#fanfiction trope mash up

[spacealligator]

I wanna write a story where character A is sucked from the modern world into the world of fantasy through wizardry and has to marry character B who is a prince, to save the kingdom from disgrace or something

what settings can I play with? maybe kakashi is seen as sacred because his hair is white? maybe obito is a cruel prince who learns how to love? or obito ends up in a disneyland like place and is very annoyed? maybe he's in the mafia in the real world?

so many possibilities GAWD

[macolethings]

3+58

My first ever prompt “ask!” 3 (Modern AU) + 58 (Accidental Eavesdropping). I’m going to make it from the same universe as my one shot “The Woods are my Home” since that story is also modern au. It will also give more insight into the start of their relationship.

I’m excited and nervous but here goes! This hasn’t been beta’d, just written on a plane and quickly edited.

NOW ON AO3!

- - - - -

The smell of freshly ground coffee engulfed Clarke's senses as she stepped into Grounders Cafe. She had been coming to Grounders for years and it was a main staple of her routine. On the days she worked the night shift, she would come in before closing to get her blood pumping on a double shot americano, with a small splash of cream. When the nights were incredibly busy, making it nearly impossible to eat a real meal, she would show up again in the morning for a calming lavender tea and mushroom quiche before heading home to crash in bed.

This morning was one of those mornings. Clarke had decided to take on a shift for her friend, Monroe, a favor in which Karma did not decide to reward her for. She was initially disappointed to find out that Lexa was not on her team that night, due to a special training exercise they had the next day. The night only got worse as call after call came in. Clarke could have sworn it was a full moon based on the craziness of the situations they were summoned to.

Her shabby attire matched her sullen, tired, mood. Having placed her order to go, she sat down at a table in a dark corner. She threw her hoodie over her head and laid on her crossed arms, trying to shut out that world for a few minutes. Her mind drifted back to the woman who had been taking over most of her quiet thoughts these days. Lexa, an Air Force Pararescue Jumper Trainee, was the newest member of Clarke’s Emergency Medical Technicians Team. It was meant to prepare the trainees on how to handle emergency responses and to get them comfortable with the gore, stress, and mental challenges of the job.

She and Lexa got along almost instantly. Clarke could feel the nerves radiating off Lexa on her first night, and there were a few hiccups. But Lexa promised she would do better, and she had. Over the course of the month, Lexa had become an integral part of the team, and Clarke’s night. As if her thoughts could manifest themselves, a familiar voice brought her out of her hidden world. Clarke started to lift her head up to say "hi" to Lexa, when she realized the woman was on the phone. She watched her settle onto the couch near her, back towards Clarke, with a cup of black coffee if Lexa stuck to her usual order.

"I miss you too," she overheard Lexa lovingly say to whoever was on the phone. Clarke wondered who it could be. "Sorry we haven't been able to talk as much as I thought we would." Lexa sounded sad.

Clarke tried to think back on anyone Lexa mentioned from her hometown that she could be talking with. They had talked while on shift, getting to know each other past the point of just surface level information. Working as an EMT in a city as large as Arkadia left little time for deep philosophical discussions, but there was a connection between them that couldn't be explained, and Clarke had pressed in order to explore it more.

Sadly, with the little downtime they did have, Clarke and Lexa would normally go over the rescue and talk about what they could do better next time. Clarke knew how important it was to Lexa to learn everything she could while on the job, and she wanted nothing more than to help however possible. It was just a bonus that Lexa's hands would sometimes brush up next to hers unnecessarily and linger longer than needed. Or that Lexa would lean into Clarke's space when talking to her, claiming she wanted to make sure she was heard over the white noise the ambulance made when driving. The only issue was that Lexa could be closed off at times, especially when topics became too personal.

"Super busy," Lexa responded. "The team I was assigned to is great, and I'm learning a lot. The team lead is crazy intelligent. Pretty sure I could graduate top of my class with her helping me."

Clarke realized she really shouldn't be listening to Lexa’s conversation, but her curiosity about who could be on the other line overrode her ethical senses. Plus, Lexa was sitting in public having this conversation. It's not like Clarke had snuck up on her to listen.

"Don't be jealous, no one could replace you," she overheard Lexa say. Okay, she definitely should not be listening in. She was obviously listening in on a call between Lexa and her boyfriend. Girlfriend? But that didn't vibe with how Lexa had been acting around her this past month.

"I love you too much to do that, Madi." Lexa answered, upbeat and happy. Girlfriend, Clarke decided.

The handheld buzzer in her pocket went off, letting Clarke know her order was ready to go, and giving Clarke a reason to finally put herself out of her misery and step away from the conversation. How could she have misread their situation so badly? She took her breakfast and tea and started her walk home. Lexa had a girlfriend.

####

It was two days later, and Clarke was going to be seeing Lexa again for the first time since overhearing her conversation with her girlfriend. She was not looking forward to it. She felt like an idiot, letting Lexa's fantastic smile, kindness, and flirtatious attitude cloud her judgment. She should have realized that the reason for Lexa being closed off at times was to hide a relationship.

"Hey, Clarke," she heard Lexa happily announce as she walked up to the ambulance, "I stopped by the bakery near my place to grab us some scones to go with our coffee tonight." Lexa placed the scones right inside the opened doors at the back.

"Hi, Lexa." Clark responded dismissively. "Thanks. I forgot to grab you one though, sorry. I was running late."

It was a lie, of course. An outright lie. As childish as it was, Clarke wanted to be petty after finding out Lexa had been toying with her emotions. She didn't forget to grab a coffee for Lexa. In fact, she thought long and hard about NOT ordering Lexa her usual, debating on if it would set a bad tone for the night. But, she ultimately decided she needed to pull back on their quickly developing friendship.

"Oh," Lexa sadly replied. "That's alright."

Lexa climbed into the back of the ambulance and started on their inventory checklist. Clarke normally helped her out, but tonight she left Lexa and Nate, their third team member, to do it on their own. It was a precursor to the rest of the night.

Their normal, lighthearted conversations were replaced by awkward silence. It made Clarke feel gutted. She still held their "lessons learned" session after each patient, but she was much more clinical and professional in her teachings. And she made sure to hold back on her usual tactile teaching moments she often used when correcting Lexa's form.

The shift in their dynamic did not go unnoticed by Lexa. After a few attempts at what had become their normal routine, Lexa gave up. She started sitting on the opposite side of the ambulance, rather than next to Clarke. And instead of talking to her, she read one of the medical trauma books Clarke had recommended. Even Nate had kept to himself.

Clarke hated the distance. It had only been a month, but she had become accustomed to being around Lexa. She had wanted to be next to her, learning about her, sharing stories. To get excited with her when Lexa learned a new skill, or performed it flawlessly. But she couldn’t allow herself to get caught up with someone who was taken. It was wrong.

