#Anyway yeah it's a fucked up little ficlet

[factorydefaultlu]

What started as an idea is now a 600 word ficlet and I'm not even done writing so...

Wincest gave me brainworms and rabies.

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[stevieschrodinger]

I don't know, ficlet AU sort of thing.

Alpha Steve has a YouTube channel that, kind of, started by accident. Steve is not the most confident reader, like, at all. The words get kind of muddled and he got into a habit of just sort of trying to rush it, figuring he was going to mess it up anyway, so get it over with, right? And then he just sort of stops reading, even though he enjoyed it, because he couldn't get his brain to slow down and the muddling got worse and...yeah.

So one day, his platonic soul mate bestie suggests he read out loud. To someone. If he reads every word out one at a time, knowing it has to be clear enough for the other person to follow, that'll slow him down.

So, he tries it, but only for Robin. And it sort of works, kind of, and then she hits on him using something so he can only see the line he's reading, like a bit of card with a letterbox cut in it, and...Steve is on fire.

The words don't get muddled up so much, and his reading is slow and even, and he needs to read to someone, and Robin can't always be there. It becomes his own pet project, he reads out little bits of books he likes, parts of articles he has enjoyed, poems, whatever, and starts his own little you tube that has like, five followers, and they're all people he knows.

And then suddenly, almost overnight, Steve finds himself with four thousand followers. A very large portion of them are very clearly Omega, from the comments, and Steve suddenly finds himself with a lot of fans who are using his videos for white noise. He's literally reading thousands of Omegas off to sleep.

Which is...nice. Steve likes it. The hits and followers on his videos seem to settle down after a couple of weeks, and then, after having so many comments about how settling Steve's voice is, how the Alpha is relaxing and safe. Steve thinks fuck it.

As a test, he makes a ten minute video directly for that audience. He builds a nest, films it POV. He films the view of someone walking through the bedroom door, of what they would see as they climb into the nest, then resting the camera on his own chest.

Then he starts talking. Tells the omega how perfect they are, how much he cares for them, wants to protect, keep safe. How soft they are as he pets them, how warm and cosy they are in their nest. How snuggles with the omega are Steve's favourite thing.

He deliberately keeps everything as vague and gender neutral as he can. The video fucking explodes. Goes viral. Millions of hits, thousands and thousands of followers. Robin and the kids think it's hilarious, and encourage him to keep going, claiming he's doing a public service.

Hundreds of copycats spring up, but no one pulls it off quite like Steve.

He knows there are Omega out there getting off to his videos, despite there being absolutely nothing sexual about them, but Steve figures, whatever makes people happy.

He gets so many positive comments, omega telling him how much comfort he brings them. He has some regular commenters that he gets to know, too, which is nice. Sometimes he even takes requests, small things, the colour of his shirt, the time of day he shoots his videos, certain words and phrases.

One supportive commenter always stands out though : EdDio86. Steve's pretty sure he's male omega, and he's always so grateful when Steve posts a new video. The guy clearly has a lot of trouble sleeping, and apparently Steve really helps. They have a little back and forth in the comments, learning little bits about one another. Steve likes this omega.

Steve also gets the impression the omega is sorely lacking any comfort in his life. Considering the length of his comments, the guy never asks for anything.

Until he does.

At the end of a comment, always ever so politely thanking Steve, EdDio86 admits he's 'in a bit of a pickle' and could Steve, please, do a video where 'the omega' is with pup? Could Steve tell the omega that the pup is fine, and healthy, and that the omega is doing good and the pup is okay and everything will be okay...but cool if not. Bit of a weird request, I know, sorry to be a bother.

And Steve suddenly doesn't give a shit about the consequences of just,,,dropping his personal email out into the world like that, because he wants to tell this guy these things personally.

[stillnotyourmusebitch]

I can’t stop thinking of demon! Adam going through development and reaching the point of like,, doing something nice without anyone telling him to do it, purely for the sake of doing it. Something he never would have done before. Even if it’s something as small as sitting down with you while you’re watching your favorite movie or show and not shitting on it the whole time, just to keep you company. Or something like that. I dunno. I’m just a sucker for slow burn subtextual romance.

THAT, and the reader seeing his face beneath the mask, looking him the eyes, and smiling a little. Even if they say nothing. I feel like that would stick with him.

Exactly. Demon!Adam lives in my head rent free now. I know this weren't a request of sorts but I kinda wrote something for this

random ficlet below

Demon!Adam x GN!reader (Fluff)

DemonSinner!Adam is something that plays on my mind a lot. He still doesn’t believe in the whole redemption shit that Charlie is laying down but if it gets him a glimpse of seeing heaven again he is willing to try.

-----

Adam was bored and needed something to do that would put off the inevitable “therapy” session with Lucifer’s brat later. So that must be why he finds himself outside your room. He knocks lightly on your door. You didn’t answer, he knocked again louder this time. Still no answer. So he opens the door and peers in.

“Hey errr (Y/n) Charlie asked me to check on you.” A blatant lie but he won’t tell you that.

He sees you’re watching TV.

“Huh? What no shitty nickname this time?” You mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn. Adam walks over and flops down on the couch next to you.

“Oh yeah, nah I didn’t really feel like it.” He grabs a handful of your popcorn.

You quirk a brow.

“Also Charlie said nooo giving nicknames to people that demean them and also who don’t want it and people were given names to be used blah blah blah.” He shoves the popcorn into his mouth. “So what are we watchin?”

“I'm watching a movie I really like so if you're staying either shut up or fuck off.” You sink back into your blanket cocoon.

*10 minutes later*

“What the fuck! This guy clearly likes her but she goes for the other bozo. Is she blind . . . . as well as ya know hot.”

You choke on your drink. You didn’t think that this would be his kinda thing but here he was emotionally invested in the film you had picked. You had really wanted to just wallow in your depression by binge watching trashy romcoms but what was really making you feel better was watching the ‘dickmaster’ himself rooting for the underdog to open up about his feelings to the lead woman.

You go to grab some popcorn but see the bowl is empty.

“Gotta pause.” You go to stand but he stops you.

“I got this.” He hides the good deed by quickly saying “And I need to piss anyway.” You pass him the bowl.

“Not in the popcorn I hope.” You rearrange yourself back in your blanket burrito.

“HAA, You nasty but don’t watch without me. Coz that is a dick move.”

“You know all about those.” You mutter into the blanket. But Adam had gone to the hotel kitchen to make popcorn.

You chose to scroll on your phone until he got back. There were a few messages but you didn’t really feel like answering them. You flop on your side. You can always move when he came back.

While you waited in silence for Adam. You think back on how he really was getting better. After seeing him slowly open up to Charlie’s ideas and seeing that he can be a good guy when it suits him. You smile to yourself.

Your door slams open.

“Okay I’m back bitch.”

Nevermind looks like he has thrown up his walls again.

He lays out the armful of snacks and the bowl of popcorn that looks way bigger than the bowl he left with. He sees you on your side.

“You comfy down there?”

You groan and slowly sit up again. He sits back down but wraps an arm around you and hugs you into his side and nothing more.

“Okay we can continue now.” He grabs the popcorn and rests it on his lap.

You set the movie going again and snuggle just a little bit closer. For popcorn reasons of course not that Adam was nice and warm and you felt safe next to him.

“Clearly she don’t know a good thing when she sees it.” You pipe up after about three minutes into the film again. You had seen this film so many times but there was one scene that always brought out annoyance in you.

“Right!! She needs to open her eyes this guy clearly loves her for who they are and not some fake ass bs that other . . . what?” Adam stops mid-sentence looking down at you resting against his chest.

You blink a few times before realising you are staring “Huh oh nothing.”

You focus back on the screen in front of you.

The climatic end of the film was approaching and the main lead were confessing their love and as the credits role you can here someone crying. You glance up and see Adam wiping away tears.

“You okay.” You sit up and reach for the tissues on the table to hand them to him.

“What!!! I’m fine. Of course I’m fiiiine. Shut up bitch.” He grabs the tissue box from you.

“If it helps I cried the first time I watched this movie.” You wrap the blankets tighter around yourself.

“I . . . ah . . shit.” He saw you curling further in on yourself. He feels guilt crawling into his stomach. “Sorry, I’m . . .Ugh. Look I’m bad at these feel your feelings crap that Charlie spouts. But it was a good film and yeah I cried but . . .”

“It don’t make you any less of a man.”

“Yeeeah I know. Of course I know. I’m the first man.”

“Huh back to that are we.” You bump shoulders with him, making him laugh.

He pulls you back into his side “So what are we watching now?”

------

I really didn't mean for this to be as long as it was. I'm sorry

[wearethecyclones]

Here, have an episode coda ficlet featuring JoshEddie, EddieJosh, Jeddie, whatever the kids are calling it...

(If there are typos in here no there aren't. I need to learn how to write fast and loose and SHORT if i want to ever be a writer ever again. I so never do a tumblr fic moment idk how to format this lolol anyway this is Josh's POV, features a couple mustaches, and a suddenly flirty grocery store banter moment okay luv u bye)

Much like every Halloween shift before it, this one was a wild one. Josh had made it through the shift okay, but when he clocks out it takes a little longer than most days to shake it off. Something about it clings to him. When he gets to his car, he just wants to text someone from the 118 to see how Hen’s son is doing but he doesn’t think he can take bad news either. 

He’d love to just go home and draw the black out curtains and crash for the day, but a scheduled reminder pops up on his phone telling him to grab a few things at the store. He’d rather not be faced with the lack of those things on the other side of a day spent sleeping, so with a heavy sigh he turns his car on and sets his sights on the closest Ralph’s.

