Apple Crimson

To bleed is to create. Right?

[harleykeeners]

Michelangelo simply carved David out of the stone,

trapped in the suffocation of expectations and limits,

take the chisel to my veins and crush it till it over flows,

sculpt me into the vision you have of myself,

even if I am meant to remain stone.

let the blood on your hands be the fruits of your labor.

[harleykeeners]

Bipolar disorder be so crazy one day I’m running a 5k in sub 20minutes and now I’ve eaten an entire rum cake in tears and have written the most tragic fanfic to ever grace my google docs.

[harleykeeners]

Superman just makes me feel hopeful for the future. That’s how I know it was a good movie.

[an-ruraiocht]

sometimes it's like. i don't really wanna have an opinion about this in public because i don't feel that strongly. but a lot of people are having ill informed opinions about it and i don't feel i can offer correct information without also an opinion. so i just have to suffer

[harleykeeners]

the pitt has invaded my mind in such a violent manner.

[harleykeeners]

hate getting so into a fic labeled neutral reader and then it’s fem. bruh can some of yall not fucking tag???,,,,

[bluemantics]

Walk With Me

8k+, klance, postcanon

Lance McClain is content at home-- really, he is-- but when Keith shows up at his door, begging for help, he can't say no.

"They want to turn a property of mine into a museum, for some reason," Keith said.

“Which property?” Lance asked. He held his hand to shield against the bright sky as he looked up to Keith.

“The desert shack."

Now, Lance is on the universe's most exclusive weekend trip, forced to help Keith go through a musty pile of memories. Fabulous.

Here are the facts: 1. Keith is still the most smart-yet-stupid motherfucker Lance has ever met 2. Shiro and Curtis are disgustingly adorable 3. A twin bed is far too small for a grown man, and 4. He should have fallen out of love with Keith when he had the chance.

[harleykeeners]

ik most of my followers and feed are 9-1-1 and Marvel, but for those VLD fans I’ve encountered along my way, please check out her beautiful fic!! So so so proud of her growth and development as a writer. Even if you don’t fuck with Klance, this will change that

[bluemantics]

happy wip wednesday! today i am FINALLY revealing the name of my postcanon klance fic:

walk with me (releasing on March 22nd)

Lance McClain is content at home-- really, he is-- but when Keith shows up at his door, begging for help, he can't say no.

"They want to turn a property of mine into a museum, for some reason," Keith said.

“Which property?” Lance asked. He held his hand to shield against the bright sky as he looked up to Keith. 

“The desert shack."

Now, Lance is on the universe's most exclusive weekend trip, forced to help Keith go through a musty pile of memories. Fabulous.

Here are the facts:

Keith is still the most smart-yet-stupid motherfucker Lance has ever met

Shiro and Curtis are disgustingly adorable

A twin bed is far too small for a grown man, and

He should have fallen out of love with Keith when he had the chance.

A story of: running away from your past vs. being stuck in your past. missing the chase. wishing for time to slow down. confronting what's been long-buried. finally voicing the unspoken. pushing and pulling. a new meaning to a desert sunrise. a love that challenges you to grow.

[bluemantics]

Lance threw open a set of metal doors with a loud bang, sending interns with coffee flying as he stormed in.

“Lance!” Allura rushed up to greet him. She was flawless as always, her white hair pulled back into a neat bun. She was dressed in a pink jumpsuit that somehow made her impossibly taller.

“How’s everything holding up?” Lance asked her. He was a stark contrast to Allura in his quickly thrown together jeans and t-shirt. Dark rings circled his eyes, his normally dewy skin was pale, and his whole body felt like it was going to fall apart.

“Just perfectly, don’t worry,” Allura assured him. She pulled a clipboard out of seemingly thin air, running through a checklist at rapid fire speed. “All of the collection has had quality tests and checks. The lighting crew is fully set up. The models have been briefed on what they have to convey and the message of the line… but.” She paused.

Lance felt his face go flat. “There’s a but.”

“But,” she continued weakly, jabbing a pen at her clipboard. “There’s one model that seems to be a bit challenging. He won’t listen to the directors, just keeps posing how he sees fit. It’s making the other models slightly… on edge.”

At that moment, Lance heard the unmistakable sounds of boots clomping over to the door. He looked over to see Nyma, one of his favorite models to work with, storming out.

“I just can’t work with that new guy! He’s the fucking worst. Takes all the damn spotlight and then has the gall to act like he doesn’t know. Dick.” She practically was growling as she left.

Lance raised an eyebrow at Allura. She sighed. “Fine, she’s right. He’s a dick.”

“I’ll take care of it, Llura,” Lance promised. “This is my collection. If there’s something majorly wrong, I’ve gotta fix it myself. You go deal with Hunk, I think I saw him crying over a wind machine in the room next door.” Allura looked relieved, nodding and walking toward the same exit Nyma had left through. Her tall white heels made delicate clacking noises as she left Lance to fend for himself.

Lance inhaled, straightening up and trying to summon the courage of a head designer. This was his first full collection with Altea designs. He was finally done with years of internships, assistant positions, and execution of others’ creative visions. Blue was supposed to be something revolutionary. Allura had assured him that it was unique, but not too bold for an upstart. Floating lines, dramatic blue shades, and sleek fabrics were all signatures of the original line. Lance was so proud of it.

He was not going to let some new model with an attitude ruin his blossoming career.

Lance walked over to the set to get a lay of the land. The set itself was gorgeous; it harkened back to the underwater setting it represented without being too literal, dark and moody in some shots while light and ethereal in other places. Currently, three models were being photographed; Rolo was on the right, laid back with an open shirt, and on the left was Romelle, her skirt dazzling as she moved it around her legs between shutter clicks.

But—

And yes, there was a but—

The model in the center captivated all the attention. Whoever had given him Lance’s favorite pieces from the line was cruel. The dark-haired model was wearing a low-cut black top that rippled out into open, wide sleeves. His bottoms were dark blue and black, Lance’s take on a cross between a skirt and pants. Something that blurred the lines of gender. Even his boots were sexy. Lance wanted to cry.

