#ficlet

[natalievoncatte]

It began with a sneeze.

Lena’s entire body tensed, pain wracking her sinuses, and she tried to tamp it down and swallow it. There was a room full of investors, and she paused mid-presentation. She held up a protesting hand, signaling that she needed no help, and waved off her assistants. Finally the feeling subsided and she soldiered on, accidentally repeating part of the presentation. It didn’t matter, it was just a formality.

After, she was sitting alone in her office and she did sneeze this time, hard, into a silk handkerchief. A dull ache had settled into her bones and she felt droopy, tired. Still, she had work to do. Not the work she wanted to do. Not running the company, not strategizing. Not inventing or innovating. It was menial. It was assigned. She worked for her brother.

It was his pretty revenge, because Lena shot him two times in the chest. Then a bunch of very strange shit happened and Lena suddenly found herself in an entirely different world where Lex had never died, even though they both remembered it. A hellish nightmare world where Lillian was a philanthropist and Kara and all her friends worked more or less for Lex, keeping aliens in check.

Lena couldn’t go to her best friend for help, because her best friend had betrayed her. Lena almost wished she’d been erased when the multiverse collapsed, replaced by a copy of herself who’d never felt this agony.

There was a truth she would never admit, even to herself.

She’d feel better if Kara was here.

The days dragged on and so did her cold. Except, it wasn’t a cold. On the third day she woke to a high fever, feeling a little wobbly when she forced herself out of bed. Her sinuses burned and she had to breathe through her mouth. When she took her temperature, it was elevated, close to being dangerous. Every muscle and joint on her body ached and the sight of food made her retch involuntarily.

Lena had the goddamn flu.

She did something she’d never done: by a curt email, she informed her staff that she was ill and would not be in the office today. Instead, she rummaged through her closet, her breath catching on a familiar sweatshirt.

It was a Midvale High School Mathletes sweater. It was Kara’s, but Lena knew with a certainty that Kara had not been in Lena’s penthouse since It Happened. There was no way for this to get here but…

She stifled a sob. This world had its own Lena, one whose life she’d appropriated or merged with or God knows what, and that Lena Kara’s clothes in her home. Lena kept stumbling across them and it hurt more every time.

Had they been happy, before? Kara must have spent the night. They must have been close. Lena had been close with her Kara; they hung out and Kara had slept over a few times but they weren’t really on your-clothes-in-my-closet terms. Had that been what happened here? Did they share the bed? Were they…

Did they…

Lena put it on, felt it shelter her body. She put in two pairs of leggings and hoped her laptop would warm her. She curled with it on the couch, and got exactly nothing done. After three hours she closed the computer and flipped channels until she found the old friend of the seriously ill and the chronically unemployed: reruns.

Curling on one end of the couch, she laid her head to rest on the arm and her eyes slid closed.

It seemed that as soon as she did, she opened them again. Her head was throbbing. She tried to push herself up, but it was too great an effort and she flopped down again. Her throat was dry and sticky, and unable to breathe through her nose, air came in reedy wheezes. Swallowing only made it worse, and she felt a rising panic.

Something beyond sleep, thick and heavy, was dragging her down, even as she struggled.

A chill night breeze rolled over her, and she shivered explosively.

"Easy now. I've got you."

Powerful arms lifted her limp body and carried her. Gently, Lena was laid on her bed and a blanket thrown over her.

She opened her eyes. Kara sat her up, cradling her in one arm as she held a glass in another, so Lena could drink. She let the cool water wet her throat and did her best to breathe again. Gently, Kara lowered her back down to rest and folded a cool, damp cloth on her forehead. Lena sighed in relief.

“Get out. Don’t want you here.”

“I’m sorry,” Kara whispered. “I can’t leave you alone like this. I’ll be right back.”

She was indeed right back, Supergirl walking into Lena’s budoir carrying a drug store bag full of medicine. She sat Lena up again and administered the foul tasting stuff over Lena’s protests, then shut off the lights.

Lena tried to roll on her side. It didn’t go well.

Kara knelt and slipped out of her boots. Then, she undid one side, then the other, and unclasped her cape from her shoulders. She then swept it over Lena and tucked it around her gently.

“Kara,” Lena muttered.

“Hush. It’s a blanket. It’ll keep you warm.”

Lena wasn’t sure what happened next, if she dreamed it or if it was real, but she felt the bed shift as Kara climbed aboard and laid down beside her.

Eventually, she woke up again. Kara was tucked against her back, one arm thrown protectively over Lena’s side, resting on her blanket cocoon. Kara snored lightly, lying on the bed so that her chin rested on the crown of Lena’s head.

Kara noticed she’d stirred and silently stood, offering Lena her next dose of syrupy, nasty medicine. She accepted it just as silently and laid back down to sleep.

The cycle continued. Day came. Kara didn’t leave her. She drew the curtains and laid on the bed beside Lena, never speaking, never making any demands.

Finally Lena was well enough to roll over and face her.

“Why are you here?”

“I heard Gillian’s Island coming from your living room and thought you must be in danger.”

Lena snorted in spite of herself.

Kara softened. Her big blue eyes, eyes that could launch a thousand ships, carried such a weight of sorrow that Lena felt a surge of pain and regret in her heart, wondering why in the hell they were feuding. No. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t just…

“I’m sorry.”

Lena tucked herself into the blankets. She wanted to roll over, to turn away, to stop this before she did something she would regret later.

“I keep finding your things in my place,” Kara murmured. “It makes me wonder if it was different here. If we were different. What if I’d made other choices. If I’d been honest with you. Bolder.”

“You weren’t,” said Lena. “You aren’t. That’s the way it is. That door was closed.”

“When I landed on your balcony, it was open.”

“A mistake I won’t repeat. Careless. Thank you for helping me, but I didn’t need it. I don’t need you.”

Kara closed her eyes and sighed.

“I hate doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“You’re lying.”

Lena jerked back, as much as her aching body would allow, anyway.

“How do you know?”

It didn’t hit Lena that she hadn’t offered a denial, at least not until later.

“Easy,” Kara smiled. “I cheat. Skin conductivity and moisture levels. Heat bloom on your skin. Pulse. Pupil dilation. Breathing patterns.”

“I have the flu. That’s why.”

Kara frowned.

“You’re wearing my sweater.”

“It’s not yours. It’s hers. The lives we stole.”

