#fic: september first

[steveseddie]

full circle

steddie | rating: t | wc: 3,8k | cw: mention of throwing up | tags: pre-season 4, different first meetings, eddie is afraid of heights, steve is a sweetheart, holding hands, first kiss

for week one of @softsteddieseptember using the prompt “facing your fears” 

read on ao3 here

Jeff and Gareth stumble out of the Ferris Wheel and Eddie snorts out a laugh.  

Jeff is struggling to keep them both upright as Gareth leans all of his weight on him, his face alarmingly green. Jeff manages to get them to the picnic table where Eddie is sitting without Gareth barfing but when he plops down next to Eddie he scoots away, putting some distance between them just in case. 

“Shouldn’t’ve gone on the Ferris Wheel after swallowing three fucking corn dogs, Gare,” Eddie sniggers, taking a drag of the cig he’d been smoking while his two friends were spinning fifty feet from the ground. 

“Don’t-” Gareth mumbles, cutting himself off with a gagging sound that makes Eddie sit on top of the table just to put more space between them. “Don’t mention corn dogs. Or food,” he finishes meekly, hunching forward and burying his face in his hands.  

Jeff gives him a pat on the shoulder. “It’s your fault, man,” he tells Eddie, who gasps, affronted by the accusation. “If you didn’t fuck off to go take a piss then Gareth wouldn’t’ve had to go on it with me.” 

Eddie shrugs, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Whatcha want me to say, Jeff? When you gotta go, you gotta go.” 

(The truth is Eddie didn’t have to go. 

He lied about it and then wandered around the fairgrounds aimlessly until he was certain Jeff and Gareth had gone on the Ferris Wheel.

Because Eddie is terrified of heights, a fact no one but his uncle is aware of given how cool and unmetal it is.)

“Ugh, I gotta go,” Gareth grumbles, stumbling over to some bushes before throwing up all over them. 

Eddie recoils with a grimace. “Dude!”  

Gareth pulls himself together. He wipes his mouth and glares at him over his shoulder. “Shut up, Ed, you wouldn’t be doing any better if it was you who went up-” He pauses, narrowing his eyes at Eddie. “Wait, how come I’ve never seen you go on the Ferris Wheel?” 

Oh crap. 

“I’ve been on it,” Eddie shrugs, lying as convincingly as he can. “Many times.”

Jeff studies him curiously. “No, no, Gare, is right. We’ve been coming here for three years and you’ve never been on it with us!”

“I’ve been on it,” Eddie insists. “Just you know with other people.” 

They both snort. “Oh yeah?” Jeff asks. “Who?” 

“Yeah, Eddie, you don’t have any other friends,” Gareth adds. 

“I do!” Eddie protests, waving his hands like it will make names appear out of thin air. “I have Freak!”

Jeff raises an eyebrow. “What’s his real name?” 

“Uh-” Eddie shrugs. “Freak?” 

Gareth shakes his head. The color is back on his face but Eddie wishes he’d go back to hurling his guts out. “If I didn’t know any better, Eddie, I’d say you’re afraid to go on it.” 

“Pfffft,” Eddie slaps his knee with a laugh. “I am not.”

“Prove it then,” Gareth says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What?” 

“Go on the Ferris Wheel now.”

“Uh, can I finish my cig first?” Eddie asks, trying to stall.

But his friends won’t let him. “No,” they say at the same time. 

Well, shit.

“Ugh, fiiiiiine,” Eddie says, throwing his arms up in a tantrum before snuffing the cig against the table.

He stands up and, flanked by his two friends, starts walking towards the Ferris Wheel. As he does, he considers the pros and cons of fleeing- he’s gotten very good at running from people and neither Gareth nor Jeff are as quick as some of the jocks he’s had to outrun before.

But Eddie realizes he might not need to run away when they reach the line just as the guy manning the ride opens the last car to let the last two people in.

“Won’t you look at that!” Eddie whirls around, clapping his hands together. “It’s full! Oh well, there’s always next year!” 

He throws his arms around Jeff and Gareth and starts dragging them away. Only for them to stop in their tracks when there’s a voice behind them. 

“We have one spot left!” The guy announces. “One spot left! Who wants to ride?” 

Gareth whirls around. “He does!” He says, pointing at Eddie who curses inwardly. “He’ll do it. Right, Eddie?” 

Through gritted teeth, Eddie mutters ‘if you insist’ because what other fucking choice does he have?

He makes his way to the front of the line like a man stepping into the gallows, jaw clenched and hands balled up into fists at his sides pausing again just as he’s about to get on. 

Because sitting on the Ferris Wheel car is no other than Steve fucking Harrington.

He wants to do this even less now knowing that Harrington will be sitting next to him as he tries not to shit his pants. The last thing he wants is the King of Hawkins High to go around sharing that with everyone.

“Dude, are you getting in or not?” The guy asks when Eddie just stands there, an annoyed tilt to his voice. 

Eddie glances over his shoulder to find Gareth and Jeff giving him two thumbs up, matching smirks on their faces. He flips them off, ignoring the scandalized gasp from a mother waiting in line with her son. 

Then he glances back at the car- at Harrington, who is staring at him with an impatient bitchy look. The King probably isn’t happy about sharing a Ferris Wheel car with the Freak.

Yeah, well, the feeling is fucking mutual. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going in,” Eddie says anyway, sliding into his seat. He does his best to ignore Harrington as the guy lowers the safety bar on their laps- as well as the dread that has settled on his belly. 

It only grows as they start moving. 

“Enjoy your ride,” the guy tells them with fake cheerfulness. 

Eddie fights the urge to flip him off too. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, grabbing the safety bar with a death grip as their car starts to rise. They keep rocking back and forth and Eddie’s stomach falls out of his ass every time. “Fuck me.” 

Next to him, Harrington lets out a snort. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson.”

Eddie snaps his head towards him- Harrington is leaning back against his seat with a smirk, seemingly not caring at all about the fact that they’re about to be thirty feet from the ground. Asshole.

“Hardy-har-har, Harrington,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, trying not to let his voice waver.

As far as comebacks go, it’s a lame one and Harrington must notice. “Geez, man. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m- I’m fine.” 

Harrington glances down at Eddie’s hands on the safety bar with a pointed look. “Really? Because you look like you’re trying to snap that bar in half.”

Eddie glances down and sees that he’s white-knuckling the safety bar. He loosens his hold a little. “I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Mind your own business, Your Majesty.” 

“Christ, Munson, what’s your problem?” Harrington huffs out a sound halfway between a grunt and a laugh. “And don’t call me that. You don’t hear me calling you Freak.”

To Eddie, they’re not the same. He thought someone like Harrington would enjoy being reminded about his popular status in high school- even if Eddie’s tone is mocking. But it seems the whole King thing struck a nerve.

