Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So this work is just a compilation of AU one-shots; most were inspired by either Toni's art or just popular Halloween costumes. I will try to get all completed and posted by Halloween!

Ok, so here is what you can expect, but I'm open to suggestions! (just might be posted later) Also, these aren't in any particular order.

Halloween AU’s: 

• Witch x Werewolf
• Pirate x Mermaid
• Cupid 
• Elf x Barbarian
• Firefighter x Cop
• Vampire x Werewolf
• Knight x Damsel in Distress
• Spider-Man

Chapter Text

The forest outside Osora’s cottage was wet with morning dew, the kind that clung to spiderwebs and leaves. The air smelled of moss and mint. Somewhere in the trees, birds were beginning to stir — soft, tentative chirps echoing through the clearing.

Osora knelt in the garden, fingers buried in the soil. When they finished, they brushed the dirt off their palms and sat back on their heels. The sage looked healthier now, its leaves dark and full. They reached for the watering can just as a branch cracked behind the treeline.

Osora turned, brows knitting. The forest went quiet.

Then came heavy footsteps, quick and uneven.

“Arias?”

Before they could stand, the brush parted — and there he was. Arias stepped into the clearing with a deer slung across his shoulders. His hair stuck up in all directions, damp with sweat, and dirt streaked his skin.

“Osora!” he called, grinning. “Look what I caught.”

Osora blinked. “And look what you’re dripping on my garden.”

Arias froze. Blood from the deer was already spattering across the herbs. “Ah—right. Sorry. I got excited.”

“Excited enough to ruin my thyme?”

He gave a sheepish laugh, shifting the deer higher on his shoulder. “I’ll clean it up.”

Osora sighed, trying not to smile. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“You love me,” he said automatically, tail flicking behind him.

Osora rolled their eyes, standing. “Put it by the trees. Not on the sage. Please.”

Arias obeyed, setting the deer down on a patch of grass. When he straightened, he wiped his brow and glanced toward Osora, who was inspecting the garden like they were checking for battle damage.

He couldn’t help smiling. Even annoyed, they were beautiful — long wavy hair catching the sunlight, dirt on their hands, the faint smell of eucalyptus in the air.

Osora caught him staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, though his grin stayed. “You’re just as pretty as the plants you grow.”

Osora raised a brow, unaffected. “You always this poetic when you’re covered in blood?”

“Only when I’m trying to impress you.”

“You don’t have to try so hard,” they said, softer now. Then they turned toward the cottage. “Go wash up. You’re not coming in like that.”

Arias chuckled, brushing his hands on his pants. “Yes, sir.”

By the time he came inside, the cottage smelled warm — herbs, smoke, something sweet. Osora stood by the stove, stirring a pot, hair tied back with a cord, and a few loose strands falling near their cheek.

Arias leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “You know,” he said, “I think you might be part witch, part angel—”

“Hungry?” Osora interrupted without looking up.

He laughed. “Always.”

They turned with the ladle, one brow raised. “Then come help. Somehow you're still better at cooking meat than I am.”

“I think it just comes from the whole carnivore thing, but I'll take the compliment.”

“Just get over here.”

“Yes, my beloved sorcerer,” he said, bowing dramatically before joining them.

Osora rolled their eyes. “Call me that again and I’ll hex your tongue.”

“Wouldn’t stop me,” Arias said, grinning. “I’d just find another way to compliment you.”

Osora didn’t answer — but their ears turned faintly pink, which was answer enough.

Arias reached for the counter, watching as Osora lifted a few bottles and sprigs of herbs with a lazy wave of their fingers. They floated gently toward the shelves, settling into place like they had a mind of their own.

Arias tilted his head. “Okay—how do you do that?”

Osora shot him a sideways look. “What, organize?”

He laughed. “No. That.” He gestured as a jar drifted neatly past his face. “You just control things with your mind, and it takes zero effort.”

“Oh.” Osora brushed their hands on a towel. “It’s not as effortless as it looks. I use two spells — one to lift the weight, one to guide it.”

Arias’s eyes widened. “You can use two at once?”

“Sometimes.” They shrugged. “It’s just practice. The first spell cancels gravity for a while. The second’s a wind spell — I steer things before they drop.”