Then, he saw the problem. Rolo and Romelle were mirroring each other and the energy they’d been told to capture. They were flowing, soft and gentle, shifting naturally from movement to movement.

The middle man was not at all in sync with them. He was dynamic. He was sharp. He snapped between poses, turning his head in a challenging manner or flexing his hand as if he was missing unseen action. It was not what Lance had asked for.

Fuck, it was better.

“Hey,” Lance turned to the photography director on set. “Call cut. Who’s that guy in the middle?”

“Keith.”

“Get him over here.”

The man nodded. Immediately, Romelle and Rolo gravitated toward one another. The other guy tried to stick to the side, until he was pulled over by an intern.

He strode up to Lance with a raised eyebrow, his hands stuffed in the pockets of Lance’s outfit. “You wanted to see me?”

“Hi. Lance. Lance McClain.” Lance stuck his hand out for Keith to shake, eyes trailing the low cut of Keith’s shirt for a moment before snapping up awkwardly. Keith didn’t seem to notice and shook his hand. His palms were rougher than expected for a model, but Lance found that he didn’t mind.

“What do you need?”

“I’m the designer of the line,” Lance explained slowly. Understanding dawned on Keith’s face. He hadn’t even known who Lance was. “I just heard you were having problems with the other models and, well, I can see why.” Keith seemed to bristle, crossing his arms over his chest (which Lance mourned his view of).

“Hm.”

“You don’t match the other models. You aren’t even following the directions you were given. Have you done this before?”

Anger ignited in Keith’s eyes, and he sneered up at Lance. “Well, aren’t you a nice guy?”

Lance grinned in response, which only seemed to irk Keith more. “You know what? I don’t care. Whatever this angsty rage bullshit attitude is, I like it better on this line than what I originally imagined. You added something here, captured a different part of the story.” Lance’s grin only widened as Keith’s confusion grew.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the new face of the collection. I’m giving you solo shots. A bigger role. I don’t care that you don’t work well with that other flouncy, pretty image of this collection. You’re showing my new angle: the untameable nature of the depths.” Lance’s eyes were practically sparkling with each word.

Keith still wasn’t relaxed, just a little less outright aggressive. He slowly nodded. “Fine? I guess I'll do it.” Clearly, he was mostly confused, his gaze darting up and down as if still taking in Lance's sudden appearance.

Lance made a short, quick clap. “Great. I’ll talk to the directors, get a new spot on the set, and an intern will grab a few more outfits for rotation.” He smirked, doing a quick once over of Keith one last time. “Seems like we’ll be working more closely for a few weeks.”

He turned on his heel, not bothering to wait for Keith's reaction.

Shit, this was going to be fun.

[harleykeeners]

#LOSINGMYSHIT

[bluemantics]

Something in the way Lance takes care of Keith’s hair that’s so utterly romantic. He braids it when he's stressed and needs something to fidget with. He washes it when Keith is debilitated by a nightmare, gentle fingers massaging his scalp. He pulls it into a ponytail for Keith when he’s about to start work on his bike and forgot that he needed to have it away from his face. He uses Keith's hair to guide him into a kiss. God, he pretended he hated that mullet, but now it’s become one of his favorite things about Keith, some tangible way of showing him how much he matters.

[harleykeeners]

oh this one.

[bluemantics]

Everyone knows Keith is an adrenaline seeker. He’s the poster child for jumping into a reckless situation, fire at his back and danger at his front, a blazing comet that won’t let anything stop his path.

What people don’t realize is that Lance is cut from the same cloth. It wouldn’t be a proper rivalry if it wasn’t interesting, if Lance couldn’t rise to Keith’s raging passion. If Keith is a blaze through the night sky, Lance is a tsunami, a buildup of deep-sea pressure before a volcanic eruption.

He’s felt this way long before Voltron. When he was a kid, he desperately yearned for the feeling of a plane landing. While most gripped their armrests and sucked in a breath, he’d lean forward into the sensation, the bumpy tug at his heart as he floated for just a moment.

Maybe that was why he wanted to fly so badly.

He’d first flown on an airplane when he was 12. His mother had seen the starstruck look in his eyes, the way his hand itched as the plane took off. Helpless to stop him she’d instead directed him to the pilot, who gave him a junior pilot badge. God, Lance had been thrilled.

Voltron hadn’t done much to mitigate his desire for danger. If anything, it kept delivering thrills in small doses and then removing them, leaving him chasing something intangible.

He’d seen the fear flash in his teammate’s eyes when he pulled reckless stunts on those rare occasions he’d erupt. After a particularly dangerous one, Keith had even lectured him in front of the whole team. The irony of that hadn’t been lost on Lance. If only Keith knew the easiest way for Lance to chase that gut-swooping, all-consuming, addicting feeling was by chasing Keith himself.

Their push-pull dynamic electrified Lance from the inside out. Sometimes, getting a rise and a challenge out of a Keith was enough to satisfy the fire that tugged at Lance’s ribs. Occasionally even that wasn’t enough for him.

That’s how Lance found himself at Keith’s right hand, riding the comet’s tail. In some ways, Keith’s presence started to relax Lance’s relentless thrum. In others, it only worsened it. But unlike before, when he’d been blindly staggering after an intangible thing, Keith was perfectly solid and real.

Later, when the war ended, Lance was able to bask in their push-pull for what it really was: balance.

[harleykeeners]

#bluemanticasleavemtheartalone

[bluemantics]

Keith kisses Lance like he’s going to lose him, all passion and fear and urgency, until Lance presses a hand to his chest and gently separates them.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” Lance reminds him softly, words falling from his lips and settling in Keith’s anxious mind. “It’s okay to slow down.”

Keith looks away, embarrassed, but Lance captures his lips again and sets the pace. This time, it’s slow, a tide lapping at a shore, their hands cradling each other. Lance smiles into the kiss. Keith finds he doesn’t mind slowing down for once.

[harleykeeners]

#soimgonnaloveyouuuu #likeimgonnaloseeeyouuuu

[harleykeeners]

#KAISER: Dumbass, come here.