As the night came to an end, Clarke completed their outbrief before directing Lexa and Nate to finalize the ambulance for the next shift. As she walked to the hospital to start the turnover paperwork, she heard a yell from behind her. “Clarke!” It was Lexa. She took a deep breath, steadying herself before turning around.

“What’s up, Lexa?” She asked nonchalantly.

Can I talk to you for a minute?” Lexa bravely asked. For Clarke’s face was not as welcoming, try as she might. “Please?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Clarke responded. Being alone with Lexa would not help Clarke’s conundrum. She was already fighting with herself; wanting to be closer to this woman and yet, wanting to push her as far away as possible.

Lexa looked defeated. “Did I… do something wrong?” She questioned. “Because I feel like you shut me out today.”

Clarke stared into Lexa’s eyes. Gorgeous green eyes that captivated her. Eyes that Clarke would catch making prolonged glances her way when Lexa thought she couldn’t see her. Eyes that should be looking at someone else that way, not her.

That thought solidified Clarke’s decision. She would talk to her, but she had to confront Lexa with what she overheard at the cafe and set boundaries for their future shifts. Their relationship needed to be strictly professional.

“We can talk. It’s probably best.” She answered, nodding her head towards the alley. Lexa followed quietly behind her.

Clarke jumped right into the conversation, just wanting it to be over. “Listen, Lexa. I think we’ve been crossing the lines of professionalism a bit too much at work.” Clarke stated. “It’s making me uncomfortable.”

Lexa nodded, seeming to understand exactly what Clarke meant. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware it was making you uncomfortable.” She responded.

“It wasn’t making me uncomfortable,” Clarke said, honestly. ”What makes me uncomfortable is that you have a girlfriend. That changes everything.”

This time, Lexa did not nod. Instead, her head did a slight tilt as her eyebrows furrowed. “I what?” Lexa asked, with a tone of confusion, rather than the defensive tone, Clarke expected.

“Lexa, please don’t play dumb.” Clarke had thought that Lexa would come clean if she confronted her. Had hoped she would own up to it, and maybe apologize. “We’ve been flirting, and all this time, you’ve been in a relationship.”

“Clarke,” Lexa said quietly. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, in case that’s what you plan on accusing me of next.”

Clarke shook her head. “No, I heard you on the phone with her the other day. At Grounders.” Clarke finally came clean. “I was sitting behind you when you were talking to ‘Madi’ on the couch.”

Realization dawned on Lexa’s face, followed by a large smile. Clarke was confused. How could Lexa be smiling at this moment?

“You were eavesdropping on me?” She asked. Smile still plastered on her face.

Clarke was getting more confused by the moment, and it was causing her to be defensive. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Lexa! I was going to say hi, but you were on the phone. And you sat down on the couch right next to my table, and it was impossible not to hear.” She huffed.

“Clarke,” Lexa managed through a slight chuckle. “Madi is my little sister.” Clarke’s heart dropped into her stomach. Her what? “I’ll show you a picture.”

Lexa took her phone out of her back pocket and showed Clarke her lock screen. On it were two, wavy haired brunettes smiling at the camera; the little girl holding onto Lexa’s back looked like a younger version of Lexa. “See, my little sister.”

“Shit.” Clarke mumbled under her breath. “Shit.” She turned to walk away, embarrassed.

Lexa quickly put her phone back and gently grabbed Clarke’s arm to turn her back. But Clarke refused to face her.

“Please look at me, Clarke.” Lexa nudged. Clarke shook her head in defiance. “Please?” Lexa asked one more time.

It took a few seconds before Clarke looked up, her face beet red. But Lexa was beaming. “How are you still smiling when I just accused you of cheating?” She asked. “God! I feel like such an idiot!”

“I’m smiling because you said, ‘WE’VE been flirting’.” Lexa’s smile instantly changed from happy to cocky. “Which means that I wasn’t the only one flirting. And I’m hoping it means that if I ask you on a date, you’ll say ‘yes’.”

“Do you still want to ask me on a date after how I just acted?” Clarke wondered out loud.

“I really do,” Lexa responded quickly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while, but I wasn’t sure how you felt. Maybe you’re just one of those women who are touchy, feely with their friends.” She boldly reached down and held Clarke’s hand. When she didn’t pull away, she continued. “I’d really like to see you outside work. We can start small. I believe you owe me a coffee,” she joked.

“That I do,” Clarke chuckled. She was feeling lighter already. “How about tea and breakfast, instead? Are you free for Grounders after I turn this paperwork in?”

“I am,” smiled Lexa. “I’ll finish up our end of day checklist and meet you there.”

“Sounds good.” She gave Lexa’s hand a squeeze before heading back in to finish up.

Clarke was halfway to the doors when she heard Lexa yell for her again, “And Clarke!” she stated with a smile, “I’m a one woman, woman.” Clarke shook her head and smiled. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a while.” ‘And this is the best of Karma I’ve had in a while,’ she thought to herself.

[oxiosa]

are you still doing those? you better be

74 + 88 + 98

74. Huddling for Warmth, 88. Erotic Dreams, 98. Curses

omg caju you greedy and you like to be a challenge BUT I THINK I FINALLY GOT IT TOO

Okok, I cant believe Im gonna say this, but I will take inspiration in Tangled and Shrek. Martín can be a cursed prince waiting in his tower and Luciano can be some handsome bandit a king has hired to bring Martín so he can have his hand in marriage, we know the drill.

Martín doesn't really want much to do about the king, so maybe Lu tricks him a bit going "Oh, excuse, did I say he wants your hand in marriage? My bad, I meant he's your father and wants his special boy back" or whatever. Which sounds more interesting and listen, Martín has been wanting to leave this tower so he takes the deal unknowing that Luciano will "betray" him in the future (Spoilers: he doesn't because he ~falls in love~ but of course Martín finds out in a dramatic misunderstanding that eventually leads to a heartfelt confession).

So now we get to enjoy their adventure as they go back to the castle. And yk how adventures are, sometimes you gotta huddle in the cold dark night from warmth. And here's the fun part, remember I said Martín is cursed? Well, he has been cursed to feel and see the things going through the minds of the people he touches. Which yk, makes him share very interesting dreams with his horny savior as they cuddle close as lovebugs for the night.

[owl-writing]

tropes 20 79

Fanfiction Trope Mash-Up

20: Teacher AU 79: Anger Born of Worry

Opes Briarcrest - yes, that was, in fact, their legal name - stood in front of their class of students who ranged in age from eight to ten. They kept their shoulders squared - a holdover from their time training.

"Students," they began carefully, "I want you to know that I am not angry because I am mad at any of you. If I get angry, it is because I worry about you. The world is rough, but I do not want this classroom to be as rough as the rest of it. You are here to learn, and I am here to teach and protect you. Work with me when there is an issue instead of against me, and together we will defeat the problem. Understood?"