“My problem is-” Eddie starts, meaning to tell Harrington that it’s him even if Eddie hasn’t had a problem with him in particular since he graduated but then their car jerks and his words trail off into a whimper. 

“This fucking deathtrap, shit. Okay, I’m not fine,” he admits, eyes screwed shut as they reach the top. “I'm like terrified of heights, okay? Which is fucking lame and super unmetal of me so go ahead, laugh it up.”

He waits to hear it- Harrington’s laugh but there’s only silence. 

Eddie peeks at him through one eye.

“I’m not gonna do that,” Harrington says, his eyebrows knitted in a way that’s frankly kinda cute. 

Cute? Jesus Christ, Eddie, not the time.

“Why not?” He asks. “It’s what you jocks do.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been a jock for a while, man.”

Eddie guesses that’s true. Even before he graduated, Harrington had stopped being a jock under Eddie’s definition of the word. He still played basketball, but he didn’t pick on Eddie or the other nerds and now he’s not laughing at him for being afraid of heights even though if the roles were reversed Eddie would probably get a few laughs in himself. 

Maybe he should cut Harrington some slack.

“Why are you riding the Ferris Wheel anyway?” He asks after a short silence. “If you don’t like heights?” 

Another mind your own business rests at the tip of Eddie’s tongue but he did just say he’d cut him some slack. Besides, Eddie is slowly realizing that talking to Harrington is helping keep him distracted from where they are right now. 

“Well, my friends think I’m scared-”

“You are,” Harrington interjects with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Eddie accepts with an eye roll even if he feels his mouth tick up. “But they don’t need to know that, I have a reputation to uphold.” 

“With your friends?”

“With my friends, the school.” Eddie clicks his tongue. “ Society.”

Harrington snorts out a startled sort of chuckle, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Well, I won’t tell society,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

He bumps their shoulders together and it makes the car tip forward. Eddie bites down on a very embarrassing scream. Harrington grimaces. “Shit, sorry.” 

“Why are you- why are you riding the Ferris Wheel?” Eddie asks. “You can’t possibly enjoy this, man.”

“It’s not so bad,” Harrington shrugs. “I like the view, especially at sunset.”

“Ah,” Eddie smiles teasingly. “I bet you bring all the pretty girls up here, hold their hand if they get scared.” 

Harrington raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting I hold your hand, Munson?” 

Is he? Eddie looks down at Steve’s hands. They’re nice hands and Eddie has to admit that the thought of holding one of them right now doesn’t exactly make him want to jump off this car. 

It makes his heat build in his cheeks actually. “Fuck off, no, I’m-” 

“Because I would,” Harrington interjects, “if you wanted me to.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “I- uh. You- no, you wouldn’t.” 

Harrington tilts his head, watching Eddie with a mixture of amusement and something else. If Eddie didn’t know any better he’d say Harrington finds it endearing- how nervous Eddie is. What the hot fuck?

Harrington holds out his hand, palm up, in the space between them. 

Eddie can only stare at it like it’s going to bite him or like Harrington is going to jerk it back and laugh at him for falling for the joke. He does neither. He wiggles his fingers and Eddie, who might be oxygen-deprived from the height, lets go of the bar with one hand, wipes it on his jeans, and grabs Harrington’s. 

He links their fingers together loosely and gives Eddie a little half-smirk, half-smile that he bets left a girl or two giggling back in the day. Right now it makes Eddie’s heart stutter in a wildly different way than being this far from the ground does. 

The ground, which is currently far, far away. Shit. The reminder makes him grip Harrington’s hand tighter and it’s really nice- warm and soft instead of cold and hard like the safety bar. Eddie looks down at their joined hands, and focuses on that- on how big Steve’s hand is and how many freckles are dusted over the back of it, how he doesn’t seem to mind that Eddie’s rings are probably digging painfully into his skin with how hard he’s holding on to him. 

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Eddie admits with a shaky laugh. “Um, thanks, man, for not laughing and like, not being a dick about this.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to be less of a dick these days.”

“And how’s that working out for ya?” 

Harrington’s nose scrunches up. “I’m alone at the Ferris Wheel, Eddie, so what do you think?” 

Eddie chuckles. “Oh, so what am I? Chopped liver?”

“No!” Harrington counters quickly. “Just not who I thought I’d end up riding the Ferris Wheel with.”

“Oh how you wound me, Steve,” Eddie says with an exaggerated pout. 

“Shut up, you’re the one who’s wounding me,” he says playfully, using his free hand to gesture at where his other one is still trapped by Eddie’s. “Think you’re cutting off circulation to my hand.” 

Eddie loosens his hold a little, his cheeks pinking up again. “Fuck, sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve says, giving it a squeeze. “Robin and I went to see this gross movie once called The Thing and I’m pretty sure I almost lost all my fingers from how hard she was gripping my hand.” 

Eddie blinks. “Robin Buckley? From band?” He asks and Steve nods. “I didn’t know you two were friends or is it- are you two like-” 

Jesus, why do you even care, Munson? Talk about minding your own business. 

“Oh no,” Steve replies even if Eddie didn’t finish the question. “I love Robin, but she’s just my friend. My best friend. It’s tectonic.” 

Eddie tilts his head. “Do- do you mean platonic?” 

“Yeah, that,” Steve says, snapping his fingers and shooting a single finger gun in his direction. “She’s actually down there somewhere with- um, with someone else.” 

“Oh, Steve,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “You’re third-wheeling your band nerd best friend? How the mighty have fallen truly.” 

Steve groans, throwing his head back but not before Eddie sees how his mouth twitches. “It gets worse, dude. I’m also here babysitting a bunch of fourteen-year-olds who are also nerds. Except for Max, she’s cool, she doesn’t play that- dorks and dweebs game the others are obsessed with.”

“Hold on, I’m sorry, do you mean Dungeons and Dragons?” Eddie sputters, trying to wrap his head around everything he’s learning about Steve- horror movie enjoyer, nerd-sympathizer, a babysitter who sort of knows what Dungeons and Dragons is.

Steve purses his lips. “I think I like my name better.”

“Sure, buddy,” Eddie says with a snort. “Well, I’m sorry to inform you that I run an after-school club for that game so by hanging out with me your cool-o-meter just took an even bigger nose dive.”

“Well, goddamn it, Munson,” Steve says jokingly. 

“Bet you wish you got stuck with a pretty girl instead of me, huh, big boy?”

Steve falters at the name that truth be told slipped out of Eddie’s mouth without him realizing. A slight pink tinge shades his cheeks.

It’s nothing compared to the deep shade of red Eddie’s cheeks turn when Steve says, “Actually being stuck with a pretty boy is fine by me.”