#ISAGI: okay.

#NESS, happily skipping: Coming Kaiser~!

#ISAGI:…. I thought I was dumbass?

[harleykeeners]

caught red handed

Oceans 9-1-1 Rewrite. In which Buck and Eddie have been secretly together for months, and are found out in the worst way possible.

-

Eddie knew his week would be screwed the second the cops stormed into the station and pulled the duffle bags filled with money out of the truck. The way Bobby froze in place and Chim’s jaw fell on the floor told Eddie that they were in big trouble. Immediately, the air tensed and he canceled every plan for the week. Everyone began asking questions no one knew the answers to and they were all frustrated. Bobby called the shift early and sent them all home. 

More under cut

With the stress of the day and the call itself, Eddie swings his arm over Buck’s shoulder, their quiet signal that Eddie is taking him home. Buck relaxes under his touch and lets his head drop onto Eddie’s shoulder. With a holler and a wave, they pile into Eddie’s pick-up. “That did not just happen,” Buck mutters as he drops his head on the dashboard and groans. “How the hell did it even end up there?” Eddie doesn’t answer as he shifts the gear to reverse and begins backing out from the driveway. 

The drive is quiet, Buck staring out the window as Eddie places a comforting hand on Buck’s thigh. In moments like this, after a stressful call, they always go home with each other. It takes more willpower than they have to not rush into each other's arms after a frightening save. So, they go home and spend time together in the privacy of their own homes. Right now, Eddie doesn’t want to stop touching Buck. The heat of his presence is enough to ground him in this situation. With a squeeze of his thigh, Buck moves Eddie’s hand to hold his own, squeezing back letting him know he’s right here. 

Silence is often just what they need after a call, and right now they couldn’t be more grateful Chris was at a sleepover. Immediately, Buck chases after Eddie’s touch, tender and searching. Eddie reciprocates, reminding himself that whatever happened today was a mistake, that there is no way any of them are capable of such a plot. Eddie’s fingers find Buck’s hair and he relaxes at the feeling of the blonde locks. “Wanna head to bed?” Eddie whispers. Sometimes, they get lost in each other to escape whatever terror awaits them outside. Right now, that monster is the LAPD and a whole lot of paperwork. “Yeah,” Bucks answers, “I could use some time with you in bed after today.” It isn’t meant to sound crass and Eddie chuckles. With a kiss pressed against his temple, Eddie goes to run a shower while Bucks gets a snack from the kitchen. 

In the boiling water, Eddie allows his body to decompress. His anxiety washes away with the shampoo running down his face and he takes a deep breath. He scrubs away the day and allows his mind to wander. All he knows is that his coworkers made it out of the bank safe and that Buck is safe. Which is all he is currently concerned with. 

Stepping out of the shower he doesn’t bother getting dressed past his boxers. After the day he’s had, he can’t find the energy. He finds Buck at the counter eating some dry cereal and holds his waist as he rests his head on the crook of his shoulder. “What’s going through your mind?” Eddie waits as the crease in Buck’s brow deepens. “There’s no way it could have been one of us. It just doesn’t make sense. Hen was unconscious the entire time in the vault, Chim can attest as he was watching the cam. We were with the drills, and so was Bobby. Everyone working is our alibi, so how did it end up in the truck?” Buck rants as Eddie massages his hips. He knows Buck tends to overthink, so with a kiss to the nape of his neck, Eddie says, “You think too much. We were set up, and that's for the cops to solve, not us. Let's go to bed.” 

Buck lets out a soft laugh, “You’re evil…” Eddie plays innocent, knowing full well that the hands on his hips get Buck feeling a certain way. “No, maybe I’m just trying to get you to go to bed with me.” He doesn’t need to clarify and Buck happily smiles and turns to face him. Sometimes Eddie forgets he can do this, he can have Buck. That within these four walls, they don’t have to put on an act. Eddie doesn’t have to be conscious of his every move, notice where his hands are, or even worry about the pet names that slip from his mouth. At home, he can love Buck freely. No wondering eyes or HR rules are stopping him from consuming the man he’s been infatuated with for years. Maybe they’re more eager since years of yearning finally climaxed a few months ago and now Eddie has the privilege to call Buck his.

Seeing Buck in his bed under his crappy bedroom lighting has soon become Eddie’s favorite sight. So when Buck pulls away from his lips and flashes that smile at him, batting his eyes and pulling his shirt off, Eddie forgets about the call. Instead, he focuses on the man underneath him and chooses to lose himself. 

As the door gets slammed, the seconds of silence as Detective Wash and Mercer impatiently await an answer seem to stretch till eternity. They had just returned from Athena’s residency, and while she had been expecting them, she assured them that the others wouldn’t. Currently, they are at the home of Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz. Wash and Mercer had just sent two teams to the Han and Buckley residence, hoping to get to the bottom of this heist quickly. 

In a panicked movement, the door opens, and Edmundo awkwardly sticks his head out the door. Wash notices that he looks disheveled and that’s fair, it is 1 A.M., and they probably woke him up. Before he can even open his mouth, Mercer presents the search warrant and the team pushes past him and enters the home. “Hey! What the hell is going on?” Eddie shouts as Wash turns the lights on and directs officers into various rooms. Mercer barks orders, speaking over and ignoring Eddie’s complaint. 

“You can’t seriously have enough plausible clause for a warrant?” he shouts. Wash shrugs, “Believe it or not, the court granted it. We’re going to need you to turn in all electronic devices on the premises Mr. Diaz.” It’s the first time Wash truly looks at Eddie and realizes he’s clinging onto a blanket around his torso with his chest bare. Well, it is the middle of the night, he’s caught people in worse situations.

The orders were to be as thorough and quick as possible, regardless of the mess left behind. Wash barks orders to flip every surface and take any electronics they see. Cabinets are pulled open and the clink of plates and cups are heard ringing through the house.