The kids nodded.

"Wonderful. Let's begin." They turned back to the whiteboard and began the lesson.

[solarmorrigan]

space au neighbor au steddie

So I wasn't actually sure what a space AU is meant to entail, so I hope a little vaguely Star Trek-inspired AU is okay?? This was a challenging combination, but it was fun!

Fanfiction Trope Mashup: 22. Space AU + 11. Neighbor AU

cw: vague mentions of injury, mentions of background character death

-

Lieutenant Steven Harrington transfers from the U.S.S. Nora and onto the U.S.S. Forrest about six months into the Forrest’s mission. He works in security. He can usually be found stationed somewhere on the ship, but sometimes he’s called up to go planetside.

(He’s also too pretty for Eddie to believe he’s one hundred percent human, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Eddie knows all of this because Harrington gets the previously vacant room right next door to his.

It isn’t bad, really; sometimes the sound of someone shuffling around on the other side of a wall that had previously been silent is comforting. Much as Eddie loves the hum of the ship around him—you can’t really work in engineering and not be a little enamored of the sound of the engines purring—sometimes human noise is what he craves.

(Particularly out here in the void of space. Eddie loves his job, loves working in the guts of a starship, but he wishes sometimes it didn’t come against the backdrop of an endless dark nothingness.)

Eddie doesn’t have reason to see Harrington very often during the day, but they work the same shift rotation, and they catch each other coming back to their rooms now and then at the end of a shift. They mostly exchange nods or waves, brief pleasantries if one of them is in the mood, but that’s really it.

At least, that’s really it until a few weeks in, when Eddie gets back to his room and sees Harrington still standing outside his own, mashing the buttons on the keypad and swearing quietly.

“Everything alright?” Eddie asks as he draws up at his own door.

Harrington lets out a long sigh. “Uh, yeah, just–” He shakes his head. “Apparently if you get your code wrong too many times in a row, the keypad locks you out. And you can’t get into your quarters. Which is… great.”

“You forget your code?” Eddie can’t help but ask.

“No,” Harrington snaps, then softens a little, looking sheepish, even a little embarrassed. “No, I just– sometimes the numbers get a little jumbled.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m gonna have to go find someone from maintenance to reset this and let me in, so…”

“Nah, don’t bother. You’ve got in-built tech support right here.” Eddie gestures for Harrington to move aside and crouches down in front of the keypad to reset it; doors and security locks aren’t technically his remit, but it’s not like they’re hard. It’s the work of moments to get the keypad to unlock, and Eddie shuffles back out of the way. “Go ahead and try it now.”

Harrington steps up to the keypad and slowly punches in the six-digit code that should get him into his quarters, and this time, instead of beeping angrily and flashing red, it chirps and gives him the green light. His door slides open and Harrington sighs.

“Thank you,” Harrington says, turning a smile so bright on Eddie that he momentarily forgets how to function. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nah, t’weren’t nothin’,” Eddie says for some insane reason, slipping into a ridiculous accent like he does when he’s running tabletop games in the rec room with a couple of other guys from engineering.

If Harrington thinks he’s being weird, he mercifully doesn’t mention it. Instead, he sticks a hand out towards Eddie, still smiling. “I’m Steve, by the way. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Eddie,” Eddie says, taking the hand to shake (Steve’s hands are big, and strong, and warm, and Eddie tries not to think about it).

“It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. And not even for the obvious reasons,” Steve says, nodding towards his door.

“Yeah, you too,” Eddie says.

He then realizes that he’s still shaking Steve’s hand. He lets go, but Steve is slow to draw back. They’re quiet for a moment, both unsure how to end the encounter, before Steve lets out a little huff of a laugh.

“Well… have a good night,” he says, backing away towards his door.

“Yeah, you too,” Eddie says again, wondering where the hell all his eloquence has gone to.

With one last dorky little wave at Eddie, Steve disappears inside his room, and Eddie does the same.

They talk more, after that. Whenever their schedules coincide, they spend an extra few minutes outside their doors, learning more about each other, bit by bit. Eddie talks about why he’d joined up with a starship even though he really hates space (he’d had to get out of his small-minded hometown), and Steve talks about how he’d ended up really enjoying his work even though he’d only joined to appease his dad (captain of another ship, one Steve prays he’ll never, ever be assigned to).

Their conversations edge past five minutes, past ten, past fifteen. Eddie talks about his uncle, who taught him at least half of everything he knows about fixing things, who had encouraged him to reach for the stars. Steve talks about his best friend in the galaxy, who works up in communications and speaks “about a million languages.” He mentions that they’d met as ensigns, both stationed on the U.S.S. Butterscotch, but he doesn’t say much more than that (and Eddie won’t make him; he knows the story already. The ship might have had a ridiculous name, but the fate that had befallen it had been anything but: it had been taken over by hostiles and eventually gone down in flames. The number of survivors had been abysmal, and fact that Steve is here at all is a small miracle).

Steve learns that Eddie loves music and roleplaying games. Eddie learns that Steve has a knack for avoiding medical staff after altercations planetside and for brushing off minor-to-moderate injuries.

He’s not as good at avoiding Eddie, however, who makes a point of dragging him down to medical one evening after spotting a still-bleeding gash on Steve’s arm.

“One of these days, you’re gonna come back with something you can’t walk off,” Eddie warns him, “and I’ll be there to say I told you so.”

“Well, as long as you’re going to be there, I guess it won’t be so bad,” Steve replies, and Eddie tries not to be swayed by the flirting.

When Eddie turns out to be right, though, he doesn’t even have the heart to say I-told-you-so, which he feels a bit cheated about later.

The evening starts out so promisingly: Steve and Eddie are loitering outside their doors, Steve gravitating further and further into Eddie’s space as they talk, and Eddie is just about to pluck up the nerve to invite Steve inside when Steve’s communicator goes off.

He frowns, pulling it from his pocket to check the message, and his demeanor immediately turns serious. “I have to go,” he says, and apprehension prickles at the base of Eddie’s skull.

“Everything alright?” Eddie asks.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Steve offers Eddie a brief smile. “We can pick up where we left off as soon as this is taken care of.”

Eddie wants to ask just what “this” is, but he finds out soon enough. The promising evening turns into a hellish night with too little sleep and too many hits to the machinery for comfort, under attack from some unknown, hostile force. When things finally calm down and reports start rolling in, things aren’t as bad as they could be. No casualties, minor damage to the ship, and minimal injuries. It sounds reassuring, until Eddie finds himself standing next to Steve’s bed in the infirmary.

“I’m going to be fine. Stop looking at me like that,” Steve says, even though his eyes are closed and he can’t possibly know how Eddie is looking at him.