Kara shook her head. “That’s not what he did. Your brother created this world to live out his fantasies and make me suffer. That’s why your things are at my place and mine at yours. It’s showing us the life we should have had,” a tear shone on Kara’s cheek, “had I not been a fuckup and a coward. If I’d trusted you.”

Lena choked back a small sob, and started to cough violently.

Without a word, Kara gathered her up and rested Lena’s head on her shoulder, walling her up in those beefy, protective arms of hers. Lena allowed it, curling her fingers against the twitching muscles of Kara’s back.

Lena wanted to pull away…

No. That was a lie, a miserable fucking lie. She didn’t want to pull back. She didn’t want to fight. She thought she had to, that she needed to.

“Don’t cry,” Kara said, tenderly brushing a tear from Lena’s cheek. “I know you’re furious with me. I know things are bad. I know your brother has power over us. It’ll get better. I won’t let him hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

“You already hurt me.”

“I know,” Kara whimpered, her voice wobbling. “I’m sorry, Lena. I’ve never been more sorry about anything in my entire life. I wake up every day praying I can find some way to take it back."

"You can't."

Kara tensed.

"Maybe you don't have to," said Lena.

Kara's breath caught. She lowered Lena to the bed, and this time wrapped them in the blankets together. She was so warm.

"I've got you."

Blessedly, Lena slept.

Each time she woke, she felt better. Eventually, she was well enough for Kara to leave the bed. A few minutes later, Kara came back, and she brought breakfast. Her appetite back, Lena dug in, enjoying the tea Kara brought.

Kara took the tray and plates when she was done.

"You look a lot better."

Lena nodded. "Ah, yes, thank you."

Silence. There was a heavy pause, and then Kara sat down beside her on the bed.

"I wish I'd been brave before."

Lena looked at her, really looked at her, this enchanting vision looking at Lena like she hung all the stars in the sky, her eyes so full of longing that Lena felt she might fall into them forever.

"What would you do if you were brave?"

"This."

Warm fingers curled around Lena's chin. Kara leaned in, and Lena felt it happen even before their lips touched. When they did, it was electric. Lena felt the world spinning. Kara caught her and lowered her to the bed.

"I don't care about multiverses and cosmic entities and your evil brother. No matter what they throw at me, I will always find my way back to you. If you want me."

Lena pulled her down into another kiss, and that was her answer.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #kisscorp #first supercorp kiss #yet another love confession #yet another first kiss #apologycorp #make up sexcorp #supercorp hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #sickfic

[forlorn-crows]

Crowy dearie my mind is a MESS with this idea. But aether is definitely uncut and has a thing for docking. He’ll take turns with mountain or he’ll completely cover dew or or or HHHHHHHHHHH

jhnfnf. oh you know he does. especially when its over dew's little tdick. fits perfectly under there, doesn't it?

docking, transmasc dew, a little bit of knotting, and a little bit of daddy aether under the cut >:)

(based on this post from all the way back in november)

It’s maddening. Over and back, over and back. Foreskin kissing the pulled-back hood on every stroke, and every stroke as slow and sensitive as the last. He could cum like this. Cover Dew’s little dick in creamy white and hold it there within his skin until they both shake from it. 

“A-Aethe,” Dew begs, “you’re driving me crazy.” The swollen head of his cock kicks against Aether’s slit, and the bigger ghoul nearly doubles over. “A little—fuck—faster, just a little, ‘m right there.”

Their fingers touch as Aether really stretches it past the mushroom tip, covering him fully. Dew sighs the quietest uh he thinks he’s ever heard, and it takes everything in him not to slide right between those wet folds and sheathe himself inside. 

“Gods, it’s so soft,” he groans. Over and back. Holding again. “Fuck, could just—” He pinches the skin between thumb and forefinger, rolling it around the little shaft. “Oh—”

“—shitshitshit.” Dew clutches the quint’s forearm and arches into it. Head tossing back and forth, eyes fluttering, struggling to stay open. “Yes, keep-uh huh—”

“Just like that?” Aether breathes. He’s so stiff, veins along his length just plump with blood; but Dew has to cum first, has to.

“Please,” he wheezes. “Fuck,” he grits through his teeth, “gonna cum, you’re gonna make me . . . oh—” His feet start to kick, toes curling into the back of Aether’s shins, and his face and gaze start to go dumb, lax. Little chest blooming with the rosiest heat. But his hands are gripping tight as ever, tendons popping, nails digging into Aether’s arm, and that’s when he knows to push him over the edge.

“There you go, cum inside it,” he groans. “Wanna feel it throb, wanna see how wet this makes you.” He doubles down on the pressure, using his foreskin like a makeshift cocksleeve, but so much more slippery and squishy-soft. Caressing in all the delicate places. The slight jerking of his fingers is what does it, wrenching from the fire ghoul a wounded, lowing sound. Aether fighting to keep his little dick sheathed inside as he bucks and twitches, watching with rapt attention as his entrance clenches around nothing. Slick nearly opaque as it slides towards his hole. 

“Hah. A-Aethe. Fuck,” Dew huffs. His hips eventually settle, but his dick still pulses against his slit; Aether can feel it jump between his fingers, nudging right against the opening, and for a split second he wishes he could shove it right in. The urge has him fumbling for the base of his cock, gripping hard so he doesn’t just bust right then.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut and tossing his head back. 

Dew whimpers and tugs on his forearm, urging him back down. “Not yet, inside, you gotta—”

Aether’s growling and flipping the fire ghoul over before he can even babble for more, pressing his belly to the mattress and knocking his knees apart. Dynamic switching in an instant and he doesn’t care in the slightest. 

“Gonna squeeze my dick like I squeezed yours?” Dew only responds with a muffled fuck! into the mattress, letting Aether rub his over-sensitive head through his folds and pressing his ass back in encouragement. “Yeah, baby boy? Lemme hear you.” The quint ghoul grabs a handful of that long, ashen hair and pulls. Lithe body folding back on itself to arch even deeper.

“Shit,” the fire ghoul half laughs, half keens. Tail twitching up to expose himself more. “Lucifer.”

Aether hums, lining up. “You like that?” He twists the hand in his hair a little more, just enough to make Dew jolt and yip. 

“Fuck, Daddy, please,” he wheezes without a second thought. 

Aether thrusts in so fast it’s an unholy miracle he even makes it in.

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he grunts into Dew’s neck once he folds himself over his back. “Fuck, got me so sensitive already, firefly.”