Just as he sees a team go into a hallway, he hears a scream. Ears perk up as every officer drops what they're doing. Wash notices, and he and Mercer dash to the scream, following the noise to a bedroom. Officers follow behind Wash and they enter the open room where other officers are and what they see leaves them surprised. In the bedroom, three officers surround the bed as a man is frantically screaming. “Eddie, what the fuck is going on?” Wesh immediately recognizes the man as another one of their suspects: Evan Buckley. He makes a mental note to check on the officers at the Buckley home since they probably got no answer. Once again, the firefighter is frantically covering himself with the bed sheets, and Wesh isn’t dense. The flashlights pointed at Buckley illuminate the red on his neck. 

“They have a warrant,” is all Eddie says as he picks up some sweats and a hoodie the officers have thrown on the floor. He can’t be bothered to care about decency and gets dressed in the room. “They’re going to flip the place inside out, and they’re taking our phones,” Eddie angrily says. Buck is left with a shocked and angry face, but before he can speak Eddie throws him some clothes off the floor. “Get dressed, before they take all our clothes.” Buck laughs, “They wouldn’t.” He’s met with a stone glare as he looks at Mercer and Wesh. They signal to the officers to keep moving. “You can’t be serious,” he huffs as he frantically puts on a shirt and gets out of bed. 

“Detective, this can’t be real. You don’t think anyone in our department did this,” Buck says as he rapidly puts on a shirt and some pants and battles the sheets he’s tangled in. “Your team was the one on the call, with the money in the truck, in the safe the diamonds went missing in. Doesn’t seem like an unlikely conclusion does it, Buckley?” Wesh says as he watches the officers pull books off the shelves and flip cushions off the sofa. Cabinets are swung open and Tupperware is thrown all over the floors. Eddie and Buck get the feeling they were told to be as messy as possible. Typical red vs blue behavior. 

“You two are coming down to the station with me. We have some questions for you,”  Mercer says as she rudely leads the men out of the house and into the squad car. Buck sends a desperate look at Eddie, and he can’t fight the instinct to pull him in his arms. So he doesn’t, and he holds Buck close in the backseat of the squad car, whispering comforting nothing into his ears. He feels Buck’s head fall onto his shoulder. He looks over to see the blonde blinking slowly, the sirens illuminating his face in a soft haze. Buck looks stressed, and knowing him, he’s probably thinking about the others, not even worried about himself. Eddie runs a hand in his hair and presses a soft kiss to his temple with a whisper, “It’ll be okay.” 

The station is cold and the lighting is sterile. They are rudely seated and Mercer and Wesh stand menacingly in front of them. Eddie doesn’t let go of Buck, holding him as close as possible to his heart. “Mr. Diaz, I’ll start with you,” Wesh says as she begins to lead him to an interrogation room. Eddie kisses Buck quickly before following Wesh and sees Mercer take Buck to another room. As he sits at the table, he realizes he should have picked better clothes, the station is freezing. 

“Mr. Diaz, where were you at the time of the heist?” Mercer asks. She wastes no time and Eddie gets the feeling it will be a long night. “What have you deemed the time of the heist?” he asks. Eddie isn’t willing to give any confusion that could be used against him. 

“We’ve deemed the diamonds were stolen at around 22:30 P.M. The money, however, could have been at any time.” Eddie sighs, knowing they have no idea what they are talking about. “At 10, you would have found me giving medical attention to the victims inside the vault.” 

“And you sure you weren’t using that time to steal the diamonds?” “Yes, you can ask Hen, she can tell you I was taking her vitals alongside Chimmeny.”

“And who’s to say they wouldn't lie?” Eddie laughs, “The 118 aren’t liars.” 

And the air tensed, and Eddie saw a smirk cross her face. “So you and Mr.Buckley over there aren’t lying to them? I mean if you’re willing to lie about a relationship to people you’ve, on the record, called your family, who's to say the rest of them  aren't capable of lying.” 

“My relationship doesn’t concern this,” he seethes. What he and Buck have is between the two, alone. No one bears the right to know of the secret smiles and glances Eddie steals from Buck and cherishes. No one bears the right to know how Buck lights up when Eddie whispers “Evan” under his breath as he holds him close. No one bears the right to know the special moments Eddie cherishes.

“Oh, but it does Mr. Diaz. When you’re willing to lie to your coworkers about something as trivial as a relationship, who's to say you aren’t willing to lie to law enforcement?” 

As Bucks sits at the table, Wesh sizes him up. Buck feels small and is quietly counting down the seconds till this is over. “So, would you like to explain why we found you in Mr. Diaz’s residence?” The question catches Buck off guard, “He’s my friend, after last night I didn’t want to be alone.”

Wesh sighs and looks hard at Buck, “Mr. Buckley, it’s best you not lie to me.” Buck tenses up, “I’m not lying, sir.” With a grunt, Merce asks, “So who gave you those marks on your neck?” Buck brings his hand up to cover the marks, and Wesh realizes he got him.

“You two are more than friends and are already lying for each other. How do I know you two didn’t plot this whole thing together and lie to your team? Clearly, you both already have experience conspiring together and lying to them. This shouldn't have been too hard for you two.” 

Maybe it's a choice of word that enrages Buck that he says, “What Eddie and I are doing isn’t conspiring. Our relationship is between us.” 

“So you admit you two are in a relationship?” Wesh asks. 

“Yeah, so what?” Buck doesn’t see the point of this. He’s tired, he’s angry, and he misses Eddie. 

“So you’re both just lying to your coworkers and your departments as you know that not notifying them is a violation of contract.”

Buck freezes, and realizes he messed up. “What does who I’m dating have to do with the diamonds?” 

“Shows your character. You’re willing to lie to your coworkers, whom you’ve called family, and your department for something as trivial as a relationship. So lying to law enforcement about stealing $6 million in diamonds with your boyfriend shouldn’t be out of the question.” 

Rages flashes before Buck’s eyes and he has to remind himself to take a deep breath. “First of all, what we have isn’t trivial. And second of all, we do plan to tell them, we’re just getting our footing first. Technically, we only need to notify our departments if it gets serious. Which, hopefully, it will but not now. That doesn’t prove that we’d be willing to pull something off like this. Keeping a relationship quiet is much different than stealing millions in diamonds.”