A nearly hysterical laugh rushes from Eddie’s lips before he can help it. “A pretty- uh. What?” His heart is doing summersaults in his chest and Eddie tries hard to get it to calm down. Steve could be fucking with him. Fuck, is he? “Are you- Steve. Harrington. Are you fucking with me? ‘Cause you might’ve graduated and you might not be a jock anymore but I know you know what your teammates called me, man, you know I’m- and you fucking with me like that is not cool-”

“Woah, Eddie, hey. I’m not,” Steve assures him, pretty brown eyes wide like a startled deer. “It’s true, okay? You are pretty.”

Oh. 

An ugly strangled noise escapes Eddie. “Oh. Okay. Uh.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and shifts nervously in the seat. “Fuck, just forget I said that, I didn’t want to make things weird, okay? Just- yeah, forget it.”

“Who says I want to?” 

Steve’s eyebrows meet in the middle. Cute, Eddie thinks again. Oh, maybe it was the time after all. “Um, your face, man? You look like I splashed you with water and then threw a toaster at you or something.” 

“That’s- that’s actually a good way to describe how I feel, yeah,” Eddie agrees. Steve cringes slightly. “Not in a bad way! I’m just surprised! I didn’t know you-” liked boys? liked freaks? liked me?

Whatever he means, Steve gets it. “Yeah, I do,” he says, the tips of his ears turning pink. “It’s fine if you don’t or whatever-”

Eddie opens his mouth to assure him he does in fact like boys and freaks and Steve who might be a freak himself if this Ferris Wheel ride has taught Eddie anything-

Before he can though the Ferris Wheel screeches to a halt, their car rocking in place at the top. 

“Why- why are we stopping? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Steve says, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “It’s the last spin, they’re probably gonna stop each cart at the top for a few minutes.”

Eddie whines pathetically. “What? Why?”

“So people can watch the sunset? Make out?” Steve blushes. “Or something.”

The wind picks up and makes the car rock back and forth and Eddie groans. “Fucking great!”

“Hey, what do you need?” Steve asks, rubbing his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. It’s almost enough to distract him from being stuck at the top. Almost. 

“To be back on solid ground? Or a distraction. Please distract me, Stevie,” Eddie says, feeling panic bubbling up inside him. He doesn’t even notice when the nickname slips out. 

Steve’s eyes flick over his face looking for something. He either finds it or gives up. Either way, he takes a deep breath. “Please don’t punch me for this.” 

“Punch you for-”

The last word dies in Eddie’s throat because Steve leans in and presses a kiss to his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

For a beat, neither of them does anything. Then Steve’s free hand cups Eddie’s cheek and he moves his lips. Eddie makes a soft, needy noise in the back of his throat, his eyelids fluttering shut, and then he’s kissing Steve back. 

It’s a slow and lazy kiss but it’s enough to make Eddie forget where he is or that he’s supposed to be panicking. He even lets go of the safety bar just so he can get his fingers in Steve’s hair. 

They don’t break apart until the Ferris Wheel starts moving again, their car making its way down so they can finally get off this stupid thing. 

(Though it might be starting to grow on Eddie. Just a little.)

When they stop again so that the people in the next car can have their go at the top, Eddie’s stomach merely swoops and it might have more to do with the way Steve licks his pink, wet lips than with anything else. 

“Well, that’s one way to distract someone,” Eddie says, his voice coming out a little breathless. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Steve snorts, hanging a hand from his neck. “Thanks for not punching me.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter, baby,” Eddie says and watches delightedly how a flush creeps up Steve’s cheeks at the pet name. “I’d never punch you, your face is too pretty for that.”

A startled laugh tumbles from Steve’s lips. “So I could kiss you again?”

“I could be persuaded to do that again, yeah.” Eddie tilts his head, eyes darting a little anxiously over Steve’s face. “First I gotta know if this is like a ‘what happens in the Ferris Wheel stays in the Ferris Wheel’ kind of thing, you know?”

“Nah,” Steve says with a smile that edges on soft. “I was actually gonna drag you with me to the Hoop Shot game after this. Impress you a little.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asks, grinning widely. “Gonna impress me with your jock moves?”

“Mhm. By winning you a stuffed animal too.”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Stevie, Stevie, Stevie, I told you, I have a reputation to uphold-”

“With society, yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll get you something metal like a bat! Or a dragon.”

“Hm,” Eddie taps his finger against his chin. “Get me both and it’s a deal!”

Steve’s eyes twinkle. “Does that mean I get two kisses?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie says, pitching his voice low and deep. Steve’s eyes widen slightly. “You can have way more than that.” 

They’re almost at the bottom now which is probably why Steve doesn’t lean in for another kiss right then and there when it’s clear that he wants to. This close to the ground, people could see and the last thing they want is an angry mob waiting for them at the bottom. 

They’re happy to just hold hands for what’s left of the ride. Despite Eddie not being scared anymore, neither of them considers letting go, not until the guy from before yanks the safety bar off their laps, stares curiously at their clasped hands for a second before his expression turns bored again, and waves them out of the car. 

Eddie climbs out and jogs down the steps, past the people waiting in line. His eyes dart over the people hanging around the Ferris Wheel, looking for Gareth and Jeff but his friends must’ve gotten bored and wandered off at some point because they’re nowhere to be seen. Whatever, he was gonna ditch them to hang out with Steve anyway. 

But Steve gets the wrong idea when he sees Eddie scanning the crowd. He scruffs his Nike against the ground and hangs a hand from his neck. “It’s okay if you wanna find your friends-”

“Fuck, no,” Eddie says quickly. “They’re big boys, they can get home on their own. Or not and it serves them right for forcing me to go on that deathtrap!”

“Oh, come on,” Steve says with a playful grin. 

“Fine, I guess it wasn’t that bad,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes, the corners of his mouth ticking up. “What about you? You don’t have to find your baby nerds and make sure they’re okay?”

“Nope, those shitheads can take care of themselves,” Steve says. “I have more important things to do.”

“Like me?” Eddie asks with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows. It makes Steve tip his head back with a laugh. Eddie’s eyes zero in on the moles in the column on his neck, thoughts drifting to wanting to kiss every single one of them. 

“Maybe later,” he tells Eddie with a wink. His stomach swoops and this time it has nothing to do with gravity and heights. “C’mon, man, let’s get you that bat.”

Eddie holds his finger up, wagging it in front of Steve’s face. “And the dragon!” Eddie says, getting all up in Steve’s space as he starts walking in the direction of the Hoop Shot game. “Don’t forget the dragon!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Munson.”

(Steve gets him the bat. And the dragon. And cotton candy. And later follows Eddie home after dropping off his herd of fourteen-year-olds. Eddie lets him have two kisses and more just like he promised.)

(And he rides more than just the Ferris Wheel that day.)