He blinked at them, genuinely impressed. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” Osora said with a faint smirk. “But I’ve been doing it a long time. I learned how to multitask.”

“And you had to get good at it because you're short, right? Can’t reach the top shelf?” He joked.

Osora, apparently, didn't find that very funny because they whispered something under their breath, and a floating ladle whacked him on the head.

“I am not short! You're just a fucking giant! Stupid oversized–!”

Arias leaned closer on the counter, unbothered, chin resting on his hand. “And the talking? Sometimes you say the words, sometimes you don’t. What’s that about?”

Osora sighed, setting the herb stem down beside the row of glass jars. “If the spell’s simple — something I’ve done a hundred times — I don’t need to speak it. Saying it just helps focus the energy.”

A faint shimmer gathered around their fingertips as they spoke, the air bending slightly with the pull of their magic. They lifted another bottle from the table — the glass floated smoothly upward, guided by invisible threads of wind. “It’s kind of like writing out math instead of doing it all in your head,” they added, voice steady and thoughtful.

Arias leaned against the doorframe, tail flicking lazily, pretending to follow the explanation. In truth, he wasn’t hearing a word.

He was watching the way the late morning light hit them — gold where it touched their skin. The soft rhythm of their voice. The concentration in the crease between their brows, the sure, graceful movements of their hands.

He swallowed, chest tight in a way that still surprised him. How had he ever lived before this? Before the garden, before the warmth of their cottage, before them? Before they’d found him half-dead in the forest and decided — for some reason he still didn’t understand — that he was worth saving?

In two steps, he was behind them, arms sliding around their waist, chin tucked against their shoulder. Osora went still, a surprised breath catching in their throat.

Then Arias kissed the curve of their neck — quick, warm, playful, but teasing.

Osora’s focus shattered. The half-levitating jar wobbled once, twice—then crashed to the floor. The glass split in two, scattering parsley everywhere.

“Arias!” they gasped, spinning around. “You made me break it!”

He was already laughing, ears twitching, tail wagging wildly. “Couldn’t help it. You looked too serious.”

“You are unbelievable.” Osora tried to glare, but their voice was already softening.

“Worth it,” he said, still grinning. “You look cute when you’re pretending to be mad.”

Osora huffed, sweeping the herbs into a pile with one hand. “You’re cleaning that.”

“Gladly, my love.” He bent to grab the broom, still chuckling.

Later that day, after dinner, the cottage still smelled of herbs and smoke. The last of the sunlight slanted through the windows, spilling over the table and catching the edges of glass jars and drying leaves. Outside, the forest hummed low and green.

Osora pulled on their boots, glancing toward the back door. “I’m going to check the garden before it gets dark.”

Arias looked up from where he was cleaning the dishes, ears twitching slightly. “Want some help?”

Osora hesitated, drying their hands on a towel. “Last time you said that, you killed half a row of basil.”

“That was an accident,” Arias protested. “And technically it was one and a half rows.”

Osora gave him a look — half amusement, half warning. “You’re not helping your case.”

He flashed that boyish grin that always seemed to work against their better judgment. “Please, ‘Sora? I’ll behave.”

Osora sighed through their nose, already regretting it. Damn his stupid puppy eyes! “Fine. But you listen to me, and you stay off the magic plants.”

He lifted a hand solemnly. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Then wolf’s honor.”

“That’s even less reassuring.”

Still, they opened the door, and Arias followed them out into the cooling dusk.

The garden glowed faintly in the twilight — rows of herbs, wildflowers, and spell plants swaying under a soft enchantment. Fireflies drifted lazily between them. Osora knelt by the rosemary, fingers brushing through the stems as they whispered a quiet incantation to help the roots hold warmth overnight.

Arias hung back near the fence, hands awkwardly at his side. “So… what do you want me to do?”

“Fetch water. Carefully,” Osora said, not looking up. “And don’t step anywhere green, especially if it glows.”

“Got it.”

To his credit, he really tried. He carried water from the barrel without spilling too much, loosened soil just like they showed him, and even managed to tell the difference between herbs and weeds. For nearly fifteen minutes, Osora almost — almost — relaxed.

