure to warm you up before you become an icicle.”

“Believe that is my job,” Moon drawls, and he passes you a deliciously smelling to-go cup. “Here.”

He presses the hot cup of coffee into your waiting hands, and you greedily latch onto it while wholeheartedly extending your gratitude.

The aromatic sweetness hits your nostrils fully as you take a deep breath. Pure delight runs through your blood, and you hastily take a very long drag from the wonderful drink, swishing the steaming liquid around on your tongue before swallowing.

“Oh, I could kiss you right now,” you whisper into the lid of your coffee.

Thoroughly savoring the taste of your next sip, your eyelids flutter closed as the heat penetrates that frosty layer that had been persistently clinging fast. This is exactly what you needed. After another deep breath to relish in the richness, you glimpse over to find Moon’s pleased optics on you, soft and as warm as your drink. His smile is small, like he isn’t aware of it. But it changes before you can get a good look, and a familiar slyness overtakes all else.

“What’s stopping you?” he brazenly needles. He’s just playing around again, a harmless prod, but his innocuous question makes you pause like a deer in headlights.

Your hands are warmed by your to-go cup, the wind is whipping at a brisk pace outside the car, and your heart is abruptly thump, thump, thumping away in your chest at a breakneck speed that rivals the December gust.

Such a small, simple, harmless question makes something apparent to you then. There’s no one here but you and him, nothing else to demand your attention. Nothing to hold you back or make you doubt yourself or put you on the spot. It’s just you and the sweet lunar animatronic you hold very dear to your heart.

In this brief ounce of privacy between you and him, you feel a touch braver than usual.

“You know…” your voice mumbles, more to yourself than him, “I can’t really think of anything that is.”

The kiss—correction: two kisses—from Eclipse a few short weeks ago flashes in your mind. He hasn’t pushed once since giving you time to think about it, about how you feel about him. His brothers. A relationship with all three. You’ve been given time to consider fostering that with each of them if your heart yearns for your friends as much as you now know they yearn for you. It hadn’t quite clicked before the reveal that they wanted you. Since Eclipse’s confession, it’s never felt more real, and the way each of them act around you should have clued you in much sooner.

At least you know better now. There’s no writing off the lingering looks or touches or the words that sometimes carry a heavy tint to them. No, they all have meaning finally, and it’s felt like agony forcing yourself to slow down and think things through in the events leading up tonight.

The only one who’s pumping the breaks is you. Nothing is keeping you from just… letting go. No one is here to be a voice of reason as Moon sits beside you, closer than he’s been in weeks. Eclipse said he’d let his brothers speak for themselves about their feelings, but they’ve seemed to avoid the topic out of courtesy to you. No doubt their big brother told them about the moment he’d shared with you in that small alcove under a snowy night, much like tonight. Ball’s in your court now, and you have the chance to play.

You know what your heart wants. You’re sure of it.

So it’s a natural, easy choice for you to give in to the temptation whispering in your ear to stop resisting and just close the distance.

Moon doesn’t move an inch as you lower your drink in one hand and near, the only indication of him realizing what’s coming shown in the widening of his eyes.

With a small sweep of your fingers, you tip back your detective’s hat, hesitating only a moment to wait for any signs of discomfort from either you or him. Finding none but only the giddy anticipation coiling in your stomach and the inviting, subtle lean Moon makes in your direction, you slowly lid your gaze shut, tune out the pounding in your ears, and brush your lips against the cold metal of his cheek.

They demurely curl upward at the crackling gasp he emits. The sound has you wanting to stay, wanting to hear it again. You settle for trailing a ghost of another kiss just along that delicate swirl of metal. Before he can have a chance to react beyond that and before you can start second-guessing your actions, you pull away. Your heart won’t stop racing. It feels like your body is hardly contained to your seat at all and that you’ll glide away if you breathe too hard.

Moon’s dark pupils are blown incredibly large and round. His reaction is exactly what you were hoping for, and a small burst of pride wells behind your sternum. You did that. You made him react that way. You.

It’s a small tick in your confidence category, but even greater is the joy that grows wings and takes flight with you on its back. Moon gapes at you like you’re from the stars above, and you’ve never seen him stare at you like that before, but it’s already strengthening the heat in your cheeks.

You give him a moment to process and then delicately clear your throat.

“Shall we get going?” you ask your silent companion in an attempt to play coy. Internally, you’re a fumbling mess of a human who’s running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. The coffee cup trembles in your hand.

Even with your little prodding, he doesn’t seem to quite come out of whatever spell you’ve accidentally tossed him under. Well. Not entirely on accident. You very much kissed him on purpose.

Moon releases a thin hiss of air, like his cooling components are working overtime. He blinks once. Twice.

“What was that for?” he finally utters with tangible awe, but it’s little more than a breath. His voice could melt you into a puddle right in your seat.

You think back to what Eclipse said to you that night at the start of the month. A helpless shrug lifts your shoulders.

“Oh, you know. Just felt like getting a head start on the new year’s tradition.” Then, to make sure he’s on the same page as you, you add, “I take it Eclipse told you what happened a few weeks ago. About… testing the waters.”

Instead of scoffing, Moon softens almost imperceptibly. You’re starting to think he has no intentions of ever looking away. He lifts a hand towards you but then hesitates. Searches you for something you aren’t sure of. You lean your head to the side in invitation, and his hand cups your face much like Eclipse’s had.

In a sotto voce tone that crawls into your bones and makes its home there, he murmurs, “Clip asked us to give you time. That you wanted to think about it first. That’s why I—why we haven’t said anything. But I also don’t want you to feel like I’m not interested. Because I am. Interested, that is. Very much. In a way that’s probably more eloquent than I am when I’m around you.”

He gives an adorable little giggle that betrays his nervousness, and you titter alongside him.

Unable to not rib him just a little, you say, “Why, Detective Moon, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were feeling shy.”

“Funny. Don’t get used to it,” he warns, but he’s smiling as he does.

It feels good to know that you’re not the only one off your game at this. Makes it more lighthearted. No perfect lines or filtered dialogue like in front of the camera. The mask is off, and the sight you’re seeing beneath it is even more precious to you.

Moon takes a moment to process his next words, and you can tell by the thin whine stemming from his chassis that he’s heavily considering them. You stay quiet as you wait, and when his brow furrows, you know he’s settled whatever internal debate he was warring with.

The chilled hand is slowly warming at your cheek. The emotion on his face runs parallel to what’s been burning in your heart all this time.

“Would you mind if I got a head start too?” he tentatively asks.

There’s no ignoring the knot in your throat. Your stomach is flooded with antsy excitement, and you try to tuck away an errant strand of hair that keeps falling out of place. You feel like you’re shaking from nerves and eagerness. Imagining this exact moment playing out in your head for the past few weeks is very different from suddenly living it now.

You do your best to hide the thrilled tremor in your voice.

“I don’t see why not.”

The words probably don’t come across as confident or unaffected as you’d like, but then Moon is swiping away that loose bit of hair just as easily as he does so your thoughts. You feel him tuck it behind your ear, his fingers brushing back against your cheek a second time before sneaking around to the back of your scalp.

No resistance is offered when he pulls you close. You let your eyelids fall shut again just in time to shiver at the effervescent tap of his permanent grin to the very small corner of your lips, once again surprising you with the location of the kiss, though you won’t complain one bit about that. He doesn’t keep you for very long, but it’s enough that you have to let out a ragged breath that’s been building up ever since he teased you. His kiss leaves you spinning. That’s two for two that you’ve been caught off guard by a romantic display of affection. Well-played.

He shifts back some so that you can make eye contact—a simple task that you are now failing miserably at with impeccable odds.

You feel faint from the swell of emotion that this animatronic manages to pull to the surface with just a single kiss.

A flighty exhale precedes your shaky voice.

“Would it be cliché if I said ‘wow’ after that?”

Moon’s answering smile shines with elation. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the often stoic animatronic so profusely happy.

But before you can dwell on that, something else then catches your notice from his proximity. You scoot back in a little closer, safely preserving in your memory the tiny noise of shock Moon makes so that you can reflect on it later.

You take a deep breath in, and your curiosity momentarily beats out your fidgety nerves.

“Hang on. Is that… cologne?” you mutter, inhaling another whiff to confirm before leaning back, stunned at your findings. “Did you put on cologne tonight?”

Moon shifts again. Seems you’re not the only one feeling fidgety.

“Why do you ask?” he hedges cautiously, black pupils shifting, and you almost think he sounds defensive until his hand leaves your cheek. His fingers disappear into the insides of his coat, rummaging for something out of your view until he then pulls out—to your complete and incredulous astonishment—a can of WD-40.

He gives it a tiny shake.

“Did you want to use some too?”

In all your daydreams, there were a few things you had imagined happening right after you kissed Moon. Some gentle words. A hug, maybe. In the more risqué scenarios, an inability to breathe as he kissed you senseless again and again. All of those had seemed like viable options on the table of your secret hypotheses.

This, though. This was definitely not one of them, and you are baffled. You refuse to believe he just happened to have that can on him out of complete coincidence. It’s purely inconceivable.

You have to tell him as much.

“You have not been carrying that around all day just for the sake of making that joke.”

Moon’s faceplate rotates several degrees. He squints at you suspiciously. Contemplates the deep meaning of the universe, judging by how long he stays silent. Then, he casually hits you with a bombshell.

“You seem like you could use it.”

Your jaw scrapes the floor.

“Excuse me?! Are you implying that I smell?”

“…‘Implying’ is a rather interesting word choice.”

“Moon!”

Any reservations you might have had are banished by the lurching urge to snatch his beloved little hat from his bald little head and chuck it outside. His self-satisifed aura tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Before you can think of some wisecrack to put the cretin back in his place, Moon smoothly clarifies, “You smell nice. You always do, actually. It’s light and sweet. Pleasant.” He gently pokes the can’s nozzle against your shoulder. “Just like you.”

You’re left speechless for the second time in as many seconds. Your brain is struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire changes, so you sit there useless for a few moments while trying to think of what to say.

It’s a little unexpected, is all.

Moon appears to be none the worse for wear. He enjoys your surprise for a bit more and then continues on.

“That’s why I put on something nice-smelling too. Or at least what seems to be popular among you humans. Just wanted to put in a little extra effort. For you. Not the WD-40 though, sorry. That’s only for emergencies.”

While still very unexpected, the reasoning is enough to somewhat loosen your twisted tongue.

“Emergencies,” you parrot, deadpan.

Moon nods. He surreptitiously sets the can behind you on the floor of the backseat.

After another extended beat, a snort escapes you, your face falls into your hand, and your nostrils flare with your amused exhale. Moon’s fans whir a little louder at the sound, and you sigh again before peeking at him through your fingers.

“You’re a dork, you know that? A buffoon.”

The gremlin is practically vibrating in his seat.

“One might even say I’m a jester.” He waggles his brows. “A sleuth jester.”

“Yeah, one might not.”

Your hand falls from your head. You point an accusatory finger at him.

“Clown behavior. That was terrible and unfunny.”

“Wanna see a magic trick?” he asks with glee.

“No,” you bark out around a loud laugh, and he snickers happily.

You sit together in the warm comfort of the car, and the sense of longing draws you into a contemplative quiet while you watch him, and he does much the same. Your smile is going to wear out from all this use it’s been getting, but you don’t mind at all how effortlessly Moon summons it. He has to do very little to tug that giddiness to the surface. A fact that you’ve taken special notice of more so lately.

His attentiveness is apparent even in his actions, and you want to address that.

“For the record,” you say, more muted than earlier so that Moon hears the subdued seriousness in your voice, “I just want you to know that while you putting in extra effort is really sweet and appreciated, it’s also not strictly necessary. I don’t expect you to go out of your way for me. Getting to spend time with you is more than enough already. You don’t need to change anything about yourself to please me.”

