#ficlet? yeah

[fifthnailinstevesbat]

after the events of season 4, steve just wanting SO BADLY to be friends with eddie. just LOVING the idea of them getting closer and having eddie as a friend because hell yeah! a close male friendship with someone that is actually my age, and who i don’t have a weird history with involving bruised eyes and love triangles? count me IN! and eddie is FUN, he is actually hilarious! the way they share the same glances of understanding when dustin is being an absolute shit head, rambling on and on about some obscure topic, expecting everyone to always be on the exact same page as him. of course. and, although steve suspects that eddie actually probably is keeping up with everything dustin says, much better than he ever could, he knows that above it all eddie can appreciate the antics for what they are, and roll his eyes with steve at dustin, i concur, you dustin henderson, are a total butthead.

steve just about junps RIGHT IN to being friends with eddie. hey man, what’cha up to tonight? wanna watch a movie? get drunk, smoke a bit? hey eddie, how have you been, man? he starts calling eddie up on the phone regularly just to check in, shoot the shit, he loves it! he loves having this new friendship with eddie munson and he loves how much the other boy has surprised him with how much he actually enjoys being around him. he’s not a freak, really, well ok maybe he is a little bit, but only in the best ways. he’s kind, thoughtful, and is always looking out for the people he cares about, which is something steve can really respect in a dude. but he’s also so funny? steve never could’ve anticipated just how much eddie has managed to make him genuinely LAUGH over their short amount of time spent together. and he’s really, out there? with the way he presents himself, the way he takes up space with these big THEATRICAL movements, leaving no room for regret or shame or god forbid embarrassment. steve isn’t even sure munson is capable of feeling it at all.

eddie munson is a good dude, and steve could use a bit more of that kind of person around him. he loves all of his friends, the weird little bonded family he’s found himself apart of, and they are all good people, but it never hurts to have afew more added in here and there. it never hurts to know there are more good people out there to find.

so steve is all over eddie, it seems.

at least, from where eddie is standing. nobody else seems as phased as eddie does at this sudden change in steve’s demeanour, in his interest in what eddie munson spends his time doing these days. it seems like, to everyone else, to steve, it’s just a natural progression in their relationship, after being sort of role model figures to the same group of kids, both being the two single dudes, who fought the same monsters together last spring, it seems nobody questions too much that they’d start casually hanging around eachother more. especially since eddie has found himself to fit into his own special spot as one of the group now after it all, after he unwillingly became tangled in this whole upsidedown-superpowers-supernatural-monsters and demons debacle, and tangled quite dramatically at that, the rest of the group that’s been with this since the beginning seemed to find no trouble in taking him in and seeing him as “one of them” now.

so, steve asking eddie to smoke, to watch movies, to go for a drive with no real end destination, it’s not really something that earns them too many double takes. dustin makes a comment or two in the beginning, because steve since when did you like hanging out with eddie? you guys are like so opposite, you don’t like any of the same stuff he does? and steve barely gives a shrug and a dismissive yeah yeah whatever man in response, with a signature eye roll, and dustin had said it seemingly also not too seriously, poking fun at steve wherever he can, not really meaning anything by it, as he fidgets around and rambles in the backseat of steve’s car, eddie riding up front. after that, though, he’s dropped it. it’s never brought up again. part of eddie thinks, too, that dustin would actually be enjoying that his two older friends are becoming friends themselves.

robin seems to be the only other person to look a bit harder at their situation, lingering stares at their interactions, all squinted eyes and eyebrows raised, though from her all this seems to be almost always and only ever directed at steve. eddie’s not sure what to make of that. isn’t he the weird one? i mean, he’s the one that stands out, right? he’s the odd denominator that makes their friendship strange. why would steve harrington want to hang out with Him? HIM? but robin doesn’t spend her time studying eddie to try and search for what about him could possibly have piqued the interest of cherished steven harrington, no, shes always looking at steve. like she’s seeing him differently, almost. eddie doesn’t even think that steve notices it, either, because he doesn’t seem to be questioning or doubting anything odd or strange or out of the ordinary with their newfound time spent together. and maybe, maybe robin is seeing him differently. eddie knows he definitely has been. seeing him more, intensely. deeply. human. seeing the person that steve is, as just steve, not this idealised version of a boy that eddies starting to question ever really even existed at all, or if everyone around him just needed to believe that he did, and who was steve if not happy to comply to the wants of the people around him for who he should be?

eddie likes having steve as his friend, too. don’t get it twisted. he loves how unexpectedly expressive steve is about everything, even really small things. steve LOVES to raise his voice, rest a hand on his popped hip, scolding the kids for something stupid with no real heat or malice behind it. and steve is, like, kinda bitchy too. eddie knew he had the capacity to be a real asshole when he wanted to be, that’s all he knew steve for back in the day, when he was back in high school, hanging around tommy h and the basketball boys, the jocks. eddie would spend his days hearing only whispers and gossip in the hallways of the parties at king steve’s house and the fights king steve had started and won on the court or out in the fields, only ever getting as close as a shove into a locker with the guy at the time, but eddie knew how it could go. he knew all about what steve had done to jonathan, what he’d said to him, the words he’d used. eddie knew it all. he’d seen enough, and been through enough himself, to know how these guys acted in response to guys like him, like jonathan, people who were lower on the social food chain. so, eddie knew about steve’s “mean streak”, if you will, but this kind of snarky bitchiness was something new to him. harrington was almost, sassy, when he wanted to be. it was less so cruel and more just, just sass. if he’s being completely honest it kind of blew eddie away, at first. he thought steve was one of those dull headed jocks who thought with their fists more than their actual brains, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. steve’s insults were well thought out, they were FUNNY, he was smart with his words. and silly. oh my god steve harrington could be so fucking silly, real honest to god goofball when the moment called for it, when he felt comfortable enough. eddie had caught on multiple occasions steve mimicking lightsabers to play fight with dustin, or the stupid fucking shit he would do or say just to make robin laugh, singing along to a song playing on the radio with a funny voice.

it was all a little, intoxicating, to watch. eddie didn’t know what gave him the right to be in on this now, to get to see this side of steve and better yet to be at the other end of some of his best qualities. it was fun, all the time they spent together, but there was always something else tugging inside eddie everytime they spent close time together, too. something, he knew steve wasn’t aware of. something he knew steve wasn’t equipped to deal with. something he knew, was him. was him, making things something more than they should be, because, nobody seemed to be questioning that they could become friends, so why ruin that? why disrupt it?

- robin and steve

“Steve.”

“-but then like, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to watch it I just thought, hey, y’know, let’s try something different for a change, but then he- oh my god he honest to god TACKLED ME Robin — I mean, it was so fucking funny and it happened so quick — and all over a fucking Tom Cruise movie-“

“STEVE.” Robin lightly slammed a hand onto the counter. She had been standing behind it for no short of 20 minutes, watching Steve as he paced around, supposed to be stacking tapes onto shelves, but ended up spending the whole time going on and on, and ON, about how movie night went with Eddie last night. She thought she was bad…

Steve jumped, almost running into a shelf and knocking down his hard work, and seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had found himself in after starting to tell Robin a story about something funny Eddie had done last night.

“Shit, sorry. Sorry, what were you saying? Were you- were you saying something?”

To this, Robin just rolls her eyes and let’s out a laugh, “You, sir, are goddamn hopeless.”

“Sorry. How long was I talking for?” Steve wandered his way over to lean his arms onto the counter from the opposite side.

“Oh, I dunno Steve, just about half an HOUR?”

“That is an over exaggeration Robin, it’s only been like-“

“Honestly, man, i’m concerned for you. You are like next level OBSESSED with Eddie. Eddie Munson. You do realise this right??? You are obsessed with him, Steve.”

To this Steve sputters, lazily waving his hands back and forth.

“No, Robin, what the hell are you talking about? I am not OBSESSED. No need to be jealous, alright, Stevie-Boy here can have more than one friend. Your spot in my heart isn’t any less special now that it’s beginning to be shared by another.” He bats his eyelashes up at her, holding both hands over his chest as if to cradle his heart.

“Oh my GOD! You even SOUND LIKE HIM!”, she playfully slaps his shoulder. “Steve. You are obsessed.”

“I am not obsessed! He’s just a really great guy, alright-“

“Blah blah, yep whatever you say, lover boy.” Robin quips, plopping down onto the chair chair infront of their staff computer, turning herself to face it.

“Wha- what? Lover boy? What the hell Robin, that is not- that doesn’t even make any sense!”

She is just smiling at him now, enjoying seeing him spiral like this. Steve let’s out a sigh as he puts his hands on his hips, and shakes his head, looking at her right back.

He opens and closes his mouth afew times, like he’s really thinking about what he wants to say next. Or like he has no idea what to say next, and his brain is not moving fast enough to formulate the next sentence his mouth knows he wants to say. He wasn’t obsessed. That’s not- that’s like- no. No he was not, Robin was just playing around with him, she knew how to get on his nerves. Get him all wound up over little things just to see him react like this.

After a minute or two, Robin realises Steve was not going to reply anytime soon, so she turns fully back toward him. Saving him from his spiral.

“So, what are you’re plans for tonight Steve-O?”

He lets out a chuckle and walks around the counter till he’s behind it with Robin, leaning his back against it so he can stand across from her and face her.

“Well, not really sure. Parents aren’t home, no early shift tomorrow, might drink afew beers, listen to some music, —“

“See what Eddie’s doin?” Robin finishes for him, quirking her eyebrows up and down as she does it.

“Oh shut up!” Steve just laughs and softly throws a tape from the counter at her chest. “As a matter of fact, yeah I will see what he’s up to. Because we are friends now, Robin. Is that a problem? Actually I was also gonna ask you what you were up to after work, too, but you know what after this I’m having second thoughts, I mean, the way you’ve been treating me lately-“

“Oh my god, you are the worst. Yes, I’m free, of course I’ll hang out with you dingus. You and your tweedle dee.”

Steve laughs at this, then tilts his head.

“Wait, does that make me dumb? Tweedle dumb?! That’s how you see me?”

“Yeah it is actually, got a problem?”

“Oh wow, she’s feisty today. Can’t believe you think I’m dumb, Rob’s. When you come knockin’ tonight, do not expect a warm greeting at my front door.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take my chances.”

- later. steve’s house. to be continued?