“No, but it shows you two are more than capable. Why wouldn’t you want to steal the diamonds? I know a wedding can be expensive, much more if you two plan to buy a home together in L.A. Some diamonds could really help.” Buck flushes at the implication he and Eddie will get married, while also processing how insulting that statement truly is. 

Just like Wesh, Mercer is drilling into Eddie. “You have a son, right?” She asks as Eddie clutches his fists. He’s tired, he’s cold, and he wants to go back to bed. He doesn’t dignify her with a verbal response but just nods. “I know how expensive they can be. Especially with chronic illness. Being a parent isn’t cheap, much less in L.A. Diamonds wouldn’t hurt.” 

Eddie is offended she would even insinuate something like that. “Listen, I get by. My retirement from the military helps with my bills and my job gives pretty good benefits. I work full-time and make do.” 

“And I’d assume having a partner also helps,” she says as if it’s something Eddie should be ashamed of. “Yes, it does. He helps when I need it and we’re lucky to never be short. We don’t need the diamonds,” Eddie angrily says. He doesn’t understand why he’s still sitting here. “We’re both veterans so our benefits still roll in and the department takes care of its employees.”

“You say you were both on the drills, opening the vault. Did you know that your Captain left to make a phone call? So, who’s to say you two didn’t take advantage of your moment alone to sneak the diamonds?” 

Eddie laughs, “I’m flattered you think Buck and I would take advantage of a moment like that. In reality, we didn’t notice and were still working. Had we noticed, then-“ 

“You two you would have stolen the diamonds,” Mercer rudely cuts him off. “No, we probably would have made out. You see, while I’m flattered, Buck and I aren’t sophisticated enough to pull off something like this.”

“Are you calling your partner stupid?” 

“If that proves his innocence then, yes. Yes, Evan Buckley is too stupid for this.” 

Buck is so tired he’s struggling to keep his head afloat. “Says here you were in the SEALs.” There’s no question, just a statement. Buck looks wearily at Wesh, a sense of nausea coming up his stomach. Buck only nods.

“So you and your boyfriend are both in the military?” 

“Were. We’re retired. Different branches.” Buck already knows what’s coming up. “So two veterans don’t know how to pull off a heist? A SEAL no less?” 

He huffs and crosses his arms, “Sorry, but larceny wasn’t exactly what they taught us at basic. Maybe in the Air Force, they’re the intelligent ones. But not in the Army or Navy. For us, it was more like folding your bed a certain way and shooting to kill. Sorry to disappoint,” Buck says and by that question, he’s done. 

“Look, if you have nothing of value to ask me, I’d like to go. It’s late, and I wish to be with my partner and sleep this horrible night off. Check the cameras again on the side of the bank, you’ll notice Eddie and I never left our post at the drill. Once it was open, I reloaded the drill and Eddie was providing medical care. Ask anyone who was there, and look at the cameras, they are our alibi. So if you’re just going to keep and ask me pointless questions while making insulting assumptions about my life, then I’d like to go,” Buck takes a deep breath as he gets up. 

“You’ve already insulted my relationship, my career, and my character. I don’t know what more you have left,” Buck says as he looks Wesh in the eye, and silently tells the man he is leaving. No debate about it. 

As he opens the door in the interrogation room, he can’t help the snarky remark that comes from his throat, “And you’re welcome for all my service.” 

The hallway is cold and busy. Several detectives moved bags of evidence that Buck recognizes as Bobby’s phone and Maddie’s laptop. He’s irritated and frankly, the level of insult he’s feeling would be dangerous to vocalize. However, it slightly simmers when he finally sees Eddie walk out. 

He sprints to him and wraps his arms around him. For the sake of holding him close and feeling his body heat, Evan melts into Edmundo. They don’t say anything, throats dry from the hour-long interrogations. Instead, Eddie looks into Buck’s eyes and the anger fades away, replaced by a longing. A longing to be safe, to be held, to be home. With a soft kiss to his temple, a phone light illuminates Buck’s face as Eddie dials to call an Uber. 

“Do you think they went to your sister’s house?” Buck says as they sit outside the station, watching the few cars drive by. “I hope not,” Eddie answers, grasping at Buck’s hand as they hold each other present. “No reason to go after anyone outside of the department,” Buck mumbles as he rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “You think they already brought the others in?” Eddie whispers. 

The sound of a car wakes Buck from his nap. As they pile into the Uber, Buck snuggles into Eddie’s side, wanting to hide away from the world. The drive is quiet, it’s nearing 3 A.M. The cops have finally left their house, leaving the street empty and blissful. 

Opening the door greets them to the disaster left behind, however the two men are too tired to even care. Awkwardly clearing a path over the books and papers thrown across the floor, they make their way to the bedroom. 

Bucks the first to hit the bed as he collapses at the mere sight of it. With a quiet beg and a gesture, Eddie follows suit. Cuddling into his warmth, Buck mumbles, “Do you think any of us really did do it?” 

Eddie looks at him, pretends to think for a moment, then says, “No. I don’t think so. But, the cops were right,”  This catches Buck’s attention. “For you, I’d lie to the cops if it meant keeping you safe.”

[harleykeeners]

how can I fear any hurricane? (my life was a storm since I was born)

Evan Buckley has always dealt with big emotions. However, none on the positive scale. Maybe for once something will change. 

-

Evan Buckley could count the number of people he’s felt truly loved by on one hand. His most confident one was easily Maddie, followed by Bobby, Christopher, and Jee. He noticed how half of that list consisted of people without fully developed frontal lobes, and he fears it would be shortened once the children came of age. He was too young to remember Daniel, but he likes to think he would have loved his older brother, however, that isn’t enough evidence to be added to the list. So for now, Evan Buckley is loved by four people. He notes how his parents should be on that list. Key word: should. The sinking realization he had when his mother looked at him with such disgust at Maddie’s dinner table quickly removed both of them from his mental list. A thick black line crossed over their names. He tries to not eat off Maddie’s table anymore, the mood sours the food. 