Discounted Halloween candy in a mess of boxes greets him at the entrance of the store. Josh grabs a couple bags, thinking of the candy jar on his desk. He takes his time in the produce section, finding some sort of comfort in how empty the store is while employees bustle around stocking shelves. 

He rounds an end cap overflowing with tortillas of every size imaginable and is shocked back to reality when his cart clangs sharply against someone else’s.

“God, I’m so sorry,” Josh rushes to say, looking up at the other cart’s owner. And of course he had to run into the hottest guy in the whole store. Brown eyes, prince charming hair swoop, a mustache, and… oh fuck, that’s Eddie Diaz. “I uh… was lost in my own world,” he finishes lamely, a confusing mix of attraction and annoyance swirling in him.

“Thought that was you,” Eddie says, neutral enough. His eyes flick down to Josh’s mouth and back up to his eyes. “Hey.”

“Eddie. Hi, sorry.”

“No worries.” He glances down at Josh’s mouth again and Josh’s skin crawls, not unpleasantly. Josh feels self-conscious, like he always does around Eddie. He fights the instinct to let his shoulders curve inward to protect his soft underbelly. He almost wants to overcorrect by snapping to perfect posture instead, but he fights that urge too. Act natural. 

“Getting off shift?” Eddie asks. “Heard you on the radio last night.” Neutral, neutral, neutral. 

“Yeah. Crazy night, right?”

Eddie nods. “They took us out of rotation for a little after, well…” Eddie waves his hand in front of him as a loose identifier. Josh understands. 

“I can imagine. Are you coming from the hospital?” Josh asks. 

“Yeah,” he says, scratching at the stubble along his jaw in way that strikes Josh as impulsive and nervous. 

Josh takes a deep breath and asks, “How’s Hen’s son doing?” 

“He’s doing great, surgery went well. He’s got a broken leg and will probably be hurting for awhile, but he’s okay.”

Josh lets out a relieved breath. “Thank God for that.”

Eddie smiles softly. “Yeah, we’re all really relieved.”

Josh nods. He finds himself running out of things to say and feels the clock on this interaction running down swiftly. But again, that mustache… For all intents and purposes, it’s kind of a basic and typical firefighter sort of mustache to have but Eddie really pulls it off. Something about it lends a bit of mature softness to his face, contrasting nicely with the rest of his face. And listen, it’s a good face. Josh has never lied to himself enough to mark Eddie as unattractive, physically. He has eyes.

“Nice mustache, by the way, suits you,” Josh says. Because why not? 

Eddie laughs a little louder than Josh finds necessary here. “Yeah, you too,” he says. 

“Huh?” Josh asks. His stubble can’t be that grown in. Is he being made fun of or something?

“The…” Eddie lifts his hand to make a reverse pinching motion at his own upper lip. “The mustache…?” he finishes when Josh continues to blankly stare at him.

Josh’s hand flies up to his upper lip, fingers coming into contact with the stupid fake mustache he’d glued on forever and a day ago. “Oh my god.” He laughs. “I forgot I was wearing this. Wow, it was such a long night.” He picks at the edge to peel it off. Eddie’s eyes track the motion, a gentle amusement settled over his features. 

“Yeah, I can’t do that with mine,” he teases. 

Josh feels disarmed. Just seconds ago he thought he was on the wrong side of a joke, now he feels on the inside of one. 

“Didn’t think so.”

“Impressed it stayed on so well,” Eddie comments. 

“Yeah, I watched a YouTube tutorial. I was sure I was going to sweat it off.”

“Ever try growing one, or is that not in your wheelhouse?” Eddie says, playful.

Josh should feel at least a little offended, but he’s  pretty sure he’s detecting a little friendly banter… “Honey, I’m Italian, I can grow facial hair.” 

Eddie holds his hands up, lips downturned in a Muppety kind of way. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Uh huh, that’s right,” Josh says on a laugh.

“And what were you supposed to be exactly?” Eddie asks, gesturing loosely at his regulation blue polo. 

“I was kinda going for Eddie Diaz if he had only ever had a desk job,” Josh says, and he’s sure the small note of flirtation in his tone could be heard by anyone in a ten mile radius. 

Not sure where that came from…

Eddie laughs, the unforgiving overhead lights making his eyes sparkle. “Well, you nailed it. I guess.”

“Thanks, thanks, I tried really hard.” He holds up his balled fist and flourishes his fingers open and closed to reveal and conceal the fake mustache a couple times before shoving it into his pocket. 

“No, but really, what were you supposed to be?” 

Josh never accused Eddie of not being thorough, at the very least. Relentless, sometimes. Snide, at his worst. It was something that used to rankle him. But now there’s an easy openness to Eddie’s face that might be earnest curiosity. 

“Well, I kinda never got around to coming up with something and I had that thing laying around from last year’s costume. So…” Josh shrugs, pairing it with a lopsided smile. “Me with a mustache?”

“And what was last year’s costume?” Eddie asks. Thorough. Bordering on relentless.

“Oh, do not make me say, you’ll make fun of me.” 

He tilts his head just slightly, a slow and mischievous smile spreading across his face. “Oh, c’mon. I’ve had the worst Halloween ever, throw me a bone?”

Josh shifts his weight from one foot to the other with an indignant sigh. A distant part of him notes Eddie’s tactic. Charming his way into what he wants. Where Josh would have been inclined to read it as fake before, he can’t seem to draw the same conclusion now. It’s a sweet smile. 

“Fine. I was one of the Village People. It was a group costume.” 

Eddie’s face lights up. “Oh, that’s great. Which one were you?”

“Construction worker,” Josh answers, feeling his cheeks heat up against his will. Why is he embarrassed? Why does he care? It was a good costume. He’d looked kinda hot. He and his then current, now ex-, boyfriend and their friends had a great time. Whatever. 

“Love that,” Eddie says, sounding like he genuinely kinda means it. 

“Yeah,” Josh says, waving his hand vaguely in the space between them. “What’s been so bad about your Halloween?” Tit for tat. 

Eddie’s face goes through a series of fast but very clear expressions that all say: are you fucking kidding me?

“Other than,” Josh interjects before he can actually say anything out loud. “That horrible call.”

Eddie huffs a forgiving laugh. “Ah, I mean, isn’t that enough?”

“Sure.” Josh lets the sentiment hang. 

Eddie looks at the products on the shelf in front of him for the first time since they’ve been in this aisle and seems to be chewing on the inside of his cheek. Josh is about to retract his question entirely when he clears his throat and says, “I uh, don’t have my kid with me anymore. He’s in El Paso with my parents and Halloween was always our thing but apparently this year he’s suddenly too old for it. And, you know, every time I respond to a call for a kid who is hurt and their parents are right there, or sometimes they aren’t, I just… I don’t know. And Denny really could’ve…” he trails off, and Josh recognizes the superstitious, nearly holy refusal to name what could’ve happened. He clears his throat again. “It was really dicey there for a second and I was watching Hen and Karen, holding Karen up… I just. Miss my boy.” He sniffs, suddenly. And shakes his head. 

Josh follows his eye line to a row of Manischewitz Gefilte Fish and his skin is crawling to break the tension, to distract, to do the thing he always does even though he really shouldn’t…

But he can’t stop himself.

“Sooo, Gefilte Fish, am I right?” he asks. 

Eddie’s eyes cut to him. Then back to the shelf in front of him. He smiles and shakes his head. “Sorry, I made it weird.”

“I’m pretty sure I made it weird, actually,” Josh says with an apologetic tone.

“Right, but I could’ve answered that differently.”

“No,” Josh disagrees. “I asked. I wanted to know. I meant that I made it weird with Gefilte Fish.”

Eddie laughs again, bright and airy. “Sure. Anyway, sorry.” He shakes tension from shoulders, and seems to be ready to excuse himself and walk away. Josh should let him. Josh doesn’t want to.

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Eddie, sounds tough.”

“Yeah, no, it’s… life, you know?” he says dismissively, with a wry twist of the mouth. 

Josh shrugs a shoulder. “And life is tough sometimes.” With nary a breath between thoughts, he plows ever onward. “I was going to get breakfast before going home, there’s a weird little diner near here that makes a great French toast. Wanna join?”

Here’s the part where Eddie and Josh are supposed to come to and remember who they are. Who they are to each other. Who they’ll remain to each other. Josh braces for rejection. Josh prepares to walk away with the satisfaction of having reached out to someone, whether or not they wanted to accept. 

Eddie’s face, which Josh has counted at least a thousand emotions and micro expressions on in this short exchange alone, does something soft. Sweet. He smiles a little. “That sounds nice, actually. Thanks.”

Josh’s heart leaps a little. “Great!” He feels the grin stretch across his face without his permission and bites his lip to contain it. Deflect, deflect, deflect. “You’re buying, you owe me for implying I’m too gay to grow a mustache.”

“UH, excuse me, I did not,” Eddie argues, waving a bossy finger at him. There’s a sparkle in his eye that tells Josh they’re playing the same game. 

“Uh huh. And I bet you know so many gay people you couldn’t poooossibly be homophobic. Prove it to me over breakfast.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, biting down his own grin. “Sure. Fine. You done here? Let’s check out and go.” He makes a point of knocking his cart into Josh’s, cheeky bastard that he is, and heads for the front of the store. “Coming?” he asks over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Josh says, grinning at the back of his head. 

[thefreakandthehair]

not inspired by my fiance for once, but by a friend! this is the meme referenced. just a little funny sorta-crack future ficlet. enjoy!