Then came the sound.

A sharp, wet crunch underfoot.

Both froze.

Osora turned slowly. The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have.

At Arias’s heel lay a cluster of silver-leaved flowers, flattened into the dirt. Their faint shimmer was already fading — light leaking out like a dying ember.

Osora’s voice came out quiet, too controlled. “Arias.”

He followed their gaze, and guilt hit him like a stone. “Oh, no– What was that…?”

“The moonpetal,” Osora said, kneeling down. Their fingers hovered over the crushed bloom, trying to lift one of the petals, but it disintegrated in their palm. “It only blooms once a year.” Osora stood quickly, turning to him.

“I didn’t see it,” Arias said quickly, ears flattening as he stepped back. “I swear, I didn’t—”

“You never look,” Osora snapped before they could stop themselves. “You just charge around without thinking and—”

They caught themselves mid-sentence. Arias’s ears were flat now, his tail still. The guilt in his expression was almost childlike.

“I was trying to help,” he said quietly.

The anger drained out of Osora all at once, leaving only the sting of regret. “Arias… I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head, stepping back. “No, I’m sorry. I messed things up.”

Osora’s chest ached. “Hey.” They stood, brushing dirt from their hands. “Look at me.”

When he didn’t, they stepped closer and gently lifted his chin until his golden eyes met theirs. “I shouldn’t have yelled,” they said softly. “That flower’s rare, yeah. But it’s still just a plant. I was upset — not at you. Just… tired.”

He gave a weak, humorless huff. “Didn’t sound like ‘just a plant’ a second ago.”

Osora hesitated, then crouched again beside the crushed silver petals. Their voice was quieter when they said, “It’s called moonpetal. It only grows where the light and the magic balance perfectly — and it’s one of the few things that can heal a werewolf’s wounds. Not scratches or bruises. I mean… real injuries. The kind that don’t close. Fatal wounds from silver or wolfsbane.”

Arias blinked, caught off guard. “You mean… it’s for me?”

Osora’s lips pressed together. “I was growing it in case something ever happened to you. Its essence makes the healing spell work faster — safer. Without it…” They trailed off, shaking their head. “Without it, it’s just harder. Not impossible, but… harder.”

Arias’s ears drooped lower. “You were thinking that far ahead? About me?”

“Of course I was,” Osora said, almost sharply, as if it were obvious. Then their tone softened. “You’re reckless, Arias. You act before you think, you charge into danger like it’s a sport—someone has to make sure you survive it.”

He gave a small, unsteady smile. “And I just crushed your safety plan.”

Osora sighed, thumb brushing the dirt from his jaw. “You’re more important than a moonpetal, you idiot.”

He blinked, still unsure. “You sure? You sounded ready to curse me.”

“I still might,” they said, lips twitching into the faintest smile. “Depending on how fast you fix my garden.”

That made him laugh — a low, warm sound that finally broke the tension. His tail flicked once behind him, and Osora exhaled, the knot in their chest easing.

“There it is,” they smiled. “That’s better.”

He looked at them for a long moment — the last of the daylight catching in their hair, the faint glow of the herbs painting soft light over their face. Then he smiled, sheepish and fond all at once. “You really forgive me that easily?”

Osora pretended to think about it. “Maybe. Come here.”

He leaned in, and they kissed him — quick, but gentle enough to undo whatever shame still lingered between them.

“Come on,” Osora said. “Let’s go inside before I forgive you too much.”

Arias followed, tail swaying again as he glanced back once at the crushed patch of silver petals. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

“You can start,” Osora said over their shoulder, “by not touching anything else that glows.”

He grinned, trailing after them toward the cottage light. “No promises.”

Later that night, the cottage was dim except for the flicker of the fire and the quiet hum of crickets outside. Osora had taken the last loaf of bread off the hearth when Arias came in from outside, brushing ash and dirt off his hands. He smelled faintly of pine and smoke — and blood.

Osora frowned. “You went out hunting again?”

Arias looked caught. “Yeah. Just for a bit.”

“There’s still meat from yesterday, and this morning,” they said, setting the bread down. “You don’t have to hunt so much, you know.”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “I know. It just… feels wrong not to.”