[paracosmicka]

guys i think maria wrote the very first sonadow fic ever

[coolnonsenseworld]

(to know more about the story and the calendar on pre-order check out previous posts! LESS THAN 2 WEEKS LEFT)

In September they don't feel like going anywhere or doing any bucket lists - no getting out of the comfort zone this time around. All they need is a little comfort of one another - they take breaks for a movie night when they wouldn't, buy extra cakes they haven't tried previously, go on date-walks and take bubble baths with new scents.

Enjoying simple things in life and appreciating your own presence here feels like it should be a basic part of any bucket list.

How is your September going? Do you have any plans or achievements this month?

[sept-stobin-extravaganza]

Taking place from September 1st to 30th, artists and writers will have the opportunity to share their Stobin creations and works.

There will be no minimum or maximum word count, we just ask that after 1000k you add a 'read more,' to your post. Please rate your works accordingly and use warnings at the top of your post if you believe your content could be triggering to some users. When posting make sure to write the prompt of the day at the top of your post and tag @sept-stobin-extravaganza so your post can be added to the queue. Expect to see a '🍦' commented in the replies of your post, that's when you'll know it's been added to the queue. After receiving a '🍦' in your replies please add your works to the Ao3 Collection. Same goes for artists.

But most importantly, get creative and have fun!

Please no AI.

If you have any questions or concerns please feel free to send a message @sept-stobin-extravaganza or @little-annie

[lulublack90]

Prompt 8 - Taking Chances

@jegulus-microfic September 8, Word count 80

For @samynnad102687

James Potter was known for taking chances. He flew a little too fast towards the ground. He stood a little too close to fanged Frisbees, and he got a little too near the riled-up werewolf on full moons. So, of course, when Regulus Black moved a little too close to him, he took the chance and closed the gap between them, capturing Regulus’s lips with his own and making that prickly Slytherin swoon. James Potter was all about taking chances.

[gregorovitch-adler]

Nobody Cares

"No, no, no. No!" Crowley yelled as he witnessed the humans nail Jesus to the cross. He turned to look at Aziraphale with a desperate look on his face. "Can you not make them stop?"

Aziraphale shook his head with his brows furrowed and a sinking feeling in his heart. "I am not the authority here in Jerusalem. I'm only meant to follow what the people upstairs say," he said and swallowed.

"You mean these are Heaven's orders? Why? What did he even do?" Crowley's desperation had been turned into anger, going by his tone.

"Not Heaven's orders, per se," the Angel said, closing his eyes and raising his eyebrows, in an attempt at reasoning, "but they have explicitly told me not to interfere with the humans' job."

Aziraphale swallowed after realising how equally horrible that sounded. But what was he to do? He was obeying the rules, was that not good? That was what Angels were expected to do, weren't they? Good, at all times?

When Crowley stared at him incredulously, Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I'm expected to be here and ensure the job carries on without any interference."

"By 'job' you mean brutally hammering nails into someone's body against a cross, after stripping them in front of everyone?" Crowley asked in a low voice and lowered his glasses. The piercing yellow eyes never failed to make the Angel's heart race.

Aziraphale broke eye contact after a long moment and stared at the ground as all three crosses had been hoisted, and the humans were waiting to go home. At that moment, he wondered the difference between a human and a demon in terms of moral standpoints for the first time.

"What did he do?" Crowley asked again.

Aziraphale kept staring at the ground. "Questioned too much."

That made the Demon shut up. When Aziraphale looked up at him, Crowley swallowed visibly and nodded.

*

Later that night, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves amid a tribal celebration in Western Europe.

Distant from all the humans socialising with each other, they sat down on the ground, leaning against a tree, observing their surroundings.

Crowley was sitting right next to Aziraphale with a drink in his hand. Aziraphale sighed, staring ahead; still upset with what they had to witness during the daytime.

"Was it the idea of your lot?" asked Aziraphale, looking at the Demon, marvelling at the bright moonlight that illuminated his handsome face.

No matter how much he trusted Crowley, he knew no one else in Hell with even an ounce of compassion.

Crowley sipped from his goblet. "What, capital punishment of an innocent individual? In a way which was that brutally creative and humiliating? I think you give too much credit to the demons' intellect." He paused for a second to look at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye. "Only humans are capable of this, after all."

Aziraphale shuddered internally and broke his gaze from Crowley's face. "It went too far this time, don't you think?"

"Yes, well." Crowley cleared his throat. "Not that Heaven is any better."

"Crowley -"

"Humanity had only begun to heal because of his teachings, angel! At least in Israel. Heaven could have done something to stop that. And they did not."

Aziraphale bit his lower lip. "Now, who are we to question God's plan." He winced at his own words.

Somehow, they sounded idiotic even to himself.

Crowley let out a bitter laugh. "Or what? They'll publicly have the humans crucify us too?"

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "I didn't say that."

Crowley shrugged. "Everything is over now. Nobody cares."

Aziraphale parted his lips and tried to protest. "Crowley that's not -" he cut himself off. He could think of nothing to counter that.

A long silence fell between the two of them. Crowley kept drinking from his goblet. Just when Aziraphale decided to change their location, Crowley began to speak.

"Listen."

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley again.

"Time and again, it's been established that when it comes to showing some basic kindness to any living creature, Heaven and Hell prove that they're the two sides of the same coin. They are both horrible places..."

Aziraphale held up his forefinger, trying to interrupt.

"...and trust me when I say that! I would know." Crowley inhaled deeply and tightened the grip on his goblet. They had locked their eyes with each other. "You and I, on the other hand, are better than that. You keep talking about the good side and the bad, and that Demons and Angels have to pick their respective ones."

Aziraphale nodded, and let Crowley continue without any further interruptions.

"I agree with that, to some extent. But you and I - I think we're different." He paused and looked at Aziraphale with expectation. "Come on, you can't deny this, can you?"

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. "I suppose, I can't. So what?"

"So, we can pick our own sides. We can be on the same side. One that's separated and free from the shackles of Heaven and Hell." Crowley reached out for Aziraphale's hand and held it in his own.

Aziraphale stared at the joint hands. He looked up at Crowley and was taken aback by the amount of pain and longing in his eyes.

Suddenly, it dawned upon him. He thought he had a faint idea of where this was going. Aziraphale entwined their fingers and squeezed Crowley's hand.

"What do you say, angel?"

"Are you saying..." he couldn't breathe.

Crowley just nodded.

Aziraphale did not know how to feel. This was just what he had wanted: to be with Crowley together forever.

But at the same time, he was an angel. This could go wrong on so many levels. Also, uniting with a demon, wouldn't that be disloyalty?

He was never taught that in Heaven. Aziraphale did not care how much his input was always neglected in Heaven by other angels. He had his duties to fulfill.

But Crowley's fingers interlocked with his, how could he let go of that?