"Steve... what the fuck is this?" Eddie doesn't even let Steve set his work bags down before he's shoving his phone in his face, the meme Steve sent him earlier glaring up at him.

“A meme? Was that not clear?" Steve smirks and drops his bags, his shoulder brushing Eddie's as he scoots past him.

One of his students had managed to work the class into such an uproar over that exact meme, shouting various band names and excitedly discussing their choices, that Steve had given up and joined them. It’s the end of the school year anyways, and even his administration understands that the last week of school is all about survival. That’s how he ended up with a photo of a Create Your Dream Concert Lineup For $100 meme, and that’s how Eddie ended up spiraling into an existential crisis about it.

“But the numbers don’t add up!” Eddie complains, following Steve into the kitchen with his phone still open, the offending screenshot still unchanged despite how many times he’s looked at it. “With the price of each band, I’d have to choose between Metallica, Ozzy, and Iron Maiden.”

Steve scoffs and shakes his head as he grabs a water bottle from the fridge, shutting it with his hip and leaning back against the counter. “That’s right. $100 budget, so one has to go.”

Eddie stares at him, insulted and slack-jawed at the suggestion. “That’s not possible. I’ll just steal from you to round out the cost.”

“No can do, Munson. I already spent mine.” He winks and sips his water, watching Eddie’s eyebrows furrow.

“The fuck you did, these are all metal and hard rock. I don’t see Springsteen anywhere on this list, and I’ve stared at it a lot.” He waves his phone for emphasis.

Steve has, in fact, chosen his line up, probed and prodded by his students last period. Some of the bands he recognizes from his decades of partnership with Eddie, others he’s come to know on his own or from students. So sure, he has a line up, and if he spent a bit too much time thinking about how to get Eddie worked up about it, well, that’s between him and his phone.

He holds up three fingers on the hand not covered in condensation and ticks them off one by one.

“Ozzy, $40”

Eddie gasps.

“Slayer, $20.”

“Steve, what—”

“Queen, $40.”

Eddie blinks once, twice, before he sets his phone down and closes the distance, holds Steve’s face with both hands on either side, and tugs him in for a ridiculous, dramatic kiss. Steve laughs against his lips and pulls back, letting go with a loud mwah.

“I have to say, Harrington,” Eddie starts, his hands still firmly in place. “Other than our wedding, and maybe that one pick up basketball game I went to, this is the hottest you’ve been.”

Steve can’t help but to preen a bit, proud that his plan has worked— that Eddie’s proud, that Eddie’s looking at him with that fond smile and warm eyes over something so silly after all of these years.

“Oh really?”

“Hell yeah, sweetheart. I mean, Ozzy? Queen? Slayer? Talk metal to me.”

Eddie tugs him closer, wrapping both arms tightly around Steve’s waist and pressing their lips together again, this time with more heat, more urgency. Steve lets himself sink into it for a moment or two before he breaks the kiss, his own lips red and shiny.

“Metallica.”

“Steve, you’re killing me.”

“Megadeath.”

“How do you—”

Steve grins and leans closer, whispering into his ear. “Pantera. But only if it’s before Dimebag’a death.”

Eddie laughs and pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth. “You little shit, all these years I thought you were tuning me out and here you are, weaponizing it against me.” If they were still just dating, still in those early stages of their relationship, he’d be embarrassed at the way his pants tighten. But it’s not, and he’s not. “Wanna?” He nods towards the stairs, the ones that lead to the privacy of thier bedroom.

“Oh, not yet. No.” Steve almost laughs at Eddie’s confused head tilt. “You’ve gotta make your line up first.”

Eddie steps back, his hand over his heart and mouth ajar. “You— oh, for fucks sake. Alright, give me a few minutes.”

Turns out, Eddie can choose between Metallica, Iron Maiden, and Ozzy pretty quickly when the stakes include sex with his husband.

[funnylittlelad]

birdsong - steddie ficlet (-1.5k)

That time Steve got hearing aids.

Steve has been pissing people off for weeks and he knows it. He just doesn’t know what to do about it. It gets to the point where Dustin snaps at him for never paying attention to them. Steve starts to consider just leaving the country and starting new somewhere else. Somewhere it doesn't matter if he can hear who’s talking to him because he can't understand them anyways. He always thought Italy could be nice. Instead of running, he just shows up less. Both literally and metaphorically.

He starts bailing on more hangouts, figuring he won't be able to hear everyone so what's the point. When he is there he participates less in the conversation. He only engages when he’s really sure he can hear, which isn't a lot. It's mostly one-on-one or one-on-two. He doesn't think anyone notices, but they do. Eddie most of all feels Steve’s absence even when he’s sitting right next to him. He’s noticed the anxious tension in him when they're in groups. He just isn't sure what to do. So, he sits with a Steve-sized ache in his chest. There’s a day when the ache becomes too much, though, and Eddie breaks.

Steve sits in his living room with everyone strewn about. Eddie is next to him like he usually is unless Robin was already at Steve’s first. The kids lay and sit on the rug around the coffee table. Robin is on the other side of Eddie. Nancy sits with her legs tucked under her in a big armchair. The sound of conversation and life flows around him like a pebble in a stream. His edges have been smoothed so the water can move effortlessly, never catching on his surface. He can feel that there are words in the air around him, but there are too many other things around those words. Too much background noise and laughter. He can’t dig through it all in time to figure out what anyone is saying. So, he just stays silent like he has been. 

“He’s not listening again,” Dustin says frustratedly. 

Eddie frowns and looks at Steve. The movement catches Steve’s attention. He turns to look at Eddie with a small smile. Then he notices that it's more than just Eddie’s eyes on him. His blood runs cold and his throat dries.

“What?” He asks cautiously, eyes flitting to everyone else before landing on Eddie.

“Be honest, can you hear us?” Eddie answers Steve’s question with his own.

“I-”

“Be honest,” Eddie warns.

“No,” Steve sighs, “most of the time I can't really. I mean, I can hear you, but I can't tell what you're saying. It all garbles together like I’m underwater or something.”

“I think it's time to go to the doctor, Stevie,” Eddie says softly.

Steve frowns, but nods. There's a nervous twist in his stomach at the thought. He agrees to make an appointment the following day. Eddie hangs behind after everyone else leaves for a little bit. He does this sometimes and Steve’s never complained. Steve’s never thought about complaining. There's no surprise when Eddie gently grabs his hand either. He does that sometimes too. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Eddie asks. 

The question nearly makes Steve cry. He wants to cry so bad. He wants to cry because he misses being able to hear his friends. He wants to cry because he’s scared of what's going to happen to what's left of his hearing. He wants to cry because Eddie is standing here offering to go to his doctor’s appointment with him like he’s a child. Mostly, he wants to cry because he’s so fucking happy Eddie offered and he doesn't have to ask. Steve nods.

“Yeah, if you don't mind,” he answers with a slight waver in his voice. 

Eddie smiles all sticky and sweet at him. Steve silently wonders what he did to be worthy of a smile like that. 

“‘Course I don't mind. Just tell me when and where and I’m there,” Eddie promises.

And he was. Eddie drives Steve to the ENT on the morning of his appointment the next week. He sat in the waiting room until Steve was done, but the knowledge he was there was enough. It was the same thing when Steve was sent to the Audiologist two weeks later. Eddie sat in the waiting room patiently while Steve sat in a booth answering all sorts of questions and prompts. It doesn't really sink in until he sees Eddie stand from his chair. The knit of his brow tells Steve his face says it all.

“What’s the verdict?” Eddie asks. 

“They’ll let me know when to come in and be fitted for my hearing aids,” he sighs with a frown.

“That’s good!” Eddie smiles as they walk out of the office. 

“Good? Eds, I’m going to have hearing aids,” Steve scoffs.

“Yeah, which means you’ll, y’know, be able to hear,” Eddie points out. 

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Nope, no buts except yours in my van,” Eddie interrupts him and points to the passenger side as they approach the van.

Steve rolls his eyes with a small smile as he climbs in. 

“I just don’t feel like it's that bad,” he admits quietly as the van choked to a start.

“How bad did they say it was?” 

Steve remains silent for a beat as Eddie pulls out. He sighs and glances out the window at the building as they leave.

“I'm working with sixty percent of my hearing in one ear and seventy in the other,” he tells Eddie.

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes with a shake of his head, “If the doctors say these things will help you then they’re worth a shot. M’tired of you bailing out on things- yeah, I noticed.��

Steve’s face flushes at being caught like that. He exhales slowly and nods. 

“Okay,” he agrees, “I’ll give them a shot.”

A couple weeks later he’s called into the office for his hearing aids. Eddie is so quick to drop what he’s doing to go with him it nearly gives Steve whiplash. The sight of Eddie’s van pulling up gives a strange swooping sensation that he's grown used to around Eddie. The appointment itself takes around an hour. Then Steve is walking out fashioned with two white hearing aids hooked over his ears. His eyes are wide as they bounce to the television and then the clacking behind the desk. Eddie beams at him and stands. Steve looks beautiful so stunned. Hell, Eddie can admit that Steve just looks beautiful. 

“C’mon, Stevie, let’s go give’em a spin,” he says with a wolfish grin.

Steve laughs and nods. They don't get far, though. Once they step foot outside Steve comes to a halt. He makes a noise that's a cross between choking and a sob. Eddie’s hands fly to examine him for injury, but there is none. Steve’s lip wobbles, his face is blotchy and red, and his warm toffee eyes are trained on the tree a few feet away. Eddie’s mouth opens to ask, but then Steve’s eyes are on him like that. His eyes overflow with more emotion than Eddie knew a human could hold. 