“Wrong?”

He shrugged, eyes flicking toward the window where the moonlight poured through. “Where I’m from, a wolf hunts for his mate. It’s how he shows he can provide, protect. It’s… instinct, I guess.”

Osora stilled for a moment, caught between amusement and something softer. “Arias,” they said quietly, “you don’t need to prove anything to me. We’re safe here.”

“I know,” he said again, voice low. “But when I come back with something — when I see you eat — it makes me feel like I’m doing right by you.” He looked away, embarrassed by how earnest he sounded.

Osora’s lips curved faintly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Probably,” he murmured, smiling a little. But his gaze lingered on them — on the slope of their neck, where the faint scar of his bite still marked them. He hadn’t meant to do it so hard that night, but they hadn’t stopped him either. Now, seeing it catch the firelight, something deep and possessive stirred in his chest.

Osora noticed the look and rolled their eyes. “Don’t start,” they said, voice soft but knowing.

“Wasn’t going to,” he lied.

They huffed, going to the shelf to grab one of their spell books. “You really have no poker face.”

“I actually have a perfectly good face.”

“That’s debatable.”

He grinned, watching as they came back over and sat down beside him on the couch. The book was thick, bound in dark leather, the pages lined with curling script that glimmered faintly when the fire caught them. Osora leaned back against him, his warmth seeping through their shirt as they opened the book across their lap.

Arias peered over their shoulder, squinting. “What language is that?”

“It’s ancient,” Osora said. “Not many people can read it anymore.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he muttered. “Those aren’t even letters, those are… decorative worms.”

Osora laughed under their breath. “Decorative worms?”

“Tell me that doesn’t look like a worm wearing a hat.”

They tilted the page toward the firelight, squinting. “…Okay, maybe that one does.”

Arias chuckled, the sound rumbling against their back. “I knew it. I’m basically a scholar now.”

“Mm, sure. I’ll add that to your list of titles — hunter, cook, part-time linguist.”

“Don’t forget ‘terrible gardener.’”

Osora snorted. “How could I?”

They both fell quiet after that, the silence comfortable this time. Arias rested his chin on their shoulder as they traced lines of script with their fingertip, translating softly under their breath. His arm slid around their waist, steady and protective, as if holding them in place might keep the world from intruding.

The fire crackled low. Outside, the wind brushed the trees.

Osora leaned a little more of their weight against him without meaning to, and Arias pressed a slow kiss against the side of their neck — just above the mark.

“Hey,” they murmured, half-scolding, half-quiet.

“Couldn’t help it,” he said against their skin.

They sighed, though their voice was smiling when they spoke. “You really don’t stop, do you?”

“Not when I’m happy,” he said simply.

Osora turned a page, the glow from the spellbook lighting both of their faces now — a wash of soft blue against the firelight’s orange. Arias’s hand rubbed slow circles at their side.

And the night went on like that — easy, quiet, full of half-laughed words and warmth.
The strange script flickered in the dim room as they talked about old stories, about instincts and magic and the strange, gentle life they were learning to share.

By the time the fire had burned low, Osora’s voice had gone drowsy, and their head had tilted back against Arias’s chest, the book slipping closed in their lap.

Arias smiled, tightening both arms around them and whispering, almost to himself, “Mine.”

Osora murmured something sleepy but fond — too soft to catch — and the night faded to peace, the sound of the wind carrying through the trees outside.

Chapter Text

The woods breathed in the dark — cold mist curling around roots and stones, each branch dripping moonlight like silver rain. A wolf howled somewhere far beyond the ridge, low and mournful, and the sound carried across the valley like a secret.

Osora slipped through the trees without a sound.

His cloak barely disturbed the leaves beneath his boots. His family had long stopped asking why he went walking so often. Vampires preferred solitude, and he had always been the quiet one.

They could never imagine what truly awaited him in the woods.

He’ll be there already. He always is.

He reached the edge of the glade, the mist parting just enough for him to see the shape waiting beside the moss-covered stones. A broad silhouette, strong shoulders, the faint gleam of golden eyes that found him immediately.

Arias stepped forward, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You’re late, my love.”

Osora exhaled, a smile tugging faintly at his lips. “You always say that.”