Aziraphale swallowed. "I don't know what to say." Crowley's mouth was turned upside down. "Neither of our lots would approve of this. They'll call us traitors."

"Nobody cares, Aziraphale," said Crowley with a shaking voice. "They didn't care about us today. Then why should we?"

"We could end up in big trouble."

"Not if we're together."

"What if they give you the Holy Water?"

"After having lived with you, in that way, even for a few hours? Worth it."

Aziraphale's breath became shallow. The corners of his eyes stang. "Oh, Crowley," he said and grabbed the front of Crowley's black fabric to pull him close.

The moment their lips met, Aziraphale sighed in satisfaction. Crowley pulled away a bit to remove his glasses before placing his hands on Aziraphale's face.

Their mouths opened and moved together in a synchronised fashion, and the kiss just felt right.

This was where Aziraphale belonged - with Crowley.

They continued to kiss under the tree; bright moonlight lightening the mood. One would call it groundbreaking, give them hell - quite literally so - for being rebellious, but Aziraphale could not bring himself to care that night.

He just revelled in the warmth and softness of Crowley's lips against his with his eyes closed. Aziraphale loved the little breaths Crowley was letting out on his lips in the middle of the kisses, and he never wanted this moment to end.

***

AN: And voila! My first fic in Good Omens fandom. I enjoyed participating in this month's challenge. ☺ See you later.

Sherlock September Challenge.

Prompts Moonlight and Kiss by @onesmallfamily

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @inevitably-johnlocked @missdeliadili @peanitbear @a-victorian-girl @lookingforlifeoutthere @calaisreno @kettykika78 @totallysilvergirl .

[hidey-writes]

six sentence sunday

Abruptly, disorientingly, Gu Yiran thinks of the birthday party they’d surprised him with — the cake, the sodas, the sparklers. The almost-imperceptible feeling of the paper crown on his head. The close warmth of Zheng Bei beside him on the rooftop. He wishes now, that he’d thought to take a photograph of it. Just one photograph, to put with the other photos hidden under the lace-draped glass top of his coffee table. Just to remind himself that he’d had this, before it was taken away from him, before he had to walk away from it.

lightly discouraged by how slowly this is going ... but steady progress is still progress! it's starting to seem that a big underlying idea of this fic is going to be "holding on to something that's leaving" and that is delicious to me :3

[ryokawa]

ᜑ ﹙🜸﹚ toru oikawa — love, trust, and further abnormalities (scifi au)

y llorar, y llorar, y llorar por el. 🔭

┈ ⟡ basics :

age : 275

appearance : late 20s to early 30s

height : 6’5 ft

bday : july 20

job : poses as a pro athlete in the sport of giant pumpkin kayaking

species : josali

planet of origin : small moon called johsai, circling around the larger planet of seijoh

species details : he’s quite humanoid in all the ways it matters. he’s only slightly too long; from his height to the length of his arms, to the length of his legs and fingers. he also doesn’t blink frequently enough, and when he does it’s usually slowly, one eye at a time. he’s also much less tolerant of booze than humans. one shot is more than enough to get him tipsy. the only real way to find out he isn’t quite human, though, would be to do an x-ray. there it would quickly become evident he has an extra set of almost every single one of his organs. he only has one kidney, and half a liver, though.

┈ ⟡ little facts :

he’s such a hater specifically to things iwaizumi likes. he adores humanity so much, thinks they’re all so cute, no matter how boring they are, but then he takes one look at iwaizumi and he just. he has to be a hater.

but, while he does call iwaizumi boring and lame, he is quite fond of him. he is the one human he chose to save, after all. he even finds his cat adorable.

oikawa’s very good at being persuasive, charming to a fault and able to talk his way through most situations. when he cannot, he simply glances over at iwaizumi and expects him to handle the more violent aspects.

if not doing anything exciting, he will be driven to madness. his brain needs to constantly be firing, if not he’s almost 100% sure he will die. (he will not. but it feels like that.)

his moon has been destroyed because of him, because he fled it to earth. he is NOT supposed to be on earth. it’s a crime—literally! he’s a man on the run!! his family is dead because of his choices!! and he lowkey doesn’t care. he enjoys the thrill of being chased.

he’s also a revolutionary that hates seijoh’s government.

he does not tell iwaizumi this, afraid that if iwaizumi finds out all the terrible things happening around them are his fault, he will leave.

[butteronabun]

first of all. i can’t believe it’s october now

and second of all, i really am writing one of the requests y’all 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ HERE’S PROOOF AGDKJDKD

[talas-first-lady]

Sapphic September 2024: Brat

Day 16: possessed But like... the other kind of possessed. Pairing: Sara Lance/Zari Tomaz Rating: M Light BDSM/spanking/questionable power dynamics

“I know how to deal with brats, Zari. And yes, you are. Breaking Gideon, being a jerk to everyone for no reason, constantly trying to provoke me…”

[allalrightagain]

Pocket Dad Year 2-- Every Promise and Lie

A quiet conversation in the Gryffindor boys dormitory about what it meant to be brave.

Peter woke to the mid-November sun dipping below the horizon. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept for, but he was fairly certain it had just been early morning.

It didn’t take long to determine the reason for his waking— the second year boys’ dormitory was empty except for a soft sniffling. Peter scrabbled gently at the windowsill he’d been napping on to draw Harry’s attention and put on the most disapproving face he could manage as a rat.

“I know, I know,” Harry mumbled, wiping at his cheeks, “boys don’t cry.” He said something after that sounded like ‘unless you’re mumbly’.

Read more on Ao3!

[meownotgood]

50,000 words. 50k words of aki sex. five zero zero zero zero. aki sex.

[wangxianficrecs]

golden by queen_gee

golden

by queen_gee

Not rated, 3k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Ying sees him through the flowers and silk and his heart whispers, oh. There you are. It is there in one moment and then gone in the next, just a fleeting hint of recognition, relief that spreads through his chest with intensity that makes his knees wobble. There is a beautiful man at his sister’s wedding and he is looking at Wei Ying as if he has been struck speechless and something about the curve of that man’s bowed lips, the molten gold of his eyes, the way his throat bobs and his jaw slackens—it feels like coming home. ---------- A beautiful stranger asks Wei Ying to dance. Kay's comments: A beautiful modern Wangxian meeting each other for the first time and immediately falling for each other story. It's reincarnation, so their hearts recognize each other and them meeting and immediately falling for each other feels as natural as falling asleep. Very sweet with no angst. Excerpt: He’s standing at the family table, eyes on the dance floor as the song fades into a tune calm and lovely, so he does not see him crossing the room to him, does not feel the eyes on him until a low, calm voice asks, “May I have this dance?” Wei Ying turns and there he is, white-gray suit like splashes of watercolor and eyes like sunshine. He holds one hand toward Wei Ying, fingers relaxed, no pressure in the gesture as if he readily expects a no and has already accepted as much. His other hand is tucked behind his back as though he is about to bow, as if Wei Ying is someone who deserves such a benediction. The man’s face is rather stoic, carefully so, but Wei Ying can read the hope in the lines around his eyes, the endearing awe in the softness of his mouth. Wei Ying has waited a few seconds too long to answer and the man’s eyes shutter so subtly, resigned acceptance. Wei Ying feels as though he has been hypnotized. He sways forward, another step to close the fragile gap between him and this man, and he whispers, “Have we met?”