The ruby glow dims a little, and Moon’s hands fiddle with the edge of his coat. You have the sneaking suspicion that if he could blush, his cheeks would be matching his optics right about now.

“I know,” he says back, equally gentle. “Actually, that is part of what endeared you to me. The fact that you don’t care that I’m—that any of us are animatronics and have different functions or needs or even lack of needs that humans do have. But I also know that it’s a custom to put in a little extra effort for someone you care about… someone you might be considering building a relationship with.”

His admission presses down like a leaden weight on your tongue.

“Moon…”

You’re not sure what to follow that with. You wish you could express everything that his heartfelt words are doing to you and how they threaten to stop your heart in its tracks if it keeps missing a beat.

What you do manage to say, gingerly, is much smaller in comparison than everything you want to express, but it’s a start.

“Thank you for being patient with me.” You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and try to focus past that. Moon waits for you to continue with a silent understanding in his demeanor that speaks volumes. A bit meekly, you say, “I doubt it’s much of a secret anymore how I feel about pursuing that with you, Sun, and Eclipse, huh?”

His hands stop playing with his coat. The crescent splitting the dark sapphire blue and lustrous silver of his faceplate curves an elegant sweep along the metal craftsmanship, and you are reminded not for the first time that Moon is beautiful. In your mind’s eye, you trace an imaginary line around the smooth curls and hidden divots, every slight highlight and blemish and silver scratch. With your imagination taking flight, you are met with a fantasy not unlike the one you’d had of Sun weeks ago. In this one, you sit in Moon’s lap, cradling the lower half of his faceplate in your hands, and your lips find those intricacies to lay a kiss on, to bestow your affection. His own hands paint a delicate dance that rides up the back of your shirt while he flirts with the edges of it.

It’s just as intimate and gripping, and it leaves you shuddering in your seat. As you blink, and the scene dissipates.

You want that. You want it a lot. There’s not a shadow of a doubt in you about that. No shying from the truth now.

All you have to do is take the next step forward into the others’ waiting arms.

Moon doesn’t reply, which you think you appreciate more than a verbal confirmation. He leans away from you back into his seat much to your disappointment and blinks slowly, a languid relaxation to his serene expression. As far as he’s concerned, there’s seemingly no one else in the world now but you and him.

You're tempted. You doubt he’d say no to letting you test the waters with more than just the tips of your toes. But the snow is falling, and you have a party to get to, and you can’t remain frozen forever in this moment. It’s hard to remember your other obligations, but you manage to peel your gaze away.

“We should—” you swallow around your voice crack and clear your throat. “We should probably get going. To the party and all that.”

A rumbling respiration stems from Moon’s metal chassis. The lunar brother reluctantly shakes off his daze, muttering some indiscernible words to himself, and he sets the car back into motion down the street. The hotel isn’t far now, just up ahead and poking through the cloud of dark gray and white whirling outside. Even still, it surprises you when there’s a subtle tug on your wrist.

Moon’s fingers curl around you, slipping one hand free of your cup so that he can grasp it. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, but you don’t need to. His fierce focus on the wet and slushy roads tells you all.

When he pulls up to the hotel’s overhang, the valet draws up to his side to discuss parking. You tune them out in favor of enjoying the two points of warmth in your hands, one around your coffee and the other ensnared in leather. All too soon, Moon lets go and gets out to let the valet take over.

You gather your things and tighten your coat around your waist. In that very short time frame, your door is then swung open, and Moon gives a debonair dip to hold out a hand to you, his other arm behind his back.

“I believe I offered to escort you in,” he remarks with a tinge of coyness. It seems he’s getting a little of that spark back after your moment together.

Your surprised sound at the unexpected gesture threatens to oust you, but you do your best to keep your cool.

“Such a gentleman,” you croon.

His low brush of laughter makes the cold feel not as strong on your cheeks as he helps you out of the car, the heels of your shoes wobbling on the cobblestone until you find your balance. His eyes reflect the twinkling golden ambience of the city lights around you, warm and delighted. They brighten even more when he offers you his arm and you take it happily, shivering from the cold that cuts through the tailored fabric of your suit pants.

Together, you and Moon enter the skyscraper hotel, and after showing your identification to the personnel and each being given some sort of pass, you are fast directed to the second floor where the holiday party is being held. In the elevator, you can’t seem to bring yourself to let go of Moon’s arm. He doesn’t seem too keen on letting you go either. His other gloved hand rests smoothly atop your own as if to keep you there.

As soon as the elevator doors slide open, a symphony of music and conversation greets you. The noise would normally grate against your ears, but with the calm presence of your friend guiding you into the chaos, your shoulders stay relaxed and your steps sure. Several coworkers take notice of your entrance and nod or raise their glasses in celebratory welcome. You wave to your colleagues, but you search for someone else. Technically two someones, but in this crowd, you know you won’t have to look long.

Moon steers you towards the left of the floor where open double doors lead into the main hub of activity. There’s another check-in desk there, but you and Moon only have to flash your name badges to be waved on in. The room echoes the same noise and bustling activity just outside it, with more of the film and production crew milling about and enjoying themselves. Lifting your head, you get a waft of what can only be delicious food, and you absentmindedly let out a pitiful whine as your stomach grumbles.

Soft snickering from above pulls your attention, and you glare at Moon. His merriment shines wide in his teeth.

“Do we need to take a quick detour?” he asks, reading you in a heartbeat.

You release a pained sigh.

“No, I can wait. Let’s find your brothers first.”

“Already done.” Moon points to a table off in the corner, and sure enough, twin sets of rays, one yellow and the other blue and purple, peek out from the chairs. Both are facing away from you since they’re sitting beside each other, so they haven’t noticed your arrival yet, something your feet seem keen on remedying as they hasten over to your friends. You end up dragging Moon along for the ride, but he’s quick to catch himself and match your speed.

Sun and Eclipse appear in deep conversation, the former chattering enthusiastically while the latter answers more slowly, slouched against the wall next to his chair and a hand shadowing his optics. You can’t help but admire how the sharp suits and ties they wear fit them both very attractively, though Sun’s already discarded his coat on the back of his chair. Eclipse catches sight of you and Moon first, and he gives a little wave that makes you accidentally clench Moon’s hand and causes Sun to spin to see you as well just as you reach them.

“It’s about time you got here!” he exclaims. “We were just about to start dinner without you.”

You tut in skeptical disbelief, saying, “A likely story. You can’t even eat, which… makes me wonder. Why are you holding a glass?”

Sun looks at the flute in his hand then back at you.

“What, this? It’s champagne. One of the waitstaff gave it to me, so now I’m trying to blend in. Is it working?”

From over your shoulder, Moon says, “Considering that you start to act tipsy whenever a certain special someone is around, I’d say you fit right in.”

You dutifully ignore Sun’s indignant squeak because your attention is quickly arrested elsewhere. In one chivalrous motion, Moon slips away from your side to pull out a chair for you. Your head ducks as the temperature of the room inches up a couple of degrees, and it only grows stronger when he helps you shed your heavy coat to drape it over the back of the chair. You murmur your thanks and slide into a seat across from Eclipse, Moon pushing your chair back in. He answers with a hum of acknowledgement and takes the one next to you.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to focus on what he’d just said.

“So who’s the special someone?”

Eclipse snorts loudly, and you tilt your head at him, confused. Sun rubs a hand over his optics with a groan. You can hear his internal fans kick on from over here.

The brother sitting next to you is the only one to take pity on you, but his amusement could be classified as tangible.

“I was referring to you, sweetness.”

“Oh.” Your mouth might be hanging a little open, but you can’t be blamed for it. That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. Actually, there are a lot of things happening tonight that you weren’t expecting, and you have a sneaking suspicion they’d be obvious to literally anyone else. “I hadn’t, ah, noticed.”

“Really?” Moon’s voice is dry, intoning more of a statement than a question.

“Don’t be rude,” Sun chastises Moon, but you think that might be because he’s just still embarrassed from his brother’s remark. “They haven’t eaten yet. You can’t be mean to someone with an empty stomach. It’s bad manners.”

Eclipse squints at him.

“How is that considered bad manners, but not the whole being mean part in general?”

“Because I don’t want to exempt myself from being allowed to get on the nerves of my big brother.” Sun turns back to Moon. “Stop kicking me under the table.”

“Move your damn big feet then,” Moon fires back, slumping deliberately in his seat.

The table shudders with a jarring bang, and you carefully tuck your legs close to your chair to avoid catching any crossfire of the sudden battle happening under the white tablecloth. You share a knowing look with Eclipse, and the dazed tiredness in his gaze makes you smile.

He sighs.

“Did you have a safe drive here?”

Was Moon a safe driver for once, is what he’s really asking. You rest your chin in your hand and lean forward.

“It was a nice, smooth ride,” you muse, fingers curling around your coffee cup. “My chauffeur knew some tricks that made the trip seem to go by so much faster. Feels like we got here in no time at all.”

Eclipse sighs and briefly closes his eyes as if calling upon divine intervention. You think if he had an actual nose, he’d be pinching the bridge of it.

“How many red lights did he run?”

“None,” Moon says, rejoining the conversation as if he and Sun weren’t just engaged in a slapdash battle of footsie. “I take care of my passengers and ensure their safety at all costs.”

“Past experience and numerous police tickets say otherwise,” Eclipse returns wryly.

Moon’s grin sharpens.

“Performance is based on tips.”

Pupils as black as midnight peer out once more, flicking between you and Moon in confusion before settling on you.

“And did you… tip him?”

You give Eclipse a conspiratorial wink.

“I held his hand while he drove us here.”

“Mercy.” Sun recoils, absolutely appalled. “You risked him driving with only one hand on the wheel, and in this weather? Are you perhaps feeling unwell?”

“If you try to suggest putting your fingers in my mouth again, we’re gonna have a problem, and that’s a threat.” You point at Sun for emphasis, and he pretends you’re holding him at gunpoint, his hands flying up in a pacifying manner. One of your eyes squeezes shut, and you mime shooting, which makes him slump back dramatically in his seat like you got him square in the chest. You shake your head, lips twitching upward while Sun straightens again. “I’m not sick, but I am hungry. Actually, I think I’m gonna go grab some food before it’s all gone.”

“Allow me,” Eclipse says, and it’s not a question. He rises to his feet.

You consider getting up anyways just for the principle of the matter, but a single finger pointing at you to sit back down is enough to have you settling in your chair with a fake pout.

While buttoning his suit coat with one hand, he asks, “Anything you’re particularly in the mood for?”

You consider for a moment.

“Mm, no, I trust your judgment. You probably know my tastebuds better than I do at this point.”

An emotion passes across Eclipse’s dark faceplate, something that makes your skin prickle at the sudden knifelike quality to it. Instead of voicing whatever he’s thinking, he just spins his rays and returns your wink from earlier.

“I’ll be back with a plate.”

He saunters away, politely dodging groups of people and conversations as he makes his way towards the mouthwatering smell of food. You track him for a little while as you nurse your coffee until you’re brought back to the present at your table. Sun and Moon are being unusually quiet, and both are staring at you.

“What?” you say after a pause.

Sun’s smile normally warms you to the soul, but there are times when it sends you into fight or flight mode, just like Eclipse’s. In fact, all three of the brothers share that uncanny ability, and it’s no less disarming whenever it’s aimed at you. The meaning behind the near-predatory flash of teeth can operate anywhere on the scale of danger, and depending on Sun’s mood, it can quickly tip over into territory you want to avoid.

His rays blur in one direction then the other.

“You have a way with words, precious.”

“…Thanks. I think.”

You don’t know if that was meant to be a compliment, but you’ll take it as one anyways.

Sun doesn’t say either way, but the deep blue of his pupils are cutting. It’s offset by the rather distracting way he’s swirling his champagne around in the flute like it’s a glass of wine. You’re not exactly sure why he’s doing that, but you are impressed at how not a single drop of liquid spills over the top despite being full.