“The birds,” Steve croaks. 

“What about’em?” Eddie’s brows furrow.

He glances accusingly at the little chirping finches in the tree. Steve chuckles wetly at the sight.

“I- I can hear them. It’s been so long- I didn't even realize,” Steve shakes his head, “I don’t know the last time I’ve actually heard the birds.”

Steve’s wonder-filled gaze turns back to the birds in question. He laughs again, heartier this time at the notion. He can hear birds. 

“Shit,” Eddie whispers to himself, “I’m so in love with you.”

At least he thought it was to himself. An hour ago it would have been to himself. Steve’s face whips around with huge eyes. His lips part slightly as he watches Eddie stunned. Eddie freezes, absolutely terrified. He’s so sure he just fucked it all up. 

“I can hear you too,” Steve whispers.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat.

“Nah, pretty sure that was a bird too,” he attempts to joke it off. 

“I really hope not,” Steve frowns.

Eddie blinks hopefully.

“Really? Why?”

“Because I’m in love with you too.”

Safe to say, Steve is very happy he got hearing aids. 

Masterlist - beta read by @steveslilshorts

[frozenjokes]

deeply infatuated with them. so much so that you guys can have the full ficlet as a treat. And yeah he wears that dumb fuck lab coat to bed of course he does. he’s also a socks in bed wearer and if you don’t think so we will be dualing at dawn.

zombiecleo and the worst found family in the world vvv

Ow. Ow.

Mosquitos, deer flies, horse flies, bugs, Cub was being ravaged by bugs, he really hadn’t considered the bugs when he’d started this journey. In the Wisconsin northwoods you breathed them, all sorts, but the deer flies were his worst enemies, drawing blood even through the thick layers of.. well, moss didn’t feel like an accurate descriptor. It looked a little like moss, like life had reached toward the sky and captured the stars, brilliant and twinkling and everything good. But moss didn’t have teeth. Sculk did. Cub liked that about it. Whether it hurt more or less than the flies, that was up for debate, but the sculk was consistent, familiar, everywhere, and the flies were in his way.

But with all the bugs, there was some reprieve. Afterall, another source of food meant less of those teeth under Cub’s skin. Less pain, though, somehow, he still managed to miss it.

Sculk was alien. It was not supposed to be here. But it wanted to be.

Sculk was a parasite. So was Cub.

Ow- Fucking- stupid ass dumbass fucking-

Cub jolted awake with a screech, being shaken- dragged out of bed, the monster on his neck- he was falling, a bear- a black bear had got him, he was being dragged through the woods by a black bear- fuck- what bear was it you where you were supposed to play dead? Cub had thought the brown bear, there weren’t brown bears in Wisconsin- He tried anyway.

He realized the floor was not dirt. The paws awkwardly dragging him along weren’t black or brown. Momentarily stunned, he heard Cleo cackle through the darkness.

“Scar- Scar! What are you doing? Wait- No no- No! Scar!”

Cub had the wind knocked out of him as his kidnapper attempted to jump onto Cleo’s bed, his stomach slamming into the mattress before he was unceremoniously dragged all the way up over a howling Cleo. Briefly Cub was released, to which he cautiously began to move until the sheets were pulled so hard underneath him that he fell off balance, only to be grabbed by the throat, then shoved head first underneath.

Cub needed a second to breathe, utterly shocked he was still alive. Then a large weight fell on top of him, and breathing became a little harder. The weight began to purr.

“Scar.” Cleo gasped, sounding just as shaken as Cub felt, though not nearly as dazed. The purring ceased briefly, then began again, Cleo’s bewilderment remaining unanswered. “What- Why?” they tried again, which Scar seemed more receptive to.

“Easier to watch when you’re close together. This is better. Efficient. Safer.”

“We- We don’t need to be watched, Scar. We are safe. This room is safe. There is literally nothing in here that can hurt us.”

“That RenKing is awfully suspicious. It’s watching me.”

“He’s not on! He can not turn on by himself, we are fine.”

“What else lurks in the shadows, Cleo? You never know, you never know. One minute you’re safe, the next minute a hawk has swooped out of nowhere and grabbed your kitten, you gotta be careful, you gotta sleep together. It’s the best way to do it, it’s the best way.”

“I can not argue with you about this right now. Is Cub even alive?”

“He’s wriggling.” Cub was indeed wriggling. He wasn’t even uncomfortable per se, there was something deeply mollifying about having a large weight directly on your back, and he slept face down anyway, so this wasn’t a huge issue. Just adjusting.

“Let him go, Scar.”

Cub was a little offended by the implication that he could not get Scar off by himself- Scar was at least half his weight! “I’m fine.”

“He’s fine,” Scar parroted.

Cleo sighed, long and strained. She said no more. With enough passage of time, Cub stopped going to sleep in his own bed, since no amount of arguing was going to stop Scar from dragging him out of it every night. Though, out of all of Scar’s disruptive quirks, this was not something Cub minded all too much. He liked Cleo’s company, though he was relatively certain Cleo did not enjoy sleeping in a full bed nearly as much. Well, Cub definitely took up more room, but it wasn’t like she had slept alone since Scar had invited himself to sleep at their feet anyway.. then their legs.. then their stomach.. then their chest. Maybe this was always the next step. Cub wouldn’t be surprised if Scar had been planning it from the start. Oh well. No skin off his back.

uh if you like this there’s more of it on ao3 here’s a link

[mia-ugly]

In honour of Good Omens Season 2

HAVE A SLOW SHOW FICLET with thanks to @weatheredlaw for the amazing graphic ❤️❤️❤️ how we doing fam

It’s a kid on set that first tells him. 

Not really a kid, but anyone less than thirty seems a kid to him these days (ugh, that’s a loathsome thought.) Jiyana’s a queer and pink-haired punk type, rainbow pin on their jacket, trans-pride flag tattooed on their inner wrist. The first time he met them, the whole wirey confident glittery thing made his gut clench with - what was it - joy and gratitude but also envy? Maybe? (because what must it be like to be that young and that certain of yourself? What must it be like to have the whole world open in front of you? Not that there still isn’t a lot of shit to deal with, and in Merry Old fucking England there is More Shit than Otherwise, but. Still. It’s something Crowley thinks about. Sometimes. When he hasn’t had enough sleep or when he’s had too much of it.)

The kid came up to him Day One to mumble about “being a big fan” and once they wore a Warlock t-shirt to an afterparty (“Vintage!” they said cheerily, and Crowley wanted to swallow his own face at the thought of something from the 2010s being considered vintage, good Christ.)

Anyway, Jiyana tells him first.

“Congrats on the new season!” They’re beside him in the makeup trailer. Crowley doesn’t realise they’re talking to him, assumes they’re wearing AirPods or something, until George gives him a nudge with the powder puff.

“Er, yeah, cheers.” It’s too early to talk to anyone this perky. Then his exhausted, coffee-less brain takes a moment to catch up with his exhausted, coffee-less mouth. “Er, wait, what?”

“Warlock. Heard it’s coming back. Did I tell you I wrote a paper on it in, like, Grade 10? So cool, the GSA at my highschool used to have watch parties, I can’t wait to see what they do with your -“

“Wait -“ Warlock? It’s been bloody years. “Where’d you hear this?”

The kid starts to list off some sites or social media whatsits that Crowley has never heard of, so he just nods and pretends to understand, the same way he does when Az’s niece tries to explain some show called “Jojo’s Big Adventure” or something. Validate, validate, empathise. Just like Pepper taught him.

It’s probably nothing right? A rumour.

But it’s a rumour Az has heard too.

When Crowley gets home that night (they’ve rented a house in Buckinghamshire, even though the studio’s not two hours from their cottage) Az is on him immediately. Heard about it from his sister apparently, who got the news from one of the kids.

“Isn’t that exciting?” His face is all lit up and his hair is wet, bathrobe snugly belted around his waist. The house has an indoor pool, and there are little indents on Avery’s nose where his extremely attractive and sexy swimming-goggles must have been resting.

Crowley presses his lips to each mark.

“Not that we’ve been going hungry or wanting for work –” Az continues.

“You work too bloody much,” Crowley murmurs into his cheekbone.

“But I do love those characters. The whole thing wrapped up so nicely though – what more is there to tell?  I wonder what the arc could possibly be.”

“I wonder what you’ve got on under this robe –”

“Anthony!” Az laughs in fake protest, tilting his head back so that Crowley can get his mouth on his throat. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Az tastes like chlorine, and maybe Crowley should join him in the shower after this. After a day in the studio, he could probably use it.

“Would you really want to do a series again?” Crowley asks after he’s finally let his husband go, turned to hang up his coat and thrown his bag on the nearest chair. “Awful lot of commitment. And you’ve that whole run at the Globe coming up, don’t rehearsals start in the spring?”

“We’ll have to see if Helen can mind the goats again while we’re in London.” Az has wandered into the kitchen, turned on the kettle. Crowley looks at the back of his neck (Crowley always looks at the back of his neck. Sometimes he dreams about it.) “If she’s free. I called her this morning to check in, Elmyra’s eating, so her anxiety must be getting better.”

“Cool, yeah,” Crowley says, casual and nonchalant and no big deal. As if Elmyra isn’t his favourite of the bunch and he doesn’t have a song that he made up and no one knows that he sings just to her. As if he didn’t hand feed her all night once because she wasn’t sleeping or eating and neither was he because he was so afraid this tiny rescue goat was going to starve to death, anyway whatever, super cool, who cares. “Is it weird that no one’s reached out to us, though? Do you think?”