More under cut

Of course, the 118 loves him, however it often feels conditional. When Buck messes up, he feels like a wounded dog being called bad. Sometimes, he feels like he isn’t allowed to make mistakes with them. His rationale doesn’t allow him to believe that many people could love him, it isn’t right. The 118 care for him, they like him, but Buck doesn’t think they love him. At least, not in the way his list of four do.

Previous relationships were nothing past the surface for Buck. An attempt was made with Abby, but that resulted in him being left high and dry, forcing himself to stare through glass doors at the airport, watching her walk out of his life with nothing in her heart for him. 

He was told ‘never to cross the glass doors.’ He still hasn’t. 

Evan Buckley had since then given up the idea that he was lovable. It was different with children, different with Christopher and Jee. To them, Buck was a superhero. They were too young to carry his baggage, to see the scars littered across his chest and heart, and too young to see him for the broken man he pretends not to be. Buck loves them both, but the fear that one day they will truly see him frightens him. 

That is what Evan Buckley has told himself. That is what Evan Buckley knows to be true. That is what Evan Buckley believed… until Tommy kissed him in his kitchen. 

“Are you with me?” a voice asks as it snaps him back to the present. In the darkness, illuminated by only a bedside lamp, Tommy lays on his side, hand resting softly against Buck’s cheek, cradling his face. “You went somewhere, just now.” 

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around what you just said,” Buck whispers, words only for him and Tommy to hear. He’s never felt so warm, so close, so safe. It’s such a 180 from his previous relationships. Buck equates some of that to the fact that this is his first time with a man, but it goes deeper than that. Right here, with Tommy, feels different than the rest. He’s always known that. From the moment Tommy first kissed him, Buck knew it would be different. 

“Did I say it too soon?” Tommy says, and Buck stops thinking to study his face. Chiseled, and strong, with his stubble that pokes the pillow Buck can’t help but be mesmerized by him. Was this what it felt like, to be held? Buck wouldn’t know, no one had ever wrapped their arms around him and told him he was safe. He’s been that person for many people, but sometimes a man wants to fall apart. 

Buck often wants to fall apart.

“Did I ever tell you about my brother?” he asks, avoiding Tommy’s question. “I thought it was just you and Maddie?” Buck shakes his head and breathes as he repositions himself between Tommy’s arms. He doesn’t even have to ask as Tommy wraps his biceps around his chest, placing his hands over his heart. 

“He died before I could remember him.” Tommy tightens his grip around him, securing him in bed. “I never knew about him till a few years ago. Turns out it was cancer,” he stops. That word, cancer, makes the situation all the more real. Not some blaze of glory death like a lighting strike or meteor ball, but the slow painful thief of life that Buck couldn’t stop. He doesn’t know why he’s telling Tommy this, he just wants to. It’s not him looking for pity, or words of comfort. He just wants Tommy to know everything he can about him, because selfishly, Buck wants the same. The good, the bad, the nightmares that haunt him, Buck wants to hold Tommy’s heart and soul in his hands. 

Not many people know about Daniel, none of his exes do, and maybe that’s why he wants to tell Tommy. He wants this to be different. He wants it to count. 

“Do you miss him?” Tommy asks, making Buck think. Can he miss someone he didn’t know? Was it possible? He recalls how Bobby often misses God, so it must be. “Sometimes. I think so. When I was struck by lightning last year, my coma left me in this weird dream, almost like a parallel universe,” now he can’t shut his mouth. Not even Bobby knows about it, but something about the low glow of the lamp and Tommy’s cologne that lingers on the sheets makes Buck want to spill his guts.  “It was all kinds of messed up, but the one thing that brought me joy was seeing my brother. He was all grown up and…” his voice cracks a little. 

‘This is so stupid’, he thinks. ‘Tommy does not want to hear about my dead brother right now. I need to stop avoiding the elephant in the room’

“Did it make you happy to see him?” Forcing his voice to straighten out, Buck lets out a shaky breath as he looks up at Tommy and sees him actively listening. “Yeah, it did. It felt like I had someone who truly loved me. I know it sounds weird, but I’m not close with my family, aside from Maddie,” “That’s not weird,” he feels Tommy’s voice get closer as he nuzzles his face into the crook of Buck’s neck. God, everything about him consumes Buck. He never wants him to let go.

“It sounds like you haven’t always had it easy,” Tommy says between kisses on Buck’s shoulders and neck. “But I meant what I said,” the kisses stop and Buck is spun around to face Tommy. “I love you, every part of you,” he pauses and looks at Buck, truly looking at him for a minute before saying, “and whatever baggage you're willing to let me carry for you, I will.”  

‘It’s too much’, Buck thinks. However, when in his life is it not? He’s never had it easy, he doesn’t think he ever will. Since he could walk, Buck’s life has been nothing short of a storm. He can barely count the number of people who love him  and he has much less wins in his arsenal as well. So maybe, just this once, he shouldn't be afraid. This feeling, this ever-consuming feeling he gets when he hears Tommy speak, will never go away. He doesn’t want it to, it’s for once something he wishes to hold. Looking at his eyes, then down to his lips, Buck tries to reciprocate. The kiss is softer than usual, tender in ways unfamiliar to Buck. Unfamiliar but not unwanted. 

“No one’s ever offered that before,” he says. “Then let me be your first and last, because you are something I’m sure about you,” Tommy says, pressing another kiss to his lips in a manner somehow more gentle than before. Buck wants to cry. 

Halfway through another kiss, Buck realizes he should probably answer him. “I love you, too.” Maybe it’s not as scary as he thinks. His list grows to five.

[harleykeeners]

romantic homicide

Chigiri misses who Kunigami used to be, however he won’t dismiss who he is now. The muscle freak that returned from the Wild Card that left him speechless, rendered Chigiri frozen and forced him to re-evaluate why the sight wounded him so much. He just wants his hero back.