#just been having steddie post season 4 thoughts #been missing the era of the fandom just sort of starting during that time between vol 1 and 2 #how every fic had their own little way of resolving the upside down/vecna problem just written into afew small paragraphs #really just getting to know these characters as a pairing #most importantly before seeing them as a couple #seeing them as friends #how they would genuinely interact and get along #what their dynamics would look like #steddie early days truly have my whole entire heart #coming onto tumblr the weeks following vol1 of s4 was magical #anywho yeah non vol2 compliant steddie for you #more so just #eddie didn’t die steddie for you #they become friends bc truly i actually believe that had he lived they would have #it just makes sense #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things 4 #stranger things season 4 #robin buckley #dustin henderson #also lmk if i should keep adding to this…might abyways bc i’m enjoying this #steddie fic #steddie fic idea #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction

[diazsdimples]

HC: Tommy has a cat who doesn't like many people, but she always demands cuddles from Buck.

Anon, you sparked a Thing™️

Tommy tells Buck he has a cat fairly early on in their relationship. She's his baby, as he calls her. He's had her since he came out to L.A, having adopted her from a shelter a few months into him working with the 118.

One of the first selfies Buck receives is of Tommy lying on his bed, and the cat curled up protectively on his chest. She's a tabby with a dusting of white around her nose that makes Buck wonder about her age. The way Tommy talks about her makes her sound like a kitten, fresh from the womb, but Buck suspects she's probably around 13-14 years old.

When Buck goes to Tommy's apartment for the first time, he warns him about her. Buck can tell Tommy's a little nervous with the way he keeps glancing back at the lounge as he talks, as if he's expecting the cat to give him some big lecture about bringing a boy home without her express permission.

"Now, don't take it personally if Luna ignores you. She hates pretty much everyone," Tommy says as he kisses Buck's cheek and drags him inside the apartment.

It's a nice place, pretty much exactly what Buck expected from his boyfriend (is that what they are now? Boyfriends?). It's full of trinkets from Tommy's life, but it isn't cluttered - a perfect mixture of clean and chaotic, exactly like Tommy himself.

Tommy keeps his hand on the small of Buck's back as he guides him through to the lounge. Buck likes the way Tommy touches him. It makes him feel safe, grounded, as though Tommy could catch him if he falls.

Tommy' s got a couch not too dissimilar to Eddie's, but a deep maroon rather than blue. And there, right in the middle and nestled among a mess of blankets that Tommy has clearly set up for her, lies the person (creature?) in Tommy's life that Buck has been the most anxious to meet.

Tommy makes a chirping noise with his lips and Luna's ears perk up. Slowly, as though her very bones are creaking, she untangles herself from the blankets and hops down from the couch with a quiet "brrrpp". She stretches deeply, ears flattening against her head and eyes screwing shut, and the look of pure bliss that crosses her face is enough to capture Buck's entire heart.

Buck looks at Tommy for guidance as Luna gingerly walks over to him and looks up at him with big, beseeching eyes.

"Go on," Tommy prompts, giving Buck a small nudge with his elbow. "Let her sniff your hand."

Buck crouches and stretches out his hand towards Luna, offering her the backs of his fingers.

"Hi Luna," he almost whispers as she eyes him suspiciously. "I'm Buck, your dad's - uh - friend."

Tommy scoffs from behind him. "I think we're well past the friend stage, Evan."

"I didn't know - I'm sorry - I'm your dad's boyfriend," he corrects, looking back up at Tommy with a raised eyebrow.

Tommy nods, looking pleased. "Much better."

Buck just about leaps out of his skin when a wet nose touches his hand, and he turns back to see that Luna's moved closer, and is sniffing his fingers with interest. He holds stock still, remembering Tommy's words about her crotchety temperament and not wanting to frighten her, lest she bite him, or worse, run away.

Luna continues her sniffing, tiny pink nose moving minutely as she inhales, and then, much to Buck's shock, she rubs her whole face against his hand, with what can only be described as a smug purr.

"I-" Buck begins, looking back at Tommy with wide eyes. Tommy himself looks a little stunned, clearly thrown by his cat's rare display of affection.

"Huh," he says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at Buck and Luna with a deeply fond expression. "She's never done that before!"

Luna sits back on her haunches and gives a loud, croaky yowl, as though she's been a chain-smoker for most of her life. She nudges her head against Buck's hand and meows once again.

"I think she wants you to sit down," Tommy says, barely concealing his laughter at Buck's bewildered face. He takes Buck gently by the arm and gives him a quick kiss before directing him to the couch.

"I thought you said she hates everyone?" Buck questions, almost numbly as he allows Tommy to push him onto the plush cushions. The moment his ass has touched the couch, Luna leaps up beside him with a pleased chirp and climbs into his lap.

"She does," Tommy grins as he pulls out his phone, taking a quick snap of his extremely confused boyfriend and even more contented cat. "Clearly she has good taste."

Luna's purring is reaching volumes previously unknown to man, drowning out all other noise in the room as she begins to make biscuits against Buck's thigh. Her claws are sharp and needle-like, pricking into Buck's skin but he's too stunned to do anything more than mutely pet her silky fur.

"Wh-what do I do now?" Buck asks, looking at Tommy for guidance. He'd been expecting to possibly see a streak of Luna's fur as she raced across the apartment to hide under Tommy's bed - her favourite place apparently - but now here he is with a whole ass cat on his lap, one who apparently loves him and hates every other guest Tommy's ever had over, and Buck really has no clue where to go from here.

Tommy chuckles and reaches over to scratch behind Luna's ears before leaning forward and capturing Buck's lips in a soft kiss, his fingers gently caressing Buck's chin.

"Stay there, I'll go get us a beer," he says as he pulls away, and leaves Buck in the lounge with Luna. She's curled up completely in his lap now, tail tucked over her paws, and every so often she tilts her head up towards him, demanding scritches that he is more than happy to provide her with.

Tommy returns with two beers and hands one to Buck before flopping next to him on the couch, looping an arm around Buck's shoulders.

"I guess you've gotta stay forever now, Luna's not gonna let you leave," he jokes, and something twists in Buck's stomach, making him a little giddy.

He really likes Tommy - hell, he might even love the guy - but receiving the seal of approval from his cat is probably the biggest step in their relationship to date. Well, it really isn't but is sure feels like that. Like he's being welcomed into the family.

Buck sighs happily and rests his head against Tommy's shoulder, a small shiver rushing through him as Tommy noses his hairline, his lips brushing ever so gently against Buck's temple.

"Yeah, I guess I do."

#james answers things #bucktommy #bucktommy headcanons #yeah this one got away from me a little #I just LOVE the idea #911 abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911verse #911 ficlet #bucktommy ficlet #tevan #tuck #kinkley #whatever ship name we're on these days

[fizzy-dizzie]

When Bucky hugged Steve for the first time since he got the serum, they were alone in a tent. They had just got back to the base camp after their miles long walk back from the hydra base and they were both exhausted.

Steve is situating himself around the very nice, fancy tent that he insisted on sharing and Bucky hasn't taken his eyes off him since he saw him from the table he was strapped onto. Steve. Little Steve. Steve who got sick every winter and who's asthma played up every summer. Steve who had been 5'4 and had remained as such since he was 14. Steve who got into too many fights and never won but not once for lack of passion.

Bucky has to say something, because he hasn't been saying anything since escaping the base and now he feels like he's about to boil over. "Steve"

The same big blue eyes he's always known greeted him and were quick to lace with concern. "You okay, Buck?"

And generally speaking no, Bucky was not okay, he'd been experimented on, he'd been taken by the enemy and strapped down to a goddamn table and he couldn't even remember half of what they did to him there.

For all Bucky knows he could drop dead at any moment but he isn't thinking about that, because he's thinking about how Steve is here, in front of him, all 6'2 of him. He's thinking about how the breath exiting his mouth doesn't follow with wheezing, or how he can take the full rib expanding breaths when he needs it without coughing until there are tears forcing themselves out of his eyes.

Bucky steps forward, his hand gently presses against the expanse of Steve's chest. He stops himself from gawking considering the fact you could park an eighteen wheeler on this thing, he even opens his mouth to say just that but then he feels Steve's heart beat, steady and pumping under his palm.

It's only slight considering the amount of muscle and thick bone in the way but he can feel it all the same and it's not stuttering and irregular. It's pumping blood, lots of blood wherever Steve needs it, constantly and in all the right places instead of spending most of its time in the lowest point of the body.

If Steve were to get sick this heart would help him get better instead of having to fight to keep itself working, and his new lungs might get congested but they wouldn't spasm every time he needed a breath of fresh air. Steve won't be laying in bed all winter sick and out of his mind with any and every illness that has always loved making his life a living hell.

Steve is healthy.

And suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Bucky clears his throat and blinks away any escaped liquid from his eyes, which are very pointedly looking towards his hand. Because if he looks up at Steve and sees those blue eyes all concerned, seeing right through him like they always do, he really will loose it.

"You're okay.." He mumbles mostly to himself.

It comes off as a statement more than anything and a chocked out one at that but Steve knows, because he always knows what Bucky is trying to get at. He places his hand over Bucky's wrist and just holds him, his hand is steady and must be magical because Bucky grows calm at the touch.

"I'm okay."

Feeling himself falter at the affirmation, he leans in, arms wrapping around the waist he could once circle completely with one arm. But he almost backs out as quickly as he started it, the foreign body giving the wrong signals, like hugging a coworker or a distant relative you see once a decade.

But taking a deep breath to centre himself, Steve smelled like he always did, plus the scent of cheap soap hardly lingering, faded from the long day they both just had.

And when he ran his hands over his back he could feel the familiar humps of his spine and count them all the same. Even Steve's hands find the same spot on Bucky's back as they always used to, where his ribs end and his back start to dip in at the start of his waist.

Bucky can still reach the hair at the base of Steve's head and run his fingers through it like he used to see Steve's ma do when they were young.

Now Steve sighs into the hug and Bucky squeezes tighter since he knows he won't be doing any damage. They stay like that for a long time in their own personal world, the centre of their own solar system, everything else moving around them, floating within their orbit.

When they pull back, Bucky's hands linger on Steve's waist for longer then they should and when he looks up Steve's eyes are so full of admiration but his nose and eyebrows are scrunched up like he's got something to say.

Bucky takes his hands back to his sides. "what?"

"We aren't going to leave each other again, okay?" He says it so sure, like they aren't going to be in the heat of battle every other day but Bucky wants it just as bad as he does so he nods and smiles.