He can feel every ridge, every press of his head to that place deep inside, foreskin drawn completely back now as he pumps in and out. Dew shakes under his touch, craning and arching for more with every stroke. Letting Aether take what he wants, how he wants.

“That’s it,” Aether praises. “Gonna look so good on my knot.” He grips the fire ghoul’s throat with one hand and reaches down with the other to flick at his swollen dick. He grinds in hard, full, fuzzy balls grazing the tips of his own fingers. The hand on Dew’s neck tightens.

Dew lets loose a string of reedy ah ah ah’s, sounds that are like candy to Aether; once he gets some, he wants more. So he thrusts harder, jerks him faster. And in no time, the little ghoul starts to pulse around him, crying out yes and please and close.

Aether’s close too. Can feel the swell of that bulb at the base of his cock, looking for something to clamp around it.

“Gonna cum on my knot?” he asks gruffly. “Want Daddy to make you feel good?” Dew can only nod with bitten-lip, whimpering when the edge of his knot presses against his entrance. “Good boy, so fucking good for me, love.”

Aether grips him hard at the waist and grinds in, spreading and stretching until his wet walls beg to swallow it whole. That’s when he speeds his hand, focusing right at the place the little head peeks out from the hood. Precise. Devastating. 

“Oh no,” Dew sobs. “Push it in, push it—gonna—oh fuck.”

And when he does, the effect is immediate; the fire ghoul cries out, cunt squeezing around Aether as a gush of fluid splashes the front of his balls and squirts onto the sheets. Body going rigid under Aether’s hands. It only takes a few more squeezes before the quintessence ghoul is cumming too, groaning as he fills that slender body with everything he’s got. 

please consider reblogging ♡

#the band ghost fanfic #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #dewdrop/aether #aether/dewdrop #ficlet #dewdrop x aether #aether x dewdrop #transmasc dewdrop #i was so happy to get this request LMAO #ask #the band ghost #cw: daddy kink #cw: knotting #cw: docking #do i love the ending? no. but its an ending. #hope it ruins everyone's night >:)

[adrift-in-thyme]

Here it is! The fairy Time fic I promised. Be warned, it is extremely fluffy

-------------------------------------------

It is a quiet night.

Time is always grateful for those. They are in short supply on this journey, too often interrupted by the rise of the cursed Blood Moon or an outburst of beasts from under the cover of foliage. But tonight, the moon is tranquil and golden and the surrounding bushes and trees conceal nothing except chattering critters.

The heroes have settled around the fire, and are trading lazy quips. The occasional tale sneaks in between them, which quickly becomes a competition to see who has endured the more exciting experience. 

Time doesn’t normally make a habit of joining in. He is content to remain just outside the conversation, close enough to comment if necessary, but far enough to merely listen. Such peace and joy are precious things – as precious as every moment spent by Malon’s side – and they surround him like a warm blanket.  

Tonight, however, that wonderful feeling is making it rather difficult to remain awake. 

It doesn’t help that the healing spells he had cast in the aftermath of today’s battle have left him feeling drained. With the traveler down and their potions used up, he had had little choice but to act. And he doesn’t regret it in the least. But that doesn’t negate the fact that healing magic has never been his strong suit.

Every fae possesses the power, yet not all have the strength to employ it in such a measure as he had today. Healing is a delicate act. It requires attentiveness and care, dedication and focus. He had poured all of that and more into his spells, used his heart and mind, his soul to heal his brothers’ wounds and save their lives. And in the moments afterward…had collapsed. 

He is fortunate his brothers had been there to catch him. Too many times before he learned his limit, this weakness had spelled his doom. He has scars on his wings to prove it.

Still, he is practically useless, even now after the impromptu nap. He feels dried up and hollowed out, limbs heavy with the same exhaustion that drags his eyelids downward. And though he would normally protest at least a little at the prospect of staying in his current position, he cannot dredge up the will to do so.

So, here he remains, curled up on his side on Wind’s lap, Warriors’ scarf a silken cocoon about his body, one giant wing draped over him like a comforter. 

He shifts with a small sigh. The sailor giggles, ever amazed at his fairy form, and reaches out to run a finger over Time’s wings. He is gentle, careful in every movement. Still, Time is a bit surprised at the lack of the fear that usually bubbles up whenever anyone touches him in this form.

He has had too many injuries, too many close calls with death or worse. They have made him wary. But he trusts the sailor. Wind is nothing if not kind. 

He is safe here. 

The knowledge hits him harder than any monster blow.

You are safe here.

Something breathtakingly warm wells up in him at that thought, similar to the feeling he has been basking in since he awakened, yet unique all the same.

“Alright, old man?” A soft voice asks, now, and Time pries open the eye he hadn’t even registered closing. Warriors grins down at him. 

Time’s soft hum quickly dissolves into a blissful sigh as the captain tucks him more securely into his bed of softness. He allows his eye to slide shut again, his body to relax more fully. He allows the sensations and sounds to envelop him, surround him in warmth and comfort. To pull him down into blessed darkness once more.

“He’s adorable like this,” Wind says, his noisy whisper breaking through the haze. Another giddy giggle bursts forth from him like gurgling water. 

“He is, isn’t he?” It’s Twilight now. Time can imagine the dirt-eating grin on his face, the same one that spreads across Malon’s when she beats him in yet another race around the pasture. “Though I doubt he wants us calling him that.”

There’s a pause, then in a disapproving whisper-yell, “and he definitely doesn’t want that. Put that slate of yours away, champion!”

There is the distinct sound of a camera snapping a photograph. Laughter ripples through the group like the wind through the trees. 

“When he kills you all, don’t come running to me,” Twilight says, though there’s laughter in his voice too.

Traitors, Time thinks, lazily, all of them.

“Oh, come on, Twi. Look at him! He wouldn’t hurt us! Not like this anyway.”

“Then, you haven’t gotten a good look at his wings,” Legend pipes up, drily. “They’ve got eyes on them, you know.”

“Ooh.” Time can feel Wind’s breath ghosting him as the boy leans down to get a closer look. “I wonder if they make up for the one he lost. I’ll bet he can see us through ‘em!”

If Time wasn’t quite so tired (or finding this quite so exasperatingly comical) he would correct that assumption. But then again, what’s the harm in allowing a little rumor like that to spread and strike some healthy fear into the hearts of his would-be blackmailers? 

“Come on guys.” Warriors’ voice rises above the hushed clamor of the others, all bickering about Time’s ability, or lack thereof to watch them through his wings. “He’s exhausted. Let him sleep.”

