#fluffy ficlet

[30somethingautisticteacher]

A fluffy ficlet to combat some of the day's ugliness!

****

Love and Anethesia

"How does someone make it to forty with all four of their wisdom teeth?" Eddie asked, leaning against the waiting room wall with his arms crossed. The fluorescent lights made the dental office feel somehow both too sterile and too intimate.

"He said his parents weren't really 'dentist people'—whatever that means," Buck said, fidgeting with his keys. "Anyway, thanks for coming with me. The dentist said he's going to be super loopy, and I can't really drive and take care of him at the same time."

Before Eddie could answer, the quiet hum of the office was interrupted by the squeak of wheelchair wheels. Tommy was being guided out to the lobby by a nurse, his cheeks comically swollen with gauze.

"Hey sweetheart," Buck said softly, moving to Tommy's side. "How you feeling?"

Tommy's eyes were glazed and wandering, but they lit up at the sound of Buck's voice. "It's my boyfriend, Eleven!" His words were slurred around the gauze. He squinted, looking confused. "No, that's not right—he's a deer, but only not to me." His unfocused gaze drifted to Eddie, and his face broke into a dopey grin. "And this guy! But he doesn't have a mustache anymore and that makes me sad. Poor little guy." He reached out as if to pat Eddie's now-bare upper lip, but his hand missed by several inches.

Buck bit his lip to keep from laughing, while Eddie's eyebrows shot up in amusement.

"Ok, big guy," the nurse said with a practiced smile. "These guys are going to take you home."

"But what about my surgery?" Tommy asked, his brow furrowing in genuine concern beneath the haze of anesthesia.

"Babe, you just had your surgery," Buck said gently, exchanging an amused look with Eddie.

Tommy blinked slowly, processing this information. "Well then get me out of here," he declared with sudden urgency, attempting to stand up from the wheelchair and nearly tipping forward before Buck steadied him.

Somehow they managed to get Tommy strapped into Buck's Jeep, a process that involved Eddie guiding his wobbly legs while Buck supported his weight. Once Tommy was secure, Buck crawled in next to him in the backseat.

"You're sitting next to me?" Tommy asked, his head lolling against the headrest. His eyes widened with sudden realization. "Why am I in the backseat?" He started fumbling with his seatbelt. "It's ok, I can drive."

"Whoa, no you can't," Buck said quickly, catching Tommy's hands before he could unclip the belt. He threaded their fingers together instead, a practiced move to keep his boyfriend contained.

"You're pretty," Tommy said dreamily to Buck. "Do you like boys?" His eyes fixed on the birthmark above Buck's eye with intense fascination. "I want to kiss your face and your red eye splotch."

Buck caught Tommy's wandering hand, his expression a mix of amusement and tenderness. Eddie's quiet laugh from the driver's seat wasn't helping him keep a straight face.

"Yeah sweetheart, I like boys," Buck said softly, still holding Tommy's hand. His smile grew wider as Tommy stared at him in wonder, like he was discovering this information for the first time.

"That's so good," Tommy slurred, looking absolutely delighted. "That's so good because I like boys too. Well, just you. You're my favorite boy." He leaned heavily against Buck's shoulder, then jerked back up. "Wait, does that mean we can date?"

From the driver's seat, Eddie couldn't hold back his snort of laughter.

Tommy started to fall asleep, his head drooping onto Buck's shoulder. "I'm gonna hug you and kiss you and marry you," he mumbled, words growing softer as he drifted off. "And make little smudge-eyed babies."

Buck's heart melted at Tommy's drug-addled declaration. He caught Eddie's knowing smirk in the rearview mirror and rolled his eyes fondly, pulling Tommy closer against his side as his boyfriend finally succumbed to sleep.

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompts Faire. g-rated today, lol.]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) 17: chaos (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

'Daddy! Tiger!' 

John, who had been focused on his eReader, finds his daughter standing in front of him with a manic light in her eye. 'Tiger!' 

He looks around the sitting room until his eyes land on the plush tiger Sherlock had gifted her those weeks ago, then he holds it out to her. 'Say please, Rosie.' 

She grabs onto it and waddles off, definitely not saying anything resembling please. John rolls his eyes, lips twitching.

Two days later, she refuses to leave the flat, which is new and different. 'No, Daddy! Tiger will be lonely!'

John drops his head in defeat. 'Sherlock, will you--' Sherlock reappears, holding the toy, before John has a chance to finish the sentence. 'Thank you,' he says tiredly.

And so forth.

'D'you think she's got an imaginary friend tiger?' he ponders aloud as he and Sherlock wait behind a delicious-smelling Burmese restaurant for some counterfeiters. 'She seems awfully keen.'

'Hmm,' is Sherlock's non-answer, and John huffs, watching as the detective's mind churns through the facts of the case and completely ignores everything else. Some things never change, John thinks. Thank god.

Luckily (?), the mystery is solved the very next day.

Everyone in the household is very sleepy and warm, recharging from the excitement of the past week, so the sitting room is quiet and peaceful in a way it rarely is.

Which means, of course, that it must be shattered.

'Tiger!' Rosie suddenly shrieks from Sherlock's lap, and slides off so quickly she loses her balance but scrambles back up, unfazed, to shamble towards their visitor.

Which is a cat.

A rotund, wide-eyed, orange-striped cat.

'Tiger!' his daughter yells again, and the cat is off like a shot.

'Whoa there,' John says, scooping Rosie up and turning to follow the path of the creamsicle tornado. It's swift, the cat disappearing (back?) into Sherlock's room with alacrity, but surprisingly destructive.