"You're stuck with me pal, I'm not going anywhere"

#and then he fell of a train so yeah #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain America the first avenger #catfa #stucky #bringing stucky with me to my grave #40s stucky #drabble?? #headcanon #ficlet perhaps

[maxcuntstappen]

for a prompt,

max as the f1 world champion. charles is the heir to the monaco throne. [lorenzo is king currently]

max and charles love each other. max wins the monaco gp for charles. monaco goes crazy.

"Max," Charles tries to sound stern, he really does. But he doesn't think it comes across too well with how he cannot stop giggling.

It's not his fault really.

It's his boyfriend's.

His boyfriend who has him pressed against a wall of his motorhome, relentlessly kissing at Charles' cheeks.

"Maxxxx," Charles tries again, "You need to go."

A 'uh-huh' is the only indicator of Max having even heard him.

Max redirects his attack of pecks to Charles' neck and it makes Charles squirm.

"Max, that tickles!" he exclaims, trying to wiggle his way out from under his boyfriend's grasp.

Max chuckles, finally moving his mouth away from Charles' body, to look him in the eye, "I know," he grins.

It makes Charles' heart jump, how happy Max looks, how pretty.

Time seems to stop as Charles cradles Max's face in his palm, relishing in how Max turns his face to nuzzle into it.

Blue eyes twinkling, lips perpetually pulled upward, cheeks pink and puffed up. Max is a beauty.

Charles opens his mouth to tell him so when a firm knock interrupts him.

"Prince Charles," one of his guards calls out, "Nous devons partir maintenant. Prince Lorenzo et Prince Arthur attendent."

Charles sighs, wishing he could stay with Max longer.

Max seems to be wishing for the same, if his drawn out groan is anything to go by.

Yet, Max doesn't move away. He only snuggles into Charles harder, head buried into the crook of Charles' neck.

Charles laughs, running his fingers through Max's hair, "Come on, mon amour. Time to go."

Max huffs, "No."

Charles rolls his eyes, fondness seeping through his pores, and gently tugs at Max's hair.

Max pulls his head away with an exaggerated moan, "Ouch," frown lines covering his pretty face.

Charles pecks Max's nose and all of them disappear in a second.

"I'll see you after, okay?" Charles says, squeezing the nape of Max's neck.

"Yeah," Max says, a small smile on his lips, "Yeah, okay."

Max steps back and Charles walks to the door.

"Wait!" Max exclaims, making Charles jump.

He turns around.

"What about my good luck kiss?" Max asks, the corner of his mouth twitching as he pouts, clearly trying to suppress the smile trying to break through.

"You don't need a good luck kiss, mon amour. You're Max Verstappen," Charles reminds him.

Even after all this time, ever after multiple world championships, countless podiums and several records broken, Max still lights up when Charles compliments him.

He hopes he never stops.

"Charles, but what if you don't kiss me and the race goes badly? Do you really want that on your conscience?"

Charles scoffs, "Okay but what if I do kiss you and then the race doesn't go well? Will it be my fault then?"

"Of course not, schatje. Then it'll mean that your kiss protected me from anything worse happening," Max replies, like it's the most obvious information in the world.

Charles' heart throbs with adoration. He takes a quick two steps and grabs Max's face in his hand, pressing a firm, soft kiss to Max's lips.

When Charles pulls away, Max looks dazed.

Charles gets it. He feels it, the overwhelming rush he gets when he cannot believe this is his life.

"Good luck, mon amour," Charles smiles, dropping his hands, and walking backwards to the door, "See you on the podium, okay?"

Max simply nods, seeming to still be too lost for words.

That's okay. Charles knows what he would've said anyways.

--

"And the winner of the 2024 Monaco Grand Prix... Max Verstappen!"

The roaring in Charles' ears nearly blocks out the raucous applause of the Red Bull team. But Charles hears them still, faintly. Acknowledges them, thanks them for loving Max and appreciating him and taking care of him.

His cheeks ache because of how hard he is smiling.

And yet, when Max steps up on the top step, quickly turning around to catch Charles' eye, his grin somehow widens.

Charles winks at him, his hands not pausing their applause, and Max laughs, softly shaking his head, before facing the crowd.

Charles' eyes are glued to Max's back as the Dutch and Austrian anthems play. It's a beautiful back, all broad, strong shoulders, tapering down into a small waist.

The only thing that could make Max look any better is if he was wearing red, Charles thinks to himself.

Well, all in due time.

Soon, he's being indicated to step up to award the second place trophy.

Charles looks straight ahead as he walks to the platform, not risking turning into an ooey-gooey mess for a glance of Max's face.

Lando stands tall and proud on the podium, his face split into a grin.

Charles hands Lando his trophy and Lando holds out a hand for Charles to shake.

It makes Charles roll his eyes. There's no need to pretend that Charles doesn't see Lando every other weekend, that he hasn't seen Lando sloshed out of his mind and passed out on the floor of Max's jet, that he doesn't send Lando memes constantly and bitches about it if he doesn't give an adequate reply.

Charles grasps his hand and pulls Lando into a hug.

Lando yelps, and gosh, Charles so hopes that there is some camera somewhere that has recorded the noise.

"Good job, mate," Charles says, arms tight around Lando.

"Thanks, mate," Lando replies, and Charles can hear the smile in his voice.

Charles beelines back to his original spot, next to his brother, standing behind the podium finishers.

As Lorenzo awards Max with his trophy, Charles has to suppress the urge to shout and scream and hoot.

All he can do is clap a bit more aggressively than he did for the others.

It doesn't miss his notice how Arthur does the same.

It's soon after that Charles and his brothers, along with the other dignitaries, are being hurried off of the stage in an attempt to keep them safe from the champagne flying in the air.

Charles has just stepped into the protection of the wings when he's being pushed back out to the stage again.

"Va!" Arthur urges, literally shooing Charles away with his hand.

"Ne fais rien de trop stupide!" Lorenzo warns, but he's grinning wide too.

God, Charles loves his family.

It's Lando that spots him first.

The very next second, Charles is drenched head to toe.

But it's worth it to have Max's giggle in his ear as he hugs him tight tight tight.

His race suit under Charles' hands feels sticky and cold and like home.

"Mon Dieu, Max, tu es incroyable. So incredible. I love you. I'm proud of you," Charles rambles, trying to make the most of the couple of moments he'll get to speak to Max before he's swallowed up by his team and media duties.

Max pulls away, smiling at him, all crinkle eyed, "Thank you for your good luck kiss, schatje," he gives him a quick soft peck before gently pressing the trophy into his arms, "This one is for you," and then Charles is swallowed up in Max's embrace again, the roars of the crowd ringing in his ear, nowhere as loud as the beat of his own heart.

#sometimes the fic comes to u like a ufo burning a crop circle in the middle of a fucking farm #lestappen #lav's ficlets #lav's prompts #charles leclerc #max verstappen #f1 rpf #no editing #no beta'ing #we ball #wrote this all out rn and posting it god bless #oh yeah let's ignore monaco's lgtbq laws yeah?

[starrystevie]

i love the idea of eddie working jobs that no one expects him to. eddie as a baker, hasn't slept at all between finishing his concert and needing to get to work, so he's surviving off coffee alone because he has to start on the muffins. eddie as a barista, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail as he smiles with fake politeness at overworked jerks complaining about the price of soy milk. eddie as a grocery store bagger, taking the time to put all the similar foods into the same bags to make it easier for the shopper to unload at home and his rings turn ice cold from holding onto a carton of ice cream for too long.

eddie as a daycare greeter, throwing kids over his shoulder to march them into their classrooms with a warrior's roar as they squeal and pound at his back with grubby fists. eddie as a valet at a fine dining restaurant, opening doors with an outstretched hand to assist guests and then peeling away in a too nice car once the driver was out of earshot. eddie as a florist, wrapping smiley face bandaids around his fingers that were pricked by one too many thorns before setting out a curbside vase with free flowers for tourists to grab.

and you know what else i love? steve falling for him in every possible universe. he's first in line to get the blueberry muffins that he's grown to crave every wednesday morning, and it absolutely has nothing to do with the man at the register. he's at the end of the mid-morning rush to get his coffee and blushes when he sees the barista give him a real smile instead of the fake ones he throws around. he stays long after his bags are tucked neatly in his shopping cart so he can invite the guy who went the extra mile to pack his things nicely to his house for dinner because they both know he bought enough for two.

he's the single dad who's a little rundown but sees a future in mr. eddie as he holds his crying kid to his chest and sings something to get her smiling again. he's the guy standing off to the side in the parking lot laughing because the hot valet doesn't know how to drive stick and he has to yell instructions to him for how to put it in gear so he won't get fired. he's the new to town fireman that's looking for a fresh start who takes a flower from the free vase every day only to bring it inside and give it to the guy who's prettier than all the other flowers combined.

the idea that they can find each other time and time and again and the love story feels right. the idea that they can be two strangers or best friends or enemies or teammates and let whatever blossom between them until they're madly in love. the idea that eddie is eddie and steve is steve and that they are a match no matter the circumstances.

#there is truly nothing that gets me going more than an au i'm not even sorry #steddie #steddie headcanon #my writing #me casually making like 6 new aus that i now wnat to write it's fine #WAIT i just realized how i can write all these without having to make new fics for all of them hell yeah #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson

[so-that-was-okay]

Every time there's a storm, Buck's body enters a very tense state. He's not afraid of thunder, he knows what happened to him needed very specific circumstances, he knows he's safe in his kitchen cutting onions, carrots and celery while Tommy is reading the news on his phone, sitting at the kitchen island. But his body remembers, and today's storm is a nasty one.

When lightning strikes first, it's pretty far from his place but it startles him.

"Shit."

His right hand is shaking so he puts the knife down for a minute. Tommy lifts his eyes from his phone.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just... it's okay. I'm... I'm fine."

Buck collects himself, picks the knife up and continues chopping. The soffritto is slowly cooking when another flash lights up the loft. This one is closer and they can hear the air tearing. This time it's Buck's legs that give up, shaking, unable to carry his weight anymore. He can feel it and crouches immediately, his hands gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. He knows he needs to calm down, to make his body understand there's no danger.

Tommy immediately comes close to him, a warm hand on Buck's back, and turns off the stove.

"I'm- I'm fine, Tommy. I just... I just need to breathe."

"I know. But let me stay here, okay?"