“About the goats? Helen has my number –”

“No love, the Warlock thing.”

Az blinks at him, flutters his pretty blond lashes in an attractive, aggrieved sort of way. “You mean you haven’t heard from Beez?”

“I haven’t heard from anyone.”

“Oh.” Az thinks it over. “Well. Neither have I, actually. Do you – is that odd?”

“Maybe they’ve recast us with younger models.”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“Gotta up the sex appeal of the whole thing. Jawlines. Cheekbones. Sexy results.”

“I –” Az goes a bit pink. Glances at Crowley and then away. “Fail to see how they could improve upon perfection.”

Crowley looks at his husband’s bathrobe and the slight scattering of silver chest hair and his hand on his tea cup and fuck off, his neck. His neck, his neck, who gives a shit about Warlock actually?

 “Come over here and say that to my mouth.”

Avery smiles, and sighs, and he does.

ONE YEAR LATER:

Crowley opens the email from Beez.

He fuckin' closes it.

[limerental]

currently I'm thinking about letho and roche both being at kaer morhen for geralt in tw3. that shit's so funny to me. like imagine some beefy asshole contract kills the subject of your unhealthy devotion and then shows up several years later after your entire life has fallen to ruins and you can't even try to stab him because you're doing a favor for your old buddy and so you're just. Eating oatmeal in the main hall together and he's like. can you pass the brown sugar.

I'm rotating the weirdest things in my mind right now

[cha-melodius]

💘💚🧡 or ♥️ for the kiss ficlet- your choice!

🧡 kissing in bed / lazy kiss / cuddling (ok, so the main heart I chose is listed above, buuut I also threw in first kiss (red) and mutual pining (arrow) because why not? read all the kiss ficlets)

In retrospect, he probably should have expected this.

When the heat had gone out in their building, they probably should have just bit the bullet and gotten one of their friends to put them up. But Pez was out of the country and hadn’t left Henry a key—rude—and June and Nora just had a small couch that’d barely fit Henry.

It was fine. It wasn’t gonna be that cold, and anyway they’d shared a bed before that one time when they’d road tripped to Texas in the summer and the hotel had messed up their reservation. They’re best friends. They regularly snuggle up against each other on the couch during movie night. It’s fine.

Alex is genuinely warm when he wakes up, so much so that he thinks the heat has come back on in the night. But no, the only furnace is his roommate, who’s currently plastered to his back. Alex shifts a little, but he doesn’t want to disrupt Henry when he’s sleeping so peacefully. So what if Alex is currently playing the role of an oversized teddy bear. He’s not complaining.

Henry wakes slowly, nuzzling his face a little into the back of Alex’s neck, and ok, that’s a little much for Alex’s poor heart to take. He can handle the casual physical intimacy, the hugs and friendly touches—dishes them out as much as Henry, in fact. But this is far too close to the quiet, secret desires of his heart, the ones he’s never been able to act on for fear of fucking up such a good thing. Henry’s arms tighten around him as he hums contentedly, and a moment later Alex could swear he feels Henry’s lips against his neck.

“Uh, H?” Alex croaks out.

Henry freezes, his entire body going stiff. “Shit,” he breathes against Alex’s neck. “I’m so sorry, Alex, I didn’t mean—”

He tries to pull away, but Alex catches him by the wrist and holds him tight, then turns over so that they’re facing each other, so close that Alex can count every one of his eyelashes. Jesus, he’s so fucking beautiful. There’s something in his eyes that makes Alex pause, that makes him settle Henry’s arm around his waist and scoot even closer, even though they’re only inches apart. Henry exhales shakily, but he doesn’t try to pull away again.

“Alex?” he murmurs. “What are you doing?”

“Enjoying this,” Alex replies. “Being in your arms.”

“Is that… something you like?”

“Mm,” Alex hums in confirmation. “You?”

Henry lets out a breath, a little smile curling onto his lips. “Very much.”

Emboldened, Alex nuzzles a little closer, until their noses are brushing. “I also liked it when you kissed my neck.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah,” Alex breathes. “I’d be up for more. Kissing, I mean. If that’s something you—”

He gets what he wants: Henry kisses him, a gentle, brief press of his lips to Alex’s. Then he’s trying to pull away, but Alex just pushes forward, letting his lips part and welcoming Henry in. It’s a slow, lazy slide of lips and swipe of tongues, the kind of kiss that feels like it could go on forever, and Alex is inclined to let it. Apparently, so is Henry, because they kiss for some obscene amount of time before he finally breaks out of it.

“Should we get up, do you think?”

Alex just tightens his hold, snuggling closer. “Why? ’S cold out there.”

“Right you are, love,” Henry laughs, and kisses him again.

[fernandopiastri28]

don’t be jealous ~ oscarmark

little ficlet for no other reason then that i’m bored

Possessive Mark wants his protege all to himself

wc: 1.1k || cw: feminisation, age gap, power imbalance

Mark shouldn’t care, and if he’s completely honest, it’s really disturbing that he does.

He’s a 47 year old man- he shouldn’t care about a 23 year old in the way Mark does, specifically the one he’s the manager of.

Oscar’s barely a kid, one with a voice that’s only just dropped and who can barely grow facial hair beyond a few stray bits of golden brown hair along his chin.

There’s something very interesting about Oscar, his pure intelligence and raw talent. He’s a smart kid, perfectly competent and easy to take care of. He hardly feels like someone Mark needs to micromanage or guide, rather someone he can work alongside.

That’s what makes it so difficult, because Oscar isn’t that. He is someone that Mark is supposed to look after and help out, not someone who he should be drinking beer after beer to ignore the fact that Oscar’s paying too much attention to Lando Norris.

Lando, unlike Oscar, is quite a pain. Despite being in his 6th year of F1, he’s immature, uncalculated, and a poor presenter of himself.

Mark reckons Oscar was much better suited as teammates with someone like Robert, who had a good head on his shoulders, or even Fred, who was capable and determined.

But Lando? Lando makes Mark’s blood boil. His arrogance, whininess, lack of self awareness- he’s a fucking Sebastian Vettel reincarnate, just without the world championships to justify it.

Mark needs to get Oscar out of there, fucking get him away from the influence of Lando. The two boys already hang out enough as it is in the paddock, occasionally on the weekends.

Mark needs to come up with something that will ensure he gets to have more time with Oscar. Oscar’s is his, he has been ever since he signed that contract back 2020.

Four years ago, Oscar had been a 19 year old with close cropped hair, perfectly crooked teeth, a slightly higher pitched voice, a boyish sense of eternal youth and big dreams and aspirations for the future.

He’d just been a kid back then, boneless and malleable for Mark to shape into the world champion he’d never quite gotten to be.

Yet, in 2024, Oscar was a man. Broad shoulders, thick neck, defined muscles, undeniable talent. He simply oozed silent confidence and sensibility.

Oscar was possibly the most impressive young man that Mark had ever encountered. Yet, Mark knew Oscar could still be better, he still could improve.

Mark narrows his eyes, watching across the large event room, scattered with all different F1 personnel and sponsor teams, yet Oscar stands out like a sore thumb. He doesn’t deserve to be stuck at such a mundane and unrewarding dinner ‘party’ like this.

He also doesn’t deserve the obvious way that Lando preyed on Oscar’s politeness. After Lando cracked what seemed like the thousandth joke that night that Oscar seemed to double over in laughter over, Mark stood up, walking away from his table towards the teammates.

“Oscar,” His voice was soft, endearing. “Lando,” Sharper, bitter. Mark didn’t bother to put on a kind facade for the brit, nor did he look at him.

“Hey Mark,” Oscar turned to look at him, bright eyes and a slurred voice. Oscar’s lips were pink and puffy, shiny from spit and wine.

Tipsy Oscar was a sight for sore eyes, that was for sure. “Enjoying yourselves?” The question clearly directed towards the younger Australian.

He swears he watches Oscar’s cheeks turn pink when Mark stares at his pretty lips. “Yeah,” Oscar’s voice is quiet, girly in a way.

Oscar is a bit like a girl anyways. Beyond the short hair, broad figure and, well, the obvious boy feature of his crotch- he’s got naturally peachy and full lips, long curly lashes, thick muscular thighs, pecs that basically look like breasts.

Mark feels shameful that he notices those things so intensely, and even more ashamed that he’s so into it. “Barely seen you tonight, y’been hiding away?” Oscar asks, his voice breathy.

Mark laughs, and Lando does too, and then it’s not that funny to Mark. He wishes Lando would just leave, go talk to Zac or something. “Lando,” Mark turns to him, no shame in what he’s about to say. “I think Jenson mentioned something to me about wanting to talk to you about something the other day. He’s over there if you’re interested,” He’s vague, pointing across the room to where he’s pretty sure Jenson isn’t.

It’s not a lie, Jenson had mentioned Lando once in a passing comment a few weeks prior. He hopes Jenson will find something to talk to Lando about if the younger brit finds him. “Oh, thanks Mark,” His eyebrows flicker upwards as he stands up, walking straight off without another word.

Mark turns his attention back to Oscar who instead of watching Lando as he walks away, just stares at Mark. “What’s up, kid?”

Oscar gets all bashful, red down to where his shirt collar squeezes around his thick neck, probably even to where the white fabric pulls taut across his chest.

“Drinking,” His voice disappears into his wine glass, forcibly quiet. He’s so shy and blushy being around Mark.

“I know that,” Mark smiles, rather beguiling to be fair. “What else though? You seem a bit.. on edge,” He likes taunting Oscar like this, watching him squirm in his seat.