A couple of minutes tick by as you simply relax and chat with the brothers while sipping your drink. It’s not long until restlessness begins digging in, however, and you give a cursory glance around the room and tap your fingers on the table.

“So what’re your plans after this?”

The question is barely out in the open before Moon answers with a sarcastic, “Going home and getting absolutely plastered.”

Apathy ricochets off you and Sun.

“They should make a park for people like you.” Sun tips his glass at his brother. “An unamusement park.”

“Hilarious.”

“No, it’d be the opposite of that.”

“That’s just Wall Street, Sun,” you say around a yawn, and Sun somehow makes a noise like he’s clicking a tongue he doesn’t have. You don’t question it.

Moon hmphs and crosses his arms like a child. You decide it’s best not to tell him that it only endears him to you even more.

“You do have a bit of a dry personality when it comes to acting,” you say, reaching up to scratch your chin in contemplation. When Moon’s faceplate swivels at you, utterly dumbfounded, you quickly add, “Not that that’s a bad thing! It’s just different from what is more common nowadays. That’s probably why you and Sun complement each other so well too. In fact, I think you would have been great in a show like Dragnet, Detective Moon.”

“No, don’t get him started—” Sun begins in a petulant whine, but it’s too late.

Moon’s red optics widen a fraction, and he suddenly gets a gleam in them, like he just got hit with inspiration. His metal fingers tug the brim of his hat so low that only the light of crimson shines from the shadow. Then his hands make quick work of loosening the knot of his tie just enough that it sits slightly askew. He squints across the table at the wall, staring at nothing with such intensity that it’s like he’s scrutinizing something a great distance away. His shoulders pull back, while he mimes takes a heavy drag of a smoking cigar.

Finally, to tie the charade together into a neat bow, he says in a very husky, deadpan voice that cracks with static, “Just the facts, ma’am.”

Sun’s eyes roll so hard, they could fall out of his head. You grin wide. In your peripheral, you think you see dark rays approaching your table.

“It’s almost like he does it effortlessly,” you joke playfully.

“That’s because there is no effort put into it,” Sun says, exasperated. “He’s not acting. Monotone is his personality.”

A sneer breaks Moon’s act, and he spins his head around in a complete circle to taunt his brother. Defying all physics, his hat remains squarely on all the while.

“Sun’s jealous because he knows if this were a different show, he’d be relegated to sidekick status.”

As Moon’s speaking, Eclipse returns, full plate in hand. He sets it down in front of you, to which you thank him, picking up the silverware next to you. His rays give a little wiggle in return, and he melts back into his seat with a grunt, propping his elbow back on the table and resting his head on his hand.

“I think being a main character has gotten to your head,” Sun returns snippily. There’s an exaggeration to his voice and haughty head tilt that tells you he’s just as much bantering along with Moon. The swirling of his drink gets more aggressive. “We’ll see how well that works out for you. Maybe this will be the start of my villain arc, and I’ll secretly become the big bad of the story with a mafia to my name.”

“Ugh, please do,” Eclipse groans from where he lounges, dragging his hand down his faceplate. “I’m tired of having to be mean.”

That snags your attention. You shuffle a bite of what might be teriyaki chicken onto your tongue and chew thoughtfully.

Holding your hand in front of your mouth as you munch so that you don’t endure another lecture from Sun, you say, a bit muffled, “I really should find the time to sit in on one of your classes soon. I wanna hear all of your secrets to playing the big bad villain.”

Eclipse’s chuckle flows on a deep wave that buzzes in his chest and warms yours, making your own cheeks hurt, both from the large bite of food you’re chewing and from how you beam at fostering such a sound. His low-lidded black eyes slide over to you, peering out from under his hand.

“That’s easy,” he says. “Anytime I have to act angry, I just think about these two idiots and the shit they make me put up with.”

Sun’s visage turns affronted.

“Language! And what exactly do you mean by that anyways?”

“He certainly couldn’t be referring to all the times we’ve pranked him,” Moon retorts, pretending to examine his nonexistent nails.

You nod sagely in agreement.

“Or the times you’ve tried to sabotage his shoots by distracting him.”

“Or how often we customize his wardrobe for fun.”

“And there was also that time you hid his car keys in a jello mold.”

Moon brightens at that one like you’ve made him recall a fond memory.

Sun leans back in his seat and bends an arm over the back of it. His frown slants sideways.

“Well, when you say it like that, it makes us sound bad.”

You twirl your fork on your plate and share a look with the animatronic from across the table.

“I wonder why.”

Your group laughs then along with one supremely ragged sigh from Eclipse, stirring up a decent amount of noise in the already loud room. The conversation continues much the same, with the three brothers taking cracks at each other while you watch the show and scarf down your dinner. It’s by the time that your plate is scraped clean and you’re sipping on the cold leftovers of the coffee Moon got you that a new presence is drawn in by the chatter in your small corner. You don’t immediately notice them until they speak up.

“Why am I not surprised to see you four all cozying up together in your own little area?” a calm voice addresses your table.

You glance up and find a much too complacent smirk staring you down.

Sun takes a gander at your table’s new visitor and acquires an awfully mischievous glint.

“Uh oh. Security breach! Someone better let staff know that the Loch Ness Monster has gotten out of containment again.”

Like clockwork, Vanessa’s eyes narrow, and she places her hands on her hips, lips pursing.

“That nickname hasn’t been funny in all the ten other times you’ve used it.”

“Au contraire, little fish. It ages like a fine wine.”

Rolling her eyes at the lighthearted taunt from the jesting animatronic, she turns back to you.

“So when’s the wedding?” she presses, apparently deciding to return fire with fire.

A scoff trickles out, and you consider diving into a lengthy, not at all defensive rant about how the rumors your coworkers love circulating are just that: rumors. Just because you’ve decided you want to be with the celestial animatronics doesn’t mean you’ve all had a conversation about making that public yet, if ever.

But then Moon decides that now is apparently the best time to slide his arm behind you and tuck it over your shoulders, and you’re left choking down your own rebuttal because he just threw it in the mud in one shove.

Vanessa doesn’t smile often. She looks like a damn cat that caught a canary now.

On reflex, as if you can salvage your dying dignity, you say, “We’re not dating, Ness.”

Technically not yet since you still need to have a chat with Sun privately and then discuss with all three of them to make sure you’re on the same page. But you don’t need to clarify that.

“Yeah, Nessie,” Moon adds, dutifully ignoring Vanessa’s immediate grimace at her other equally despised nickname. Really, though, he needs to stop talking all at once. “Can’t you see we’re all just hanging out like a couple of buddy ol’ pals?”

“Not helping, Moon,” you half-heartedly lament, trying to formulate a protest, but the blonde-haired woman has already taken the bait.

She lifts a brow.

“If this is how you treat your ‘friends,’” she says, actually pausing to make the air quotes, “then I’m glad we never became more than associates.”

“Aw, there’s no need to be so pessimistic,” Sun drawls with a heavy inflection, sweet like molasses. He reclines in his chair, crossing his legs. “Just because we never had a spark between us doesn’t mean there aren't still plenty of fish in the sea. Or lake, I should say. The show’s not over yet.”

“It’s about to end prematurely if you keep talking like that,” Vanessa shoots back without dropping the flatness in her tone one iota.

Sun’s smirk is all dangerous edges, and his rays twirl flirtatiously.

The display and banter is nothing out of the ordinary between those three. Though she may deny they’re friends, Vanessa has always gotten along well with all of the brothers, which is probably another reason you’ve also gotten along well with her. She’s been in the acting business longer than you have, and instead of trying to show you how things are done, in the beginning, she watched and noted your own technique. Only after you asked her for her advice did she offer it. She’s brought a professionalism to the show that is greatly needed, yet she still keeps an open mind to how everyone else does their own work.

For that, she’s earned a lot of respect from you. It took only a little nudging to get her to warm up to your friend group. The feigned disinterest is now just part of the usual routine, and you know for a fact that no one except Moon and Sun have gotten her to laugh aloud.

You owe a lot to the show you’ve all worked on together for the friendships alone that you’ve gotten through it.

“Have you been enjoying the party?” You decide to reroute the conversation before an all out war can break out in the form of snappy comebacks.

Vanessa groans.

“I could be relaxing in bed with a hot cup of tea. In fact, I should be relaxing in bed with a hot cup of tea. But for some godforsaken reason, I made the poor choice to come here instead.”

“Because you like us,” Moon singsongs, circling a finger along the white tablecloth.

Vanessa deigns to ignore that. Everyone knows he’s right, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before she ever agrees with him.

She addresses you instead.

“I see they’ve been practicing their terrible pick-up lines. I’m sorry you had to be the unfortunate one and settle for scraping the bottom of the barrel, unlike the rest of us.”

“Wow,” Sun huffs, dry as sandpaper.

“Deserved,” Eclipse chips in, just as dry but no less entertained at the spectacle unfolding.

“Like I said,” you say, not concealing your amusement at Vanessa’s persistence, “we’re not an item yet, so stop trying to set us up.”

“Yeah, I really don’t think you need my help with that,” she returns far too smoothly.

Your jaw goes slack, but Vanessa steamrolls right over your scandalized shock as usual.

“Anyways, I came over to fetch you for a second if you can spare one from your boyfriends. Freddy is asking for you.”

“Oh!” At that, you glance around in search of the bear animatronic, purposefully ignoring that last small dig.

With his big, hulking frame, it doesn’t take long to spot Freddy. He’s chatting with a few others in a semi-circle. As expected, you catch the slightest glimpse of Gregory next to him, though the poor kid seems miserable in his suit and tie. You can more than relate and have to stifle a small chuckle at his pout.

You turn back to your table and ease out of your chair onto stiff heels and creaking joints. Oof, that’s definitely the sound of your knees going snap, crackle, and pop.

“I’ll be right back. Save my seat?”

Moon blinks at it. Then back at you.

“Why? Is it dying?”

Before you can give back a snarky reply, Sun tacks on with faux concern, “Hey, is your fridge running?”

You share a wordless, pointed look with Vanessa and decide it’s best to not indulge them before they can get on a roll because once they start egging each other on, there’s no stop in sight.

Eclipse nods at you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them in line while you’re gone.”

The twin snide leers in response tell you otherwise, but you’ll let him deal with that. His problem now. As you turn, you get a glimpse of Moon hunkering in close to his brothers with an excited sharpness in his movement.

Vanessa doesn’t have to say a word while you walk beside her. You just take her exasperation in stride because you know you don’t have a good rebuttal ready. She ends up sticking with you all the way to Freddy’s group, giving you the tiny impression that she’s been requested to “chaperone” you from one side of the room to the next.

As you’re weaving around the many groups of friendly faces and cheery waves, greeting them back with as much enthusiasm, you catch sight of Vanessa’s tie and nearly do a double-take. On a simple black background is a tiny print of many rabbits, with a myriad of bow ties, hats, and ribbons. It’s so fitting, you can’t not say something.

“I like the tie,” you snicker.

She follows where you gesture with a hand. It could just be the light in the room, but you swear you see a hint of mirth from her at you noticing.

“I thought it would be funny,” she says in an unfazed tone that makes your breath hitch around another sharp snort.

A lot of your coworkers find Vanessa to be standoffish. They don’t know what they’re missing because at her heart, she is one of the funniest people you’ve come to know. It just took a little to get her to warm up to you, and now, you consider her a great friend. On top of that, she’s incredibly talented to boot. You’re beyond glad that she was cast for her role in the show. That final showdown between you and her still gives you shivers even with all of it being an act.

“It is pretty fitting,” you agree, trying your best to don your best blank façade and failing. “Since it’s the year of the rabbit, after all.”