Tommy sits down on the floor just next to Buck's folded body, his back against the kitchen cabinet. Their eyes meet, they share a small smile. Buck knows he's safe here, in his kitchen. He also knows he's safe with Tommy, his steady support keeps him grounded. His legs are still shaking and it's creeping up to his shoulders. Outside, the sky is raging with flashing lights and growling sounds.

"Did I tell you about my insect phase when I was a kid?" asks Tommy while staring in front of him. In the corner of his eye, he can see Buck slowly shaking his head.

"I was 5 and I was on a mission. I spent my days hunting for insects. I wanted to collect them all, I was fascinated. So many of them, everywhere! My mom... she hated them, but me? I wanted to meet them all and, I don't know, make new friends?" he scoffs. "I was lonely and it was just a way for me to fill my life with something that was only for me, maybe. My favorite ones were the dragonfly, I was already fascinated by flying, but also the water striders. I mean, walking on the water? Incredible."

They look at each other and burst out laughing.

"Yeah, well, I was an insect nerd, I guess."

Feeling less shaky in spite of the sky still growling, Bucks shifts his weight on his legs and sits down next to Tommy on the ground with a long sigh. He lets his head rest on the cabinet's door behind him, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands flat on the floor.

Tommy gently hooks his index around Buck's pinkie like a lifeline.

"Do you want me to finish cooking while you go lie down?"

Buck shakes his head and sighs again.

"No, give me a minute and I'll be fine. I promised you lasagna. I worked hard to nail this version, you will have it for dinner."

"Okay, okay, Pasta Queen!"

Their laughter drowns out the sound of the storm now receding.

#911 #911 abc #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy ficlet #i'm not a fanfic writer but i do have tons of ideas and hcs so here's a short one #also english is not my mothertongue so yeah #i just wanted to write them being supportive #also please let buck be the pasta queen of the couple #i want them to have fun together to be best friends and not just lovers

[unclewaynemunson]

Thanks to a conversation I had with @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe and @stevesbipanic about this post by @piratefishmama about Scott Clarke helping middle schoolers with sexuality crises I wrote a lil something :)

Scott Clarke has been worrying about Eddie Munson ever since the boy first set foot into his classroom. He was tiny for his age and thin on the verge of being scrawny, with big, scared eyes in a pale face. With his long, dark curls he was the kind of boy who would unavoidably be called names for being too much like a girl, and Scott wasn't surprised that it only took one week before the boy came in with his hair all buzzed off, pulling even more attention to his expressive eyes instead.

Scott was known for worrying about the nerdy kids, and even though it wouldn't be obvious to everyone right away, he immediately noticed that Eddie was one of those. He wasn't the kind of nerdy kid who would sit in the front of the classroom, hanging onto Scott's every word while avidly scribbling down the secrets of the universe that Scott liked to share. No, Eddie was the other kind of nerdy kid: the kind who would often be called dreamy, or imaginative, or quiet, or lazy. The kind who would retreat to the back of the class and get low scores on their tests because they were spending their time sneakily reading comic books underneath the table or staring out of the window with their mind completely elsewhere for hours on end.

Middle school wasn't an easy place for kids like Eddie, as Scott knew all too well. The only thing he could do, as a teacher, was try to make it a little bit more bearable for him. He was glad when the boy took him up on his offer to spend his lunch breaks in the science classroom instead of the cafeteria or the playground. Soon, it became a habit that Eddie would be on the other side of Scott's desk reading his way through some big book while Scott was grading papers or preparing his next lesson.

Scott knew that with patience and kindness, all kids like Eddie would eventually come out of their shell and start trusting him. So he asked about the books Eddie brought first, proceeded to topics like music and games he liked to play later, and eventually could ask him about his home life.

Whenever he'd talk about his books or his music, Eddie's eyes lit up and his smile widened. Scott soon found out that, when Eddie was at ease, he could talk a mile a minute and bounce around the classroom, caught up in his stories with all kinds of excited hand gestures. At those moments, he was nothing like the quiet boy with the haunted look in his eyes who Scott met two months ago.

But Eddie never disclosed much about his personal life. He didn't mention his mother even once and he didn't tell Scott much more than that he was living with his uncle in Forest Hills because his dad was “unavailable” to take care of him.

Scott doubted whether Eddie was much better off living with his uncle than with his father. Judging from the meager lunches he brought with him, the shabby and ill-fitting clothes he wore, and the fact that the man never once came to drop Eddie off or pick him up at school, Scott was skeptical, to say the least.

He started worrying even more when one day, Eddie lingered in the classroom after the last lesson of the day, saying he wanted to ask him a “science question” with a certain dread in his eyes that Scott had never seen there before.

“There's nothing I love more than a good science question,” Scott quickly reassured him. “Tell me, what is it?”

“The other kids,” said Eddie, “Brendon and Mark and, you know... They call me names.” His voice was soft and his eyes were aimed towards the ground as he spoke. “Queer. And fag. And...” He shrugged. “Y'know.” He raised his head up again, big scared eyes meeting Scott's.

“I – I think they're right,” he said, almost in a whisper. “How can you stop being gay?”

And oh, this was a conversation Scott had experience with. He had been a teacher at Hawkins Middle School for almost two decades and there had always been kids he worried about, who would open up to him about this exact topic.

So he sat Eddie down at his desk and patiently talked him through everything the boy needed to know; God knows his trailer park uncle most certainly wouldn't. He told him all about science and nature and feelings and, most importantly, being perfect the way you are, no matter who you love.

More than two hours later, Eddie finally left the classroom with relief in his eyes instead of dread. But Scott kept worrying: Eddie's uncle hadn't so much as called the school to inform where Eddie was. Who was looking out for him after the last school bell rang and the kid rode his bike out of Scott's sight?

Not long after that conversation, Scott finally got to meet Mr. Munson for the first time. He was one of Scott's last appointments of the yearly parent-teacher evening, and Scott half expected him not to show up. But he was right on time, even though he looked almost comically out of place when he walked into the science classroom.

He was exactly what Scott would've imagined of a man living in Forest Hills: washed-up jeans and a worn-down flannel, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, and a gruff frown hidden underneath a faded gray trucker's hat. He walked up to where Scott was seated behind his desk in a few big strides, and Scott couldn't help but think that there was something almost intimidating in merely the way he carried himself. Not exactly the kind of man who radiated safety for a boy like Eddie.

They shook hands and Scott felt rough callouses press against his own chalk-stained fingers.

While Scott talked Mr. Munson through Eddie's grade list – a list that at this point was barely enough to get him into the next grade – Mr. Munson didn't say anything. Only when Scott asked him if he had any questions, he opened his mouth.

“How're the other kids treatin' him?” the man asked him in a thick southern accent.

“It's not easy for him,” Scott answered in all honesty. He wondered how much Eddie told his uncle about what his days at school usually looked like.

Mr. Munson bowed his head. “I know,” he mumbled.

“Eddie is a sensitive kid, he –”

“I know what kinda kid he is,” Mr. Munson interrupted him immediately. It sounded sharp and Scott wondered if he should be worried about Mr. Munson having a temper.

“Of course,” he cautiously retreated. “I just assumed, since I've never seen you at the school before, sir, that you might not be aware of what exactly he has to deal with in here.”

“Maybe you should do less assuming, then,” Mr. Munson answered bluntly. “You think I should be at the school more? Drop Eddie here in the mornin', come pick him up in the afternoon, all that?”

Scott wondered if Mr. Munson was mocking him.

“Well, I think it might be good for Eddie if –”

“You know why I ain't never at the school? 'Cause I'm tryin' my damned best to keep that boy's stomach filled. When should I be at the school, exactly, between my day shift at the quarry and my night shift at the plant?”

“I – I'm sorry,” Scott backpedaled. Suddenly, the frown lines in the tired face of the man in front of him had gotten a different meaning. “I didn't know. You're right, I shouldn't have made assumptions.”

“Look, I dunno how much he shared with you, Mr. Clarke, but I know he looks up to you. So I think you should know that he's the kinda kid who got in trouble at home for bein' “too sensitive.”” He shot Scott a meaningful glance. “Boy was cryin' to me on the phone, 'cause of what his daddy did to him, so I picked him up and drove him here and I made it my mission, as his uncle, to protect him, to shield him, and to take care of him as best as I possibly can.”

Scott had always prided himself on being a good judge of character. He wondered if he had ever been more wrong about somebody before in his life.

“I know he thinks highly of you, Sir,” Mr. Munson continued. “And I'm very grateful that you're keepin' an eye on him when I can't. But at some point, he may trust you with some very personal information about himself, and you better have his back when he does.”

He knows, Scott realized with a shock. He tried to give Mr. Munson a reassuring smile, but his heart was beating in his throat with what he was about to tell him.

“I was a sensitive kid, myself, Sir. I promise you Eddie is in good hands with me.”

Scott wondered whether Mr. Munson caught the message in those words while a long silence stretched out. Their gazes were locked: Mr. Munson's eyes were bright blue, completely different from Eddie's but just as expressive. His gaze softened while the seconds passed and underneath his graying beard, his mouth twitched.

“I was a sensitive kid, too,” he eventually said.

And Scott's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. This man, with his big calloused hands and his trucker's hat and his undeniably manly demeanor?

His feelings of astonishment must have been visible on his face, because Mr. Munson chortled softly.

“Didn't see that one coming, did ya?”

Scott laughed, too, making the last bit of residual tension between them disappear. “I'm sorry, Mr. Munson. I had no idea.”

“'S okay,” Mr. Munson said. “'s good to know that Eddie has someone lookin' out for him here. Um –” He scraped his throat. “I um...” He abruptly averted his gaze back to his lap again, where his fingers were nervously fumbling with the cap he was holding between his hands.

“I always make Eddie dinner,” he finally said. “'S one of the few things I can do for him, y'know. It'd probably be better for me if I took a quick nap 'tween my jobs, but it's the only time of the day we got together. I'm not much of a cook, but I try to get him to eat somethin' healthy and warm, and we talk about stuff, whatever it is he wants to talk about. So um... If you ever wanna join us – that is, if you don't mind comin' to the trailer park... We don't have much, but I'm sure we can fit another chair 'round the table. I think it could be good for Eddie.”

Scott could barely believe what was happening. To think that only a few minutes ago, he had been worried about this man having a temper or being neglectful towards his nephew...

Wayne Munson was shy and soft-spoken and he loved Eddie with a passion that sparked a fierce protectiveness. And after having Scott judge him based on the way he looked and a bunch of false assumptions, he showed him nothing but genuine goodness.