And the thing is, Eddie knows he’s right – Steve might sound an awful lot like he’s in pain right now, but the medical tech on the ship is top of the line, and the staff is equally good. Steve will be fine, but that doesn’t give Eddie any comfort right then, realizing how lost he would feel without his and Steve’s hallway conversations every day.

How lost he would feel without Steve.

It scares him– for a moment, it scares him enough that he wants to run from it, to put a halt to things before they get too serious, before this really hurts him. But even more than that, there’s a feeling greater than the fear: one of rightness when he’s with Steve, a feeling that’s worth the risk, that’s worth holding onto.

Eddie reaches out and takes Steve’s hand where it rests on the bed.

Steve cracks his eyes open to look at Eddie.

“You know…” he says slowly. “They said I should be fine on my own by tomorrow, good to go back to my own quarters, but– I’d feel a lot better if there was someone nearby. Just in case.”

“Like someone right next door?” Eddie asks, a tease of a smile beginning to grow on his face.

“Maybe a little closer than that,” Steve says, squeezing Eddie’s hand in his own.

“I think I can do that,” Eddie says, finding that he’s prepared to do a lot of things, if it means he can keep Steve close.

[shineon3]

Hello friend! I would like a 15 criminal au+39survival/wilderness fic with maxiel for the fanfiction trope mash up?

Thank you for the ask, lovely ❤️ !

Okay so, this might be an au of my au, because serial killer Daniel is my beloved baby and I will never stop gushing about it :3

This made me think of a post apocalyptic au tbh, and about how Max has always had someone to take care of him in some way shape or form. Not that it's a bad thing, just that it makes him less independent in this scenario. I'm thinking maybe Max and Daniel hiding in Daniel's farm, safe and tucked away because it's so far from any civilisation, and people haven't found them yet. Daniel teaches Max how to take care of whatever crops they manage to grow, and for a while that's their life, just them and the cats and their crops. They have no news from friends and family and it's making both of them anxious, but at least they have each other, and that's much better than being alone.

And then the day comes where people actually venture to Daniel's farm in hopes to find anything to scavenge, and Max is terrified, he doesn't know what to do because these are people, humans, and Max doesn't want to hurt them, but they're savage and desperate and ready to hurt them for even a little bit of food. But Daniel is there and ready to defend his home and his boy. He spends so much time comforting Max afterward, and he promises to keep their little family safe.

I could probably ramble more on this idea if I gave myself more time, but I think I'll keep it at that for now :3

[harmlessghosty]

Hey, how are you? 🖤

About the mash up 👀

How about Lucifer x MC, not a date & first kiss 👉🏻👈🏻

I’m doing okay! Always busy with something or other, thank you for asking! 💕

I kind of took this and ran a little with what I like the prompt to be for me, so I’m glad it was asked! I hope it’s enjoyable ☺️

Prompt list is at the end of the post.

—

Lucifer wasn’t the type to ask for dates. He usually told you when he’s taking you somewhere, and it was always decidedly not a date—to RAD, to a shop to buy outfits for an important event, or to a restaurant in an apology for treating you in a way unbecoming of the Avatar of Pride himself.

But never a date. Not in your dreams was anything he did considered a date.

Well, until he decided it was, of course.

The way you looked at him when passing in the hallway made his heart jump ever so slightly in his chest. Helping you with your schoolwork after RAD brought him to want to lean a bit closer so that his jacket brushed against your shoulder—and sometimes he did so, in order to watch a blush bloom across your cheeks.

And of course, your kindness toward his brothers could make him swoon in itself. Loving his family as your own churned his stomach with a form of love almost unknown to him.

“It’s not a date,” he said with his typical plainness. “It’s simply an outing to get to know each other better outside of the RAD grounds and the House of Lamentation.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a date though.”

Scoffing, Lucifer turned his back on you and motioned over his shoulder. “Come,” he said firmly. “You’re dressed enough for an afternoon lunch downtown.”

Scurrying to catch up, you remained at his ankles even when you reached the sidewalks far away from the mansion. Finally, he slowed his pace, waiting for you to catch up to his side—an action you seemed uncomfortable to take, he noticed.

With a kind smile, one he hoped appeared as genuine as he wished it to be, Lucifer reached out a hand. “Take it. I don’t bite.”

You eyed it with suspicion. “But this isn’t a date.”

“Am I dating you by the simple virtue of holding your hand?” he asked with a smirk. How he wished he hadn’t worn gloves in order to feel your skin more clearly against his. With a practiced, smooth movement, he chose to remove them, making you vulnerable to the coldness of his palms. It wasn’t nerves exactly, but rather a concern whether you found him too frightening or high above you to hold his hand.

Slowly, you took it, and before he knew what exactly he was doing, he laced his fingers with yours and lowered it to his side. Your hand was warm, cozy, and wonderful in his—something he hadn’t experienced for quite some time.

Outside of the restaurant, Lucifer hesitated. “I didn’t make reservations,” he said, realizing he had been too busy last minute in his rush to invite you out on the town. “I do hope you don’t mind waiting?”

“I don’t mind,” you said, walking over to a bench lining the building and sitting down. “It gives us more time together, just the two of us, right? For our not-date.”

Crossing his arms, Lucifer sat heavily by your side with a smile he tried to hold back. You were simply too cute for him not to bless you with at least that much. “Did you want this to be a date?” he asked.

“And what if I did?” you countered, boldly nudging his side.

He shifted to face you on the bench. “Then, if you don’t mind this being a date,” he said, fingertips reaching to tilt your chin up towards him, “I suppose we should commemorate the moment with something special, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your eyes grew wide. “Lucifer,” you warned, unsure of his implications. “We’re in public. Don’t you think that’s a little…well, public? Anyone could judge you, and—!”

Before you could continue, he stole your lips in a tight kiss, grasping your breath and sucking away any sense of words possibly exiting your mouth. It was dominant—something he loved more than anything and something he was prone to do even at his most behaved. So what if anyone saw? It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered other than to feel your lips against his. And they were lovely, tasting of you, feeling supple and plump and beautiful.

When he moved back, his now ever-present smile permanent across his face, he released a long sigh. “Now will we call this an official date?” he asked, his lips a breath away from yours.

Stunned, you nodded. “Did you want it to be?”

“More than anything, if you kiss me more than that…”

—

Prompt is from this post:

[lale-txt]

Laleeee hiii how are you doing? 🥰

For the mash up au, can I ask for 75 + 88 with Kakashi? Or whoever you want, tbh I eat these kind of tropes with everyone 😂

Guyaaa (´⌣`ʃƪ) you have impeccable taste hehe, that was a very fun combo!