“Ugh. Now I know you’ve been hanging out exclusively with those three idiots. And what’s worse is I’ve heard that joke at least a hundred times tonight.”

“A hundred and one now, and the night’s still young.” You elbow her tauntingly, and she shies away with a scowl.

Vanessa appears prepared to tell you exactly what she thinks of your terrible jokes, but before she can, your name is called out in a sonorous clap.

You find Freddy eagerly waving you forward, and without a second thought, you’re by his side and being swept into a ferocious hug.

“It’s so good to see you outside of work for a change! I never thought those rascals would let you out of their sights for the holidays.”

A terrible groan threatens to break your throat.

“Not you too, Freddy,” you bemoan.

“No worries, I’m just pulling your leg.” He lets you go and beams down at you, good mood infectious. “But all jokes aside, I am glad you decided to come out tonight. The party wouldn’t be the same without the star lead.”

You blow off his statements, a little frazzled and more than a little flustered.

“Oh, ease up on them, Frederick. You’ll make the poor thing blush,” joins yet another voice, deep yet muted.

William Afton’s figure is just as imposing even outside of the villainous character he portrays. You don’t know how you missed him in the small circle Freddy’s been chatting up, but his piercing observation of you has you straightening up. He isn’t someone you’ve had a chance to really get to know, but as a more senior actor in the group, he’s posed an intimidating factor in his wealth of experience alone. You’ve seen him in action; he’s incredible.

What’s even more of a delightful surprise is his present company—namely, the small child standing next to him, their hand in his and swinging the pair’s arms happily.

The child is none other than the actor that plays a much younger version of the vigilante, one whom you’ve found to be utterly adorable. They’ve easily won the hearts of the cast and crew, and judging by the way William holds their tiny hand so delicately, they’ve gotten him wrapped around their little finger too. And even if those two weren’t holding hands, you’d already know how close they’ve gotten in the time they’ve worked together because of all the little anecdotes that’ve been passed around the grapevine about them becoming an unlikely pair of friends. Their bond reminds you of a paternal relationship. William is the one who gave them the beloved nickname Ribbon, thanks to the bright spool of red they’ve taken to tying in their hair upon realizing it was also part of your costume. It’s a reminder that they look up to you, for whatever reason that makes you hyper aware of everything you say or do around them. You’re no role model, but you’ll do your best to be one for Ribbon if that’s what they need.

As for the nickname, you’re sure it was meant to be a silly, one-time thing. But then others caught wind of it, and now it’s just kind of stuck. The little child actor couldn’t be more thrilled at getting their own moniker and almost downright refuses to respond to anything else.

They catch you watching and give a jaunty wiggle of the fingers of their free hand—a wave you can’t help but return. The kid bounces on their toes, pleased.

“It’s about time you came over and said hello,” quips a sarcastic tone that you recognize in a heartbeat.

You peer around Freddy.

“Hey, kiddo. How’s tricks?”

Gregory pulls a sour grimace.

“Don’t call me that.”

“He doesn’t like being called a kid,” Ribbon helpfully explains. They light up impishly. “It’s a sore spot.”

“It’s not a—” Gregory stops and forces himself to simmer down, rolling his eyes. “I’m not that young.”

“And I’m sure they mean nothing by it,” Freddy smooths over, likely sensing the argument before it can begin. “But even still, there’s nothing wrong with being a child! Why, you have gotten to experience something that most other kids your age have only ever seen on TV. That’s something to be proud of.”

“My parents let me skip school,” Ribbon brags when Gregory just grumbles.

You click your tongue sharply at that.

“They’d better not be! Else I’m gonna have some very strong words with them, dumpling.”

That has the tot giggling, and William shakes his head.

“No need, I already checked. They’re not missing out on school. I actually had the chance to meet their parents sometime ago.” He pauses to subtly indicate to a couple who aren’t too far away, chatting with a few people you vaguely recognize. Vanessa is also talking with them, and you wonder when she snuck away from your side.

William continues, “They informed me that any education outside of school hours is being handled at home or with tutors. And in fact, this little one brought their math homework to the set last month and showed me just how quickly they’re learning.”

The two share a small glance. It’s easy to see the pride in William’s features.

Then Ribbon turns to you.

They cup a hand over their mouth and loudly whisper, “He didn’t know the answers to some of the questions, so I had to show him how.”

You share a conspiratorial gasp.

“No kidding? Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re here to help these grownups learn, huh?”

A toothy grin flashes, and they nod excitedly. It’s then you notice the giant red silk in their braid, tied like a bow. The ends curl and frame their face cutely. You think you might even hear the chime of a bell.

Guess they’re going all out on their outfit tonight. Seeing them mimic your vigilante costume even outside of work grants you a deep fulfillment that runs through your chest. You hope that wherever they end up afterwards, it’ll be overflowing with only good, kind people. And hopefully their parents will preserve their childhood as much as possible too.

Anyways,” you say, turning and regaining Gregory’s attention, “Sorry, bud. Freddy’s right that I didn’t mean anything by it, but I’ll make sure to not call you that from now on.”

Gregory shrugs, crosses his arms, then uncrosses them like he’s not sure how to react. More than likely, he just feels put on the spot.

He chews on a response for a bit before he goes with, “It’s fine if you do it, I guess. Just don’t make it a habit, or else I’ll start calling you old.”

You feign shocked betrayal.

“How dare you? I’ll have you know that I’m always at my prime.” But then, unable to resist playing along, you pretend to feebly sway on your feet and place a hand to your chest, while the other reaches behind and presses at your spine, and you hunch over. “Oh, but your words—they cut so deep! I can feel them, seeping into my poor mortal bones, cursing me with old age. Agh, my back! It’s breaking!”

Like you’d expected, Gregory can’t quite hide his amusement at your shenanigans, and though he gives a valiant effort, his smirk is strong across his face.

“You’re such a theater kid,” he mocks.

You straighten with a frown.

“Oh, that’s real rich coming from you, shorty. Them’s fightin’ words.”

The sardonic, gloating image of the other threatens to start a semi-hostile bickering match between you and him. Fortunately or unfortunately for Gregory, Freddy intervenes like the paternalistic figure he’s come to embody.

“Alright, that’s enough. No need to start verbally swinging. I swear, you’re like a couple of cats and dogs sniping at each other any chance you get.”

Very maturely, you jab an accusatory finger at Gregory and retort, “Don’t look at me. He started it.”

The bear animatronic gives you a heavily imploring look. Your aura of innocence doesn’t seem to be swaying him in the slightest. Pity.

“You’re just mad that I’m right,” the kid taunts.

“Gregory,” Freddy warns, rounding on him and sounding for all intents and purposes like a disappointed parent.

You puff up your cheeks, readying another witty comeback on your tongue, but Freddy must have some sort of sixth sense because he shoots you another damning look that halts the friendly fire in its tracks. A silent standoff occurs between you, him, and the spunky little brat who thinks he’s winning, judging by the proud uptilt of his chin and his haughtily lifted brow. Which, to be fair, he’s not wrong in believing that, but details.

“To completely change the subject,” Freddy says before you can research if it’s legal to throw hands with a kid in self-defense, “I called you over here because I wanted to tell you something while I have the chance. And to start with, I’m sure many others have said the same thing to you already, but I want you to know it’s been a pleasure getting to watch you work throughout filming.”

One of his hands settles on your shoulder and stills you entirely, though you certainly weren’t expecting that last remark either. He makes sure he has your full attention before he keeps talking.

“I think I can speak for everyone here when I say that you’ve brought a uniqueness to the show. There is something to be noted about the good nature you carry into every circumstance, and as such, I’m grateful our paths were able to cross because of it. You have heart, and that shines well in your role. I believe the success we’ve had would not have been so easily attainable without you as the vigilante.”

In just a few short sentences, Freddy manages to strike down your smile and hollow you out. You stare in dumbstruck fashion at the bear animatronic. The heartfelt honesty wasn’t something you were expecting or ready for, and it cuts through your defenses and threatens to crumple you like a napkin.

“Freddy,” you hesitantly start, growing uncomfortable, “that’s really sweet and all, but I’m not—”

He gently interrupts you by briefly holding up a hand. You fall quiet.

“Please, let me finish being sentimental and overbearing while I still have you here, and then I’ll let you get back to the party. Since we’ve begun working together, I haven’t quite had an opportunity to tell you this, but I think you are an extraordinary individual and a talented actor. More importantly, however, I know that some of our… shall we say chattier team members have been spreading rumors. You probably know exactly what I’m referring to, so I’ll refrain from going into any details in case there are other listening ears nearby.”

He pauses just long enough to seemingly collect his thoughts. The unexpected direction of this conversation has your heart immediately jolting in your chest and pounding erratically, fearful of what he might say after hearing all of the gossip. Despite the sudden urge to turn tail and run, you hold back the panic that looms just on the edges of your peripheral. It waits to descend, circling like a hawk, and you push it back with an obstinate force.

You will wait to hear him out first, though you pray that he hasn’t called you over to condemn your relationships with the celestial brothers.

Perhaps your stone-faced silence is a dead giveaway, or maybe the stiffness in your jaw is actually a trembling line that betrays your worry. Either way, Freddy takes a good, long look at you, and it’s then that his expression changes. Determination or certainty or something close straightens his shoulders and eases his trepidation away.

He continues in a much more private murmur, for your ears alone.

“My point is, in spite of those rumors, I can’t help but notice how increasingly happy you’ve become, even in this small timespan. You seem brighter than before. Lighter on your feet. I know I didn’t meet you prior to us working alongside each other, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m sounding presumptuous here because that truly isn’t my intent.” When his smile reappears, it’s like a ray of sunshine shining proudly upon you. His tone overflows with his benevolence as he finishes, softer still, “I just want to say that whatever that happiness is and whomever it might be with—if that is indeed the case—I hope it is something that works out for you. And I hope you pursue it if it does. Because like many others here, you deserve to have good things in your life too. So don’t ever let anyone convince you otherwise, no matter what they may say or believe.”

A friendly or perhaps comforting squeeze grips your shoulder. The following pause is loud.

Having said his piece, Freddy waits patiently for you to respond or maybe just to mull over what he said. Or to do anything at all instead of just gape at him.

Something slips into your eye. Both of them, funnily enough. You wait a moment too long to blink the odd sensation away, and it starts to burn.

Freddy notices, because of course he does, and his brow furrows.

“I’m sorry. It seems I’ve made you upset by what I said.”

You wave off his concern.

“No, no, I’m fine, really,” you lie very convincingly. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. It’s okay. I mean, I’m just—”

You bite your tongue to stop the immediate urge to deflect. You don’t like to think of yourself as overly emotional. Your soul lies in your work, and that’s where your emotions shine. You also know that while Freddy’s praise is flattering, it’s far from true. There are so many talented, gifted people working on this production. Anything you do is but a speck in the grand scheme of things, and a great deal of other people deserve credit far more than you do.

Still, it’s a palpable relief to hear what he said and to know that you have someone supportive in your corner. It touches you deeply because while it’s one thing to be recognized for your work by someone like him, it is a whole new matter to hear an outsider’s approval of the relationships you’ve been brewing over restlessly. Freddy is a role model—an inspiration—to the team. In many ways, he’s become a sort of parental figure that many look up to, you included. Having your silly human heart’s desires be acknowledged and embraced by him means a lot to you more than any kind of praise. A whole lot.

So much so that it stabs right to the center of all the inner turmoil that’s been burgeoning inside you without an outlet, and your ears feel hot and your throat tight.

You attempt to just laugh it off, sounding a bit uneven and watery.

“Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” you say at last, and the easygoing tone you were shooting for kind of falls flat.

You’re exactly like he said: happier and lighter. Have been for weeks—months—now. But especially recently. Just took you a little longer than most to notice.