“ ‘m not on edge,” He looks up, his eyes meeting Mark’s from where they’ve been wandering just about anywhere else. Splodges of heat appear on the boy’s face, like he’s about to break down in a nervous panic.

God, Mark feels so awful. He just wants to make Oscar happy and warm inside, not scared. He takes the seat that Lando had previously been in, intentionally moving it so that one of his knees slots in between Oscar’s legs. “Are you sure, Oscar?” A hand rests on the back of Oscar’s seat and he can feel the heat radiating off Oscar’s neck.

Oscar bites his bottom lip, adorable bunny teeth hooked over glossy, girly lips. “I- I,” He stammers, trying to find his way out of this.

Oscar. Nonchalant Oscar. Future World champion Oscar. Unaffected Oscar. Emotionless Oscar.

Oscar who’s completely whipped for his manager. “Please help me, Mark,” His voice is whiny, like Lando’s always is, but not annoying at all. It’s so cute- desperate.

His voice is like honey, thick and sickeningly sweet. Mark’s been addicted to it for years. Mark looks down at Oscar’s lap where his suit trousers are tented.

Holy shit, Mark’s got himself in such a bad position right now.

ft. what Oscar & Mark are wearing AND literally the trio dynamic :p

[grayson1996]

Just a little ficlet I thought up! ***

“I miss my mom.”

The admission was quiet, but Dick saw Jason’s head snap up from his phone, gaze indiscernible as he surveyed Dick. Probably trying to figure out what brought the confession on.

“Ok.” Jason said it like a statement, but Dick could hear the question in it.

“I miss how warm her body felt when she hugged me. I miss being able to bury my head into her stomach and breathe her in…. I miss breathing her in. I miss having a mom and knowing what it’s like to be loved by someone unconditionally. I miss growing and having her there to notice.” Dick got quiet a moment, a little unsure if he should continue sharing, but he felt the need to anyway. “Sometimes I miss being the youngest. My cousin was a few years older than me, all my friends at the circus were. Hell, even the Titans were. I miss being the one cared for. You know?”

Dick saw Jason set down his phone and turn to face Dick head on. After a moment Dick turned as well and matched his brother’s gaze. The confusion that was there making way to understanding.

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

Dick felt himself relax slightly at the reassurance, closing his eyes he sunk deeper into his living room couch that the two were currently occupying.

“I miss wearing clothes that weren’t replaced as soon as they got holes. And I miss dishes made with cumin and cinnamon. And I miss my dad. God, I miss him so much. He was so calm Jay, he always smiled, he always knew that things were going to be ok, you know? He sang all the time, and no one sings here.” Dick felt his throat close at the realization, not even realizing all this was weighing on his heart until he let himself feel it. “No one sings here, and sometimes I forget about all them. It’s like my life is on auto-pilot and I just don’t think about it. But then I remember and it’s like my body is ripping itself open from the grief and I can’t... I can’t- just”.

Jason shifted in his seat, pulling Dick toward him as he started to get worked up. Breathes coming out quicker than intended. Dick let himself be manhandled into an awkward sideways hug. Unsure of where all this was coming from. For a moment it was quiet as Jason held him until his younger brother let out a heavy breath.

“Sometimes I miss my old apartment. Stupid, you know? The place was filled with water damage and mold and my Ma and I shared a shitty lumpy 20 year old mattress that should have been torched years ago…. But it still was mine, and now it’s gone.” Dick felt Jason shrug, arms still wrapped around him.  “I think what people forget is, that to be human is to find the good memories in bad. It’s how we go on. That’s why everyone says grief is a gift, it means you loved someone so much that you get to miss them.”

“That’s stupid.” Dick muttered defiantly, grinning slightly when Jason laughed. “Grief isn’t a gift, it’s the cost of getting to love.”

“Careful Dickie, your dangerously close to sounding cynical and that’s my shtick.”

“I didn’t say it was a cost I was unwilling to pay.” Dick pulled himself back, leaning onto the side of the couch to face Jason once more. “I just wish I had more time to save up before I had to cash in.”

 Jason nodded, leaning back himself, though still watching Dick with a careful eye.

“You don’t talk about this often.” Another statement, one Dick knew to be true. He never talked about his parents, not since his current family started to grow.

“Bruce never talked about his parents, for awhile I think I thought grief was locking away memories until they faded into existence. When I realized that wasn’t the case you guys were here and I didn’t want to bring them up in case you felt like… I don’t know… I didn’t love the family I had now?”

Jason stared at him dumbly for a moment.

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said Goldie and that’s including the time you tried to convince Wally, B was a vampire.” Dick snorted at the memory, which Jason smiled at. “Remembering what you lost doesn’t negate what you have, and the adage that time heals all wounds is misconstruing. It doesn’t mean the injury stops hurting, hell your fucked up knee acts up every time it so much as showers. Just because something isn’t actively gushing blood doesn’t mean its fine, doesn’t mean you don’t still need to take care of it.”

Dick let out a heavy breath, he had forgotten how intuitive Jason could be.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“Course I’m right, I’m the only one of you fuckers who consistently reads books without pictures in it.”

Dick pushed him roughly but without any heat, dodging the pillow Jason tried to lob at his face in retaliation. For a moment the two tussled, feeling younger than they had in a while. Only stopping when a wayward elbow sent Dick’s lamp thudding to the floor. Slightly out of breath Dick nudged Jason with his foot, the joviality making way for genuineness.

“Thank you. For letting me talk about them.”

Jason gave him a small smile, one without the useful veneer of snark.

“Anytime.”

[tgmsunmontue]

850 word ficlet for the topgunalternativeuniverse Bingo which I realised I should start ticking off so I can hopefully achieve at least one Bingo... Also for @thyknife for doing their editing!

Hangster - for the squares Stripper and Handyman. Teen+

Not here for you. Maybe next time?

                Long denim-clad legs, tight white t-shirt, low-slung leather tool belt with actual authentic looking tools. He definitely looks the part, he can see muscles in all the right places and even if the stripper isn’t booked for him he’s definitely going to appreciate the show. Part of Bradley is impressed, except for the fact that the guy has the day and time completely wrong. Or maybe the guy has the wrong house.

                “Uh, hey man. I think you have the wrong house.”

                “Three-forty-one Riverview Terrace?”

                “Uh. Yeah. That’s us, but we didn’t…” order a stripper he wants to say, except they did, but not for tonight. “Did you get the date right?”

                Now the guy is looking confused.

                “Uh. Usually when people call me they want me over as quickly as possible.”

                “Really?” Bradley asks, because he didn’t realize that emergency strippers were a thing.

                “Yeah, really. I had someone named Natasha call me? And as pretty as you are, I don’t think you’re Natasha.”

                “Uh. I thought Callie booked the stripper.”

                “A stripper? I am not here to take my clothes off…” the guy says, but he does sweep his eyes down Bradley’s body like he’s mentally undressing him and Bradley is pretty sure he’s blushing. “Not this time, anyway.”

                Before Bradley has time to reply Natasha is behind him, pushing him to the side and Bradley just stands there, gaping a little because the very hot stripper just made a pass at him. Maybe.

                “Oh! Are you Jake?” Natasha asks, and Bradley realizes then that he’s probably made a severe error of judgement, and it is mortifying on several levels.

                “Yes ma’am.”

                “Great! Can you come through and take a look?”

                “Of course,” the guys says, shooting Bradley an amused look. He wants the ground to open up and swallow him. Knowing that isn’t going to happen he needs to go and hide; why the hell hadn’t Natasha warned him? Also what had needed someone else’s help with, usually he handles all the odd jobs around the house, he’s a carpenter, he knows how to fucking fix things. He loiters within ear shot to find out that the two-phase oven they have in the kitchen, which apparently has two fuses, has somehow tripped something else and okay, if it’s wires and electricity then he isn’t touching it. He can stop feeling bad about her calling in a professional for that at least.

                The guy is making small talk, and his ears prick up at hearing his name.

                “Oh no, Bradley can’t do wiring. He knows his own limitations at least.”

                “Good thing to have in a boyfriend, some guys are too egotistical to admit when they don’t know.”

                “Not my boyfriend, or anything else other than my best friend. And you’re as subtle as pink pantsuit at a white party”

                “Wasn’t trying to be subtle. And it’s all fixed by the way. You can get back to toasting your tater tots.”

                “That was fast.”

                “Well, I’m good at my job. You have anything else that needs looking at? You’ve got me for the minimum hour callout…”

                “I wouldn’t know, but Bradley will. One second.”

                Then she’s right there, eyes alight with mirth and laughing silently, because she obviously heard him before she interrupted and he could kill her.  He tries, with his eyes, right then and there, but it only makes her laugh more, and if it continues she’s going to start snorting, which is going to be another level of humiliation. Who needs enemies when you can have friends that laugh at your pain like this?

                “Anything you need help with?” Natasha asks, and Bradley shoves her. He’s annoyed, because there actually is something, and he steps past her, heads into the kitchen where Jake is waiting, and yeah, he still looks like a fucking stripper, but now that he’s looking properly he can see the multimeter, tester, wire strippers all hanging off the leather apron tool belt.

                “Hey man, uh, sorry about before. I’ve got a live switch to outside that needs to be made dead.”

                “Sure thing, lead the way.”

                Bradley leads him to outside to where the pump to the outdoor fountain is, the pump itself long gone, wires just loose and tucked back into the concrete plinth of the now defunct base. He gestures at it, can immediately appreciate that Jake is reviewing the scene, poking around a bit before he gets to work. He tests the wires and socket, then pops the switch cover off, then he’s unscrewing things and cutting things; jogging to his van, muttering about a torch and Bradley just watches. Then he’s slipping a sheath over wires and using a blowtorch to make it shrink to cover the wires.