➳ Bed Sharing + Erotic Dreams

There was only one bed. Kakashi has read about this, but for it to happen to him in real life, with you of all people? He wasn’t sure if he was in heaven or hell. Maybe both. Yeah, probably both. He should have known he was doomed when you let out a quiet ‘tsk’ at his declaration that you can have the bed and he’ll sleep on the floor, and when he felt a tugging on his shirt and your pleading eyes seeking his, practically pulling him down on the softness of the bed with you. And it made sense–you two just finished a long and draining mission, and you needed to rest. It was as simple as that. Kakashi envied you, for how easily you could fall asleep, sprawled out on the bed as if you owned this place, without a single care in the world. Meanwhile he didn’t dare to move, almost didn’t dare to breathe either. Where your skin brushed against his, a tingling sensation spread throughout his whole body, impossible to ignore. It was when your quiet snores turned into something else, something more needy, that Kakashi had to bite down on his own tongue, eyes glued to the ceiling in an attempt to not let them wander over your sleeping form. There were no doubts what your dreams were about, from the way the mattress dipped slightly when you rolled your hips, soft whines escaping your throat in your sleep. He should get up, should walk out of here, pretend he didn’t notice anything–but then you mewl his name in your dreams and everything within Kakashi crumbles.

❦ fanfiction trope mash-up ask game!

[thecouchsofa]

hi!! #14 & #90 for the trope mash-up if you want to? 👀♥︎

Fanfiction trope mashup - Bodyguard AU x Unexpected Virgin

I took this in a slightly different direction to what I was intending, but I quite like it!

Rating: M

“I can’t fucking believe you.” Malfoy slammed the door as he stomped in behind Harry, the rusty hinges squealing. “Do you have any idea–”

“Come off it, Malfoy, you pillock.” Harry rolled his eyes, delighting as the corner of Malfoy’s lips twitched. He sagged against the cool stone wall, trying to catch his breath for the first time in hours.

“I told you not to draw attention to yourself.” Malfoy tugged at his pale hair, twisting the strands around his fingers. He looked far older than his eighteen years, the seemingly endless months of war hanging heavy on his frame. He had lines now, between his arched brows and across his high forehead. They stood out when he hunched over a book as he read by candlelight, too nervous to cast a proper Lumos.

“I didn’t try to–”

Malfoy’s laugh was hollow. He fixed Harry with a look that displayed the fatigue and sadness lodged deep in his soul after so many losses. “You pulled your wand on Greyback. That–”

“I had to.” Harry’s words tripped over themselves. He clutched at the wall, breaths coming faster and faster, the echoes of the offensive spells fired at him and Malfoy still hot on the skin of his heels. “I couldn’t not, not after everything.”

“Then let me do it.” Malfoy’s voice was desperate, pleading. “I’m supposed to protect you. You can’t let me fail at this, Potter.”

“You don’t care about me,” Harry said, though he didn’t believe it. He saw how Malfoy looked at him now, had watched the fear and determination on his face when he threw himself between Harry and the oncoming spells.

“Sirius does.” Malfoy yanked at his jumper, tugging it over his head. There was no point in keeping it now, not in the state it was in; they’d have to burn it before nightfall. Before they moved on from there, to somewhere safer. Wherever that was. “And I can’t let him down, Potter. Not after everything he’s done for me.”

What about me? Harry wanted to ask. He ached to, needed to hear the answer out loud, that something that he felt from Malfoy every day, in each action he performed. What about what I’ve done? What about what you’ve done for me?

Malfoy’s tongue swept over his bottom lip. He looked at Harry then – really looked at him. “I’ve killed for you.”

“Yes,” Harry said. And I’d do the same for you.

Malfoy’s pale throat moved as he swallowed. “I’d do it again.”

“I know.”

“I would.” Malfoy’s gaze was heavy, his shoulders sagging. “But please don’t make me.”

And that was something that Harry couldn’t promise, no matter how much he wanted to. Malfoy knew that; Harry could see it in his face.

The rest of their clothes hit the floor, the threads of fabric standing on end, friction from the offensive spells caught in each strand.

Malfoy stared at the pile for a moment, jaw clenched tight. “We’ll have to burn them.”

“Not in the fireplace.”

“No. The bath.”

Harry gathered up their things, shuddering at the remnants of hostile magic that brushed against his skin. Every atom seemed to scream They’re here. He’s here. Come and get them.

The light of the fire danced across Malfoy’s face as they stood next to the tub, watching as their clothes burned. The scent of it was cloying, magic mixed with ash and charred polyester. Malfoy shuddered, wrapping his arms around his bare torso. Harry glanced at him only once, eyes dropping lower, cheeks heating.

Malfoy cleared his throat, the sound harsh against the backdrop of crackling flames. If Harry closed his eyes and listened, he could almost believe he was camping somewhere in the countryside, innocent and safe.

“We need to wash the magic off.” Malfoy’s tone was rough, like shoes on gravel. “I…”

“Together,” Harry said, before he could stop himself. He couldn’t go back downstairs and wait, ears straining for any sign of someone having followed them to that crumbling lighthouse on the edge of the world.

Malfoy nodded curtly, turning away when Harry looked at him.

They couldn’t turn the water on, just as they couldn’t activate any of the lights. Instead, they took turns holding Malfoy’s wand up, keeping a finger on it to activate the Aguamenti. Malfoy shivered, stepping closer to Harry as water sluiced over the planes of his torso. It shimmered, magic running down their skin and collecting at their feet. Droplets of water clung to Malfoy’s pale lashes as he turned to face Harry, blinking slowly. He didn’t flinch when Harry reached for him, not as he had the last time, the only other time Harry had tried.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, and Malfoy finally touched him back. He slid a hand round the back of Harry’s neck and tugged him in close, kissing him firmly. Their knees bumped in the cramped space, Malfoy’s fingers tangling in Harry’s hair, his breath a whisper.

Malfoy gasped, tipping his head back, when Harry wrapped a hand around the length of him. His legs shook, fingers clutching for any part of Harry he could reach. “I can’t … Potter, I haven’t … not before. Not ever.”

Harry kissed the confession from his lips, swallowing each of Malfoy’s moans, keeping him quiet so they wouldn’t be found. His bicep bulged, muscles straining with the effort of keeping Malfoy’s wand raised above their heads. He didn’t protest, didn’t ask to swap. He touched Malfoy slowly as Malfoy looked his fill, ran his fingers over another body for the first time.

“Please,” Malfoy whispered, legs shaking. “Fuck, I need…”

“Hold on to me,” Harry directed, tightening his grip and speeding up his strokes.

Malfoy clutched onto him and gasped, mouthing Harry’s name again and again against his damp skin. He said it out loud as he crested, Harry’s given name passing his lips for the first time as the smell of their burning clothes filled the air.

“Sirius is going to kill me,” Malfoy muttered against Harry’s shoulder, later, after they’d Apparated to a damp forest in Cumbria.