You’re certain though about what you want. You don’t feel like you need to test the waters anymore. Originally, you’d been alarmed at jumping into three relationships headfirst without any thought, but truth is, you were thinking of it long beforehand. You just refused to see it for what it was, the longing for something more than friendship. This isn’t your emotions getting confused from what you act out in front of a camera, like you’d originally feared.

The teasing and rumors are things you’ve gotten used to over time. But what Freddy said goes farther than that, and it’s beyond refreshing to hear someone else’s perspective confirm what your intuition has been shouting from the start.

As you wipe your eyes with a hand, you say only a little shakily, “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you. I think I needed to hear that more than you realize.” You take a moment to collect yourself, swallowing hard and letting the immense relief settle your nerves.

You’re here. It’s okay. It will be more than okay, but at least you know that you have people in your corner who genuinely care. You weren’t exactly ready for the emotional rollercoaster you just rode, but you’re thankful nonetheless. It feels good to not be alone like you’d once thought. It feels incredible.

As the racing in your chest calms back down, the levelheadedness returns. Freddy is still waiting like a worried spectator, so you decide to reassure him in the best way you know how.

Your smile is small but facetious.

“You know, it’s a good thing you approached me about this. Here I was, all worried you’d turn me down, but I’m so glad you finally saw the light and decided to confess your undying love for me before the clock strikes midnight.”

For an animatronic, Freddy does a fantastic job of blanching.

“Oh! No, that’s not… Ah, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”

He panics to the point his voicebox starts to stutter as he backtracks. William steps in to rescue him.

“They’re joking, Frederick. They know you’re not the one who’s madly fallen for them.” His eyes slide over to you. “Which those three have, by the way.”

You spread your arms in disbelief, neck burning.

“Geez, did everyone else figure out my love life before me or something?”

“Only a little.” The man smirks, something that is extremely hard not to react to when it’s so unlike him.

“What’s a love life?” Ribbon innocently pipes up.

Gregory replies, “Tch, don’t ask them because they clearly don’t know.”

Freddy pats the top of the boy’s head.

“None of that now. Be nice. They can work things out in their own time. There’s no rush.”

You don’t have the heart to tell Freddy that that is exactly what you’ve been worrying over. So you instead peer back over to your table, gnawing on your lip as you think.

There’s not a clear view of them, but you can see Sun’s rays spinning wide as he converses with his brothers and a few others who have swung by to chat, standing beside the table. You wonder what they’re all talking about and suffocate the desire to go back over there. Just because you want to be with them doesn’t mean you have to act like some lovesick puppy.

As you’re weighing the pros and cons of making up some very transparent excuse to slip away from your group and return to the boys, a discordant echo of feedback rings through the crowd, making everyone wince.

“Sorry!” a distant voice yells, and then there’s distinct tapping on a microphone. “Test, test, testing, is this thing on now? I guess it is after that little noise.”

Everyone turns to the source, and you see the executive producer on a raised platform with a mic, two large projector screens on the wall behind him. Once he’s got the mic in working order, he requests everyone to take their seats, and you try to hide your elation at being dismissed from social convention. You make sure to wish the others a farewell and happy new year in case you don’t get to see them again later that night, giving an especially grateful squeeze to Freddy’s arm, and then you hustle your way back to three shining faces.

In the end, Moon proves to have been a valiant defender of your chair after all, and you reclaim the spot next to him while the man who organized the event launches into a lengthy speech of thank yous and cheers to the future progress of the show.

The distraction allows you a private moment to reflect on what just transpired and ease back into a calmer state. However, when you wipe your eyes a final time to stop any meddlesome tears in their tracks, your actions do not go unnoticed like you’d hoped.

Moon turns to you and leans in close so that he can whisper.

“Are you alright?” His concern is a selfless gesture that touches you deeply, like he’s ready to jump at a moment’s notice for your sake.

Your eyes glisten a little more at the sweet thoughtfulness.

“I’m fine. Promise.” At his persisting worry, you gently clarify, “It’s nothing bad. I’m just… really, really happy.”

Your heart leaps with your words, confirming the veracity of them.

Surprise rounds off the lines of disquiet and inclines the edges of his mouth. Moon’s steady regard holds unmistakable compassion.

“Good, I’m glad. Still, let me know if you need anything, and I’ll take care of it.”

You’re not at your verbal best right now, so you nod, and he shifts back to the speaker. You think that’s that, but then one of his hands seeks out and rests on the top of your lap, palm up. An offering. The questioning flash of red is only just visible at this angle.

You try to not let your sentimentality show so plainly to the room from you beaming as you slip your hand into his. It feels like you’re shaking with relief and euphoria.

From there, it’s easier to focus on the speech. The speaker informs the party that they are welcome to stay till midnight to watch the fireworks that the city will be setting off across the harbor. The hotel is waterfront, meaning the room’s windows facing the harbor will provide an exceptional view of the night sky. After that, the hotel has requested that everyone vacate the event room no later than one in the morning if they don’t have a reservation to stay and to please abide by the quiet hours rule. The fact that your group is even being allowed to hang around that late makes you wonder just how much money was slipped under the table to cover that cost.

You critically eye the waitstaff still handing out glasses of alcohol. It will be a miracle if there isn’t a single incident resulting in someone getting kicked out, and you know you don’t want to be around when that happens.

After the speech, a video is played on the screens commemorating months’ worth of silly moments and fun memories filmed both during shoots and in the lulls between. You end up laughing along with the others at the antics and bloopers caught on video, and even one of Sun and Moon’s pranks makes it on the screen. It’s a heartwarming stroll down memory lane that is bittersweet and a reminder that the show is nearing its finale.

After the video ends, the executive producer steps down from his stage, once more thanking everyone for their hard work and encouraging them all to finish off the plentiful catering leftovers. The room explodes into applause and some whistles, and you join in with the ones sitting next to you. It’s been a hard journey with many late nights and abysmally early mornings, but you’re close to the end. You’ll miss the familiar people you’ve come to enjoy seeing every day and the kindness of the teams you got to work with. One thing is for certain: Your phone is positively bursting with contacts from many, many people you’ve met just through working on this show. You hope that your future job will connect you with some of them again face to face when all is said and done.

Mind abuzz with thoughts of where you’ll end up next, you whittle away the hours yet again with your favorite company. At one point, Sun hands off his flute of champagne to a passerby with superfluous reassurances that he’s done “absolutely nothing to it!” He doesn’t sound trustworthy at all, but when he gives you a universally austere wink, it becomes obvious he’s just pulling the other person’s leg.

At some point, someone pulls out an honest-to-God Clue board game from who knows where, and you end up on a three-person team with Moon and Sun—much to the chanting of your friends and coworkers—to solve the mystery and take down your competitors. Eclipse pairs with Gregory and an actor who played as one of his goons. Becker, you think his name is.

A mix of people from other departments, from the sound crew to the camera crew to the stunt performers and everyone in between, get involved too, whether it’s to team up or just spectate like this is the greatest new sport. In the end, the result is a truly raucous round that leads to your team’s victory. High fives and gloating abound, but that’s quickly stampeded when you, Moon, and Sun lose the next round. After that, you decide to let other people have a turn, and you mingle with those you haven’t had a chance to chat with in a long while. What makes it an even better experience is that throughout the socializing, you find yourself with a tail or two or three. They let you reach out first—a hand on their backs or elbows—which leads to them returning the favor so that you’re in constant contact with at least one. It doesn’t escape your notice that doing this means you’ll receive more raised eyebrows and probably stir up the pot of gossip.

But unlike before, that thought doesn’t really bother you as much.

You know why.

As the clock ticks closer to midnight, the party dwindles in size. Some depart to go celebrate the new year with family; others leave to follow the call of their beds. You catch one more quick interaction with Ribbon, and they give you a big hug that you return just as tightly. Their little arms threaten to bruise your bones, and it only makes your fondness for them soar. Their parents also bid you goodbye, sharing grateful waves at you, and you watch as they lead their kid to the hotel’s elevator, Ribbon squeezing both their hands and skipping between them.

Not an ounce of tiredness in that one. You wish you had their energy. The studio couldn’t have picked a better vigilante-in-the-making.

Feeling winded yourself, you return to your seat with a drawn-out groan. While you were away, Sun and Moon swapped places. Judging by the delighted tapping of Sun’s fingers on the table and Moon’s unhappy glower, it wasn’t a unanimous decision.

It’s a mere fifteen minutes to midnight now. And that’s when Eclipse returns to his seat and decides it’s high time to throw another curveball your way.

“I have a proposition for you,” he slyly says, which has you simultaneously uneasy and intrigued.

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh?” Sun parrots, with much more skepticism in his tone.

Eclipse grins wryly. In between one blink and the next, he snaps into view a solid black card between his middle and forefinger. The slender card has no meaning to you, at least not until he flicks it a certain way in the light. The embossed letters reflect the ambient glow just enough to be legible, and that’s when you gasp.

“You’re joking,” you breathe, and Eclipse chuckles.

“What? What am I missing?” Sun looks between you and Eclipse and then at the card, but Eclipse tucks it away just as fast.

You lean back in your seat, stunned.

“This hotel has to be booked solid all through the holiday,” you manage to say. “How on earth did you get a key? Did you book a room months ago?”

The eldest brother is obviously enjoying this, both your and Sun’s reactions, unlike Moon who is slowly becoming one with his chair the further he sinks into it, and you can’t find it in yourself to deprive Eclipse of his moment. You weren’t expecting that at all.

He shakes his head and keeps his voice low, like he’s sharing a secret.

“I don’t know if you’ve met him yet, but there’s a man here who I used to work with on a different set years ago. He’s a cameraman, and the bulk of his work is focused on taking candid pictures to be used for promotion. Back when we first met, we both were still graduating past being labeled as fresh blood in the industry, so we ended up hitting it off. He’s been a good friend of mine ever since.” Long fingers fold together, and Eclipse props his elbows on the table, shadowed metal almost ominous in the light. “That’s all to say that he was invited to tonight’s party as a plus one because his niece is one of the actresses for this series, and they’re rather close. He chose to book a room at this hotel months ago for the event out of convenience.”

Eclipse leans in closer as excitement in his voice builds, and like an infectious pull, you mirror his movement.

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” he simpers. “I overheard that this place has a pool and bar—more specifically, a rooftop pool and bar. Due to the cold weather, the outdoor half of the pool has been closed for winter, but the indoor half has been kept open. And currently, guests are allowed to use their keycards to enjoy a nice swim and some drinks from ten o’clock in the morning to ten o’clock at night. So naturally, when I expressed my interest in accessing the place, my friend gave me one of his spare keys with the exception that I don’t tell anyone where I got it from.”

You're astounded and can see how Eclipse relishes having such a captive audience.

“Kind of failed on that front already,” Moon tacks on blithely. He feigns disinterest, but his gaze is fixed on you as well, assessing.

You hope he isn’t readying to read you your Miranda rights if you so much as suggest an iota of interest in this.

Eclipse, however, only puffs out a synthetic breath at his little brother.

“Anyone who’s a snitch,” he clarifies.

“So what you’re saying is,” you say, still starry-eyed with wonder, “we can sneak up to the rooftop and watch the fireworks from there?”

“Among other things, yes.”

You pause.

“Other things?”

Eclipse doesn’t answer. But his shifty keek at Sun has you feeling on edge.

“Oh!”

You flinch as Sun violently shoots to his feet, chair scraping behind him, and he is just as wide-eyed as you.

“I’m suddenly fully on board with this plan without any dubious behavior whatsoever.” He holds a hand out to you. “Let’s go do some illicit activities.”

You side-eye Moon. Sun does much the same.

“By which I mean technically not illicit at all,” he hastily adds. He wiggles his fingertips at you. “Coming, doll?”

Your hand reaches for his.

“Nothing dubious, huh?”