He felt his lips bend into a smile more authentic than he'd been able to give in a while.

“I'd love to join you sometime,” he told Mr. Munson. “For Eddie – but I also wouldn't mind getting to know you better,” he added in a sudden spur or braveness.

And he could swear that something suspiciously like a smile matching his own was hiding beneath Mr. Munson's beard.

#thank you noelle for providing the worms #and thank you b for telling me that clarkson should always be brought up <3 #it's past 1am so idk if this is any good but here ya go #yeah i stole that speech from the joel stoffer interview about wayne #i love him #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #scott clarke #wayne munson #stranger things #scott clarke x wayne munson #clarkson my beloved #fruity ficlet #bluffing my way through that southern accent again 🙃

[cowboythighs]

little alpha eddie finds lost omega steve in the woods while playing in the rain. his baby alpha instincts kick in and he decides he needs to protect this little lost sheep.

⬇️⬇️

little alpha eddie finds lost omega steve in the woods while playing in the rain. his baby alpha instincts kick in and he decides he needs to protect this little lost sheep.

little alpha!eddie loved playing in the woods behind the trailer park. he knew that technically wayne had said he wasn’t supposed to go into the woods. but wayne had made that rule when he was a baby, and he was eight now! he was totally old enough to go on adventures by himself now!

he put on his oldest, dirtiest pair of tennis shoes (knowing if they got dirtier it wouldn’t be noticeable) and his rain jacket pulling the hood over his head and donning the role of strider setting off on his quest to find lost hobbits!

eddie splashed his way through the woods, pulling out his imaginary bow to shoot orca from trees and pulling out his invisible sword to fight off the ring wraiths! he was in the midst of a particularly fierce battle when he heard sniffling nearby.

eddie paused, listening, and heard the sound again. it was harder to smell in the rain, but if he tried really hard it was there- the faint smell of distressed omega.

eddie followed the sounds and smell to a massive fallen tree and found a little pup curled up underneath its shelter, crying quietly.

“hey,” eddie called out, approaching slowly, nose scrunching up as the distressed scent got stronger. the pup looked up, startled.

“it’s okay,” eddie assured him, squatting down a few feet away so that he was eye level with the little omega. “you don’t need to be scared. i’m eddie.”

“i’m steve,” the omega replied with a particularly big sniff. eddie wished he had a tissue.

“what are you doing out here all by yourself?” eddie asked, looking around and confirming that there were no adults around. “babies aren’t supposed to be in the woods by themselves. my uncle wayne told me so.”

steve looked up with a scowl, tears momentarily forgotten.

“i’m not a baby. i’m almost seven. and you’re by yourself too!”

eddie hummed in the way adults always did when he could tell they wanted to correct him but couldn’t be bothered.

“yeah, but i’m eight,” eddie said as if that settled things.

steve’s reply was cut off by a particularly fierce bout of shivering.

“you don’t have a jacket,” eddie pointed out. “you should go home and get one.”

“i can’t,” steve wailed, scenting heavily of despair, “i’m lost! i don’t know where home is and now i’ll never be able to find my nest again!”

“hey, it’s okay,” eddie scooted closer to throw his arm around steve’s shoulders. “it’s not like we’re in mordor or anything. this is just the Old Forest, we’re still close to the Shire.”

“the shire?” steve asked, confused.

“yeah, that means we’re not far from home, so you don’t need to be scared. plus i already killed off all the bad guys so we’re safe.”

“you killed bad guys?” steve looked shocked.

“it’s okay,” eddie assured him. “it’s just pretend. you can come home with me though, i’ll keep you safe! and when my uncle wayne gets home from work he can find your home! he’s really good at finding things. he finds my toys and my socks for me all the time!”

“okay,” steve sniffled through the last of his tears and stood up, and took eddie’s outstretched hand, ready to follow him all the way back to the Shire.

when they made it back to Forest Hills Trailer Park, eddie pulled steve into his trailer and helped him strip out of his wet clothes and put them in the washer with his own.

“you know how to do laundry?” steve asked sounding surprised, leaning in closer to smell eddie. “but aren’t you an alpha? my dad says alphas don’t do laundry.”

“your dad sounds like a bad alpha. sorry!” eddie quickly apologized. “my uncle wayne just says that alphas should be able to take care of themselves and their omega too.”

“woah,” steve said, looking at eddie in awe. “is your uncle an alpha?”

“no,” eddie said, leading steve to his room to pick out dry clothes. “he’s an omega. he’s also like, the best person ever. if you’re still scared we can take some toys and go lay in his nest. i’ve got action figures and race cars and teddy bears.”

“i’m not scared,” steve insisted putting on eddie’s too-big pajamas. “but i guess we could go lay in your uncles nest if you are.”

“okay, grab a toy and follow me.” eddie said, taking steve’s hand for good measure after he picked up eddie’s biggest teddy. he took steve right to the center of the nest, giggling when steve burrowed in and let out a little purr.

“it’s good, right?” eddie said as he breathed in deep. “uncle wayne smells like a campfire marshmallows.”

steve hummed his agreement. “you smell nice too. like cinnamon and christmas trees.”

eddie’s cheeks grew hot. “you smell better now. you were sour in the forest, but now you smell like an orange.”

steve blushed and hugged his teddy bear tighter. “can you hug me while i go to sleep? my nanny always hugs me until i go back to sleep when i have scary dreams.”

“sure,” eddie scoots closer and wraps his arms around steve, “you’re safe now. uncle wayne will be home soon and he can find your house. or you could just stay here and live with us! we could be friends. i’ve never had a friend before; i bet it’s even better than pretend ones!”

steve’s soft little snore was the only answer, but eddie didn’t need a reply. something in his chest clicked when he held steve and he knew that they’d have forever to talk once steve woke up, because steve was his and he was steves. eddie snuggled in closer and let his own sleepy lids flutter shut. he fell asleep wondering if steve would rather be legolas or frodo next time they ventured into the woods of middle earth; no doubt in his mind that they would share their next adventure together.

#steddie #stranger things ficlet #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #cowboythighs #fluff #am i a day late and a dollar short on omega verse week? yeah! but i needed the fluff this morning so here we are! #cross posted from my twt

[blushweddinggowns]

Steddie Drunk Dialing Fluff

Steve Harrington-Munson was probably one of the happiest men to be alive in the modern era. He had the perfect life, against all odds. Because apparently having your late teens and early twenties ruined by demons equated to a fantastic adulthood.

He had it all. A loving family, the best friend/surrogate sister he could ever ask for, and he was married to the love of his life. And okay, yes. That had included some extremely embarrassing revelations and internal meltdowns and... a pretty brutal disownment. But he had figured it all out in the end. And here he was, a decade later with a ring on his finger and a nice hyphenated name. Not to mention how he was basically a trophy husband.

Eddie hadn't wasted a moment of the last decade. A symptom of almost dying it would seem. He went for the GED, gathered the band back up, moved across the country to chase his dreams and play in every shitty dive bar he could until they were discovered. All while dragging Steve along for the ride.

As much as Steve had believed in him, neither of them had been prepared for his music career actually taking off. Especially not to the level it did. It was undeniable that his husband was an A-Lister, despite how universally hated he was by half the country. You don't get many out and proud metal front man who loved parading around his high school sweetheart at every social event he could. But Europe loved him, as did the entirety of gay, rebellious youths world wide.

It was so stupid. There Eddie was, painted as an insane freak who was fake-married. With tabloids running story after story about his secret children, his drug addiction, a wife from another country, anything that they could think of. All while Eddie spent every free moment at Steve's side, always opting for a night in with his baby when given the choice. And when he wasn't doing that, he was busy playing surrogate fun uncle to the kids, who were definitly not kids anymore. But that didn't stop them from all getting together for Dungeons and Dragons once a month, hundreds and hundreds of campaign hours on everyone's belts. And that was his life. Spending time with his family, forcing them on hikes and runs, volunteering, working occasionally to help Robin with her translating work, all while coming home to the sweetest thing that ever existed.

God, did Steve love that man. Reminiscing about the love of his life while he was on tour was not helping his fretful sleep. He just... really had given him everything. He loved him so much in fact that he was only slightly pissed when he was woken up at three a.m. from the phone ringing off the hook.

Steve reached for it blindly, still half-asleep when he mumbled, "Mm-Eds?"

"Steeeeeeeeeevie," Eddie's voice slurred back at him, "Baby booooy. How's my baby boy? I miss my baby boy."

Steve smiled despite himself, yawning into the phone. Eddie was lucky he was so cute, considering how the love of his life who could not remember what time zones were, "He misses you too. And he's a little tired right now babe. What's up?"

"Day drunk," Eddie sighed, "Guys, morning show, mimosas, hotel room to sleep it off. Missing you."

"You won't be missing me for long," Steve softly laughed. Though... hearing his voice was quite the reminder of how cold the bed suddenly felt, "Just... one more week. That's not too long right?"

"Too long!" Eddie groaned, dramatic, "I miss you now. Why can't I see you now? Wait-Can I see you now? Cause planes and trains and-"

"And no," Steve interrupted with a chuckle, "You'd only get me for a few hours before you'd have to leave again."

"Worth it," Eddie mumbled out, his voice a little muffled as he tumbled around in his hotel bed, "Want my baby."

The pathetic tilt to his voice was enough to make Steve's heart clench. God he was too precious. Suddenly a red-eye in the middle of the night for a two hour make-out session didn't sound like such a bad idea. But he could be the strong one for tonight, "You have me sweetheart. Want me to stay on until you fall asleep."

"Yes please," Eddie sighed, "Love your voice. It's so... nice. Like... audible perfume. Like poetry or something."

"Oh baby you are wasted," Steve said as he laid back down, nestling the phone to his ear, "Please tell me you drank some water before laying down?"

"... maybe?"

"Babe."

"I knoooow. Keep nagging me though. I missed that too."

"Is my bitching your bed time story?"

He could hear Eddie nodding, rusting against the fabric, "And it's the best. Keep going?"

Steve rolled his eyes, but he did what he was asked. Saying every silly little grievance he could think of. He whined about how cold it was in bed without him, how Eddie had promised to take out the trash before he left and forgot. Again. How he hated how quiet it was without him, how much he missed hearing his voice trailing in and out of every room.