Harry wrapped an arm around Malfoy’s shoulders, holding him close. “Not if I do it first.”

His words rang loud in the quiet, a joke that didn’t so much as fall flat, but seemed to predict something, a future that neither of them wanted.

“Maybe,” Malfoy said. He pressed his lips to Harry’s throat, parting them and swiping his tongue across Harry’s skin. “But not if I do it first.”

Send me two tropes and I'll mash them together

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Theeeenn let's see 👀👀

Roommate AU + locked in a room

Astarion X Evie

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Ace!Tav, Astarion x OC, Astarion x Evie

Fanfiction Trope Mash-Up

A/N: Now this is something I can sink my teeth into.

Astarion and Evie end up as roommates entirely by accident

Evie is left in the lurch when her former roommate ends up moving in with their partner leaving her scrambling to find somebody to finish off the lease with

Astarion is on his own for the first time in years having just escaped an extremely abusive relationship and is literally just looking for a place to sleep

Evie advertises her place as LGBT friendly and a promise of minimal contact since she works nights

Astarion goes for it and they do a quick in person interview

Astarion is still cautious about the whole thing but seeing the big ace flag on the wall of her bedroom makes him unclench, it only a bit

He really is safe here

Evie meanwhile doesn’t go as in depth on the questions as maybe she should have; she’s really just looking for someone with a job at this point which Astarion assures he has

Evie quickly realizes that while Astarion pays his rent on time, there is little else he’s good for as a roommate

He doesn’t do the dishes, doesn’t take out the trash, regularly steals her food and doesn’t have the decency to have a day job so they’re both in the apartment during the day

This all comes to a head when they’re both trying to get ready and Evie snaps at him in the bathroom for constantly leaving a mess

Astarion goes to storm out and accidentally breaks the doorknob off the lock

The two of them are then left in the bathroom together until the landlord can come and get them out

This forces them to actually *talk* for the first time since this whole thing started

Astarion actually notices just how tired Evie seems; he knows she works a lot but he didn’t realize just how much

Astarion also spills just a bit about his life with Cazador before finding her ad

It’s a rocky start, but it is a start

[cryptidafter]

for the trope mash-up a little something ((((: 17 + 4 hehehehehehe

I'm going to assume you wanted wenzhou for both of your asks sooo:

War AU + Coffee Shop AU

Okay, an AU in the Qi Ye universe where ZZS is doing his spy business for Helian Yi in preparation for war and ends up frequently meeting people and gathering intel at a small, unassuming tea house (listen, coffee isn't historically accurate here, let me live lol) that WKX owns and operates.

WKX's workers think he's insane because he INSISTS that different customers (yes, even the old woman) are, in fact, the same man and he's hellbent on figuring out who that man is and what he actually looks like because he must be very beautiful. WKX's employees are too afraid of getting fired to question him but they do talk shit about him behind his back and think he's going insane.

ZZS is getting increasingly annoyed by this tea house owner who bothers him incessantly no matter what disguise he's wearing and how much everyone else pays him no mind. He starts to think WKX is also a spy, working for an enemy of the state, and that leads to him visiting even more to try and figure out who WKX really is. All the roads lead to dead-ends but ZZS is undeterred and determined to figure out what's going on.

Plot twist: WKX is in fact working for someone (forgive me, I have not reread Qi Ye in a minute so I'm not sure who exactly but I guess one of Helian Yi's brothers) and the tea house is a front. Neither of them figure out the whole truth until they're facing off on the battlefield.

Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP

[airrec]

will you ever make janitor ai or character ai bots out of any of the characters from your fanfics? if not.. can people make them? (please i’m dying to make a Dream Blob au bot i’m on my hands and knees begging here)

In short: no. Please, please, please do not.

In long: please do not feed my fics or posts to A.I. To do so would be actively against my wishes, and even the thought of it is upsetting and angering to me.

A.I. has a lot of potential to do good – in the medical field, in the sciences, etc. There is nuance to the subject of A.I. in general. Regarding specifically A.I. art, the technology is not yet advanced enough to be used as a tool in the way that a tool is meant to be used – it is not a brush you can download, or a digital model you can pose. It is “trained” through being fed lots and lots of real, human-created pieces of art, and copying that art.

It does not learn how to use specific brush strokes, or specific colours, or how or why certain details are included or left out. It is wholesale lifting from what it is fed and mashing it together into new configurations, Frankenstein style – there is nothing creative about it. Similarly, when fed fictional writing, it does the same: it copies and pastes common tropes, common story beats, common plots, common phrasings – there is nothing of creativity in there at all.

There are currently no legal protections for artists of any kind against A.I. algorithms; the technology is still too new, and already it is causing harm. Even just on the practical side, the environmental impacts of the excessive electricity usage needed to run the A.I. is immense.

A.I. generated art is theft, pure and simple. It cannot be currently described as anything other than that. And creative writing is a form of art. A book that you pick up in an airport, or a fanfic you open in a tab on your phone, or a well-thumbed novel you found on a shelf in a café – these are pieces of art. Perhaps you do not think of them that way, in the same way you might look at a painting and say, “Yes, that is a piece of art,” but they are.

I was talking to a friend of mine some time ago, and they said (and I agreed) that writing is often devalued as a form of art, because the idea that “anyone can write a book” is so pervasive. And, yes, anyone can write a book – or anyone can write letters onto a page in a specific order. In much the same way, anyone can draw a picture, or paint a mural. It doesn’t mean that there isn’t a creative process involved, and it doesn’t mean that there isn’t the development of skills and immense amounts of knowledge and experience going into story-crafting as much as there is visual arts. Quite frankly, anyone who says, “Oh, anyone can write a book,” has almost certainly never actually tried to write a book themselves.

My friend went on to say that very often books are considered objects, just things, not pieces of art that have been handcrafted just for you, just for someone to pick up and immerse themselves in and enjoy. In much the same way, fanfic has also become a commodity – perhaps even more so, because its content is based on a pre-existing canon that does not belong to the writer. But fanfiction is still art, in much the same way that fanart is still art, and the devaluation of it and its creators is upsetting and frustrating.

I am not a machine. I do not press some buttons, pull some levers, and start outputting fanfic. This is something I do for fun, because I enjoy it. It is something I post online because I want other people to come enjoy it, too, and for it to be an expression of art meant as a part of a fan community’s expression of love for a canon. That is what being a fan is all about.

I am a real human being, and I don’t deserve to have my art stolen from me, fed to a shambling corpse spouting out things it has “learnt” from both my art and from every other piece of art that has been stolen to feed it. Anything it would say – that would not be my story, because it doesn’t come from me. It would just be an amalgamation of thousands of people’s stories, cut down into something mainstream and palatable because the point of so-called A.I. art is not to create unique and interesting stories – it is to create generic ones that will sell easily under the model of late stage capitalism.