Sun gently pulls you out of your seat. The animatronic picks up your coat too and drapes it over your shoulders before you can have time to think about it, and the warmth of your coat extends deeper than it normally would. He takes your hand with a stifled sound that is by definition just plain cute. Suspicious or not, you’ll go wherever he leads as long as it means staying by his side. Clearly, the brothers have something planned, especially since Moon hasn’t made a peep where he normally would about anything remotely smelling of unlawful, and you squirm with your own enthusiasm.

“Here.” Eclipse gives Sun the keycard, and while Sun pockets it, you frown in confusion.

“Wait, aren’t you two coming with us?”

At long last, Moon breaks his silence with a benign grin aimed up at you.

“In a minute, starling. Go on up before I change my mind.”

Eclipse tips his head at the elevators.

“We’ll catch up with you shortly. Sunny wants to share something with you first.”

Said animatronic is trembling like a live wire in his bundle of excitement.

“I hope that isn’t what you mean by illicit,” you snark, and you let Sun steer you out of the room with not a second to spare.

“No, no, you won’t find any sort of recreational things on me. I have clean pockets, promise!”

You almost lose your footing, but the other is quick to catch you.

“Thanks.” You pat him appreciatively. “ Also, I wasn’t thinking you had any dirty pockets there, Sunny. But now that you mentioned it… Hm, I might just need to check for myself and thoroughly investigate.”

You watch in bemusement as Sun repeatedly presses the elevator button to summon it. His head snaps to you with some wily scheme dancing inside, his blatant impatience subconsciously pulling you in so that you have to tilt your head back farther to keep him and his lovely rays in sight.

His inner mechanisms click and whir at your closeness. With the hand not holding yours, he taps you on the nose, making you wrinkle it.

“Let’s not get handsy just yet, dear. We haven’t even discussed marriage.”

That earns him a scoff.

“Then color me surprised, snookums, because it sure seems like we’re eloping.”

You lean your weight against his side, confident that he won’t mind, and Sun lets go of your hand to wrap an arm around your shoulders instead. As you’d suspected, he squeezes you like he plans to imprint you there.

One of the two elevators dings upon its arrival, and the second the doors swish open, Sun hustles you inside. His barely restrained frenetic energy has you snickering, to which he lightheartedly swats you. Once he’s pushed the button for the top floor with more aggressive tapping, he spins back around to give you his full attention. His boundless enthusiasm means a need to channel it somewhere, so it’s no surprise when his fingers continue to busy themselves by beginning to undo one of the buttons of his cuffs to roll his sleeve up to his elbow.

“Trust me, you will know when we’re eloping,” he remarks without thought as he’s focused on his task, neatly tucking away fabric and moving on to the next sleeve.

Oh, he makes it too easy for you sometimes. You brace against the wall while letting a flirtatious smirk emerge. It’s impossible not to tease him a little more, not when you’ve got him trapped like this.

“When we elope, detective?” you echo smugly, pulling a little of your character to the surface. You can’t help it when he walked right into that one.

Sun doesn’t say anything.

Not in the way you’d expected, however. He doesn’t freeze like it was a Freudian slip of the tongue or react with visible panic. No, he doesn’t utter a single word in the aftermath of that little taunt, but he needn’t do so in the way his eyes speak for himself.

Cerulean blue is piercing in low light, you realize. Unwavering as he doesn’t add anything more to confirm or deny your question. You’re playing a losing game of trying not to focus on the bare metal that is revealed as Sun finishes rolling up both his sleeves. Only a beat more of silence has to pass before you realize that you’re the one who’s prey to the sudden intensity of the solitude from the craziness of the night. It’s just you and Sun now and a weighty stillness in the shadow of what you’d thought was an ignorant exchange. Somehow, that has you more uncentered than probably any comeback he could have returned.

Sun’s not saying anything in defense because he doesn’t intend to deny it.

You swallow. Nothing but the vibration of the elevator and its lighthearted music disturbs whatever tension has begun to form. Not unwelcome or even necessarily uncomfortable. But it is noticeable, and you’re becoming extremely aware of everything in the small space, namely the animatronic who’s taking up most of it right in front of you.

Before the tension can get any thicker, the elevator comes to a halt somewhere in its ascent. You and Sun watch as someone, presumably a hotel guest, steps onto the elevator with you, reaches over, and taps a button for a few floors up.

You were wrong; the tension can get thicker, and it is compressing you.

The ride up is painfully silent, made worse by the fact that for whatever reason, Sun does not stop staring at you. You’re just an arm’s reach shy of being cornered against the wall, and apparently, Sun sees no issue with this and how it might look to the unexpected friend who’s joined the circus.

Hardly ten seconds pass, but it feels like an eternity before the other person’s floor is reached. They exit without a word or a glance in your direction, and that’s exactly how you prefer it. Without looking, Sun reaches over and nudges the button to close the doors. They slide shut, and your ride to the top is continued once more with only one animatronic to fill the space and your vision.

Funnily enough, this is the first chance all night that you really get a good view of his outfit, what with him being so close. Since you’re desperate to latch onto anything else, you concentrate on that instead. To your surprise, what you see has you in tickled disbelief.

Blinking, you nod in his direction and say, “Please tell me those suspenders are from your costume.”

Sun glances down at the thick loops of fabric on his person as if he’s seeing them for the first time. Then his grin flashes back up at you, twinkling.

“Do you like them?”

He already knows the answer, cheeky thing.

“As if you even need to ask.” You ignore how his amused leer makes your skin pleasantly tingly. You are, in fact, ignoring a lot of things that him being so close is doing to you. A shiver runs down your back. Which you also ignore. “What I’m more shocked by is how you and Moon seem to be sneaking off with pieces of your outfits and getting away with it.”

Sun shrugs and brushes imaginary lint off his shirt with a hum.

“I needed something special from my costume to wear tonight since I wanted to dress to impress. It was either wear these or my handcuffs.”

“…I think you and I might have different definitions of how to impress.”

The animatronic sighs heavily.

“Yes, I know I should have gone with the handcuffs instead. But why else am I supposed to wear suspenders if not to seductively slide them off for you one at a time?”

Sun gives the impression of waggling his brows, rife with an emotion you refuse to label.

“Are you seduced yet?” he croons.

You’re actually on the verge of hysterics after bouncing from that tense moment to now this highly entertaining version of a strip tease, but you’re doing your damndest to keep down the stunned laughter rattling inside your chest. You purse your lips to hold back the tide and then take a second to compose yourself.

“I don’t remember this scene ever being in the script,” you say instead, keenly aware that the elevator is not soundproof nor private. You suddenly wonder if there is a security camera in here and if some poor staff member is seeing all of this, and you almost burst into a guffaw right there.

Sun taps a coquettish finger like he’s shushing you. He can tell how close you are to losing it, and he has no problem chuckling at whatever face you’re making.

“That’s because it’ll be our little secret behind the scenes,” he chirps.

Before you have time to unpack that little remark, the lilting elevator voice declares you’ve reached your destination. You straighten back up when the doors slide apart, a deep exhale blowing past your lips to calm the fluttering in your chest, but Sun doesn’t move just yet.

His hand extends out to you, palm up. A light request and one you don’t have to ponder at all to accept. You’ve noticed that all of the brothers seem to enjoy holding your hand. That’s good, because you enjoy it too.

As the two of you traipse out onto the floor, you’re struck by an intense smell of chlorine. Your lungs expand with the joyous call of swimming pool water, and it’s a small shame that you don’t have a swimsuit on to take a quick dip.

Sun scouts the area with you at his side. Miraculously, the floor appears entirely vacant and ghostly quiet. Couldn’t be because the pool and bar hours have long since passed. Certainly not. There’s a gym up here too, secured off behind glass walls and an entrance that requires keycard access to get in. But that’s not what you’re here for.

“This way.” You lead Sun down a hallway, trusting your nose.

He’s quiet still, but his steps are no less eager than yours. You wonder what it is he wants to show you and why he needs to show it up here of all places and what on earth was that moment you shared in the elevator because it certainly felt like something. There’s no denying the thrill you get from sneaking in somewhere that’s technically meant only for actual hotel guests and only during certain hours. It makes you remember being a teenager, getting into trouble or always just dancing outside of it with someone you lo—

Someone you care about.

As you and Sun peruse the vacant floor, what you’re doing begins to catch up to you. It starts with a giggle from one or both of you—you’re not sure who, but it’s definitely you—like you’re misbehaving children getting into things you shouldn’t. Very quickly from there, the chortles you had tried to suppress from before begin to slip out with Sun not far behind, and you fall into a repetitive pattern of stifling your hitching breaths and hushing each other with no success.

“Sun, you’ve gotta—” you loudly snort and laugh even more. “You’ve gotta stop—”

“Ohoho, I’ve got to stop? Not this barrel of laughs right next to me?” he gibes, his free hand snaking out and poking you in your sensitive stomach.

“H-hey, no! You cut that out right now, mister!”

Sun’s fingers wriggle treacherously, and your squeal bounces off the walls. Another round of shushing does little to quell the jittering butterflies in your stomach that are making your chest heave with half-caught breaths. To your relief, Sun ceases the merciless assault on your ticklish side, but it’s only to then stop in place.

You stop as well when you realize he’s not budging, and you smile a little crookedly over your shoulder at the unreadable way he looks at you.

Standing there in the hall, Sun doesn’t move an inch aside from his rays that twirl in a leisurely circle. His hand is warm in yours, and his focus doesn’t stray to anywhere except you. He takes a long moment to just keep you at his side, quiet and contemplating.

Then, without preamble or any warning, he kindly says, “You have a pretty laugh.”

And wouldn’t you know it, there is now no air conditioning in the room whatsoever because you can feel yourself heating up all over.

“Oh,” you start, openly floundering like a fish out of water. “I’m… Thanks?”

An affectionate huff graces your ears.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, silly. All I mean to say is I enjoy hearing it. Seeing you happy makes me happy.”

Thump-thump.

Seems like all three of the brothers adore leaving you speechless too. You’re aware your mouth is parted, but you don’t even know what to say to that. Sun said it like it was another one of his simple observations he loves to make, like it’s as plain as the weather or the nose on your face.

Like it wasn’t a tease or anything meant to poke fun. Just mere fact.

The edges of your lips find their way back up your cheeks.

“Then I’m glad to hear that. Because you make me happy too,” you say quietly.

Yellow rays pick up speed.

After a subtle glance around, you add, “Not that I don’t appreciate the really sweet confession, but are there any other pressing things you need to admit right now, or do you mind if we get outside first before your brothers show up? You said there was something you wanted to show me.”

The whites behind his blue pupils catch an opalescent flash of light, like mother of pearl.

“I suppose I can wait to tell you about my outstanding arrest warrant,” he says. “Come along then. We don’t have much time left!”

“Wait, your what now? Sun!”

He tugs you after him, warbling giggles promising he’s up to no good, and that’s all the answer you get from the animatronic.

Thankfully, you make it down another hall without further incident as the walled-off pool comes into view. It’s surrounded by glass panes just like the gym. The lights are dim inside, signaling that it isn’t open. But that’s hardly a deterrent, and as you near the door that will let you inside, you can see through the room that on the other side of the pool is another door that leads out onto the rooftop.

In one swift swipe, Sun glides the key across the card reader, and the door unlocks with a beep. Like a true gentleman, he proudly opens the door for you. Or rather, he tries to.

You watch him jolt when the door doesn’t swing open. Grunting, he then grinds his heels into the floor and heaves and tries to yank on the door with all his might. The metal and glass obstacle refuses to budge.

Having some pity on him, you calmly say, “Honeybee, it’s push, not pull.”

He pauses. Stares. Gently, he nudges the door in the opposite direction. It swings open wide.

His grin is an even, flat line.

“I knew that.”

“Sure you did.”

Disregarding your mocking tone, he keeps the door propped open with a foot and bows low.

“After you, my dove.”