The heroes try to quiet, though their efforts are about as successful as Time suspected they would be. Whispers and barely stifled laughter continue to weave their way gallantly through the night.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

…though a few more telltale clicks of Wild’s slate cement his decision to play a prank on him as soon as he regains his strength. 

“He’s so small,” someone murmurs, now as the hubbub begins to subside, sleepiness getting the best of even the most energetic among them. Sky, Time’s mind slowly supplies, putting a face to the voice that wafts gently around him. “To think, he healed us all while in that form…”

“Something you get to know very quickly about Sprite is that size doesn’t bother him,” Warriors replies, fondness in his tone. “Even as a kid, he could take out groups of monsters much larger than what we faced today.”

Sky chuckles, soft and almost sad. Time is too far gone to decipher why. 

But he can’t deny the sudden rush of warmth when the chosen hero whispers, “thank you…little one.” And when, in the next moment, Sky ghosts a finger over the very tip of his wings, Time is unafraid beneath his touch. 

He drifts off not long afterward to the sound of tired murmurs, the crackling of the campfire, and a soft song played upon an ocarina, the notes drifting up toward the moon.

#me: this au has so much potential for angst and whump #also me: time is now conveniently snuggle-sized and I must take advantage of that #this poor man #i'm either smothering him with snuggles #or torturing him in the most painful and traumatizing ways #there is no in between #alas tis the cost of being my blorbo #trin writes #fairy time au #linked universe #linkeduniverse #ficlet #fluff #so much fluff #lu time #lu chain #lu twi #lu twilight #lu wind #lu sky #also this is set later than my other two fics #by this point everyone's had a chance to find out time's secret #though some have known for longer than others

[hauntedtotem]

Doppelgangers mimic, it's in their blood, their instincts. They observe and copy, they peak into the lives of the unsuspecting and devour what they can, in every sense of the word.

It's necessary for their survival, to learn every detail of ones features. The better evolved members of their kind learn to perfectly imitate speech patterns and body language as well, leaving nothing out. Perfection is key, and a deep intricate understanding of their prey is what they strive for.

They pride themselves on their ability to reflect humanities ego back at them.

Some understand too well, and look deeper than what's necessary. Their human-counterparts oft hold secrets buried within, secrets they show no one, and yet the doppelgangers that select them seem to enjoy shouting such things out into the world for all to see.

Showing off what they've found, what was previously being hidden away from public eye.

A pilot who's mind races with endless possibilities and visions of death, who's witnessed carnage both of reality and illusion. Behind a stone faced facade and obscuring shades, paranoia clutches the mind and eyes dart nervously towards every shadow. The constant nagging of adrenaline and panic being held trapped behind an un-moving mask. An all consuming mind, seeing danger at every corner, only ever knowing peace while in the emptiness of the skies.

A woman who wills herself to be blind to her harsh reality. Portraying herself with an energetic and bubbly attitude, while miserable inside, refusing to speak of her past. Silencing herself for the sake of her and her daughter. Pretending she doesn't see that her daughter looks nothing like her ex husband, pretending she doesn't see the resemblance to her neighborhood milkman. Staying quiet, eyes and lips sealed shut. Keeping her secret away from even herself.

An uncaring, boring man to the public eye, who secretly relishes in the silent chaos he's caused for numerous marriages. Going about his day, hiding his sadistic smile behind a mundane lifestyle and tired eyes. Knowing the effect he has on unsuspecting and lonely housewives, it does wonders for his ego. He keeps it inside, not showing his twisted delight for home-wrecking.

It goes on, many doppelgangers seeing people's true colors and proudly putting them on display.

A miserable seamstress, a model with an fake smile and endless hunger for fame, a reporter melting under the pressure of his journalism- having to do stories on these monsters day in and day out, exposed to endless horrors.

Many may look at these mimics, call them lazy, say they don't understand what a real human looks like. But they know better than anyone what's in your heart, their depiction more accurate than those only portraying what's on the surface level.

A button is pressed, the curtains fall, and their performance is done as a siren mocks the sound of applause.

#Tnmn #thats not my neighbor #Francis mosses #nacha mikaelys #that's not my neighbor #steven rudboys #Ficlet #Tnmn fanfic #Headcanons #Nacha is divorced but not to francis- he's just a homewrecker #Also Steven has undiagnosed schizophrenia that he can't tell anyone about because he'll be discharged from the military #This started as a shit post and was going to end with peaches guy but I ended up liking it too much

[goldenlavendered]

Before Skid's Dad died, Lila asked him a question.

"Was there ever a universe where this works out?"

And he closes his eyes, and finds dozens of alternate lifetimes laid out before him. They sprawl on past the horizon of infinity like rivers from a mountain spring.

There are ones where he gets to see his son grow up, his everything- He watches him grow into a fine young man, the spitting image of him with a smile that makes the world seem all the brighter.

There are ones wherein she's happy to reign over this small town at his side; Ones where the three of them get to live forever, inseparable by death, disease, or decay.

There are ones wherein he never meets the entity in the trees, never sees the eyes in the stars, and they're as close to normal as a family in this town could be. They have the luck to grow old with grace.

There are ones where she's destined to die instead.

He opens his eyes.

"No, of course not." He replies, finally. "How could there be?"

#pegg rambles #ficlet #WAURRRGHHH (ripping them both apart w my teeth.) THEYRE SO. #spooky month #lila spooky month #skid's dad #skid's dad spooky month #skiddad spooky month #spooky month sr pelo #poisonwine #this is the last nice thing he chooses to do for her. by the way.