-

They had fallen into an awkward silence. It was late, and Chigiri was getting ready to work on his leg that was cramping up after the match against Bastard München, when he noticed Kunigami was getting a few extra sets in. Chigiri has requested to visit the German stadium to spend more time with Isagi and learn what he could, he hadn’t expected to run into Kunigami off the field. They haven’t spoken one-on-one since the second selection, but something about the hero has changed. Everyone sensed it the moment he walked through. The Wild Card, Ego called him. There was nothing Wild about him in Chigiri’s eyes, just a hollow shell of someone he knew. If anything, he was more like the Joker in Chigiri’s eyes, because that's what he saw. A joke Renuske Kunigami would have put in his place on the first day. 

More under cut

“Kunigami, what happened in the Wild Card round?’ Chigiri whispers softly, looking through his locks at Kunigami. He’s settled on the gym floor, some feets away from Kunigami who is cleaning up. Bachira and Isagi had just gone back to the dining room in their respective stadiums, but Chigiri stayed behind.

“Why do you want to know? To get ahead? I don’t need to tell you shit,” Kunigami barks back, rolling his shoulders as he dabs off the sweat with a towel. The gym is dark, given that it’s late and everyone was told to get some rest before their next match in the Neo Egoist League. 

The statement is cold and not something the hero would have ever said before. It wounds Chigiri, to think that Kunigami perceives him as some selfish bastard. He can understand it for Barou, Rin, and maybe even Isagi. But himself? Chigiri doesn’t think he's that selfish. As the thought crosses his mind, he pauses. 

No, he is. It’s Blue Lock, they are all selfish bastards. But Chigiri isn’t cruel.

“To get ahead? That’s not who I am, I don’t care about that when I ask-”

“You should,” it's sharp and cutting. By this point, Kunigami has finished getting cleaned in the gym. Whipping down the equipment and completing his stretching, he looks down at Chigiri on the floor with his mat. Before the second selection, Kunigami would offer to help Chigiri, at the minimum sit next to him. They would talk, complain, or just sit in silence. They would exist together. 

He remains standing above him. Looking down at him, like he was beneath him. 

“Isagi told me about the Bastard München placement training, how they determined the starters and collected data,” he says, rolling out his calf first. Chigiri is staring at the ground, focusing on making sure the mat does not slip from beneath him. He knows Kunigami is still there. Whatever Ego put him through, surely didn’t change that much at least. He hopes.

“Told me you placed 3rd, outperformed one of the starters,” he continued. “I’m asking you again, what happened during the Wild Card round?” Pulling his hair back, he looks up at Kunigami. 

His face is hardened, his eyes are darkened, and his eye bags have never looked worse. He looks like a corpse of his former self, only evolved in every physical aspect. A fallen angel, Chigiri thinks best describes him. Fallen from grace and had his own nature weaponized against him. He can’t really blame him, Blue Lock is a dog-eat-dog world. Kunigami did what he had to do in order to keep his dream in tack. 

Chigiri just wished his dream didn't have to die in the process. His dream of Kunigami, of the man he was. He looked up to him, truly. Even when he would stay quiet and in his own world, he would always tune in whenever Isagi and Kunigami spoke. The way he maintained himself, conducted his behavior, and believed in fairness. It was admirable, especially in Blue Lock.   

With a click of his tongue, Kunigami concludes this entire conversation is beneath him. He gathers his water bottle and begins to head out when he stops in his tracks. 

“You completely ghosted me after the second selection. What happened to you?” It's a desperate plea, one he's never heard from Chigiri. The speedster was never the type to beg, so the sorrow in his voice struck something in Kunigami. Turning on his heel, he meets Chigiri’s eyes, and sees the aching in them. 

Renuske Kunigami has changed. He is not the same man he was when he arrived at Blue Lock. “I did what I had to do in order to survive. Now piss off,” he bites as he turns to leave. 

“Oh fuck off,” Chigiri finally snaps, sick of it. “I’m so tired of your attitude of being above everyone else. Tough shit, you're still here, huh? You don’t just get to sit there and ignore me like we weren’t…” The words die on his tongue because what were they? It was something Chigiri never quite figured out. Yes, he knew what he wanted them to be, but your dreams are vastly different from reality. Blue Lock taught him that. 

“Weren’t what?” Kunigami asks, still by the door, gripping onto the frame, but not looking back at Chigiri. That seemed to strike a chord in him, and Chigiri had a shimmer of hope left. 

“You know what…” he sighs, continuing to roll out his leg. This was not the way he wanted the conversation to go, especially not with the cameras he knew were recording. Realistically, this wouldn't be shown, but Chigiri has stopped trying to understand Ego’s methods. 

“Don’t know the fuck you’re talking about,” its quiet and a growl as Kunigami pulls the door open to leave.

“Rensuke,” by this point, Chigiri is standing. Giving up on his leg, he looks at Kunigami’s back, willing him to look back at him. “I told you I’d be waiting for you, and you still haven’t come back.”

“I’m fucking here, ain’t I?” Maybe it was the usage of his name, but Kunigami turns around and properly faces Chigiri now. “No, you’re not. I don’t recognize who is in front of me.” 

“Are you fucking blind? I don’t have time for this shit,” No, no. Chigiri refuses to let this conversation end. He’s spent so long in despair after seeing Shindou arrive and not Kunigami, he spent so long regretting his actions in the second selection that lead to him getting picked over Kunigami. He’s been tearing himself apart inside, battling from joy that he’s still standing in Blue Lock, and anguished Kunigami isn’t next to him. 

“In the back of my mind, I felt like I killed you… getting chosen.”

“Piss off, you weren’t responsible for my fate. I was weak, pathetic, and naive. I wasn’t going to make it in that state. I needed to change.”  That’s the most Kunigami has said to him since his return. It’s heartbreaking hearing him speak about himself, and Chigiri won’t stand for it. 

“I hate who I see in front of me,” he starts. “Yes, you’ve improved so much physically. You’re fucking ambidexterious now, wonderful! But Kunigami, you haven’t spoken to me since you came back. I’m so fucking sit of waiting patiently for someone that won’t even arrive at this point! What happened to the hero that was so righteous and fair? You evolved? Killed him?” 