You shake your head at the endearment and step past him, waiting for him to quietly close the door behind you before you pipe up, voice echoing across the water.

“Are you just throwing out pet names now and seeing what sticks?”

His chassis purrs with his mirth, restlessness keeping him in motion. “I thought about calling you a chicken, but doing so seemed most fowl.”

“A ch— What did you just call me?!” Oh, you’re about to show him just how non-chicken you are, but you then cut yourself off as soon as his joke lands. Blowing out a loud breath, you give Sun the full scope of your unimpressed glower. His optics lift from his joviality.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard.”

“Got you good though, didn’t I? Hmm?”

When he’s like this, very subtly swaying from one foot to the other like he’s listening to some silent tune and his endless delight needs to be used somewhere, you can’t hold onto a frown to save your life. You just can’t.

So you purse your lips and pout as hard as you can to show just how unamused you are. You’re so unamused. It’s almost funny how deep your lack of amusement runs, it’s so unamusing.

Your lips quiver at the edges. Sun sees it.

Without warning, he sidles up to you, humming some unknown tune, and then with his thumb and forefinger, he reaches up and pinches your lips together, making them even flatter.

“On second thought,” he remarks, completely ignoring your indignant, muffled protest, “a chicken or a dove isn’t accurate because what I’m clearly seeing now is a duck.”

He emphasizes his point with a squeeze, making you create the very unwanted impression of a duckbill, and he springs away from your enraged swat and squeak, delight carrying his voice loud across the pool.

“Sun!” you yell, rubbing your smarting mouth. “Don’t run away!”

“No offense, duckling,” he titters as he does the exact opposite of your demand, “but something tells me that would be to my detriment!”

“Yeah, that something is me! Come back here!”

You chase the fleeing animatronic around the pool and to the door leading outside. Sun slams into it first, sprinting out with you fast on his heels. The icy cold temperature shocks you from its severity, but you’re too lost in the chase to give it much thought. Sun skips all the way past the closed bar and outdoor pool, up a small flight of smooth cement stairs, and to an area overlooking the harbor.

Right into a corner.

Seemingly realizing his mistake, he turns back around, but you’re already there, closing in on him. What’s worse is he’s still cackling, and you don’t know how you’re going to get your payback, but you’ll figure it out somehow.

“Hoohoo, you’re looking a little frosty over there,” he says, hands lifting up in a placating motion as you near. “Perhaps this would be a wonderful time to go back inside where it’s nice and toasty!”

“Perhaps not,” you shoot back, ignoring how you’ve lost the war in maintaining a frown. The joy on Sun’s faceplate is just too contagious.

He drops the placating gesture in favor of hooking a finger in his collar and tugging on it like he’s nervous. What a drama queen.

“You know, I heard diplomacy is in currently! Super popular! All the cool cats are trying it, so I think we should give it a shot too to see what’s what.”

You’ve reached him at this point, and your hands land on your hips. “That’s funny to hear, Sunny, since just thirty seconds ago, you didn’t seem all that interested in it.”

The animatronic sputters at your very sound logic. His expression is not at all apologetic while he pulls an excuse out of thin air.

“Change of heart?” he says uncertainly.

“Yeah, how believable.” The desert has nothing on your arid tone.

You step forward and grasp one of Sun’s bottom rays, one of the few you can actually reach. Though he could very easily withstand your strength, Sun lets you pull him down until he’s eye-level with you. You have some long-winded speech waiting in the wings—pun not intended—about how this “duckling” can meet him step for step in weaponized terms of endearment, and you absolutely will use that to your advantage to drop the most unhinged pet names in front of others when he least expects it.

But then Sun speaks up before you get the chance.

“If we were to, say, hypothetically, continue the trend of listing things that are funny,” he begins, speaking lower now that he’s so close to you, “then I’d like to mention how this little predicament happens to have reminded me of what I wanted to show you.”

Your skepticism is unmatched.

“Does it involve pulling a sudden disappearing act?”

“Goodness, no! That’s the very opposite of what I want because that would mean putting distance between myself and you… little duck.”

Your eyes narrow.

“You’re pushing it.”

“Just moving the goalpost, darling. Let me finish before we run out of time.”

You can’t help cracking up at that, shaking his ray a little so that all of them swing side to side a few degrees.

“What, do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight or something?”

“Excuse you, I’m more akin to a Prince Charming than anything. But that’s beside the point because I have something very important I need to tell you.”

When he says your name then, the silliness ebbing away to make room for something more serious, you perk up, and your smile dims with concern.

But Sun eases away the wrinkles of worry with his thumb, soundlessly cupping your cheek and soothing you in a motion that makes your heart skip. You’ve noticed it doing that a lot lately. He takes the hand that’s listlessly clinging to his ray, curls his long fingers around it, and lifts it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. The wind is slow yet sharp, cutting into your bones. You instinctively huddle into your coat in a vain attempt to preserve some heat.

Sun tuts when you shiver and helps you slide your arms into the sleeves of your coat rather than just keep it around your shoulders.

“I should have brought my jacket up as well so you’d be at least a little warmer. Sorry about that.”

You snatch his hand back, which he gladly accepts.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine with you here. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

Sun chuffs, shaking his head but minding his rays so that they don’t prod or scrape you. His mouth twitches.

“You’re always so sweet, honeydew. Silly pet names aside, I hope you know that I’m only ever teasing you with them. When I’m not trying to be a romantic, that is, which is actually always, but regardless—”

“Romantic?” you interrupt softly.

This time, Sun’s eyes do widen. His rays pop out wider, and it’s the first time tonight he actually looks rattled.

“Oh! Oh goodness, I did just say that, didn’t I? Not that that isn’t exactly why I brought you up here in the first place, but I had intended to at least drop that particular piece of information with a little more delicateness. I don’t want to go scaring you off so soon before I’ve even had the chance to reach the second bullet point in the speech I’ve rehearsed and scrapped at least a thousand times, and— Oh dear, this isn’t how I’d planned things to go.”

“Sun,” you say as soon as he pauses. His rays begin speeding at your voice, and you resist the sudden desire to close the infinitesimally small space between you. But you do have an inkling of why he brought you up here, why Eclipse and Moon hung back to give you time alone with him.

The math is starting to add up. Surprisingly, even with your rapid fluctuation of heart-pounding excitement, you feel a calmness that reassures you. This is where you’re meant to be, with him.

“Be honest with me,” you request, and Sun nods emphatically. Dork, you think with full affection. You take a deep breath in, hold his gaze and the stars within, and then let your breath out. There’s nowhere else to go, but your feet still try to inch you closer. “Did you bring me up here to kiss me?”

A lull. Out here, it’s a little harder to hear Sun’s mechanisms working overtime, but the fact that you can hear them at all tells you he’s processing quite a bit. That already is a big hint of an answer, but you want to hear him say so yourself.

With an artificial exhale that layers an inexplicable tenderness, he says, “Well, it wasn’t an expectation, but I certainly would be lying if I said I wouldn’t like that. More than that, though, I just wanted to confess how I feel about you and go from there. But I suppose I am that transparent, aren’t I?”

Your cheeks are stretching again from your happiness.

“Don’t feel too bad. It took me until a certain conversation with Eclipse a few weeks ago to realize any of you had feelings for me.”

Another puff, this one exasperated.

“Yes, I'm aware. Honestly, we all thought we weren’t being subtle in the slightest. Even our coworkers noticed, dear.”

You wince and protest, “Okay, well, I thought they were just joking around! You can’t blame me for that. Especially since I thought you all were just playing too.”

“Which remains a mystery to me! I even asked you months ago if you wanted to practice kissing so that we could get it right during filming.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens once more.

The moment he’s referring to is vivid in your memory, only because you’ve thought about it more times than you’d like to admit and had just sadly written it off as Sun being his usual playful self. Yes, he was flirting, but you hadn’t thought he was flirting-flirting. Just that it was the usual game you all play. But still… months ago? Just how long have these three been trying to get your attention?

“You were flirting with me then?” you say quizzically.

Sun chuckles, and one of his arms winds around your waist. He holds you like the daintiest flower, and even you feel a flash of embarrassment over just how much you like that.

“As I said, a mystery. But like any good sleuth, I have a feeling that with your help, we can put our heads together and solve this case.”

You brighten immediately. There he is.

“Ah, I see,” you play along. “Taking inspiration from a certain show, hm? So what are your deductions, Detective Sun?”

“I’m so glad you asked! Because I have quite a few, but for the sake of time and the fact that the fireworks are soon to start, I’ll give you the cliff notes version and do away with any alleged speech, rehearsed or not.”

His palm is so warm around your cheek, hiding you from the cold as much as he can. You hardly even notice it when he’s embracing you like this. Your eyes search his, your entire being ready to latch onto his every word to lock it inside your heart and never let it go.

In the strongest sincerity you’ve ever heard from him, he says, unspeakably gently, “I like you. Not just as a friend, though you are without a doubt one of the best and closest I’ve ever had. I like you in the sense that I have fallen for you. Complete head over heels, tumbling-down-the-staircase kind of mess. I'm absolutely sure you know that by now, but if you don’t, I am not above paying to have it written in the sky so that it gets through your thick but lovable head.” His warning comes with a wagging finger, and you snort despite the unexpected mistiness creeping behind your eyelids again when you blink.

Sun’s fake glower softens to an incandescent warmth, pulling you in like a flower.

“The point is, I want to pursue this feeling with you, as do my brothers. I’m sure they’ve already told you. Heaven knows if I have to listen to Moon brag for another minute about getting a kiss from you tonight, I will lose my sanity. But I also heard from a little birdie that my brothers requested a little, hmm, how did they put it? A head start on the new year?”

You bite your lip. His scrutiny falls lower, and your uneven breath is a cloud of white smoke between you and him.

“Something like that,” you softly say.

Sun’s servos whistle a delighted song.

“I hope you’ll excuse me for being so bold because I’m about to be like that regardless,” he says, “but it sounds like they didn’t do the tradition properly at all. They seem to have missed one very crucial factor, and I think you know exactly what I mean. So with that in mind, precious, may I steal a kiss from you to make sure it’s done right?”

After a confession like that? You wind your arms around his neck, lips parting, blood pounding in your ears. He needn’t have even asked.

It takes a moment to find your voice, but you make sure it reaches him even as a whisper.

“As long as you promise to give it back.” Your fingers toy with the back of his silk tie.

You don’t mistake the way his arms tremble like he’s afraid to hold you any tighter.

His words fall on a cadence weighted down by obvious want.

“If that’s the price for stealing such a lovely treasure,” he respires synthetically, “then I might just have to pay it over and over again.”

In the next second, his mouth finds yours, pressing headily to your lips and threatening to consume you whole. You gasp against him, clinging to the back of his shirt needily while his hand crawls to the back of your head and cups it in a gentle hold so that he can better angle the kiss. His arm doesn’t constrict your waist, but he keeps you there with the assuredness that he doesn’t want to let you go, and his deep groan at your insistence to hold him even tighter makes you lightheaded.

The snowing has stopped, and the temperature has continued to only drop, but you couldn’t feel hotter. The flame inside of you bursts to life with a rush of a powerful emotion that would have once scared you away. Now you only tiptoe around it, not ready to reveal it yet but knowing that it is there, waiting and growing steadily every moment you spend with Sun and his brothers.

You tilt your head with a ragged exhale while Sun twines some of your hair between his fingers, not yanking but prompting a delicious tension that sends a wonderful pleasure through your skull. You’re shivering again, and it’s all his doing.

He writes intimacy and sentiment on your lips with his teeth, capturing every micro-breath you try to take, and still you try to press closer to him. He breaks the kiss for a split second that allows you all of one heightened inhale before he’s stealing that too, and you’re burning together in an addictive passion that you never want to unlearn. For as long as he’ll allow it, you want to know only the smooth curve of his mouth and the hot metal of his chassis that is flush with your chest and the distracting digits dragging along the back of your head and the protective line of his arm that coils around your waist with an equally firm hand securing you there.