[rauchendesgnu]

"Would you like a seat?" Gerry asks over his shoulder as Sam follows him deeper into the apartment. "Only if it isn't a bother," Sam says despite the throbbing in his hip. "Oh, it's no problem at all. Let me just--" The young goth rushes ahead into some sort of studio, clearly expecting Sam to follow. Every spot in the room is either occupied with a painting, or painted on, or splattered, or filled with utensils, tools, and other stuff that is necessary for art. Gerry sweeps a pile of pencil sketches from a chair and offers it to Sam, who sits gratefully, eyes still wandering over the atelier in overwhelmed amazement. "I can make some tea?" Gerry offers. "Oh," Sam says with an awkward smile. "I'm more one for coffee." "Do you mind if I make one for myself, then?" "No, go ahead." The sounds of an electric kettle being filled and switched on reaches Sam, whose eyes fall onto the sketches. He leans a bit closer to get a better look. It's not very polite, to go snooping into the drawings of a potential friend, but he can't help himself. He's always been so damn curious. The first sketch shows a short, thin man with dark hair that is starting to go grey despite his young but tired face. His brown skin is covered in scars and his eyes are glowing. Sam blinks, and for a second he feels like the drawing blinks back at him. He quickly moves the sketch to the bottom of the stack and shakes his head. It's the sleep deprivation. He's not starting to see movement in traditional sketches. The next few sketches show the same man, over and over again, eyes blazing, mouth set in a thin line, exhaustion weighing down a face that could once have been called handsome. He's not the only one, though. There's a second man, tall and broad, with red hair and a dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks. He's barely recognisable in the fog that surrounds him that gets thicker with every new sketch Sam discovers. The last one is that of a man who wouldn't have looked out of place in Pride and Prejudice (as written by Cassandra Austen), with a neatly pressed collar and a cravat, as well as jewellery in the form of eyes. His grey eyes are intense, piercing Sam through the page. Sam is about to put the sketches back when a piece of paper slips, and his heart stops. The woman on the paper is a detailed pencil drawing of Celia. It's almost scary how perfect that sketch catches her likeness. Surely Gerry would have needed more than one look at her to draw her so realistically? Sam fights the wave of jealousy that wants to overtake him. It's none of his business who Celia meets in her free time. There is only that one sketch of her, and as Sam finds the last page, he's a bit disappointed to discover that there is just two sentences scribbled in nearly illegible handwriting.

The maze is sharp on my mind. The angles cut me when I try to think.

They are underlined with so much force that the pencil nearly broke through the paper. In the kitchen, the kettle turns off, and Sam quickly places the pages back in order. "Gerry," he says when his host returns, mug of tea in hand, "who are these people you sketched?" Gerry glances over his shoulder, then shrugs. "Now that you say it...I have no idea. These are from a while ago. Why, did I accidentally draw someone you know?" He says it with a smile, like it's a joke between artists. Did I accidentally draw you? Sam's gaze drifts back over the man with the glowing eyes. "I don't know," he says softly. "I don't know."

#the magnus protocol #tmagp fanfic #sam khalid #gerry keay #gerry delano #disabled character #tmagp #tma episode 65: binary #tmagp chester #tmagp norris #martin blackwood #jonah magnus #jonathan sims #jmj error #my writing #ficlet #alternate history

[houseofevanbuckley]

hc that Buck will keep Tommy company while he works on his machinery and Tommy watches documentaries with Buck 💕

Buck visiting Tommy and complaining about his car making a weird noise and having to bring it to the mechanic for the 3rd time in as many months.

His jeep is getting a bit old now but it’s filled with memories and he refuses to change it.

Tommy who go trained on various vehicles throughout his life. A neighbor teaching him when he was a teenager. Training at the army. Training at the fire academy and then flying academy.

He’s been tinkering in various machineries for years and he’s not going to let a simple jeep best him. Buck is happy to let Tommy look at it, it will save him some money he could use otherwise. Like for a date maybe.

The issue tho? It’s that Tommy has working clothes, and by working clothes I mean an old pair of jeans, covered in old oil stains, a white tank top which is clean but has old stains that dried, but still quite white, and some heavy boots in case something fall on his feet. It happened before and Tommy learned from it.

Buck never thought jeans would drive him insane, but the way it curves around Tommy’s thighs? The way a black stains is just under his left cheek like he rubbed himself there to clean his hand, actually Buck can even divine the form of fingers on that stains and it’s calling to him.

To forget about the heat pooling inside him he gets close to the car and Tommy who just opened it and moving things around and just watch, until he says “you know, my dad never taught me anything about cars. Is it weird?”

And Tommy just goes “you wanna learn?” With a soft smile, just offering, no judgement whatever Buck decides

And so Tommy work and talk during the whole process, he knows Buck loves knowledge, trivia, information and Tommy is more than happy to info dump his boyfriend for once.

Once Tommy fix what the issue was, it was just regular stuff but a mechanic would have either ignore it so Buck would come back and spend more or spend only like 30 minutes on it to fix it since it was quite simple.

They get clean together, Tommy getting his regulars clothes back on him while Buck has to change bc he got some stains on him even just while looking but it doesn’t care about it. The price was more than worth paying.

And then they go on Tommy’s couch, Buck still doesn’t have one but he doesn’t need one anymore, not when Tommy’s so comfy. Tommy who pick up the remote while Buck get some snack ready for them and he goes through the channels until he reaches National Geographic and it’s the opening for a new documentary about volcanoes and he gets distracted from the tv when Buck comes back with their drink so he doesn’t change the channel and then see how Buck is already entranced by it even 3 minutes after the opening, and he’s gonna ask if Buck want to watch it when Buck goes “did you know that the biggest volcano in on mars?”

And Tommy knows he doesn’t have to ask anymore, he just hums while picking some food off the coffee table and listen to every facts from Buck and watches him get so animated as they watch it

Buck even going against what the narrator is saying and being right about it when the narrator a few minutes later elaborate more which goes toward what Buck was saying and Tommy is just so smitten by his clever boy. Kissing him on his temple and pulling him against his side while Buck keep randomly shoutings facts and going on his phone to assess the veracity of what the narrator is talking about.

They spend their evening like that, documentaries replacing one an other, Buck leaning against him and talking freely for hours, showing Tommy how interesting the world can be.

#bucktommy #evan buckley #evan buck buckely #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #tommy x buck #911 abc #tevan #evan buck buckley #buck and tommy #tommybuck #evan x tommy #anon games #anon ask #headcanon #ficlet #Tommy couldn’t love him more #Tommy watching how Buck’s brain work and being so smitten he’s thinking about getting some scientific magazine delivered #he just want to enjoy Buck’s brilliant brilliant brain #and Buck want to see Tommy’s calloused hands work #see his fingers touching and working; creating things and repairing them #competency kink

[unevenpatterns]

Fic idea - Dai Li gets both of them (Jetko)

So what if the Dai Li took a look at 'Lee' saw the very golden eyes and black hair and went; "Huh, that sure doesn't looke like someone from the earth kingdom, does it?" and decide to imprison him. Iroh goes free, since he has less of the identifying features (grey hair, brown-ish eyes).

Iroh lets it happen, as breaking Zuko out of prison is more feasible than fighting a whole team of Dai Li agents in broad day light.