You know, I got the email notification for this ask last night. I have my email notifs on because I spent so long being shadow-banned on this blog, and I fear missing things in my inbox. I checked my phone in the middle of the night because I couldn’t sleep, and while I was reading the ask I could hear my mother breathing in her sleep just nearby – we’re in a caravan together, because it’s been a while since I went away with my parents. I am typing this answer up from that same caravan, and I’m squinting a little because the sun is reflecting off my screen. We’re going to have a barbecue later for dinner – we just bought the food for it not three hours ago. Did you think of that? Did you think about the way that I am a person, living my own life, and now I am being forced to beg for you to respect me as one?

Because that’s what you would be doing, if you did this: you would commodify me, and you would commodify my art. It would be just another machine-made thing, not something that’s handmade for others’ enjoyment; not something that work – my time, my energy – has gone into, that my passion and love has gone into. But I am not a thing, and I resent being implicitly treated like one.

If you really want to know more about people’s fanfics – talk to them! Leave a comment, send in an ask, engage with them in some way. Fanfic is created by fans for the enjoyment of other fans, and fan communities are still communities, which means there is a social element to them. Stealing from others, as one might expect, is frowned upon greatly – they gave that to you, for free. You pay nothing for it – and shouldn’t – and now you want to plagiarise and thieve what was shown in good faith?

I suppose that, ultimately, if you were truly determined, there is nothing that I can do to stop you. You could copy/paste my works into your A.I. bot creator and go on your merry way, despite how I’ve told you that such would make me extremely upset, and that it isn’t something I want. I can say, “I forbid you to do this,” - and make no mistake I do forbid you – and ultimately I have no power to actually stop you, because there is no law in place to prevent you from doing exactly as you please.

I can do nothing to stop you except this: I am asking you not to. Please.

[oxiosa]

2, 56, 66, 92 IM HOPING IM GETTING THIS RIGHT

2. Royal, 56. Awful First Meeting, 66. It's not you, ir's my enemy, 92. Kink

The kink bit gave me a bit of trouble, but I think I got it.

So, we have this kingdom, right, which is ruled by a despot monarchy that is both feared and hated by everyone. The Queen is heartless and cruel, she cares not for her kingdom or her subjects. Her son, Crown Prince Martín, is just as spoiled. He's rude, arrogant and vicious, the making of generations.

Luciano works at the castle and he was seen first hand just how bad these people are. He hates them, and one day has the nerve to talk back. Maybe it can be during a ball, he humilliates an unpleasant old lady who has rude to him in front of everyone - even Martín, who has this surprised looked that turns upside down with displeasure as Luciano is arrested at the spot and sent to prision to be executed in the morning for daring to speak such way.

Luciano sits on a cell waiting for death, he is to be executed. Except that doesnt happen. Instead, he gets a visit from Martín. They have a little chat in which Martín riles him up, and Luciano doesnt cower. Listen, he'll be dead in the morning, he might as well give these people a piece of his mind. Unknowingly, his unhinged boldness is his ticket out of prision... and into Martín's bed.

Cause here's the thing, the Prince has a submission kink and not a lot of people crazy enough to dare treat him the way he wants. But just now, he has found someone bold enough to scratch that itch in Luciano.

Lu accepts the offer. Sex is better than death and hey, he's also a slut. Fine by Lu, yk. Plus, giving the evil Prince what he deserves is very satisfying. Now of course sex eventually leads to feelings, this is a romantic story. And of course, considering what we've been cooking, Martín has many enemies so after one attack than almost ended in Luciano's death, Martín decides to push Lu away to keep him safe by being being heartless to him, lying his heart off and telling him he never meant anything to him. Of course, this is a shortlived ruse and Luciano and Martín have their lovers reunion, probably screaming heartfel confessions under the rain yk the drill.

I guess it eventually ends a la French Revolution, but for a happy ending's sake I say Martín manages to escape with Lu to have their happily ever after God knows where. The end.

[owl-writing]

fanfic tropes 50 and 63?

Fanfiction Trope Mash-Up

50: Arranged Marriage 63: Everybody Knows/Mistaken for Couple

"I'm so nervous, Mars."

Mars still wondered how the hell they had gotten roped into this. But they tried not to bother with that thought as they straightened their cloak. "Don't be."

Catherine glared at them. "Easy for you to say. Your whole life doesn't hinge on how tonight goes."

"You're used to suitors, though. What's the deal with this one?" Mars asked. They ran a magic-cloaked hand through their hair, forcing it to stay in place and look nice. "And why do I have to appear? I'm literally a farmer."

"And the greatest wizard in Plantagenet." Catherine smoothed down the skirt of her yellow gown over her kirtle. "And the only person that my father doesn't mind me being seen with before I'm married off to some noble asshole whose previous wife went missing 'mysteriously'."

"I still think you should go through with the marriage and kill your new husband. I could even help you hide the body," they offered.

A ghost of a smile passed over Catherine's lips. "I know you would."

Mars offered their arm. "Shall we?"

Catherine took it. "We shall."

---

The ball was loud and annoying. It was precisely the thing that Mars hoped to avoid in moving to a tower in a backwoods hamlet after graduating (with honors!) from the Losniara Academy of Magic. Catherine maintained a strong grip on their arm, her dress sleeves hiding the strong muscles underneath.

Her future husband, unfortunately, saw the two. He was an older man, with the smell of elderberry strong on his lips. Mars couldn't be bothered to remember names, nor what house the crest on his doublet belonged to.

"Princess Catherine," he greeted with an overly-formal bow, which was only made clumsier by his clear inebriation. "I look forward to our wedding tomorrow. Might I say, you look simply ravishing."

Catherine recoiled - a mere step back, but it was all the cue that Mars needed to place themself between their royal rival and the nobleman.

Mars didn't growl, though they did speak before they could think about it. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. And you seem the sort to need whatever luck you can get."

The man's attention snapped towards them. "What do you mean by that, you...you...whomever you are!"

Mars straightened up. Their robes were hiding the full strength they had built up from years of farm work. "I mean that you're a detestable disgrace for showing up drunk to the very party being put on for you. You spit on the hospitality of King Edward, and in the same breath, you lust after his daughter. Shame."

The nobleman threw a punch. Mars caught his fist without even worrying about it. They smiled maliciously and tilted their head, making eye contact with the nobleman.

What happened next was remembered by no one present. Well, no one except for Mars and Catherine. As far as everyone else knew, the nobleman had quickly made his excuses, retracted his claim to marry Princess Catherine, and was routed from the palace. All the while, Princess Catherine stood calmly with her hand on the arm of the wizard she had called in.

Rumors flew after the fact, of course. Rumors that the two were secretly lovers. After pretending to gag at the thought, the two rivals laughed over the idea until their stomachs hurt.