pov wei wuxian, modern setting, modern no magic, weddings, strangers to lovers, first meetings, reincarnation, love at first sight, no angst, fluff, soft lan wangji/wei wuxian

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[caffetato-the-caffeinated-potato]

Okay! So I've revised my concept for Ninja-monium a bit. Scrapped my previous OC antagonists in favor of something hopefully simpler to convey (Which you'll learn about eventually ehehehee)

Since it's been so long (and a good chunk of my previous sneak peaks are probably gonna be majorly reworked), have a little snippet of what I'm currently working on! :> @psychologicalwarclaire I hope you haven't forgotten about this, cuz I sure haven't (it lives in my brain rent-free, even when I'm mid writer's block. It's torture)

---------

“I’ve already told Pixal we’re ready to be picked up. Might be a few minutes though.” Lloyd said.

“And why couldn’t we have just parked the bounty here instead of sitting around like a bunch of kids waiting to be picked up from school?” Kai asked with a huff.

“Because, Kai, the city doesn’t like it when we drop anchor all willy-nilly around town. It damages the streets and buildings.” Lloyd sighed, probably tired of explaining to Kai why he should care about property damage.

Kai scoffed. “It’s not like they cared much before.”

“Uh, pretty sure they did, actually.” Cole said. “That was the whole reason Mayor Trustable had it out for us. Or, well, part of the reason, anyway.”

“So? Mayor Trustable was an asshole.” Kai snorted. “Besides, after the shit he pulled during the whole ‘crystal zombies invading Ninjago City’ situation, there’s no way he’s getting reelected , so what does it even matter?”

“Language, Kai.” Zane scolded, his reprimand falling of deaf ears as usual. Jay wasn’t sure why he even still tried; the only one with the power to get the Smith siblings to watch their language was Master Wu, and even that only worked while he was in earshot.

“What, you wanna piss off another authority figure?” Nya asked, raising an amused brow at her brother.

Kai made a show about thinking about it, before flashing a cocky smirk. “Sure, sounds like fun. Sign me up.”

Lloyd rubbed at his temples. “Could we not make plans on getting on more leaders’ bad sides? It never ends well for us. Like, ever.”

“You never let me have any fun.” Kai said with an exaggerated eye roll. “Besides, when have we ever pissed off an authority figure that wasn’t either some asshole or like, a tyrant?” Lloyd opened his mouth to answer, but words seemed to have failed him because no sound came out. Jay couldn’t blame him; Kai did have a very good point that was difficult to argue with. Lucky for Lloyd, he was saved from having to answer when the ground beneath the ninja lit up in ominous light.

Wait.

What?!

[trulycertain]

Favours

Act 2 Tav/Astarion. In which the Shadow-Cursed Lands don't leave much to hunt, Astarion is not having a great time, and Lora proposes a solution. And neither of them have Feelings. No sir. 3.1k.

Read on Ao3

"You're not well,” Lora says, when she finds Astarion at the edge of camp, sitting on a dead log and considering the shadow-rotted corpse of a bird. 

That battle was like something out of a tragedy about curses and overconfidence. She ended up flat on her arse in the mud three times, and her clawed-up arm’s been hastily bandaged rather than healed because she and Shadowheart both ended up so drained. Still, that doesn’t explain this malaise of his. Though prying a straight answer out of him was as impossible as ever, best she can tell, he wasn’t injured. Sometimes he goes somewhere else when he’s lost in memory, or working out how to phrase something deeply unpleasant, or scheming - it’s often scheming - and you just have to wait for him to return. This isn’t that. It didn’t just look like distraction on his face when they headed back to camp; it was more resigned misery, like he’d been hoping for something and not found it.

"I'm fine," he says, staring fixedly at where old flesh is starting to pull away from the cursed raven's bones. It looks like despair. That’s the word she’s been searching for: despair.

"You're pale, even for you." She sits next to him, uncorking her healing potion. "And you're -"

"Don't," he says, a hand raised, and hops up from the log like she's burned him, putting space between them. He still won't look at her.

"Have I done something, or are you just going to be evasive and then snap at me?" Not that it would be any different from usual. They’ve come to understand each other a lot more, these days, but still sometimes end up squinting at each other sometimes. He’s a two-steps-forwards, one-step-back sort of friend. She glares at where the bandages on her forearm are starting to stain, and unpeels them. Not a gash anymore, but the last of it is still -

"Don't be cruel." His voice is quiet, the way it only gets when something is very, very wrong; his shoulders are tense as a lutestring about to break.

At first she thinks it's her words, and then... then she looks at the blood staining her arm, and thinks like a vampire. "...Ah."

"Don't - sound like that." He sighs.

Frowning at him, she pokes, "I just want to know you're all right."

"I'm fine, just trying not to tear your throat out," he snaps - and his fangs are a sharp, intentional gleam of ferality in the moonlight. The briefest hint of regret crosses his face, and he exhales, sagging. "Just... I'll find something tonight, all right?"

If she told him how open he leaves his vulnerabilities sometimes, he’d recoil and snap at her. No, he’d snarl like a cornered warg and then flee camp. She knows he's trying to scare her off; he only does that when he's terrified. "What have you been feeding from?"

If it’s possible, he sags even further, all the indignant stuffing taken out of him. "I had a few supplies. Blood banks, bits and pieces. Then I doubled back, at first - back to around the monastery. Then, when we got too far for that, the land around the inn was... helpful. Squirrel has always been, and continues to be, foul. I did just about leave that ox alive, though honestly, it was on its last legs, it's not as if anyone would have missed it -"

"Since we came out here?" she asks, gently.

Now he looks at her, eyes wild and scarlet. He waves a desperate hand at the land around them. "Look at it. Everything here is dead. Decayed. There's nothing to -" He puts a hand to his face, and grits out, "I've got two miles to cover if I want to hunt, and it doesn't - it shouldn't matter. But I am very, very tired." 

"And starving." She thinks of his oldest doublet, gold thread fraying just a little at the edges; she watches all those carefully chosen words, that spine-upright, darling, I don’t give a damn toff’s poise, do the same.

"Yes,” he says, through gritted teeth, “thank you for reminding me."

"You could always…" She gestures to her neck.