Meanwhile the two idiots get trapped together, while Iroh figures out a plan to get them free. Iroh runs into the Gaang and they team up to rescue Zuko and Appa.

What the two guys get up to in prison... let's leave it up for free interpretation. Maybe they fight (highly likely), maybe they get their frustrations out in other ways. Who knows. Either way, Zuko keeps up the lie about being 'Lee'.

Eventually they are freed. Zuko almost bursts a blood vessel seeing the Avatar, Jet freaks out about Mushi firebending a whole lot to get them out.

Jet, screaming: "I told you he was a firebender!" Zuko: "I know he's a firebender!" * trying to fight off Dai Li* "And so am I!" 🔥🔥🔥 Jet: "You lied to me?! Again?" 😱💀😡

The audacity of lying firebenders.

#jetko #fanfic ideas #fic ideas #avatar the last airbender #humor #fanfiction #ficlet #jet lives #fanfic #atla #zuko #jet(avatar) #jet atla #fix it fic #zuko x jet #lying liars who lie

[infiniteeight8]

Stephen having one of his dissociative days when he's been on a different dimension and then coming back and saw a date. The date that Tony's dead but it was actually one of the timelines that he saw so when Tony comes to greet him he went all devastated and full of grief, thinking that he's hallucinating, imagining Tony is still there

Stephen is dressed in sweats, wrapped in the Cloak, sitting in front of a fire, and drinking hot chocolate when he looks up and sees Tony Stark. His heart falls and grief lances through him. He thought he’d been coping reasonably well, that all the self-soothing was more-or-less working, but if he’s hallucinating, then it’s really not working at all.

Closing his eyes, he bows his head and murmurs, “It’s November 27th, you’re in the Sanctum Sanctorum—”

The couch dips next to him. “Look up Ackermann steering geometry on your phone.”

“What?” Stephen’s eyes open despite himself. 

“Patented by Rudolph Ackermann in 1818, though he didn’t actually invent it.” Tony says. “It’s something you wouldn’t know, so the answer can’t come from your own mind, which means I must be real.”

Stephen shakily taps it into a search. When the article summary pops up, tears spring to his eyes and he slumps sideways into Tony, who wraps a gentle arm around him. “Look at you, getting teary over mechanical engineering,” Tony teases. “A man after my own heart.”

Stephen just laughs wetly.

#IronStrange #ficlet

[connor6sex]

Baconswag week #1 Secret relationships

There’s one vital part of the Abyss plan that Bacon hasn’t told his teammates. Nor will he ever be telling them. It’s the real reason he’s doing all this.

Really, Bacon doesn’t give a shit about Lifesteal. It doesn’t matter to him if player activity increases. This whole thing is a very absurd and round about type of foreplay. It’s about driving Ash to follow his clues, to find him. It’s a test of wits, because that’s the only thing that either of them get off on.

Mapicc and Zam questioned why they needed this whole puzzle, why they couldn’t just go ahead and start voiding the world waiting for people to notice. And part of Bacon agrees. The void could consume all, and that could be fun for a while.

But whats next once the worlds gone? This cycle is doomed to repeat, so it’s best to enjoy each turn of the wheel. And this time around, Bacon wants to make puzzles; because Ash likes puzzles, and Bacon likes Ash.

And he knows damn well that Ash likes him back. He can read it on the wall, the bulletin board at spawn posting offers and deals. The subtle ways that Ash works his business deals, how his hand reaches across the table for more than a handshake.

Both of them have come away from a few ‘offers’ with far more than they had bargained for. Deals signed with a kiss under the cover of night.

Lets just say there’s a reason that IHOB has been such a successful restaurant, and it’s not just quality product. Having the commissioners favour helps out in a lot of ways.

#lsshipping #baconswag #baconwaffles0 #ash #lifesteal smp #lifesteal #ficlet #Baconswagweek2024

[airgiodslv]

how about something inspired by the wing outfit? for @arewedoneyet

It's nearly sunset when the man in the military uniform comes down from the house.

You think later that he's been watching you for a while. Longer than a day, even. He stops beneath your tree and puts his hands on his hips, looking up at where you perch in the high branches.

"You're one of his," he says. "Sunshine's. I can tell."

"How?" you ask. You're curious about everything. Your voice is a hoarse croak you can't remember hearing before.

His smile is grim. "Because Sunshine likes to play god, but he isn’t one. Everything he creates comes back a little bit wrong."

You bristle and hunch your back, so your feathers puff up to make you look larger.

"Has he named you yet?" he asks. You don't reply, afraid of your own rough voice. He smiles again and says, "Then I'll call you Icarus."

There’s a boy sleeping under a tree near yours. You call down to him a few times, but he doesn’t wake. There are cuts on his hands and face. They’re the only parts of him that are still exposed. Flowers and vines have covered the rest of him.

You hope he’s only asleep.

You’ve been watching the distant house with interest. A truck came to make a delivery. There was a wooden box inside like a coffin.

The man in the uniform comes back after a few days. When he reaches the sleeping boy’s tree, you shout a warning.

He shakes his head and stands under your tree to look up at you again. “I’m not going to hurt him. He’s one of Rain’s, and I don’t have any quarrel with Rain. My fight is with Sunshine.”

“Why?” you rasp.

“I believe in science and progress. Sometimes that means experimentation, but not the way Sunshine does it. Sometimes it means war.”

He looks back at the house, or maybe at the barn, where the men in the truck took the coffin.

“I have to go. I have a shuttle to catch. Up there, to the stars.” He points toward the sky, then offers you a mocking salute. “I’ll see you when you learn to fly, Icarus.”

There’s another man at the house now. He’s warm and brown from the sun. He comes out sometimes to chop wood and ride down the dirt road. Dust rises up in clouds behind his horse, like the plumes of steam you saw on the horizon when the rocket launched.

He plants seeds for crops and new trees. He kneels by the sleeping boy’s tree to plant new flowers around him. The sleeping boy still hasn’t woken. You can barely see him now, hidden behind the blooms.

In the early morning, you’re woken from a doze by an impact that jars you all the way to your bones. The man stands at the trunk of your tree. He yanks his axe out of the wood and hefts it to swing again.

You scream at him, rough and panicked. He startles, gripping the axe in both hands and taking a step back. When he sees you restlessly shifting your weight and rustling the leaves, he relaxes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. My wife asked me to cut down this tree for firewood. She must not have known you were here.”