And Eddie listened, mumbling out a few sleepy m'sorrys and I love yous along the way. Until all Steve could hear was the slow, steady sound of his breathing. But he didn't hang up. Not when that was one of his favorite sounds in the world. And the perfect thing to fall asleep to.

Steve smiled to himself as he closed his eyes, a little amazed that Eddie could still make him feel so loved, from hundreds of miles away.

But one thing was for sure. He still had to be the happiest man on earth.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ive written steve as a cursed prince #an emt #a counselor #a bartender #but now I write him as ME #Eddie Munson Arm Candy #Offical Title #i havent lost my love for them #im just a drug addict lol #a FUNCTIONING ONE #recovering #it's chill #i'm trying #in a slightly better place #yeah they went to cali for his music career but its cool #Robin went with #I'm going crazy in these tags the fuck #they are highschool sweethearts fuck it #he was in highschool when they met #close enough #fluff #so fluff #im like getting it out of my system #an exercise in writing and then sharing said writing even if it sucks #because I think everything i write sucks right now

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Roy’s breath catches as he catches sight of them across the pitch, Colin and a dark-haired guy who must be Michael judging by the way Colin’s kissing him, and that’s fucking brave, isn’t it, good lad, but that’s also going to be all over everywhere before the day is out and is Colin ready for—

“Oh,” a familiar voice breathes next to him. Jamie. Of fucking course.

Roy is about to warn him not to be a prick about this – old habits die hard – but before he can say a word, Jamie unexpectedly adds, “Well, that looks proper fun, eh?”

Roy’s eyes snap to him, because: ”What?”

Jamie just shrugs, casual as all hell as he jerks his head towards Colin and his fella. “Just saying, looks like fun, that.”

The look he gives Roy is carefully blank, but there’s a curious glint in his eyes that has Roy suddenly and strangely feeling like he’s gasping for breath, or scrambling for purchase.

What, he wants to demand again, but he doesn’t, not before Jamie breaks into a grin and fucking winks, and then he’s off to crowd Ted with the rest of team, leaving Roy to stare after him with his face inexplicably flushed and his heart beating inexplicably fast.

What the fuck, he thinks. And, … oh. And, huh.

That's going to fucking complicate things.

(It does, a lot. Jamie's right, though, it is fucking fun.)  

#good random feelings realization thursday unto you all #roy kent #jamie tartt #colin hughes #royjamie #yeah idk #ficlet #my stuff

[fishfingersandscarves]

"Hob, do you know what day it is?"

Hob looked up from his grading at Dream and rubbed at his eyes. The late night from before was hitting him harder than he expected. God, he was getting old.

"Uh, Wednesday? I don't have class today if that's what you're wondering." He said, clicking the top of his pen idly.

"I wasn't. But thank you." Dream said. He looked at Hob expectantly. "Was that all, love?" Hob asked, turning back to his papers. Dream hummed and kissed the top of Hob's head. "For now." And that was that.

Later at lunch, (Hob: eating. Dream: drinking.) Dream asked again.

"Still Wednesday." Hob laughed. "Are you expecting something today?" Dream sipped his wine and quirked an eyebrow.

Hob patted down his pockets with good humor. "Nothing for you here." He patted his head. "Nothing here either." Dream snorted. Hob smiled. He tapped his mouth thoughtfully. Then gasped in mock surprise. .

"Ah, here it is!" He leaned across the table and gave Dream a kiss.

Dream laughed into it, making their teeth clash. Hob pressed forward and the table wobbled. They necked each other a bit more before Dream pulled back a playful gleam in his eye. "Hob Gadling, you are going to topple the table."

"Oh, I'll topple something alright," Hob grinned. "Terrible." Dream said, smiling.

"You love it." Hob said, pulling Dream flush against him. Tall and lithe and boney and so loved. "Perhaps." Dream murmured, pressing kisses and bites in turn against the soft flesh of where his neck met his jaw. Hob shivered.

"Alright, come on then," Hob lifted Dream off the ground with a grunt. "We've got things to do."

Later still, when night had come and they lay draped in each other's arms Hob asked instead. "So what day is it? Aside from Wednesday, I mean." Dream nuzzle against Hob’s neck and sighed. "It is the seventh of June."

Hob sat up suddenly, Dream made a noise of complaint from the pillows.

"No." Hob said, flabbergasted. "Yes," Dream said, muffled by the pillows.

"I forgot?!" Dream hummed, facedown on cotton. "You bastard," Hob laughed, face red, "Why didn't you say?"

"I tried," Dream frowned, though from the twinkle in his eye Hob could tell he was more amused than upset. "You bastard," Hob repeated, and began kissing every bit of Dream he could reach. Dream began to laugh, a joyful, horrible, braying noise that Hob loved more than anything.

"Happy anniversary, Dream." He said, pressing a final and long kiss to his lover's soft lips. "Happy anniversary, Hob." Dream said softly.

Hob smiled at him and they kissed slowly. There was joy in it and endless possibilities. Years upon years of anniversaries stretched out before him. They pulled apart and Hob felt his heart beating just the same as it had, more than six hundred years ago when he first laid eyes on his beautiful stranger. His love.

Then Dream raised an eyebrow, eyes flashing and Hob suspected he might be more in trouble than he thought.

On AO3

#my writing #the sandman #the sandman netflix #fishfingersandscarves #dreamling #dream/hob #dream of the endless #dream (the sandman) #hob gadling #robert gadling #ficlet #yeah okay i wrote an anniversary thing

[varpusvaras]

It had been a busy day.

Part of it was Bail's own doing. He had needed something to distract himself from the ongoing investigation, so he had picked up all the work he had been putting aside during the past couple of weeks, and finally started to go through them. He was in the middle of going through the budget draft of ship manufacturing for Frigate-class ships, when the office's door's alarm lighted up.

Someone was trying to get in.

Emphasis on trying to get in. They weren't trying to break in, as Bail could see that they were trying to use their clearance on the door, but the reading kept being interrupted for some reason.

Bail frowned. He stood up and started to make his way towards the door, when the alarm shut down and the door slid open.

Fox all but stumbled in, his whole upper body pitching forwards as he moved, and he swayed still when he stopped and just stood there.

Bail was very thankful for having long legs, because he got to Fox with only a few quick strides, just in time when his swaying got worse and he started to list to the side, with his knees buckling. Bail managed to step to his side, so Fox would just easily fall towards him. He all but collapsed against Bail, his helmet diggin hard into Bail's chest as he let his head drop as well.

"Careful", Bail said, trying to take a batter hold of Fox, but as soon as Bail laid his hands on his back, Fox flinched and dug himself deeper against Bail. That was the last sign Bail needed to know that Fox was hurt.

When had this happened? Bail had not heard about any other operations where Fox would've been needed for the day, as they were busy with the attack on the Temple. Had something happened there? Bail had been under the impression that the situation was under control, and that there hadn't been any further attacks-

He could think about all of that a bit later.

"Fox?" He called. "Where does it hurt the most?"

Bail had learned to not simply ask if Fox was hurt, because almost every single time, if Fox just still had all of his limbs and his head attached to him, he would start to deny that he was injured in the first place, or insist that it was not, actually, even that bad. Fox did answer when asked what was exactly bothering him, even if he would try to downplay it anyway right after. At least it gave some sort of general direction for things.

Fox made an odd noise under his helmet, that almost didn't come out through the vocoders. It sounded almost like a whine.

"Head. Back. Arms. Hands. Legs", Fox muttered against Bail's chest. "Everywhere."

Alright, then. A little help, but a lot to be worried about.

"Alright", Bail breathed out. "Let's get you to sit down."

The few meters from the door to the office's couch took a lot longer than they usually did. Bail tried to keep most of Fox's weight on him, but it was still a struggle.

Bail couldn't understand how this had happened, and how any of the other Guards had not taken Fox back to the base immediately to be treated. They were all very protective of their Commander, and if they had been present, Bail knew that they would've taken action immediately, unless...they had not been there at all.

There was only one situation that Bail knew where Fox would be alone, that would end up like this.

The burning of anger lit up inside of him. Bail had never previously thought of himself using blackmail or any other unsavory methods like that, but even he had his limits. It was high time he started to weed out all the unsuitable people, who thought it was appropriate to treat the Guard how they liked.

But first, he needed to tend to Fox.

They got to the couch. Fox looked like he was ready to just fall onto it, which would most likely just aggravate everything more, so Bail had to very slowly and carefully put him down and arrange his body so it didn't look like it hurt too much.

"I'm going to take the helmet off", Bail informed him, before he reached for it and gently lifted it up.

Fox had mentioned head pain just before, and Bail could see why straight away. He had seen enough concussions to know what they looked like, and the way Fox's eyes were dark and could barely keep track of Bail, even though he was right in front of him, told enough.

Bail took in a deep breath and then took a better look of Fox as a whole.

Another immediately noticeable thing was his left arm. Fox was holding it close to his abdomen, and the commlink on his vambrace had an error-light on, as that entire piece of armor seemed to be slightly dented inwards. That explained why he had difficulties getting the door to read the clearance. It was either that the device didn't work properly, or Fox had difficulties keeping his arm still, or both, as Bail was already sure that the arm itself was also broken.

Bail glanced down, and held back a grimace and then a snarl. If the arm was probably broken, Fox's left leg definitely was, as the foot had rotated inside in a way that was clearly forced. No wonder he had been stumbling, with both the concussion and this.

Head, arms, hands, legs. Back.

The armor was not fastened properly, so Bail had an easier time getting it all of, even with Fox sitting up. He still ended up jostling him a little as he took off the backpiece, and every sharp breath Fox took in only served to fuel the anger more.

Bail carefully rolled the blacks up. He didn't need more than a peek to see the deeply darkened skin as bruises were already starting to form.

Bail never stopped to be both impressed and horrified of the way the clones were able to just push the pain aside. He almost hoped that some of it was because the concussion was making Fox confused enough to ignore some of it.

Bail tried to breathe in deep. He hoped it would've get the anger at bay for a moment longer.

It did, in a way. It pushed it down, but at the same time, gave it enough air to grow.

Fox looked at him then, his eyes wide, and even though Bail was almost scared to touch him, he had to. He needed to.

So he took Fox's face into his hands.

"What happened?" He asked, stroking his thumb over Fox's cheek.

Fox let out a wavering breath.

"I- we got a suspect brought in", Fox started, his voice stammering bit at the start. "She requested a visitor, a Jedi. It was- in her rights, so, we brought the Jedi in, and she- we saw though the monitor her strangling the suspect, so we took her in. We had to."