“Because you always are.”

The wolf crossed the clearing in three strides, warmth rolling off him like sunlight. He wore no coat — he never needed one — and his breath fogged the air between them. Osora, composed in his dark attire, looked almost like a shadow in contrast.

Arias stopped so close that Osora could feel the heat rolling off him, the air between them turning soft and humid with breath.

“Cold again?” Arias asked, catching Osora’s gloved hands before they could hide them away. His fingers were rough, palms warm, as he started rubbing slow circles into the back of Osora’s hands. 

Osora gave a small nod. “It’s colder today,” he murmured, voice low, like he didn’t want to admit it.

Arias huffed a laugh, all warmth and fondness. “You say that every time.”
Still, he didn’t stop. He covered Osora’s hands completely, his bigger ones engulfing them until Osora could feel his pulse through the layer of cloth.

Arias leaned down, brushing his lips against Osora’s temple. Their shoulders loosened. The tension they didn’t even realize they’d been carrying melted away in an instant.

“Your heart’s racing,” Arias murmured, voice half a tease, half concern. “I can hear it.”

Osora exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh as they watched Arias's fluffy ears twitch. “You say that like I can control it.”

“Never said I didn't like it,” Arias said, grinning against their hair.

Osora rolled his eyes, but didn’t pull away. He’s impossible, he thought, watching the wolf’s grin curve into something softer. He studied the faint stubble along Arias’s jaw, the long scar on his cheek, the way his eyes caught the moonlight even in the shade.

“Did you hunt with your pack tonight?” Osora asked quietly, mostly to distract himself.

“Yeah,” Arias said. “Me and my dad brought down a stag near the river. Would’ve brought you something, but…” He shrugged, smile dimming just slightly. “You can’t eat it.”

Osora’s chest softened. “Arias—”

“I know, I know.” He tried to laugh it off, but there was that small flicker of old instinct beneath the words. “It’s just what wolves do. We feed the ones we care about. Keeps us balanced.”

Osora reached up, brushing his fingertips along Arias’s cheek. “And you do feed me.”

Arias blinked, then caught the meaning. The warmth returned to his eyes, deeper this time — something quiet, something proud. “Yeah,” he said. “Guess I do.”

He tilted his head slightly, the movement an invitation Osora knew by heart.

“Come here,” Arias said.

Osora hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer, his hands rising to rest against Arias’s shoulders. The smell of him filled the air — smoke, and pine. The vampire swallowed hard. “You sure?”

“You asking me that every time doesn’t make me less sure,” Arias said softly. “You won’t hurt me, Love. You never do.”

Osora’s throat tightened at the nickname. He brushed his lips against Arias’s throat, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath the skin. “You heal too fast,” he murmured, more to himself. “You make me greedy.”

Arias chuckled lowly. “Good. Be greedy.”

That was all it took.

Osora sank their fangs in with precision — clean, gentle. Arias inhaled sharply, but not from pain. His hand came up instinctively to the back of Osora’s neck, fingers splaying through blond curls, steadying him.

The blood hit his tongue like heat and honey and lightning all at once. Wild and alive. Osora shivered as it flooded his senses, his grip tightening on Arias’s shoulders. It’s too good. It’s too good, it’s too—

“Easy,” Arias murmured, feeling Osora's hands trembling where they held him. “You’re alright.”

Osora forced himself to stop before he lost control. He pulled back, his lips stained red, eyes darker than before. He licked the last traces from his mouth, a small sigh escaping before he could stop it.

Arias grinned lazily. “You make it look sinful.”

“It is,” Osora said, voice quiet, almost regretful. “I told myself I wouldn’t again.”

“You tell yourself that every night,” Arias teased. “Then you come find me anyway.”

“I can’t help it.” Osora’s expression softened. “Animal blood feels like ash after you.”

“Good.” Arias leaned closer, their foreheads nearly touching. “Means you’ll keep coming back.”

Osora laughed under his breath — a sound so rare it made Arias smile wider. But the peace was short-lived. The sound of a twig snapping nearby cut through the quiet.

Arias froze. His eyes flicked toward the trees, pupils narrowing. “Stay close.”