He stares at her, follows the gesture; he seems to have trouble dragging his eyes away from her pulse, even as his words are carefully level. "You did me a favour, and believe me, it was appreciated, but... I always assumed that was a one-off." His voice is getting vaguer by the second. More hopeful.

She shrugs. "You're my friend."

Lathander knows how. It’s also one of the worst decisions she’s ever stumbled into. But things happen, and then you have a vampire unerringly watching your back and politely taking your “don’t you dare kill them” for an answer, and snorting at your jokes before carefully rearranging his face because he thinks you catching him will make you smug. Hm. Run-on sentences. She’ll have to watch those if she ever writes any of this down. At which point everyone will decry the protagonist for being an idiot, because He’s a vampire. Oh, and an insufferable bastard of a toff who toys with the little people like you for amusement. Also for breakfast.  

His eyes snap to her face, as if horror at her naiveté is strong enough to knock him away from the hunger. "It's that simple, is it?"

All right, so he might agree with her readers.

She says, easily, "It can be."

"How are you still alive?" he demands, but he's already stalking back to the log and sitting next to her.

"Some rogue with really good aim keeps watching my back."

He snorts. "Look at that, idle flattery. You really have been around me for too long. Now, not to be gauche, but would you prefer me from behind, or -?"

She's damn lucky she's not one to blush, and that it’s hard to see on her. She offers up her arm, and the two bleeding lines from a shadow’s handiwork.

He swallows audibly, visibly; she watches it in the graceful line of his throat. "That has to heal. If you can't play your lyre because of me, then, well..." He's hiding it, but hunger has put the hint of a glaze in his eyes. "The same reason I'm not asking for your wrist. And the back of your neck would be easier to hide, if you're not in the mood for awkward questions." His eyes skate over her face, her jaw, her neck. For a moment he seems to lose his train of thought again. "You really are unfathomably tall," he manages, with some effort.

Six foot two is far from unfathomable. Still, it doesn’t stop his not infrequent comments on it, or her retorting, every time, "No, you're just short."

Another snort. "On the ground with you, then. If you sit in front of me, I could manage this." Uncertainty blooms in his face. "If you're willing, that is."

That decides it. She downs the healing potion, puts it aside while the warmth of it starting to work spreads through her, and slides off the log. She catches the hint of surprise and something deeper in his eyes as she goes, and does him the favour of looking away.

He never makes as much noise as he should. Maybe it’s the lack of breathing from exertion; maybe it’s a vampire thing; maybe it’s just that preternatural grace, combined with his years of working in the shadows. More and more, as they camp together, she’s growing certain that sometimes he’ll let slip a creak of leather or a sigh just so he doesn’t startle her - or it might just be habit, from back when he was alive.

One moment she could almost be alone in a moonlit clearing save for the feel of a wiry, dense leg against her back - then there’s a whisper of fabric, and leather-clad knees are either side of her. "Just pretend we're swapping secrets and braiding each other's hair," he says, his breath soft on her neck. He brushes said hair away from her skin carefully, in the way of a man who spends far too much time on his own and knows that some things are sacred. "Not that it needs the help; it's rather lovely. High praise, coming from me."

She can’t eye him from here, but she tries anyway. "You're only saying that because I'm doing you a favour."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just feeling truthful." He inhales deeply, and she's certain he didn't mean to say it when he murmurs, "You smell amazing."

Hells, they've had sex more than once - he's given her so many easy, florid lines - but that, rough and unpractised in a way she's almost never heard him, threatens to bring heat to her cheeks.

And then he bites down, and it's a little difficult to think of anything at all. Sharp pain, not the worst she's had but not pleasant, either. She makes the smallest undignified noise before she can stop herself - a squeak of pain - and at that, feels the softest pressure against her upper arm.

His hand. She looks down and sees elegant fingers almost white against the dark purple of her shirt, his thumb stroking over her arm soothingly, gently. More gently than she would have thought him capable of.

Pain makes her stupid. She's reaching up, closing her hand over his, before she quite knows what's happening. The air between them tightens a moment with his silent surprise, enough for her to think she's made an utter mistake, that he's about to laugh at her - but he doesn't pull away. His fingers relax against hers.

Because she's doing him a favour, that's all, and because he doesn't want to tear a hole in her throat. She sits there, chest somehow aching because of him even as the pain in her neck has subsided to numbness.

That's the problem: without pain, it's all terribly intimate, in a way she tried very hard to forget last time. She sits here, encircled by him - one of his hands at her waist and the other against hers; his chest a line of wiry, deceptive strength at her back, curved close; that coiffed hair like a feather where it brushes her. His face is warming against her neck with her blood -

Hells. He didn't ask for this intimacy. This is a thing of necessity, not like when they've, well. She's not going to make something of this that it's definitely not. Everyone has to eat. He'll never ask again if she comes over like some sort of pervert.

Right. Lyrics to Over the Mountaintop. The first and second verses she has down by heart, the third needs a little work.

Twixt lands they came upon the sea...

It doesn't feel so bad, is all. It should, and yet. And yet. It has to be a vampire thing, some way to lure their victims into complacency - she doesn't even think he knows he's doing it. He's not used to feeding on people, judging from what he said and the dazed way he looked at her afterwards. Dazed and delighted - really delighted rather than the sneering defensive half-smile she's seen so often, eyes soft and startled... ("I feel... happy.") No, that's not helpful either.

By Helm's balls. Over the well-trod path they roam, with rising mists and seas of -

She almost doesn't catch the softest vibration against her throat - a pleased, approving little sound. A moan. And if she thought she was mistaken, they're so close that she can feel the exact way he tenses the tiniest fraction afterwards, as if he didn't mean to do that...

He might actually kill her. She feels her ears burn.

He carefully takes his teeth from her neck, panting a little - for show or just from habit, surely, but his chest is heaving against her back. "They should bottle you. Especially when you blush. Forgive me, I..." The gentlest, swiftest slip of wetness against her skin; she realises a moment late that it was his tongue, and her few remaining thoughts that were trying to cling on are blown clean away. "You must know, surely. I barely remember not wanting blood, but even you have to have an idea of how you taste."

"I, er... It's never come up?" She should have words. Words. Yes. Bards have those. "Except for the time you tried to bite me."

"That was once. Well, twice now." He still sounds a little uneven. The tickle of his eyelashes, the rapidly warming heat of his breath; she feels him duck his head and take another swift drink from her. And then it becomes something lingering, his lips pursing against her skin. He rests there a moment and says, very quietly, “Thank you.”

She's still realising that was a kiss when he's on his knees in front of her, squinting at her. Damn stupidly fast rogues. He says cheerfully, "Feeling all right? Not about to faint on me, are you?"

"I'm fine."