                “So, interesting fact for you. I was a stripper when I was younger. Good money. Electricians generally have better working hours though.”

                “God, I’m sorry,” Bradley says. “I didn’t mean any disrespect…”

                “Well, that’s okay. If no disrespect was meant. Anyway. Here’s my card. If you’re ever looking for a private show… Call me.”

                “Okay, I will.”

[trensu]

So this was originally a little ficlet i added to @gyroshrike's EXCELLENT angel dust fanart. You should check it out IMMEDIATELY. Anyway, I ended up writing it out into a proper fic so I could post it to ao3 here. and i thought i might as well make it its own tumblr post as well since the fic is done already. Enjoy!

“What do you mean no?” Cherri asks, annoyed. “This is the fifth fucking outfit you’ve shot down.”

Angel doesn’t know why he thought Cherri would be helpful on this shopping trip. He forgot that Cherri’s idea of fashion involves singed tops and torn up bottoms. He snatches the clothes from Cherri’s hands and throws them back on the rack.

“Ya keep pickin’ slutty clothes!” Angel replies, also annoyed. 

“That’s because you are a slut, bitch.”

Angel gives her a two fingered salute because he’s fucking cultured. Cherri cackles and flips him off in return. Angel marches to the other end of the store to the rack full of boring colors like navy, gray, and black. They don’t go with his coloring at all. It’s the only rack left he hasn’t looked through in the entire store, though. Cherri follows behind him, purposely shoving racks and mannequins to make a mess as they go.

“Well, I ain’t tryin’ ta look slutty this time,” Angel says as he aggressively inspects the rack of clothing.

“Good luck getting that cat in bed after your date,” Cherri snorts.

“It’s a first date! Husk ain’t like that,” Angel says, feeling a bit offended on Husk’s behalf. “He’s a gentleman.”

“Yeah, the drunk arsehole is a total gentleman,” Cherri rolls her eye. 

“He is about this kinda thing. He’s a classy guy, okay? So I’m givin’ classy a try,” Angel insists. He reaches the end of the rack with nothing to show for it. He growls. “Fuck this place, it ain’t got shit. Let’s go.”

“Fuck yes! About fucking time,” Cherri cheers.

After blowing off steam with Cherri, Angel sneaks back into the hotel. Not that he’d done anything wrong; he just doesn’t want to bump into Husker at the bar after the spectacular failure of a shopping trip. He’s stressed because he was running out of time to get an outfit together. He knows he gets catty under pressure. (Ha. Catty.) He doesn’t want to risk getting catty with Husker.

Once inside, Angel wanders the upper levels for a bit until he is absolutely sure that Charlie was nowhere around. He knows Charlie would be overjoyed to help but she's about as subtle as machine gunfire when she's happy. Angel wants his future upscale look to be a surprise for Husk.

Since Charlie can’t be considered, Angel is left with one last option. With extreme reluctance, he makes his way to Charlie’s room. He makes sure not to show anything but confidence and charm when he knocks on the door.

Vaggie opens it with a scowl.

“Angel. What do you want?” Vaggie asks in that flat yet annoyed tone she was so good at doing.

“Heyyy, Vaggie. Ya know that redemption thing Charlie always yaps about?” Angel starts. Vaggie’s scowl deepens, so Angel continues before she could say anything. “I was thinkin’ I should change up my look, so I ain’t so sexy and tempting. Looking like a prude is a virtue, ain’t it? You’re the biggest prude I know! Wanna help a fella out? For redemption and sh–uh, stuff?”

Angel bats his eyes at Vaggie, channeling his ‘I’m a sweet, naive virgin, please take advantage of me’ character. It’s a very popular character in his line of work. He is much better at that than at looking innocent but he figures it’s basically the same thing. Vaggie glares at him. Okay, slight miscalculation on Angel’s part, then.

“No,” she says, and tries to close the door. Angel catches it with two hands before it shuts completely.

“Wait!”

“I’m not helping you with whatever porno you’re doing,” Vaggie says. 

“It ain’t for porn!” Angel says. He’s not exactly insulted that Vaggie assumed it was a porn thing, but he’s not not insulted either. He’s got a life outside of porn, sometimes!

Vaggie stares at him. It’s an expectant stare. It’s a stare that clearly says Angel has to give her a reason to not harpoon him with that spear she carries everywhere. (It’s also super judgemental but that doesn’t offend Angel since Vaggie looks at everyone except Charlie judgmentally).

A small jolt of embarrassment hits him. He wishes it was a porn thing now. 

He doesn’t want to say it out loud, this tiny frail chance Husk gave him by asking him out. If he says it out loud, Vaggie will scoff. She’d roll her eyes and ask him why he’s even bothering to try. Does he really think anyone would seriously want to date a cokehead pornstar? This is a pipe dream and Husker will get fed up with him so fast.

(Vaggie wouldn’t say any of that, a part of Angel knows. Those were Valentino’s words, but he’s so sure that Vaggie must have thought it at least once. Everybody must think that about him at least once).

The longer he stays quiet the more Vaggie’s glare softens until she starts to look genuinely concerned. And, fuck, Angel can’t have that. He’d die (again) if Vaggie felt sorry enough to be nice to him. He pastes on his smile and keeps his tone girlfriend-ly.

“I got a hot date, Vaggie, that’s all,” Angel says. “Wanna try somethin’ a little different for it.”

Vaggie is not convinced by his nonchalance which makes Angel wonder if he’s losing his touch. His acting skills are second to none! She should be eating out of the palm of his hand with this performance! Instead, she marches out of the room and waves him along.

“Follow me,” Vaggie says in her drill sergeant voice that makes everyone who hears it straighten their spine and find themselves already halfway to a salute.

Angel learns that Vaggie approaches clothes shopping with the same tactical focus and determination she approaches any mission, which is weird but whatever. She stealthily leads him to the nicer side of town into a more upscale shop than Angel is used to. She marches through the shop without bothering to ask Angel for his input on anything. Still she manages to pick out a few outfits that went well with his coloring and in his size. Angel has never appreciated her observational skills more.

“Try these on and show me,” she demands, piling her pickings into both sets of Angel’s arms and shoving him into a dressing room.

Angel complies without protest. He sashays out of the dressing room like a supermodel four times before Vaggie nods in satisfaction on the last option. She actually smiles at him.

“This one. You’ll impress your date with this one,” Vaggie says without a hint of irony.

Angel smiles back and thanks her enthusiastically. He ignores how he hadn’t recognized himself in the mirror in any of the outfits. He ignores how uncomfortable the clothes feel on his body. The clothes are classy, just like Husker prefers. That’s what matters.

–

When Husker shows up at his door for their date, he does a double take.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Husk asks, confused.

Angel starts to lean flirtatiously into his space, a salacious come on right on the tip of his tongue. He catches himself halfway and quickly straightens himself with an awkward laugh.

“Just somethin’ I found in the back of the closet,” he lies through his teeth.

He’d devoted time to doing his makeup just right and making sure the clothes were crisp and clean. He still feels uncomfortable in them but all things considered, Angel thinks the final product came out pretty good. The way Husker looks at him now makes him wonder if he overestimated his looks for once.

Husk’s eyes narrow as he studies Angel. His gaze trails Angel top to bottom. It doesn’t feel very sexy but Angel supposes the point is to not look like a whore so this means he succeeded, right? 

“Sure,” Husk says, notes of confusion still in his tone. “You ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course!” Angel stutters like a moron.

“Alright,” Husker says after a beat.

Husk gives Angel another suspicious look, shoulders tense and wings pulled close. Something shifts in his expression that Angel can’t read. He’s afraid it might be disappointment. Husker shakes out his wings and offers Angel his arm, which Angel accepts with relief.

“So, where ya takin’ me, Huskie?”

Husker tells him about a little place with good food, better drinks, and a live jazz band. As they walk out of the hotel, Angel almost cozies up against Husk, so tempted to rub his cheek against Husker’s furry ear. He catches himself again and over-corrects by pulling away from Husk until their linked arms are the only point of contact. Husk stumbles a bit with the weight shift. He shoots him another indecipherable look. Husker opens his mouth to say something but appears to change his mind and snaps it shut.

That’s okay, though, right? Husker wasn’t much of a talker anyway! Angel fills the silence between them with nervous babble. Angel is normally very good at conversation but tonight he keeps having to stop and restart mid-sentence when his stories get crass. Being crass is not good first date behavior. Husker grunts every now and then but it’s clear he’s only listening with half an ear. It doesn’t help Angel’s nerves at all.

The date goes downhill from there.

Husker finds them a booth when they arrive at their destination and helps Angel order their food and drinks. He points out several he thinks Angel will like.

Usually, he and Husker can pound back alcohol like nobody’s business. They sometimes make a game of it and those nights are some of the best Angel has because he gets to see Husker soften and relax in his company. However, Angel is an affectionate drunk and Husk has had to nudge Angel away more than once those nights. Husker is always sweet about it now, with gentle hands and amusement in his eyes. Husker always helps him back to his room afterwards like a perfect gentlemanly escort. Despite that, Angel can’t help feeling a bit stung at the rejection each time.

Tonight, he only orders one drink. He knows he can’t be getting too handsy with Husk on their date. He’s sure it would annoy him. He doesn’t want Husker to regret asking him out. With his focus strictly on keeping up his good behavior and watching his alcohol intake, Angel barely touches the food Husker recommended to him. 