He doesn’t realize when he walked over to Kunigami nor when he grabbed onto his shirt. He feels his hands shaking as they cling to the fabric, his voice following suit. 

“Fuck, I miss you,” it pains him to admit it, but it hurts so much more to not have Kunigami in his life. “I miss us, Rensuke,” Chigiri begs and maybe it's because it’s late or just the fact that it's Chigiri, does Kunigami turn to face him. 

There’s something shifting in the hero’s eyes, a glint of a light, and then in a moment, Kunigami collapses.

“I can’t keep doing this anymore…” with a sigh, he’s turning to leave. Something Chigiri said must have gotten to him, something must have broken through, and Chigiri has to follow. 

However, the sudden movement shocks and locks up his leg, dragging him back to the ground. 

“Chigiri! Are you okay?” On instinct, Kunigmai turns back to hold Chigiri. He’s crouched down next to him and is eyeing his leg with concern. 

“There you are,” it’s a breath Chigiri lets out, upon reflex once Rensuke touches his leg. His hands are calloused, more than he recalls. However, they’re gentle on his leg, tender. Kunigami holds his leg like he’s afraid he’ll break it. It should piss off Chigiri, he’s not some damsel in distress, but right now, he lets that feeling disappear. 

“Hi,” it's a soft breath that comes from Chigiri’s breath, and the tenderness of his tone brings a smile to Kunigami’s face. He releases his legs, and brushes Chigiri’s hair behind his ears. The action was so tender, something he used to do the first few days at Blue Lock. Something that makes Chigiri’s heart swell.

“What happened to you?” Chigiri turns his head so it’s in Kunigami’s hand, holding his face. The facade Kunigami has put up is starting to crack, and the question makes him turn away, but still holds Chigiri. “Look at me, please.” 

“You don’t wanna know,” Kunigmai says, but this time any edge to his voice is lost. It’s a genuine plea, and Chigiri isn’t cruel, he knows when to stop pushing. “Here, let me help with your leg. You haven’t gone through your stretching, right?” Of course Kunigami would have noticed. The minute Chigiri walked into the gym, Kunigami made a silent note of watching him. 

Because Resnuke Kunigami hasn’t changed. He’s the same man, but his bark is reactive to the Wild Card. He learned quickly that if he’s cruel and dismissive, similar to Rin, then others will leave him alone. Being an asshole and pushing others away gave him room to breathe after the round. If no one tried to speak to him, no one would try to ask. He didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t want to be asked about it.

But that was the thing that initially peaked his interest about Hyoma Chigiri, he was always surprised. From his speed on the field, his regard in his appearance, and his ability to catch Kunigmai off guard, he liked it. 

He liked Chigiri. Kunigami was man enough to admit that. He’s missed him, he’s missed talking to him after practice, sharing laughs with him, rolling out his leg, and brushing his hair. Fuck, he’s missed him so much. 

“What…were we?” Chigiri asks, always the bold one. Kunigmai runs his thumbs along his cheek bone, memorizing his face again. He’s missed holding his face, being close enough to share breaths. 

“I… I’m not sure. I know what I wanted us to be.,” Kunigami boldly says, hushed as he uses one of his hands to massage Chigiri’s knee. “I know I’ve been a raging dick, but my…” 

He takes a ragged breath in, and finally meets Chigiri’s eyes. Finally, does Chigiri recognize him. “My feelings for you haven’t changed…” 

There’s a bridge between them, one that used to be a mere step in distance and then turned into a mile. However right now, in the dimming lights of the gym, seated on the floor, in the middle of the night, does Chigiri feel that distance closing in. He’s aching for Kunigami, every minute he spent thinking he got eliminated was suffocating. He thought that he had lost him before they had gotten time to explore whatever this was. So, once he saw Kunigami walk back through those doors, he vowed he wouldn’t let him slip through his fingers again. However, the Kunigami that came back wasn’t the same, at least not on the outside. But right now, the Kunigami holding his face like he’s precious, is his Kunigami. 

“Hyoma,” Kunigami just whispers his name, and suddenly both of their lips close the distance between them. Cradling his face, Kunigami runs a finger along Chigiri’s lips, brushing his hair behind his ears. Reflectively, Hyoma clings to Rensuke. He brings his hands up to rest on his shoulders, much wider than he remembered, but firm nonetheless. Rensuke’s hand on Hyoma’s knees makes comforting circles around it, massaging it gently to relieve some of the tension. The action is so kind, that Hyoma cries into the kiss, quickly consumed by Rensuke’s tongue. The hand on his knee travels up to his thigh, providing a grounding squeeze and tracing imaginary shapes. 

The bridge between them is closed, evident in how they are one on the gym floor. They couldn't care less about the cameras in the facilities, it was the last thing on their mind. Right now, they were killing the space between them. Hyoma was killing the facade Kunigami brought back, and was pulling Rensuke back to the forefront. As the facade crumbled, the kiss became evidence of the man Hyoma knew Rensuke to be: delicate, gentle, and tender. There is no battle for dominance, no roughness or bitting, just a desperate need to connect. 

At some point, the hand on Hyoma’s thigh makes it up to his waist, and soon he feels his back hit the floor. It’s not rough, the hand on his face cradles the impact and he allows himself to hold the back of Rensuke’s neck. The hand on his waist continues to trace shapes on it, slipping underneath his shirt. It’s still so gentle, it makes Hyoma whine. This is the Rensuke he remembers, this is the one he wants. Not the beast that came back, ripped and lacking empathy. No, but the one that is gentle, loving, and holding him on the ground and kissing him with a reverence Hyoma has never experienced. 

He’s a gentleman, Hyoma notices. And he tastes like tangerines. 

“I’m happy you’re back,” he pulls apart to tell Rensuke. 

“I never left you,” Rensuke tells him, capturing his lips once more.

[cinnabarfangs]

THE DATE!! ITS HAPPENING EVERYBODY STAY FUCKING CALM ‼️‼️‼️