[solarmorrigan]

For the fanfic mash-up prompt list, what about 2. Historical and 73. Stranded due to inclement weather?

Me, a history minor, upon reading this prompt: I've never learned anything about any period in history ever in my life

But! After drawing a blank for a while, we've got some vaguely Great Depression-era Steddie

Fanfiction Trope Mashup: 1. Historical AU + 73. Stranded Due to Inclement Weather

cw: brief assumed infidelity (not actually, though)

-

The drifter is handsome, beneath the smudges of road dust he’s picked up from traveling; his long hair is tied back from his face, revealing a soft mouth, high cheekbones, and eyes you could get lost in. He’s carrying a guitar on his back and not much else. He isn’t dressed nearly warm enough for the weather as it is, and certainly not for the snow that the heavy clouds above are threatening.

Steve already knows he’s going to invite him in.

“I don’t give handouts,” Steve says, mostly for himself, so he can pretend he isn’t a soft touch.

“I’m not asking for a handout,” the drifter says. “I’m more than happy to work for a meal.”

Steve pauses, like he’s thinking. There isn’t much left to the Harrington farm these days; they really only have the house, the barn, and enough land to keep some livestock – mostly chickens. (Robin loves the chickens; when they eat one, she makes sure they thank it by name, which Steve personally thinks is weird, but whatever helps her part more easily with them, he guesses.) The chores don’t take long, usually, but with Robin gone for the week, visiting her mother a few towns over, there are still a few things that need doing.

“Guess I could use a hand,” Steve says, and the drifter smiles at him, bright and dimpled, and Steve can practically hear Robin tutting at him – such a sucker for a pretty face.

At least the imaginary Robin in his head is easier to dismiss.

The drifter—“Eddie,” he introduces himself with a firm, calloused handshake—stores his guitar in the kitchen and gets to work helping Steve around the farm (such as it is). He doesn’t seem to have much familiarity with farmwork specifically, but he’s a hard worker and a good listener, and he slots in right alongside Steve with surprising ease.

He’s a bit of a talker – a storyteller, more like, spinning all kinds of yarns about his travels, half of which Steve is sure can’t be true, but which have him hooked anyway. Eddie seems to like him that way: his attention so focused on Eddie that he almost forgets what he’s doing several times throughout the day.

The hours fly by; the wind gets stronger, and you can almost taste the snow on it. Steve gives the animals one last check, makes sure everything is ready to weather a storm should it come, and then he and Eddie hurry inside the house. Steve cooks while Eddie washes up, and they eat sitting at the kitchen table like Steve and Robin usually do; there’s no one to impress by sitting in the overwrought dining room that had always intimidated Steve as a kid.

Snow is falling thick and fast by the time they finish eating.

“I’m not enough of a bastard to send you back out in that,” Steve says, twitching the curtains aside to look at the way little drifts have already started to collect against the fenceposts. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want.”

“Well, I’m not enough of an idiot to turn you down,” Eddie replies, sending Steve a sly grin. “Anything you want me to do around the house to earn a bed for the night?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods towards the living room. “Keep me company by the fire for a while?”

It’s a bit of a gamble – if Steve’s read Eddie wrong, this could end very badly, but Steve doesn’t think he has. He’s always been good at gauging a person’s interest, and he’s certain he’d caught Eddie’s eyes wandering more than once when he thought Steve wasn’t paying attention.

Eddie spends a long moment regarding Steve. “I’ll do you one better,” he finally says, and reaches for his guitar.

Eddie’s voice is rough and low, not always in key, but sincere and achingly soulful. He plays like he was born with a guitar in his hands, pulling music from it a hundred times better than anything Steve’s ever heard on the radio. If he’d been distracted by Eddie before, he’s absolutely enraptured now. He doesn’t even realize he’s been steadily drifting closer to him on the sofa until their knees are brushing.

“It’s getting late,” Eddie says, glancing towards the clock on the mantle. “Am I going to bunk in the barn?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in the house.”

“Sure.” Eddie’s grin is slow-spreading as he watches Steve. “It’s pretty cozy down here by the fireplace. Sofa’s nice.”

“I could make you up a bed on the sofa.” Steve nods. “Or – there’s plenty of room in my bed, upstairs. Much cozier up there.”

Eddie’s grin is positively wolfish now. “You’d have me in your marriage bed?” he teases, and Steve shakes his head.

“My wife and I don’t share a bed,” he says (this is largely true, except when they have unavoidable overnight visitors, or when it’s very cold).

“No?” Eddie asks.

“We have an understanding,” Steve replies.

“Do you, now?” Eddie still looks like he isn’t quite sure whether to laugh or to eat Steve alive, but Steve only nods.

“She doesn’t mind if I have the occasional man around, and in return, I don’t mind if she has the occasional lady,” he explains softly. “And we keep each other safe.”

At that, Eddie’s grin softens, becomes warm, almost fond. “And who’s keeping you safe now? Inviting a complete stranger up into your bed." He shakes his head, still trying to tease. “I could be anybody. I could be a murderer, for all you know.”

“You aren’t,” Steve answers with full conviction.

The sincerity seems to give Eddie pause. “What makes you so sure?” he asks, and now he seems almost serious.

“Your eyes,” Steve says readily. “They’re too kind for you to be any kind of bad person.”

Those eyes go wide with surprise. “Well,” Eddie says slowly, “you’re one of the few people who thinks that.”

“Well, maybe other people need to pay more attention,” Steve says. “But if I’m wrong, and you do kill me, at least the last thing I see will be something beautiful.”

And that seems to do it. Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve, his lips chapped and warm against Steve’s.

“You might be the killer here, actually,” Eddie murmurs when they pull apart. “You’re gonna knock me dead with those lines, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Steve likes that.

“Better come upstairs with me and give me something else to think about, then,” Steve says, and Eddie doesn’t need to be told again.

The snow continues through the night and into the next day. Steve and Eddie go out first thing to check the animals, to make sure everything is holding against the wind and the snow, and then head back to bed, where they spend the remainder of the day. It seems unkind to send Eddie away in this weather, after all.

In fact, it’s still so cold by the time Robin comes back from her visit that Steve hasn’t yet had the heart to send Eddie away. And if he and Robin talk it over, and if Eddie is still around by the time the warm spring weather comes, and if Eddie just stays and stays, the only thing people in town ever really wonder about is how the Harringtons found the money to hire a hand for their tiny piece of land.

[ohnococo]

how about the arranged marriage with it’s not you, it’s me with sukuna for the fanfiction trope mash-up? 👀

This was fun 🫶🏼

Sukuna has taken countless wives in search of a male heir, and killed those who could not provide. When he develops a fondness for you, despite being unable to provide him with his promised heir, he decides it’s better to send you away than have you watch on as he continues his search with others.

Fanfic Trope Mash-Up