You’ve seen the curtains move upstairs in the house. You’ve felt eyes watching you, just as you watch the house.

You think she knew you were here.

There’s been a long drought, but clouds finally gather, rolling in from where you saw the rocket launch. The sky opens and rain pours down.

You shake out your feathers and hunch under the canopy to wait out the storm. It rains into the night, drenching you and the trees alike, all the way until dawn.

When the sun rises and the sky clears, the sleeping boy under the tree is gone.

A man with shining hair and bright, dark eyes dances through the moonlight to your tree. His movements are graceful one moment and disjointed the next, skipping and spinning between the trees until he faces you with a wide smile.

“Come down, come down,” he croons. His fingers curl slowly in the air, beckoning. “Have you learned to fly yet, little bird?”

It’s the first time you’ve left the tree. You descend, clumsily at first, gaining confidence by the time your feet touch the ground. You tuck your head to preen.

“Have you met him?” he asks. “Does he know everything you are?”

“He called me Icarus,” you say.

Sunshine laughs and reaches out for you with both hands. He cups your face to gaze at you. His lips are cool when he tastes you. His tongue curls the way his fingers had, teasing.

“We’ll see about that,” he sings. “We’ll see who falls from the sky: his planes and shuttles and war machines, or you. We’ll see who flies.”

The men come again with the truck. They take away the man who plants seeds. He fights them, but not well. He moves like you do, like Sunshine had, tentative and newborn.

There are no more new trees, no more flowers. The house is very quiet.

“Why?” you growl when the man in the uniform finally returns. You have too many questions to fit them into more than that one word.

He gazes up at you for a long time before answering. “Because the experiment was over. Because two of you in one place are dangerous. Because it was time.”

There’s a glass with brown liquid in the man’s hand. He takes a long drink. You don’t think it was his first one.

“Because Sunshine made you for a reason,” he says finally. “And I believe it was to destroy me.”

#writing #ficlet #jeffcest #jeff satur cinematic universe #howl's moving castle au #if you squint

[yell0wsalt]

Forehead kisses, relieved kisses, running their thumb over the other’s hand

“It… hurts,” Asami panted, fresh coming down from the furious grasp of a contraction. They were but a few minutes apart now. Getting longer and quickly ramping up in intensity. Eyes wild and searching, she looked to the door, then to her dad. “Where is he? He should be here! Did something happen? I need him,” she pleaded. 

Using his free hand to check his phone, Hiroshi shook his head wearily before putting his phone away and taking Asami’s clammy hands back in his. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.” 

His name a ghostly whisper through the space between her teeth. Iroh…

While immeasurable pain racked her body, it still couldn’t compare to the strain in her heart and lungs which threatened to tear her apart. “He needs to be here, now!” She knew how childish she sounded with her demands, but she couldn’t care. Asami threw her head back on the pillow letting the sting behind her eyes take over. Her vision blurred until the flood of tears spilt over. And then more.

“Asami! Are you okay? Do I need to get a nurse?”

Drawn from her emotional state by the familar voice, she turned to the door and beamed. 

“Iroh!”

Before Asami could even finish calling for him, he was already by her side to take over where Hiroshi stood. 

Iroh brushed back several sweaty strands of her hair before pressing his lips to her forehead. 

“I’m so glad you made it… I– I can’t do this without you,” she said, nearly on the verge of tears again.

He squeezed her hand, tracing an arc with his thumb on top. “You won’t have to. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Asami brought his lips to hers fiercely, a renewed sense of strength coursing through her to help bring their daughter into the world.

#i'm soo out of practice with these two LOL #cw: pregnancy #cw: childbirth #irosami #iroh ii #asami sato #legend of korra #ficlet

[exuberantocean]

Fourteen's just hanging out with the Mott-Temple-Nobles, sipping tea and leisurely debating gardening plans when the whomp-whomp of another Tardis sounds.

They all turn to see Fifteen's Tardis materialize. The door flies open, Fifteen pokes his head out.

"HEAL BETTER!" He yells before slamming the door and materializes away.

Everyone blinks.

"More tea?" Sylvia asks.

It's a typical Tuesday.

#doctor who #fanfic #ficlet #my writing #fifteenth doctor

[hairmetal666]

Eddie's a mechanic, has a shop in Indy. It's only got two bays, but he owns it, he saved up the money, it's his. He runs it with Wayne, is building up a customer base. He loves it.

Within the year, a bakery opens up next door, separated from Eddie's shop by a narrow alley. He has a perfect view into the bakery's kitchen from the shop's office, and almost immediately catches a glimpse of the drop-dead gorgeous guy behind the mixing bowl. He's got sun-golden skin, swoopy brown hair, wide puppy dog eyes, the poutiest mouth, and a face dotted with freckles. Eddie gapes at him for a solid two-minutes, salivating over the bunch and pull of his muscles as he kneads a ball of dough. A wet dream come true.

Eddie's always sneaking glances at the shop next door, can't seem to keep his gaze off the most beautiful man he's ever seen. Over the next few months, he becomes familiar with this herd of kids that hang around the bakery at all hours. There's one, curly-haired and mouthy, who often makes the baker frown with his hands on his hips, but as soon as the boy walks away, the baker smiles all wide and fond.

It's a silly crush, no big deal. He has a weakness for brown-eyed pretty boys, so what? It's not like he's going to do anything crazy, like make a move.

It's past midnight, a few months after the bakery opens, and Eddie's in his little office, doing the monthly accounting. He's exhausted, tired of calculators and numbers, when a flash of light catches at the corner of his eye. He blinks a few times, sure it's the exhaustion setting in, but it doesn't go away.

Instead, there's a light on over at the bakery. It's a kitchen light, and the baker is standing at the stainless steel counter, looking unlike Eddie's ever seen. His hair is a soft wave, swooping onto his forehead. He wears grey sweatpants and a yellow sweatshirt. Tonight, his movements are less precise and practiced; he's slow and contemplative as he gathers ingredients and mixing bowls.

It's been long enough Eddie should look away, but he forgets that it isn't a dream, that he's actually watching the baker roll up his sleeves as he whisks. It's inevitable that, eventually, the baker catches Eddie staring. He just smiles, though, and waves. Eddie manages to return the greeting before awareness smacks him in the face, and he flees the office and the building in acute embarrassment.

They share waves after that. Smiles. Laughter once when Eddie's reading over an invoice and walking, smacks face-first into the doorframe. Eye rolls after the baker gets into an impassioned argument with the curly-haired boy, one that involves a copious amount of thrown flour.