Husker keeps shooting him these looks that make Angel anxious. With each glance, Husker slinks deeper into his taciturn demeanor. Of course, Angel overcompensates with his babbling. At one point, Husk has to shush him during the jazz show. Angel clacks his jaws shut in shame, because he knows how much Husker likes jazz and here he is ruining the experience for him. At least Husk is nice enough to hold Angel’s hands throughout the rest of the show, though he probably only does it to keep Angel from fidgeting too much.

When they leave the joint, Husker doesn’t offer his arm again. He doesn’t even walk very close to him. Angel's stomach churns so much, he’s afraid if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll puke the two bites of food he ate earlier.

They’re halfway back to the hotel when Husk clears his throat. His hands are in his pockets as he trudges on, keeping his eyes on the crumbling sidewalk.

“You didn’t have to say yes,” Husk says, not even glancing at Angel or faltering in his steps as he speaks. Angel, on the other hand, halts in confusion.

“What?” Angel asks, not sure what Husker was talking about but the tone of voice made his stomach drop. Husk sighs, stopping in his tracks to finally look up at Angel. His face was closed off in his standard apathetic frown.

“When I asked you out,” Husker says, his tone going to his usual bored gruffness. He hasn’t used that tone towards Angel in a long time. Hints of panic start crawling up Angel’s veins. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

“What?” Angel asks again like a fucking idiot. He hopes he doesn’t sound as shaky and pathetic as he feels.

Husker’s voice goes flatter though his tail has started to twitch uneasily.

“You should’ve said no if you didn’t want to…be with me. We woulda been fine.”

“Huskie–”

And at last some of that soft, hidden sincerity crept back into Husker’s voice. Only a little bit, but it’s there.

“I’d still be your friend, Legs,” Husker says, gazing into Angel’s eyes and sounding painfully honest. “I wouldn’t abandon you over that.”

“No! I-I–”

Husker looks away with a bitter grin. Angel’s heart cracked at the sight.

“I’d need a day or two to lick my wounds, but I knew it was a long shot anyway. I woulda come back,” Husker shrugs when he finishes going for nonchalance, but his wings are once again curled protective and close, making his usual slouch look less like carelessness and more like defeat. Husker doesn’t wait for Angel’s response, instead choosing to continue walking back to the hotel.

Angel stands in place, floored by how badly he fucked up. He notices his breathing becoming erratic. He does his best to do the calming breathing thing Charlie taught them all. It works well enough to get him running to Husker again though Angel still feels unsteady and insecure. Most of him is screaming to fucking book it in the other direction because fuck, fuck, Angel hates feelings. But Husker also hates feelings and he basically threw up his guts at Angel despite it. The least Angel can do is return the gesture, right? He owes Husker that much.

“Husker, wait!” he shouts. 

Husker’s posture becomes more guarded but he doesn’t acknowledge Angel’s call. Angel catches up quickly (Husk can’t go too far too fast with those short legs, Angel thinks, helplessly fond despite the anxiety). Dodging around Husker’s wings that quiver with tension, Angel grabs the crook of his arm to bring him to a stop and place himself in Husk’s way. He lets go quickly at Husk’s glare but somehow manages to stand his ground.

“I did want! Husk, I wanted ta say yes, I wanted ta go on this date so much,” Angel says desperately, feeling a telltale burning around his eyes and hating himself for it.

The tension in Husker’s body breaks free as his patience caves to his temper. His wings flare open and his tail whips side to side aggressively.

“Then why are you acting so fucking fake? With the clothes and you treating me like I got the fucking plague! I thought we were done with that bullshit,” Husker snaps furiously.

“Cuz I wanted ta…I wanted ta be good for ya, Husk,” Angel chokes out, shoulders slumped in defeat. “You like classy. I wanted ta be a good, classy sorta guy for ya. I-I fucked up. I always fuck this shit up. I don’t mean ta do it.”

Angel stares at the poor excuse of a sidewalk they’re on, blinking back tears. Husker doesn’t say anything for a long time. Angel nearly loses his nerve and turns tail when Husker speaks again.

“You fucking dumbass,” Husk says. 

His voice is deep and warm and fond, the way it is on their drinking nights together. Angel’s head snaps to Husk at his words. That cocky little smirk– the one Angel first saw after Husk had pulled him out of his self-destructive spiral at the club and realized that if he wasn't careful he'd lose his heart to the guy–has replaced the angry slant of Husk’s mouth.

“Hey!” Angel protests with a cautious smile. Husk rolls his eyes.

“Don’t expect compliments if you’re gonna act stupid,” Husk says and offers his arm to Angel. “You’re already classy enough for me, Legs.”

Angel takes his arm and looks down at him slyly.

“But not good, huh?” Angel tries to tease but Husker doesn’t take it.

Instead, Husk looks at him intensely and says firmly, “If this redemption shit the princess keeps talking about ain’t total bullshit, you’d be the one to make it.”

“Oh,” Angel says, stunned, then adds to cover how hard it made his heart beat, “Husker, ya big ol’ flirt. I betcha say that ta all the pretty boys.”

“Fuck you,” Husk grins at him. Angel bats his eyes and lets his voice go all breathy.

“Oh, yes! Please, daddy,” Angel simpers. He adds a loud moan for good measure. Husker throws his head back with a rough, loud laugh. Angel knows immediately he wants to hear it again forever.

By the time Husk drops Angel off at the door of his room, the pair of them have relaxed significantly. Angel opens the door slightly to peek in on Fat Nuggets. After he makes sure his Nugs is sleeping soundly, Angel catches Husk’s sleeve before he could make a sneaky escape.

“Hey, Husk, can we get a do-over? A new first date? I want ta do it right next time.” Angel asks shyly. The corner of Husk’s mouth quirks up, making his golden eyes crinkle in a way that makes Angel’s heart melt.

“Depends,” Husker says with that charming smirk. “You gonna wear that stupid outfit next time?”

“Oh baby,” Angel says, plastering himself against the door frame in one of his sexiest poses. “I’m gonna wear my sluttiest dress for my handsome kitty. Everyone’s gonna wish they were you when they see us togetha.”

Husk snorts.

“When you put it like that…”

“You can put it wherever ya want, daddy,” Angel flirts. He’s only half-joking but he keeps his hands to himself to keep things light. Husker rolls his eyes in good humor.

“A do-over sounds good.”

Angel drops the pose instantly, beaming at Husk.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Angel’s heart flutters at the small smile that accompanies Husk’s assurance.

“Next week?”

Husker nods in agreement.

“Great!” Angel said, probably a little too enthusiastically.

Before Angel canlose his nerve, he dips down and presses a light, meek kiss on Husker’s cheek. When he pulls back, Husker’s eyes are as wide as saucers and his wings have puffed up in a way Angel hadn’t seen before. If Angel didn’t know any better, he’d say Husker was downright flustered. And oh god, Angel wanted to make him blush all over. Husker would be so cute in bed.

“G‘night, Huskie!” Angel says quickly and slams the door closed behind him.

After nearly tearing himself out of the uncomfortable clothes, Angel crawls into bed wearing only his boxer briefs. Next time, he thinks to himself in joy and disbelief. I get a next time.

He knows it will be perfect because next time he’ll be himself. Angel. Because that’s all Husker wanted. Just Angel.

He curls up around Fat Nuggets and allows himself one quiet, happy squeal.

[zearay]

This is a little Steddie ficlet that wormed its way into my brain a few days ago and wouldn't leave till I'd written it, so here you go ^_^ I hope you enjoy

Steve had finally agreed to sit in on a session of Dungeons and Dragons while the kids played with Eddie, but only if he got to sit in the big chair at the end of the table. Dustin had readily accepted the condition, the rest of the party less convinced that Eddie would be fine with it.

As soon as they arrived at the Wheeler household, the kids bounced like rubber balls down the stairs and into the basement, Steve following at a leisurely pace after having greeted Mrs Wheeler on the way down.

When he got to the basement and saw the big chair decked out in heavy blankets like a polstered throne, he immediately let out a quiet "fuck yeah" and went to take his place like a king in his castle.

Eddie arrived not too late after, looking like he'd been hurrying to make it on time. As he scanned the room to make sure everyone was present, his eyes slid to Steve on his throne and suddenly he couldn't look away. It was all he could do to let out a short "that's my chair" before his heart combusted at the image of Steve Harrington looking very much at home in the setting most intimately familiar to Eddie.

"Yeah, but Dustin said I could sit here," Steve replied, looking smugly at the kid he'd just thrown under the bus without remorse.

"Yeah, man. You're always up and pacing anyway, I thought maybe it'd be okay? It was the only way to get him to agree to sit in," Dustin defended, looking at Eddie with defiance in his eyes.

Eddie couldn't do anything but nod, still a bit in awe at the display in front of him. But he had a game to run, and run it he would. For the sheep. So he took one last lingering look at Steve before turning his head to look at Dustin.

"He's in my chair, though. How will I sit? On the floor? Not fit for a Dungeon Master," he said.

But before Dustin could come up with something, Steve commented from behind him.

"Well, the chair may be occupied, but there's still a seat, Munson."

Eddie turned his head to look at Steve, who was now patting his own thighs in invitation. And who was Eddie to deny him that, he was just a man after all. So Eddie smirked and walked over to the throne, plopping down on top of Steve before clapping his hands to demand the attention that was already on him.

"Alright, time for some roleplaying. Who's ready?"

The party quickly got over their shock and let out a few short "whoop"s before settling down on the floor and setting up their gear for yet another session of battle against enemies they weren't prepared for. At least it was only pretend this time around.