Osora tensed, every sense sharpening. “Who is it?”

“Pack,” Arias muttered, sniffing the air. “Three of them. Maybe four. They’re running patrols.”

“They can’t find us here!”

“They won’t.” His grip tightened around Osora’s arm. “But we have to move. Now.”

They slipped through the woods in silence, Arias guiding him with a sure hand. His senses were sharper than any human’s — sharper than even Osora’s when it came to movement and scent. When they finally stopped, it was in a hollow beneath a fallen tree, the moonlight barely reaching them.

Arias crouched low, body angled protectively in front of Osora, his breath slow and even. The sound of footsteps passed in the distance — a low murmur of voices, a snarl, then silence. When the forest stilled again, Arias let out a slow exhale.

“That was close,” Osora whispered.

“Too close.” Arias looked back at him, his gold eyes still bright with adrenaline. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Osora said, though his hand was trembling slightly. “You shouldn’t risk this. If they ever—”

“They won’t,” Arias said, sharp enough to cut through the fear. Then softer, “I’d burn every trail before they ever got to you.”

Osora stared at him, speechless for a heartbeat. He means it. The certainty in Arias’s voice made Osora angry. That moron will get himself killed just for being with me! At best, he faces exile from his pack.

“You’ll ruin yourself for me?”

Arias smiled — not denying it. “I’d do anything for you, Osora.”

Osora wanted to scold him — tell him to stop being reckless, to stop making this harder — but the words stuck somewhere behind his teeth.

Arias sank down to sit on the damp ground, tugging lightly at Osora’s wrist. “Come here,” he said, voice softer now.

Osora hesitated — just long enough to pretend he wasn’t going to — then let himself be pulled close. He settled beside Arias, head resting against his shoulder, his warmth seeping through layers of cloak and cloth.

They talked in low voices for hours, their words blending with the wind in the trees. The night stretched thin around them, fragile, like it might break if either of them moved too fast.

When the sky began to pale and fog curled low to the ground, Osora finally stirred. He drew his cloak tighter and pushed up just enough to look at Arias. “I should go,” he said reluctantly.

Arias made a small sound — not quite a sigh, not quite a growl. “You always say that like I’m not gonna see you again.”

“I’ll come tomorrow,” Osora promised.

Arias’s lips twitched. “You said that yesterday.”

Osora smirked, standing and brushing off his cloak. “Then I guess I’m consistent.”

Arias tilted his head, pretending to think. “Or maybe you’re just bad at goodbyes. I get it — I’m irresistible.”

Osora glanced toward the misty path leading back to the estate, then back at him. “We really need to find a better meeting place. If anyone from your pack follows your scent this far—”

Arias grinned. “I’ll just tell them I was hunting.”

Osora raised a brow. “Right. Because wolves usually come back from a hunt smelling like vampires.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him — low, warm, real. “Can you blame me? You smell better than anything I’ve ever caught.”

Osora blinked, caught between amusement and disbelief. “That’s… not a compliment most people would want.”

“Good thing you’re not ‘most people,’” Arias said, still grinning.

Osora shook his head, lips twitching despite himself. “Unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” Arias said. “And yet, here you are.”

Osora sighed — the kind that sounded more like surrender than frustration. They  lingered, eyes tracing over him: the tousled hair, the lazy grin, the faint fang mark on his neck that made something sharp and possessive twist inside their chest.

“Tomorrow,” Osora said quietly.

Arias nodded once, the humor softening in his eyes. “Tomorrow.”

Osora leaned in, kissed him, slow and deep  — and then turned toward the path.

When the vampire’s scent finally faded into the fog, Arias reached up, brushing his thumb over the marks on his neck. The memory of Osora’s fangs hit him again — he’d once called their fangs pretty, just because they were, especially compared to the janky, uneven teeth most wolves ended up with. Osora’s were thin, white, and sharp — sharp enough to be intimidating if someone didn’t know better, but somehow delicate, almost cute.

He hadn’t realized it at the time, but apparently that meant something in vampire culture. Osora had gone bright red and refused to look at him for nearly an hour, and he’d spent the rest of the night apologizing a million times just to get a sideways glance. Arias had laughed under his breath then, and he was laughing quietly now, remembering the stubborn vampire’s flustered glare.