He raises a finger. Unimpressed, she follows it, side to side, and then gives him a Look. A glare is easier than seeing the new colour in his skin, or the way his eyes have darkened to the colour of, well, blood.

Still, there’s a line between his brows, his mouth a little tight, and there’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there the first time, when he was busy being relieved after two hundred years of starvation: she’s pretty sure that what she sees now is… concern, though he’s hiding it behind a raised brow and a flat look. She tries not to be surprised. Instead, she sighs, and hums a set of notes, the Weave resonating around her - she blinks, and then the hint of lightheadedness is gone. She’s sharp as a dagger. It’s subtle, but she sees him breathe out, just slightly. Feeling at her neck, she finds nothing, not even a mark.

She says, "And you? Feeling better?"

"Oh, much." He runs a thumb over the corner of his mouth, catching a little excess, seeming too distracted to be embarrassed. He gives it a lick, and she contemplates the trees and the dirt and anything else. All that contemplation does is make her realise that maybe it's not him being distracted, but that he's comfortable with her. That's just as frightening in its own way, if gratifying.

He says, "You know, it's oddly... freeing." Catching her curious look, he explains, "I told you, didn't I? Cazador never allowed us to have thinking creatures. I've never... Someone has never willingly..." He waves a hand. "Offered. You know." He blinks, and looks away from her. "I appreciate the reminder I'm not back in his damned palace."

She nods, because she thinks he needs to say this.

"Thank you. For that, and for a rather enjoyable midnight snack." He's already looking away from her, carefully reassembling his mask.

"Astarion?"

"Hm?" He says it with the kind of airiness that means he cares far too much.

"You only have to ask."

"I know. And that's why I don't want to."

She frowns down at him, and he sits back on his haunches with a huff. "The first day I met you, you forgave me for putting a blade to your throat and then gave me blankets. I tried to steal your blood and you offered it to me instead. You... stop and give your time, your money, potentially your damned life to any wretched fool you come across! I refuse to be yet another poor sap you have to rescue."

She stares at him. "That's not - you're not - did I make you feel like that?"

"No, I did. And see, this is exactly what I mean! You're already trying to fix this."

"You're my friend. I don't want to hurt you."

"That - You're just making it worse. This world will eat you alive and instead you're offering it your - your..."

"My neck?" she asks, quietly.

He just looks at her, all frustrated resignation and embarrassment. "Yes, let's just pretend I didn't stumble right into that."

"The second day we met, a goblin caught me unawares. Gale and Lae'zel were at the other side of the field. The person who found it before it could reach me, who saved my life? That was you. You stay up on watches with me, pretending not to be helpful. You've unlocked doors that helped me avoid a head-on fight. You got me the antidote when I was poisoned and stayed to make sure it worked. You stopped me dropping off cliffs in the Underdark. You've helped bandage me up, even though it must have been... difficult, sometimes. I gave you my neck and you didn't kill me."

He squints like he's just smelled something awful. "You're saying I'm rewarding all your naive do-gooding?"

"I'm saying you rescue me constantly. And that you're an idiot."

"Now that -" He waves a finger. "The insults are what I'm used to. That's much better. Now just call me an 'arrogant self-serving toff,' and we can almost be out of this awkwardly complimentary phase of the proceedings."

"That was once," she mutters. "Usually I'm more creative."

"It was a memorable once," he says, casting a look of fond reminiscence to the sky. "I think it might have been your idea of a seduction technique." His eyes settle on her, dark and shrewd. "Well, it worked." He spreads his hands. "Here I am."

She wants to kiss that smug, grinning mouth. She wants to do many deeply stupid things. But... "Astarion, you need to eat."

With a sigh, he says, "You really do like to spoil a mood, don't you? Fine." He climbs easily, swiftly to his feet. "I'll just brave the undead wilds. I'll bring you back the rest?"

"Please. I can only survive on jerky for so long."

"Hmph. One bloodless deer, coming right up. For my bloodless dear." He grins at her, all fangs and twinkling eyes.

"And you say mine are bad," she groans, instead of kissing him, and fucking him, and falling asleep with that soft hair and that pale, half-warmed skin against hers. He's always gone by morning, but those drowsy moments... It's oddly comfortable. Not a bad way to spend a night.

He winks at her and then sidles back off to camp to get his bow; she watches him longer than she should, an elegant moonlit-white shape in the trees until it's swallowed by the darkness.

This story had a shape, a good simple shape; since she met him, she's had to rewrite so much. She wonders what in the hells she's gotten herself into.

[gregorovitch-adler]

Intimacy

Just when I am in the middle of my speech, I hear some sniffing in the wedding hall. I look up. Everyone is tearing up. I see some people wipe their eyes with the serviettes.

Why? Did I do something wrong? No! I had spent the whole morning writing a speech for John's wedding.

Selecting and altering the words here and there carefully, with Lestrade's help, so that I would not give myself away in a room full of two hundred guests, about my true feelings for the groom.

And now everyone is crying. I messed it up, again.

It is just like the university days. I would say something with good intention, but without any filters, and everyone would interpret it the wrong way. They would distance themselves from me eventually. I would be left alone.

I knew I was going to be left alone anyway after tonight's reception and dance. That was inevitable. I hadn't expected the isolation to come so soon, though.

Perhaps everyone had picked up on my feelings for John. I had ruined the day with a slip up somewhere.

Breathing deeply, I square my shoulders and spit everything out.

"What's wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that?" I turn to look at John, the only source of sanity in my life. "John?"

John looks up at me with tearful eyes. (No, please don't cry!)

"Did I do it wrong?" I ask again.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson is tearful too.

Shit. She knew about us. Me. There was never an 'us'. She knew how I felt for John. Everyone obviously knows about my feelings now. Nobody can be so stupid.

Which means John does too, and now he is going to kick me out in the middle of the speech.

John screws his eyes shut and opens them again as he gets up from his seat.

"No, you didn't. Come here," he says and pulls me close before wrapping his arms around my back.

A huge round of applause erupts in the room. Everyone is cheering.

Unsure of what to do next, I awkwardly place an arm on his bicep.

John doesn't let go of me. He keeps holding on to me, and his hand goes up to curl around my nape. He holds me gently.

In this moment, I cannot help but notice the intimacy between us.

I'm not experienced in romantic relationships, but the way John keeps holding me with so many people watching, I feel even closer to him than I already did.

It's rather ironic that I feel this on his wedding day, with his wife watching us with a smile. But I can't help how I feel.

"I haven't finished yet," I say.

"Yeah; I know, I know," he replies and slowly lets me go.

I immediately feel the loss of his touch. I long for him to hold me forever.

I know this is irrational, so I pull out my phone again to continue with my best man speech.

I still have to take care of my words, should I accidentally reveal my heart in front of the man I love in public.

***

Prompt: Intimacy by @onesmallfamily

Sherlock September Challenge.

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