They exchange waves and smiles and goofy expressions, and it shouldn't escalate further, but one day Eddie steps into the shop's waiting room to find the curly-haired boy sitting behind the reception desk, flipping through Eddie's new dnd guide.

"What." Eddie says.

"You," says the boy. He's pointing and glaring and Eddie is a little scared.

"Me?"

"You like dnd?"

He hopes his sigh of relief isn't audible. "Best DM this town has ever seen." He postures and smirks.

"Doubt it," the boy says.

Eddie lets out an offended squeak, dramatically smashes his hand over his heart. "Insulted! Maligned! In my own place of business! Oh!" He falls into a dramatic swoon.

The boy snickers. "I'm Dustin," he says.

"Eddie." They shake hands and Eddie does not laugh at how overly serious this is all is. "Sir Dustin, what brings you to my fine establishment?"

Dustin shrugs. "Steve."

"Steve?"

Dustin rolls his eyes. "The bakery."

"Oh," Eddie says. Steve. The baker is Steve.

He's having a little trouble breathing, sure he's done something wrong, a distinct feeling of doom settling on his shoulders. "Why?"

"He won't stop talking about the mechanic next door but refuses to introduce himself. Plus, I saw your D20 tattoo the other day."

Eddie's barely hearing him, reeling over the knowledge that Steve talks about him to his gaggle of children. He barely hears the rest of the conversation, but the next day Dustin shows up with the rest of the kids, Lucas, Mike, Max, El, Erica, Will.

They're loud, chaotic, wild, and somehow--before they leave--they've coerced him into running a one-shot for them. They come by in twos and threes for the rest of the week, eating all the snacks in the waiting room mini-fridge and talking at him and Wayne as they work.

It's Friday, it's sweltering, he's closing the shop for the night with the top of his coveralls hanging off hips, his sweat soaked undershirt tossed behind a tool chest. He steps into the waiting area and nearly jumps out of his skin to find a man there, holding a plastic container.

Steve.

"H--hi," he stutters. And fuck, he's shirtless. He's standing in front of Steve for the first time and his nipples are out. This is it, the moment he finally dies of embarrassment.

Steve's eyes are locked on Eddie's torso for a few seconds too long, cheeks flushing. He blinks, finally looking at Eddie's face. "I'm Steve. From the--the bakery next door?" He points. "I--uh--I wanted to stop by and apologize?"

"What?" Eddie asks. There's too much happening for him to keep up.

"Um, the kids?"

And Eddie can't fathom why he needs to apologize, can only stare at Steve in confused disbelief.

"It's just. They can be kind of a handful. I used to babysit Mike and the whole group of them started following me around, and--Anyway, I think Dustin took it upon himself to try to introduce us. I've been wondering where they keep disappearing off to, and Max told me today that they're here with you, and I thought I probably owed you an apology. You're trying to work and I know they can be a bunch of shitheads, and oh my god, I'm rambling, I really am turning into Robin, Jesus Christ."

Eddie is fucked. Oh he's so fucked. He's charmed, endeared, can't stop smiling at Steve who is somehow even more beautiful up close.

"I forgive you," Eddie says. "They're nice kids."

Steve lets out a hard breath. "They are, huh?" He smiles. "Don't let them hear you say that. You'll never get a moment's peace. And they shouldn't have been over here bothering you, anyway."

"It wasn't a bother. Though, they did eat all my snacks and swindle me into running a one-shot for them. Still not sure how that happened."

Steve laughs and his eyes crinkle at the corner. So fucked. So fucked. "I should've known that you play that game of theirs."

"Aw, not a dnd fan, Stevie?"

Steve blushes. "It's--there's a lot of math."

Eddie laughs, already knows he's never getting over this one. "You bake professionally."

"It's different?" Steve laughs. "Fine, fine! You got me, it's not my thing."

"Bet I could change your mind," Eddie says. He doesn't mean to be flirting, can't stop himself.

"I bet you could," Steve agrees. He moves his hand, like maybe he's going to run it through his swoop of hair, then seems to remember he's holding baked goods. "Oh, uh, please take these cupcakes as my apology for accidentally saddling you with my group of semi-feral children."

"You're already forgiven, but I'll never say no to a cupcake."

"You should stop by the shop tomorrow, then" Steve says. "On the house."

"You've already given me these." He wiggles the cupcakes in Steve's pretty face.

"I only save the free samples for the hottest customers." Steve does run a hand through his hair now, and it's dorky as fuck, but Eddie still feels like he's died and this is heaven. "See you tomorrow?"

Eddie can only nod as Steve backs out of the office with a cheeky little wave.

He goes to the bakery the next day, sure he just let his crush get away from him and imagined the entire interaction with Steve. Except, when he walks in, Steve smiles all big and pretty in his little blue apron, invites Eddie back to the kitchen.

And if they share their first kiss against the stainless steel countertops, it's between them, Wayne, and all the kids who spy on them from the shop's office window.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #mechanic eddie munson #baker steve harrington #ficlet #fluff #meet cute #mutual pining #matchmaker dustin henderson #longing glances #dustin is sick of hearing steve talk about the hot mechanic next door but never making a move #dustin makes it for him #the party are a bunch of well-meaning menances #for some reason insomnia is an intrinsic part of steve's character even in an au

[stevieschrodinger]

Just Eddie complaining about the non existent dating pool and like, how hard it is for a gay dude and, when he has attempted to meet up with dudes it's never a real date or anything, and it's just drunken run ins with dudes who dont even try and hes just miserable that hes never going to get to experience a date like a real straight couple and Steve is just like. Hold my beer. I'll pick you up at five thirty, dress pretty.

And Steve is all like hell is this happening to my friend, not on my watch. And is determined that Eddie will get to experience this at least once, Steve's gonna make sure.

And he brings Eddie flowers, picks him up and takes him to a movie. Opens the car door and takes his jacket and pulls out his seat and they get some funny looks and some unhappy looks and Steve - highest body count in Hawkins, - Harrington can get away with saying shit like 'im training him up' and 'im showing him how it's done' and dammit if the waiter doesn't think that's hilarious and Eddie hates that this will never be real.

And they get back to the trailer and Eddie loves to fucking torture himself so he can't help but joke that this is the part where you kiss me goodnight, right?

And it's hands down the best date Steve's ever been on, so, cue up the crisis.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #steddie ficlet #ficlet #fic idea