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “We really do need a cave or something,” he muttered, starting back toward the hills.

The mist swallowed his voice, and the forest quieted — but the air still carried that faint trace of iron and roses, a promise waiting for night to fall again.

Chapter Text

The street still reeked of smoke and cheap beer. Halloween decorations fluttered in the wind—paper ghosts and half-melted jack-o’-lanterns—while red and blue lights washed over everything in dizzying rhythm. It looked less like a crime scene and more like the aftermath of the world’s worst party.

Officer Osora Calaveras stood in the middle of it, notepad in one hand, flashlight in the other, jaw tight enough to crack teeth. Their uniform was dusted with glitter from the crowd that had scattered minutes before.

“This is a nightmare,” they muttered, scanning the mess of overturned tables, spilled drinks, and singed streamers. “A literal, sparkly nightmare.”

A rookie cop jogged up, panting. “Someone said the fireworks came from that corner, sir. But the fire department—”

Right on cue, the familiar sound of sirens split the air. Osora groaned. “Of course they’re here.”

The fire trucks pulled up with exaggerated urgency, headlights cutting through the fog. Firemen hopped off, hauling hoses and gear, the bright reflective tape on their jackets flashing with each strobe of the cruiser lights. And, because the universe had a sick sense of humor, he was leading them.

Arias Arguitrez swung down from the truck, helmet under one arm, black undershirt damp with sweat and soot, eyes gleaming gold under the streetlight. He caught sight of Osora immediately and grinned like he’d been waiting for this moment all night.

“Evening, officer,” he called, strolling over with infuriating calm. “Did the costume party get a little too lit?”

Osora glared daggers. “Oh, that’s funny. Real funny, fireman. You here to crack jokes or ruin my crime scene?”

“Can’t ruin what’s already a dumpster fire,” Arias said, sweeping his gaze over the mess. “Looks like someone’s margarita stand met a roman candle. We’re just here to make sure nothing’s still burning.”

“You’ll be burning if you step inside my perimeter before I finish collecting evidence,” Osora shot back.

Arias lifted a brow. “You threatening me, Calaveras?”

“Try me,” Osora said, crossing their arms. 

He smirked. “You know, you’re even more uptight when you’re in charge. It’s kinda—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll cite you for obstruction,” Osora warned.

“—endearing,” Arias finished, grinning.

Osora’s jaw flexed. “You and your men stay back until I—hey!” they shouted as one of Arias’s crew started spraying foam near the snack table. “There’s evidence there!”

“That’s nacho dip, officer,” Arias called over his shoulder. “Not evidence.”

“It’s potential residue from a chemical accelerant!”

“It’s guacamole!”

A laugh broke out nearby. Two responders—one cop, one fireman—stood watching the argument like it was a spectator sport. The cop leaned toward his companion.

“Man, they fight like an old married couple.”

“Nah,” the officer said, smirking. “They’re engaged. Saw the ring last week.”

Back in the chaos, Osora was practically vibrating with fury. “Do you ever listen to instructions?”

“Sure,” Arias said easily. “Just not yours.”

“Arias—”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough for only them to hear. “You’re cute when you’re angry, you know that?”

Osora froze, startled. “Don’t—don’t start with me right now.”

“Alright,” Arias said. “Then I’ll finish instead.”

Before Osora could process what that meant, Arias leaned forward and pressed a quick, confident kiss to their lips. It wasn’t soft—it was deep, silencing, like flipping a switch. Then he pulled back, expression unreadable except for the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Sorry,” he said casually. “Didn’t mean to contaminate your evidence.”

He turned away, calling to his men. “Alright, regroup! We’re clear here. Let the detectives play in the glitter.”

Osora stood rooted in place, the world suddenly too bright, too loud. Their heart was hammering beneath the weight of their vest, cheeks hot. They blinked, snapped their notepad shut, and hissed under their breath, “Unbelievable.”

From the sidelines, the same two responders watched as Arias and his team climbed back onto the truck.

“Told you,” the officer went said, grinning. “Engaged.”