He sounded almost pleading at the end, for a reason Bail didn't yet understand.

"I know", Bail said. "I know, you were just doing your job."

Fox swallowed, and grimaced, pressing his eyes shut tight for a moment. Bail ran his thumb over Fox's cheek again, and Fox tilted his head more into the touch.

"I-" Fox started. "Admiral Tarkin told us that this was not a Jedi matter anymore, and we couldn't let anyone else in. He ordered us not to let anyone in. But then Skywalker came and wanted to go see her, and-"

He grimaced again, and Bail wondered if speaking was aggravating him. He started to lean forward, and Bail let him fall to him again, tucking him against him as gently as he could.

"What was Skywalker doing there?" Bail asked. He hadn't thought that the Jedi would put him out of all people to investigate a crime like this. Skywalker was a capable Jedi and a General, but what Bail knew about him, he was not the most experienced in situations like these.

"She's his Padawan", Fox said against Bail's shoulder.

"Tano?" Bail asked, perplexed. "You arrested Ahsoka Tano?"

Fox stiffened.

"We had her on camera", he said. "There was no one else in the room. We didn't hurt her, we just-"

"Of course you didn't hurt her", Bail hurried to say. There had been a desperate edge sneaking into Fox's voice just now. "I know that."

Bail had to admit that he didn't know Ahsoka Tano too well, but from the impression he had gotten, he wouldn't have suspected her first, at least not without any evidence.

Well, it seemed like there was evidence, wasn't there?

Fox's right hand closed around the front of Bail's shirt. Bail held him as tight as he could.

"I told Skywalker", Fox said. "I told him my orders. I told him. He didn't listen. He got in. Tarkin found out I failed. One of his guards kicked me down. I think I- I think I broke my foot more."

Bail frowned, something like dread starting to trickle in into the anger.

"More?" He asked.

Fox didn't answer. He just curled up against Bail, and Bail heard his breath hitch.

"Fox?" Bail pressed on. He had to know. "What do you mean by that?"

Fox pushed his forehead hard against Bail's shoulder.

"Skywalker didn't listen", he said. "He demanded to be let in. I told him no. He didn't listen, he forced himself in, I couldn't- Tarkin didn't listen when I told him-"

He stopped, and breathed, almost heaving.

"It hurts", he whispered. "Nobody listened to me. It hurts."

Bail held him as tight as he could, stared at the wall of his office, and saw red.

---

Bail got the recording of what had happened in less than an hour.

The Guard was very willing to give him anything he asked for. They had all seemed just as angry as Bail was, and has kept apologising over and over again, for letting this happen. For leaving Fox alone. It had been in between rotations, and Fox had taken it upon himself to watch the security point for that one moment. During that one moment, Skywalker had come in, and started to demand to be let in.

It wasn't their fault, and Bail said so every single time. Skywalker was a Jedi. The Guard should've been able to trust a Jedi not to hurt them.

Bail watched Skywalker and Fox talk. He watched how Skywalker got more and more upset with every single second. He watched how Skywalker lifted his hand and pointed it towards Fox on the other side of the security glass. He watched Fox tell Skywalker no.

He watched Skywalker threw his arm towards Fox. He watched as the whole panel around the glass bent and broke away, the glass shattering. He watched Fox being flung across the room and crashing hard against the far wall, shards of the glass raining all around him. He watched Skywalker not giving any of it a second look as he made his way inside.

He watched Fox lay there, dazed, before he rolled on his side and just managed to push himself up when two officer guards strolled in, with Tarkin soon following them.

He watched the guards kick Fox down and beat down on his already battered back one, two times, before the recording cut.

He couldn't stomach watching it for a second time.

There was a request to enter coming from he door. Bail pressed the door open.

Padmé stepped in, with a tight smile on her face.

"I'm sorry it took me a while to get here", she said, as she sat down on the chair on the other side of the desk. "Things have been...hectic."

"I can only imagine", Bail said.

The anger had stopped burning a long time ago, now. Now, Bail felt like ice.

He leveled Padmé a look.

"Anakin has had a hectic day as well", he said.

Padmé was an intelligent woman. Bail knew that she would be able to connect all the implications and come to a conclusion on her own.

She did, as the smile dropped away from her face.

"What happened?" She asked. "Did...did something happen at the prison?"

Bail almost had a feeling that she knew already, on some level.

"Yes", Bail said. "He attacked Fox when Fox didn't let him in."

Colour drained from Padmé's face. She opened her mouth, closed it, and hesitated for a moment before she opened it again.

"Is he alright?" She asked. The correct question for the situation.

"No", Bail answered bluntly. "No, he isn't. He got seriously injured by Anakin, and then injured further by Tarkin because somehow, an armed Jedi attacking him means that he failed to follow orders."

Padmé shook her head.

"I can't believe it", she said. "Are you sure-"

"It's on record", Bail said. "And before you mention it, yes, I am aware that Tano was innocent and framed. That didn't happen here."

Padmé didn't say anything to that, even though she looked like she very much wanted to.

Bail stood up.

"I asked you to come here as a courtesy", he said. Padmé blinked at him.

"Courtesy?" She asked. "For what?"

"I'm warning you in advance, because you are still my friend", Bail said. "I am reporting Skywalker to the Jedi council and asking them to demote him. He is not suitable to be a Jedi."

"Bail", Padmé said. "Can we talk about this-"

"We cannot", Bail interrupted her. "I am not going to let this happen again."

"It's not going to happen again!" Padmé stood up as well. "Anakin was just worried about Ahsoka. Bail, please."

"That doesn't give him the right!" Bail almost felt bad as Padmé flinched at his voice, but not quite. "I have kept your secrets, Padmé! I did that because you are my friend and I care about you, not because I wished to shield Skywalker!"

He went around the table and stood in front of her.

"He is going to face consequences for this", Bail said. "And you will not interfere with it. If you try to, my loyalty for you is over as well."

Padmé drew in a sharp breath.

"You wouldn't", she said.

"I would." Bail looked her straight into the eyes. "And I advice you to look hard at your choices. This meeting is now over. Leave my office."

He could see from her eyes that she understood him to be serious. Padmé walked out of the office without saying another word.

Bail stood there for a moment, before he took his commlink and his cape.

First, the Temple. Then, he was going to the Guard base to see Fox.

#for the anon in my inbox! #friendly reminder that in just a few episodes Anakin pummels Clovis and Padmé is like oh shit- #so yeah I am not being friendly to Anakin here #he just boiled over quicker this time #Bail is not taking this shit #he is worried about Padmé as well tbh but it doesn't come across here rn bc he's angry #but like Padmé girl how far down are you willing to bend for a man #sw #tcw #Star Writing #my writing #ficlets #Bail Organa #Commander Fox #Padmé Amidala #bail/breha/fox

[milf-harrington]

29. putting ear over their heart, for steddie 💕

please enjoy some domestic fluff w the barest sprinkling of angst (like a tiny smidgen, barely a paragraph)

---

The apartment was quiet when Steve got in, back from lunch with Robin down at the cafe by her university.

It wasn't the kind of quiet Steve was used to, the kind that lurked in empty hallways. A dreadful, empty sort of quiet that sunk into your bones like water in the lungs of someone drowning.

This was a new sort of quiet: radio playing on the kitchen windowsill, the window by the couch left open with Eddie's ashtray tucked next to the cord for the blinds. Music and voices and engines from the street wafted in on the breeze, immediately dampened when Steve reached up and pulled the window back down with a thud.

It was a lived in sort of quiet. An Eddie's-either-not-home-or-he's-asleep-somewhere quiet.

Considering the window had been left open, Steve was betting on the asleep somewhere option.

Trying to stay quiet, Steve headed down the short hallway and pushed open their bedroom door. The blinds were open, and the bed was half made, the pillows left piled to one side with their cases folded on top like Eddie'd gotten distracted halfway through.

Steve snorted, fond, and stepped back into the hallway.

Their apartment wasn't big- two small bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen/living room combination with enough space for a dining table in between - so it wouldn't be hard to track his boyfriend down.

And it wasn't, Steve found him in the second-bedroom-turned-"office", stretched out in a sunbeam, like one of the stray cats he insisted on feeding.

He had one arm sorta stretched above his head, the other resting on his tummy as he snored into his armpit, guitar and notebook discarded to the side. The vacuum was in there too, and Steve had to step over it to get inside the room.

Apparently, Eddie had made a valiant attempt at cleaning while he'd been gone.

The thing is, when Eddie cleaned, he had to make a whole thing of it- turn it into one of his roleplaying games, with outfits and silly voices, or else he'd never actually get it done.

His usual version of a cleaning costume was to just keep his hair out of his face with a headband made out of a bandanna, folded into the cliched little triangle and all, and a long sleeved shirt so he could dramatically roll up his sleeves.

Today, he'd gone as far as to put on an old apron he'd accidentally stolen from a past job working at a deli. The duster he'd shoved in the front pocket was dangerously close to slipping out, only kept in place by the angle of Eddie's hip.

The thing is- Eddie was, like, a really deep sleeper. And he didn't tend to move much. And he was sort of just lying there, bandanna wrapped around the top of his head, hair splayed out under him, head tilted just enough to show off the long-healed scars in his cheek. And Steve was, much to his own dismay, a worrier.

And it had been a good 3 years since the spring of '86, and he could literally see Eddie's stomach rising and falling with each breath but-

But.

Feeling ridiculous, but knowing he'd just get more and more anxious until it became an actual problem, Steve sighed and carefully lowered himself into a crouch. He reached out, intending to shake Eddie awake, just to make sure he would, but paused as his fingers brushed fabric.

If he'd fallen asleep in the middle of the day, on the floor no less, then he probably needed it.

So, sticking his tongue out in a habit he'd definitely gotten from the man sleeping on the floor right now, Steve carefully moved the duster and the arm laying over Eddie's tummy and threw a leg over his hips.

He knee-walked backwards until he was hovering over his thighs instead, and then carefully laid down on top of him, turning his head so his ear was pressed against Eddie's sternum.

It took a second to settle, for the sound of shifting fabric to stop and then-

thu-thump. thu-thump. thu-thump.

He laid there for a little longer, just listening, just checking, until sun-warmed arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Steve didn't know if Eddie was fully awake, but he didn't say anything about waking up to Steve on top of him.

Instead he let out a long, pleased sigh. Dug his fingers into Steve's hair and gently scratched his scalp, movements slow and sleepy.