That’s all you need to know in the moment.

When Sun parts from you, moving away first because he probably correctly guessed that you’d keep kissing him until you passed out, his eyes slip open halfway, and his grin is askew like he’s swooning. You’re sure you have a similar goofy look too, concealed just barely by the clouds of white that spill out along every exhale while your lungs hurt delightfully. The cold snap strengthens when yellow rays spin at such a fast pace, they’re almost invisible.

The world is near-silent up here, city activity sounding so far away that it doesn’t disturb this perfect peace you’ve found. You don’t want to break the quiet and risk it all being a figment of your imagination once more. So you watch in wonder at how Sun peers at you intently, like he’s fascinated by whatever sight you make.

He braves cutting the silence first, albeit with a far-from-intrusive volume.

“Hmm, how was that? Do you think we got it right, or should we try again?”

You exhale long and slow. The white cloud of air billows.

“I don’t see how it could possibly be more perfect than that.” You adore the way Sun melts at your admission. “At this point, I’m just waiting to wake up.”

The solar animatronic pauses. His rays twist again, back and forth as if in uncertainty.

“From a dream or a nightmare?” he presses.

“A dream, silly.” You fondly shake your head. “Just seems like I’ve been imagining having this for so long, it doesn’t feel real. You, Moon, and Eclipse. I’m worried I’ll blink and be back in my own bed again, alone.”

The hand at your side taps a little rhythm. Sun’s nervousness vanishes as quick as a spring shower.

“I’m afraid to break the news to you,” he says, “but if those are the dreams you’re having, I won’t be waking you up anytime soon.”

You receive a quick kiss on the nose, which makes you twitch and Sun coo at that. You get him back with a kiss to the corner of his teeth. His wavering thrum of pleasure draws out until it morphs into a frustrated groan.

It’s your turn for concern.

“What’s wrong?”

Sun grunts, “Nothing, nothing. Just reminded that I am sadly not an only child.”

“What?”

He inclines his head at something behind you, and you turn in his arms to see what he’s looking at, much to his disheartened whine.

Just beyond the pool room next to the glass door that requires a key to enter, Moon stands there in the hallway, pressed to the glass and a dead grin on his face. His red pupils nearly take up the entirety of his optics. Eclipse is not too far off, but he’s at least giving you some sense of privacy by not staring your way.

Moon gives you a little wave.

You turn back to Sun.

“You know those videos people post of their pets watching them from the window?”

Sun releases a loud, rumbling hiss of static amusement.

“Oh, don’t let them hear you say that. I’m pretty sure at least one of those two in there bites.”

“But not you?” you quip, elbowing him.

Blue flickers against white.

“Only if you ask me to.”

Right then. Probably should have seen that one coming from a mile away.

“Raincheck,” you deflect. “Let’s let the others out first before they miss the fireworks.”

Sun dramatically releases you with a disappointed flair fitting for the stage, but he does as you request.

“I’ll go get the door. You wait right there, precious.”

You watch him skitter over back around the outdoor pool, through the door into the pool room, and then over to the door where his brothers wait. As soon as he tries to open it, a strange sort of tug of war begins where Sun attempts to pull one way, and Moon pulls just as hard on the other side. Judging by his expression, he’s doing it just for the sake of being a brat. The two engage in some back and forth, and though you can’t hear them, you can see Sun’s annoyance and Moon’s pure delight. It’s broken up finally by Eclipse grabbing the back of Moon’s coat and lifting him up like he’s scruffing a cat. Moon doesn’t even put up a fight, seemingly appeased that he sufficiently got under his other brother’s wires.

Once Eclipse sets him back down, Sun opens the door, and the three of them traipse through the pool room to the rooftop exit.

“I should have just left you in there!” Sun is saying as he throws open the door with a harrumph. “Honestly, you’re just so unnecessarily much sometimes!”

“Worth it,” Moon returns, unaffected by his sibling’s agitation. He lights up when he spies you.

“Moonie,” you tease as he approaches, “are you annoying your brother again on purpose?”

“No,” Moon says at the same time Sun gives an annoyed “yes.”

“It’s sibling tax,” he clarifies, coming to a stop next to you.

You tsk.

“I’d be careful if I were you. That sibling tax might come at a cost if Sun decides to do something like throw your hat off the building.”

You’ve barely finished the sentence before dark blue and silver digits are slamming onto the brim of Moon’s hat. He sends a dirty scowl at his brother who’s more than intrigued at the prospect by the sounds of it.

His voice is gruff and disapproving at you.

“Don’t give him ideas.”

Sun snips back, “Don’t be a varmint then.”

While the bickering continues, you find yourself mouthing varmint in confusion at Eclipse. He just shakes his head, equally bemused.

“Three minutes to midnight,” he announces over the sounds of ill-timed threats, probably to redirect his brothers’ focus.

You face the harbor. Sun stands sullenly at your side, and you startle in initial surprise when two arms slide over your shoulders from behind and loosely cross your chest. You sag against Eclipse, idly reaching up to rub one of his wrists as the approaching hour and year looms before you. It’s crazy to you how in such a short amount of time, you’ve grown so comfortable with the celestial brothers. Like something you’ve come to expect and especially welcome. The meaning and intent behind that comfort is the only part that’s shifted, and the change is one that leaves you undeniably giddy.

You’ve celebrated New Year’s Eve before, but never like this. Not with people who mean the world to you in ways you can’t even describe. It’s an entirely new course of life that you’re about to start with them, tentatively exploring this uncharted territory together, and the thought stirs up your curiosity.

What lies ahead? Not just relationship-wise, though that’s something you doubt you could really fathom with all the nuances you will surely find. The unknowing surrounding it actually gives you some relief. You don’t have to stress over and evaluate your every move. Whatever happens with them—with Sun, Moon, and Eclipse—will happen naturally. It’s cause for excitement, which has you shivering from more than just the cold now.

But you find your mind drifting to what will come after this show is finished. You’ve gotten so used to being with them at most hours of the day because you work together. What will it be like afterwards when the time you have with them will be reserved for coming home to a full apartment and making new memories in a much more intimate setting? Where will their talent take them next?

Before you can second-guess yourself, you broach the topic.

“Earlier tonight, I asked you what you’re doing after this,” you say, feeling the heavy weight of the attention from all three. You wet your dry lips. “And Moon was too busy being a gremlin to let me get a straight answer.”

The corners of Moon’s mouth scrunch up, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“What I really meant back there was… what are you guys going to do after our show is over? Do you have any gigs lined up?”

“Not quite.” Sun clasps his hands together. “But our agent did tip us about a possible dual leviathan role that myself and Moon might consider. It’d mean a lot of CGI, but we would get to wear those funky motion capture suits with the little dots all over them! So who knows. We might just end up trying out for that.”

Your lips quirk in bemusement as you try to imagine it.

“Don’t you need to be, I don’t know, swimming in order to act out a big, scary leviathan?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Moon dismisses, and he leans back against the rooftop balcony. The gentle crimson glow when he studies you is like dying stars in this low light. “If anything, it will be a chance to challenge ourselves in not using our voices as much unless they decide to make the leviathans capable of speech. What Sun said does have its appeal, and we’d probably get to experience some wire acrobatics. But I also think we’d have fun trying our hands at something spooky. Maybe with cryptids or familiars or lifeguards. We’re great at being scary, you know.”

Your face wrinkles.

“One of those is not like the others.”

“You just haven’t seen me acting as a demon yet.”

“I see you act like that every day,” you say evenly to the tune of Sun’s and Eclipse’s ensuing chortles and Moon’s sharp squint. “Wouldn’t really call that one the outlier of the ideas you suggested.”

“Whatever the case, Clip hasn’t decided where he’ll go next either,” Sun adds, earning a noise of agreement from the animatronic behind you. “I heard there might be potential for a third role in the leviathan storyline, but it would be a prequel of sorts. Curious how they’re planning on pulling that one off.”

“They really do plan ahead, huh?” You tap a finger on your arm, and your gaze is pulled to the winter night sky once more. It is so beautiful up here.

“And what about you?” Eclipse chimes next. “Where will you go after this?”

A hum stirs from your throat.

You’re not sure yet. There is a realm of possibilities stretching out before you. The time to contact your acting agent is nearing, and you feel a strong curl of melancholy at the show you’ve put your heart and soul into coming to its end. It’s been a wild ride, and the memories you’ve gained from your experiences will follow you long after you’ve parted ways with the show. But as Sun said, who knows? Maybe one day you’ll find yourself slipping back into your vigilante costume again and playing a game of chase with a pair of handsome detectives.

You look to your boys, standing with you in the cold and enjoying the seclusion from the rest of the city.

“I haven’t quite figured that out yet,” you answer truthfully. You reach out, and without hesitation, Sun and Moon each take your offered hands, one after the other, large metal joints protecting your fragile fingers from the bitter chill. “But no matter where I end up, I’m sure that it won’t be the same without working next to you.”

Sun holds you tighter.

“True, it will be impossible to ever replace the amazing cohorts that we were. But that’s why you’ve got us to come home to now, yes?”

His happy expression reflects back onto you. He’s right. You have a lot to explore now, don’t you? And it all starts with them.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t worry about the future now. After all, I’ve only got two hands.”

Moon’s optics gleam dangerously with his ever-present grin.

“Don’t forget your third one,” he says, nodding surreptitiously behind you.

You start to turn, but before you can, Eclipse’s voice grazes your ear.

“Oh, they won’t.”

Cold metal just barely singes you as a large hand brushes under your chin and tilts your head up until you can see him hovering over you. His eyes are flames in the dark, shining upon you with the intensity of a celestial body. His rays have begun to whirl, and you think it might be because of the wind because it sorely reminds you of a pinwheel, and you have to choke back a laugh. It’s not hard to do when his fingertips caress your skin, snaring your focus and dragging a plume of air past your lips.

“No,” you agree warmly. “I won’t.”

Your inhale stutters right back out when the animatronic stoops down low enough to press a kiss to your forehead before letting your chin go. The sound of a piercing whistle and thunderous boom retrieves your attention, bringing it to the harbor as the first crackles of color light up the night.

The ensuing display is breathtaking. The subtle smell of smoke from the fireworks catches on the wind and carries over to your group as you watch in awe the dawning of a new year. It’s heralded by sparks of intricate designs and blooms that make you squeeze the hands you’re holding on to, savoring the twin pulses you receive in turn. The presence at your back is a solid wall shielding you from the cold as much as possible, heavy arms a comfort that drape loosely around your front.

As you enjoy the fireworks with Moon, Eclipse, and Sun, you can’t help but smirk at what your beloved vigilante would have to say to this. No doubt they’d believe it to be some fever dream, and honestly, up until tonight, you’d thought the same. You’re certain that the smooth operative nature of the brothers’ teamwork to subdue your heart is almost identical to a parallel universe of a different era and a different story—one you can imagine as surely as the ringing of bells in your hair.

Just, you know. Under very different circumstances and outcomes.

For the next half hour, you relish the colorful nighttime display with your boys, all the way up to and through the grand finale. By the time the show ends, you are shaking from the cold, but it’s worth it for the special moment you get to share with them. Everything melds together in a joyous night that follows you all the way back home with the three animatronics whom you adore. Perhaps one day, you might even have the courage to confess that you love them, even though you have a strong suspicion they already know that, confession or no. It’s a comfort to know that just like with everything else, they’ll wait for you first.

But that’s a story for another time.

#eclipse x reader #sun x reader #moon x reader #daycare attendant x reader #sleuth jesters actor au #fnaf sb #writing tag #hope you all enjoy sweet and kind Eclipse while he lasts #because after this I'm jumping back into the other AU where he lives and makes it everyone's problem lol

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