————————

The chaos had mellowed into a low hum of aftermath. Most of the costumed partiers had been escorted home, save for a few dazed stragglers wrapped in metallic thermal blankets. The air still carried that sharp mix of smoke, burnt sugar, and cheap cologne.

Osora stood near the taped-off area, gloves on, jotting the last few notes into their report. The glitter on their uniform sleeves caught the harsh glow of the floodlights. Every now and then, they glanced toward the fire trucks, where Arias and his crew were packing up hoses and talking to the EMTs.

“Alright,” Osora finally muttered, snapping their pen closed. “That’s the last of it. Torres, get the witness statements logged before morning, yeah?”

The rookie nodded, yawning. “Yes, sir. You want me to—uh—say anything to the fire department?”

Osora hesitated. Their first instinct was to say no. But their conscience nagged at them; they knew they’d lost their temper earlier—more than usual.

“I’ll handle it,” Osora said quietly.

They started across the debris-littered street, boots crunching on broken glass and plastic. A few firemen looked up as they approached, exchanging knowing grins that Osora chose to ignore. Arias was bent over, securing a coil of hose, his broad shoulders moving with practiced ease.

“Arguitrez,” Osora called, voice sharper than they intended.

He straightened and turned, grin already forming. “Officer Calaveras. Miss me already?”

Osora exhaled through their nose, steadying their tone. “I came to say… sorry.”

Arias blinked, surprised enough that the usual teasing spark softened.

Osora continued, eyes fixed on the pavement. “I was out of line earlier. You were doing your job, and I—got heated. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

There was a pause, filled with the distant hiss of a still-cooling fire hose. Then Arias smiled—warm this time, not mocking. “You? Heated? Never.”

Osora rolled their eyes. “Don’t make me take it back.”

He chuckled, reaching down to set down his helmet. “Apology accepted. For the record, I shouldn’t have kissed you in front of your team.”

“That was stupid,” Osora muttered, arms crossed tight over their chest. “And unprofessional.”

“Yeah,” Arias admitted, that golden grin flickering back to life. “But it worked.”

Osora’s mouth opened like they were about to argue again, but the words never came. Their cheeks went a little pink, barely visible under the flashing police lights. “Don’t push it.”

Arias leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping low enough that only they could hear. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

That line shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did, but it did. Osora’s heart skipped, and they had to look away, pretending to scan their notes just so they wouldn’t smile.

Arias straightened again, glancing toward the fire truck where his crew was already cleaning up. “We’re wrapped up here. I’ll see you back at home?”

Osora froze halfway through an eye roll, caught between wanting to roll their eyes and wanting to grin. “…Yeah. I still need to finish some reports at the station first.”

“I know,” Arias said, already walking backward toward his team. “I’ll grab dinner while you’re doing that. Or—” he checked his watch “—breakfast, I guess. It’s already four.”

That tugged at something warm in Osora’s chest. Arias didn’t have to say it, but he always thought about the little things — the things Osora never had time for after long shifts. He could’ve just eaten at the station with his crew, but no. He’d go find what Osora was craving, pick it up, and wait for them.

“Alright,” Osora said softly. “See you soon… I love you, Arias.”

The words came out quieter than intended, like they’d surprised even themselves.

Arias blinked, then his grin softened into something smaller, more real. “I love you too,” he said. “See you at home.”

Osora ducked their head quickly, pretending to flip another page on their notepad while trying to calm their pulse.

Behind Arias, his crew was gathering up their gear, trying—and failing—to keep quiet.

“‘See you at home,’ huh?” a redheaded firefighter called out, voice carrying over the hum of engines. “Real subtle, Cap.”

“Yeah!” another one shouted. “You gonna make us call Officer Calaveras, Arguitrez, now, or what?”

Arias groaned and tugged his helmet down to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Shut up and load the truck, idiots.”

That only made them laugh harder. Someone started whistling the wedding march until Arias turned and gave them a look that could melt steel.

Still, as the truck’s engine rumbled to life, the grin tugging at his mouth wouldn’t leave.

Osora watched from the tape line, the corners of their lips curving up despite themselves. The fire truck’s red lights faded down the street, siren wailing softly in the distance.

They shook their head, murmuring under their breath, “See you at home, huh…”