In a few minutes, Steve would sit up and ask Eddie what he was doing napping on the floor and Eddie will explain that he'd been cleaning, and then he'd gotten an idea for a song and he didn't want to forget it.

Then they'd get up, Steve hauling his boyfriend off the floor with dramatic grunts and groans like men twice their age, and finish cleaning the apartment together.

But for now, Steve just settled in a little more comfortably, listening to Eddie's heart beat.

#sorry this took me awhile i was drawing mermaids #i also wrote this in one sitting so it's a little messy but hey! that's what ask-prompts are all about in my book #me reading a cheesy ending: ''YEAH WOOO'' #me writing a cheesy ending: ''oh. gross'' #anyway #i hope you like it <3 #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fluff #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #asks #sharpbutsoft

[chronicowboy]

Its not unusual for Eddie to be quiet for whole shifts. Some days, its just a bad day. One where all the work Eddie has done to get better can only keep him trudging forward step by heavy step. One where all his demons come back at once and try to drag him down. One where Eddie is too busy fighting old habits to join in on the jokes and banter. They've all gotten good at dealing with these days - Buck especially, but that's no surprise when he was there for The Worst Days.

So, its not unusual for Eddie to be quiet, but there's a simmering despair to Eddie's silence today that has Bobby's hackles rising. Its not his usual listless, fatigued quiet. Its a heavy, burdensome quiet. Bobby can't stand it, so he waits until the rest of the team trudge off to the bunks before he corners Eddie in the lounge with two cups of tea.

"You're not gonna let me escape are you?" Eddie sighs, collapsing back against the couch he'd tried to jump up from.

"I'm not holding you hostage," Bobby offers him one of the mugs with a smile, "I'm simply gently suggesting that you talk to someone. And I happen to be right here."

"Yeah." Eddie sighs again, eyes drifting down to the steaming surface of his tea. "What do you think I should talk to someone about?"

"Whatever it is that has you like this." Bobby gestures at him kindly. "You seem heavier."

He doesn't say it, but Eddie looks a lot like he did when Buck was in his coma. Bobby can't help but wonder, what with all the Natalia talk, if its because Eddie thinks he's losing him all over again, in a different way.

"Its nothing..." Eddie shakes his head, averts his eyes. "Just something that old lady from the living funeral said to me and Hen. Something my aunt said too."

"What'd they say?" Bobby prompts gently.

"My aunt said that I'm alone," Eddie mumbles. "Marie said that we all die alone. And, recently, I don't know." Another sigh, a hand scrubbed down his face. "Recently, it feels like time is running out and I can't help but think that when it does, its just a lonely death waiting for me at the finish line."

"Eddie, you aren't going to die alone." Bobby aches for him. Buck may be his son, but Bobby's always seen a piece of himself in Eddie. Its why he finds himself here so often, trying to coax Eddie's heart out of its cage. "You know that there are two people who would never, ever let that happen."

Eddie huffs a bitter laugh, eyes landing somewhere far away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too."

Bobby is mature enough to admit he flounders a little here. All these talks he's had with Eddie, its always felt a bit like speaking to a brick wall. But now, now he thinks Eddie might have finally understood.

"Eddie," Bobby murmurs seriously, seriously enough to have Eddie meeting his eyes, "its never too late. Never."

"Feels like it might be this time, Cap," Eddie chokes out. He glances down at his tea. "I don't want to be alone."

"Love is a risk," Bobby blurts out desperately. He's never met two men who deserve a happy ending more than Buck and Eddie, and, whilst he can't take credit for how far they've come, he feels a blazing pride that their happy endings are to be found in each other. He can't let them miss out. "Love is a terrible, awful risk. Always. Always. Its never easy. It might be in the end. You might look back one day and think that it was all worth it to end up here. But you're in the today, the now, when the love is horrible and painful and the most difficult thing in the world." Eddie looks up at him with tear-filled eyes, and Bobby's heart breaks for him. "Every beat of your heart is like a punch to the stomach, and you think that maybe it would be easier if you'd never felt the love at all."

"No," Eddie interrupts, shaking his head. "No, there's no way I was never going to feel this.. I'd always end up here."

"That's mighty faithful for someone who doesn't believe in the universe," Bobby mumbles.

"I believe in him," Eddie shrugs helplessly.

"Eddie, you haven't lost him." Bobby lays a hand on his shoulder. "He's just out of reach, but you can get to him. You've done it before. Both of you have. You always make it back to each other. That's your deal."

"I don't know how to reach him this time," Eddie confesses breathlessly.

"You have to take the leap, Eddie." Bobby sighs. "Its going to be terrifying, and it might not all fall into place at once. But one day, you'll look back and you'll be so damn glad you jumped."

Eddie bites into his lip as the first tear rolls down his cheek.

"What if he doesn't catch me?"

"Then, he'll pick you up off the floor," Bobby promises with all the conviction he has. Its the one thing he knows with any certainty in this world. "Eddie, whatever happens, you can't lose Buck. Not completely. And things might change. But think of how it could change for the better."

Eddie smiles to himself, a tiny, wobbly, private thing that Bobby's only caught glimpses of when Buck is around.

"So, I just jump?" he asks.

"You jump." Bobby nods. "You jump, and you hope, and you trust that he'll be right there with you."

"That he'll have my back?" Eddie grins ruefully.

"Yeah, trust that he'll have your back," Bobby smiles right back.

They'll be okay.

#sami rambles #TWO FICLETS IN ONE NIGHT??? WHO AM I??? #i just had to write bobby and eddie after that quote. so yeah. #911 spoilers #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #buddie #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #911 spec #bobby nash #robert nash #911 fic #911 ficlet #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buddie ficlet #911 spec fic #911 speculation

[starrystevie]

as if they belong there, because they do, steve's hands will always cradle eddie's face when they kiss. it feels all too natural how he guides his hands up and lets his fingers brush over eddie's cheeks before finding a home on his jaw line. his hands might not be the biggest, but they can hold him, hold his universe between his palms. they're big enough to have his pinkie brush over the veins in his neck to feel eddie's heartbeat picking up, big enough to scratch his nails over his scalp and feel the way he shudders against him.

keeping his hands on the sides of eddie's face lets steve pull back and look at eddie whenever he pleases, like when he can feel the heat flooding the cheeks under his palms or when eddie smiles into the kiss and he feels the joy of it against his fingers. he can watch eddie's eyes flutter open, watch as they come back into focus only to get a little crossed trying to look at steve's lips. with his thumbs stroking his cheekbones and his fingers tangling in curls, steve can pull eddie back down to him when he can't take it anymore and push their lovesick smiles together.

it's not about control, never has been, not when he's holding a wildfire in his hands. it's about connection, it's about what he thought he could never have the chance to grasp onto real and there and solid under his fingertips. it's about feeling what eddie feels and following where eddie wants to go and knowing that he can drop his hands to curl over his shoulders to bring him in closer and closer until their breaths and heartbeats and worlds feel like one.

as if they belong there, because they do, eddie's hands will always curl around steve's waist when they kiss. he lets steve guide him where he wants him but eddie is the one to ground them, holding tight to the soft sides. his fingers need to stay busy and drum over steve's waist like he's an instrument of his own that eddie's learning how to master. he lets his hands pull their bodies close, close, closer until there isn't space between them, pressed one against the other like one entity.

eddie particularly likes steve's left side, where his scarring was worse after the bites, and how the bumps under his fingertips make steve shudder as he runs his hands over it. it's their common thread, their red string of fate, their missing pieces from an unsolvable puzzle, the scars that they share. feeling them against his palms, under his fingers reminds him that they're alive, they made it and they have each other. keeping his hands on steve's waist, he can feel him breathing his very much alive and there breaths. every stuttering gasp and sharp inhale and whimpering exhale are music of a different kind under his hands.

it's not about owning him, like he's just another piece of eddie's ever growing orchestra for him to use as he pleases. it's about knowing what makes steve tick, it's about knowing what he likes and doesn't like and having the the way he moves underneath him in approval as his evidence. it's about holding steve where he's vulnerable, about holding him where his own hands replaced bandages and cleaned off antiseptic and placed featherlight touches so as not to hurt the only person he could ever let himself fall for.

it's about having the most precious thing in your grasp and knowing how to keep it safe, keep it warm. it's about feeling like your hands can do good when they've caused pain and damage in the name of fear. it's about steve and eddie, being the only thing to hold each other together when they're afraid of everything else falling apart.

#yeah... this literally was going to be two paragraphs what the actual fuck happened #oh yall wanted some steddie fluff? here take it #does bee know how to use commas in a grammatically correct way? the world may never know #steddie #steddie headcanon #my writing #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie fluff #steddie hurt/comfort

[zuppizup]

Linger II

Linger I

The mornings by the coast are cold, mists from the sea sweeping over them, soaking through their clothing and waking them before sunrise. With the days getting shorter, there’s no point in dallying, so they wash and eat breakfast quickly, at least another few days' hike ahead of them before they can hopefully get some actual transport.

She’s fiddling with those damn buttons again when he comes looking for her. It’s stupid really. She knows the weird tingling and numbness is worse in the morning, before she’s had time to stretch and get the blood flowing, but it’s like she has to test herself, to see herself fail. Poke and prod at the issue, the little ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach unable to leave well enough alone.

“Can I help you with that?”

She jumps at the sound of his voice, much closer than she would have thought possible. When did he get so good at sneaking up on people?

Flushing, she looks down at her half open collar, changing hands in an effort to do it. “I can manage.” The angle isn’t good with this hand, but her fingers obey at least.

Despite her words, Callum approaches her anyway, his brow furrowed. He watches her struggle for a moment, then just smiles as he nods ever so slightly at her collar.

She shrugs and drops her hand, feeling herself flush as he steps closer to her and begins buttoning her tunic.

“I read about nerve damage,” he sighs, his eyes fixed on her buttons. “Apparently it can take years for things to go back to normal, but it can still happen long after an injury.”

She feels her pulse race at his words. Not at what he’s saying but at the implication he read about her condition and remembered what he learned. “Really?”

He nods, finishing buttoning but not stepping back. “Uh huh.” Callum smiles at her, wide and unguarded. “You’ll let me help until then?”

She laughs a little bitterly, shrugging. “What if it never goes back to normal?”

He shrugs, reaching for the hand in question and squeezing gently. “Guess I'd just help forever then.”

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