John quickly assesses the aftermath while Rosie squirms to go after her new best friend. The skull is on the ground, books and papers are absolutely everywhere, a couple frames have jumped off the walls somehow, Sherlock's spindly music stand has wilted in terror, and Rosie's toys are, if it's even possible, even more of a chaotic mess than they'd been minutes before.

John closes his eyes and prays for patience. Both his and Sherlock's. But then he hears--

He opens his eyes to find Sherlock laughing. Doubled over laughing, in fact.

'Are you…' John asks dubiously, eyeing him. '... all right? Did it destroy something you hated?'

Sherlock snorts. 'No, no, it's just--' He puts his hands on his hips and clears his throat, the grin echoing on his face. 'Twenty years ago, if you'd told me I'd one day not only be sober, but with a partner and child and now a housepet--' He barks out another laugh, seemingly unable to stop himself.

John grins at the word "partner," then clocks the rest of the sentence. 'Wait-- We're keeping it?'

'Yes!' Rosie contributes with gusto. 'Keeping the tiger!'

Sherlock strides over and plucks Rosie out of John's arms. 'Yes, we are. Inasmuch as one can keep a cat used to the out of doors,' he amends. 'What shall we name him, Rosamund?'

'His name is Reginald,' Rosie says. Or at least, John thinks that's what she says. She's barely two and a half, after all, and John still sometimes feels like she's speaking a foreign language.

Sherlock, though, nods as if he heartily agrees. 'Reginald is a fine name. Your father will have to go and procure some food, a box, and probably some flea-preventative, and then our new friend Reginald will be all set.'

John starts to protest, but both his daughter and Sherlock turn big eyes on him, and he has absolutely no chance. 'Yeah, sure,' he says dryly. 'You can hold down the fort while I do so?'

Sherlock waves a hand, already moving on to walk Rosie around the room, presumably assessing damage. 'Of course.'

'Right.' John shrugs on his coat and heads out.

The last thing he hears is, 'Now, did you know, Rosamund, that a group of tigers is known as an "ambush" or a "streak"?'

Child, partner, cat, John contemplates as he steps out into the grey brightness. It's exactly what he'd thought for himself twenty years ago. Except... nothing like that at all.

Thank god.

[❤️]

[discoverywriter]

Writing is going so slowly these days, I’ll take any win, no matter how small.

[mrsjellymunson]

That Was You?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader; Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Summary: A meet cute in a record store. That’s literally it.

WC: 1.6k

CW: SFW, FLUFF, swearing, flirting, awkwardness, reader relives an embarrassing situation. Reader’s physical characteristics are not described. Brief mentions of the devil’s lettuce and non-consensual touching. This was supposed to turn into a story but never did, and it was too cute to waste. IDK how homemade volcanoes or US schooling years work so if I’ve messed up let’s all just pretend I didn’t 😂 The gorgeous Eddie edit in the banner is by the utterly fantastic @jqmunson 🙏👏

I have a general taglist now, just ask if you’d like to be on it 😊

My Masterlist

1️⃣9️⃣9️⃣0️⃣

You’d first become aware of him in High School. You were a freshman and he was, theoretically, in his final year. But then you’d unexpectedly had two extra years in which to ogle observe him and commit his form to memory.

‘Crush’ would be an understatement. ‘Obsession’ would be more accurate. You’d doodle his name in your notebooks, covering the characters with pictures of roses or skulls, or hearts done with thick markers, before anyone saw. You’d always sit where you could watch him across the lunch hall, wondering what it would be like to hear one of his world-changing rants up close, or join in with that game he played.

But he was four years older than you, practically a lifetime in High School terms. So you always kept your dreams to yourself, not once even daring to catch his eye, let alone talk to him.

So when you see a familiar-looking, black-clad silhouette as you enter Hawkins’ only record store, you’re pretty sure it’s him. Eddie Munson.

You freeze. You’d come in to browse their ‘Rock/Metal/Indie’ section to look for a gift for your cousin, not that you really had any clue about what to look for, but a figure was already there. His presence somehow pervades the entire aisle, despite there being numerous bins of discs to look through.

The shoulders are broader than the ones you remember. The deep chestnut hair is longer, down to the figure’s mid-back, and by the looks of the shiny and softly-defined waves, it’s benefitting from a decent product regime. The hands that reach out to browse the cardboard sleeves make you shiver; tattooed and strong-looking, with prominent veins. The rings and bracelets that adorn them are less gaudy and more modern in style than the ones you recall from school; they look fantastic. And those biceps fill the sleeves of that tight, black shirt better than those of the skinny teen you once idolised. And even if it’s not him, you’re still enjoying the view, because those faded black jeans fit whoever it is really, really well…

You stand there gaping for a few moments, the hand nearest to your messenger bag clamping and releasing around the strap.

You swallow hard. You must look like an idiot, standing there in the middle of the aisle like a startled deer. But by the way your legs are shaking, you kinda feel like one.

Okay, just walk forwards. You need to look at the records anyway. Just… move your legs. There you go! See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Just go and stand next to him. If it is him, he’s not gonna bite. Okay, maybe you wish he would, but that’s a mental image for another time…

You slowly meander up to the racks of records, trailing a finger along them hoping it makes you look like you know what you’re doing: a knowledgeable music fan just casually browsing for new tunes. Yeah, that’s it, you can totally pull this off.

You stop short of where he stands, leaving a gap of a couple of bins between you. It’s close enough for you to catch his scent: cologne, cigarettes and a hint of the subtle earthy sweetness of another smokable.

You flick a couple of the records back and forth and inhale half a breath and huff it out, as if in thought. Not loud, just enough to let the figure know you’re there.

He turns his head towards you, and it makes the waves of his hair sway slightly. They shimmer and settle around his shoulders as he cracks a polite but friendly closed-mouth smile in your direction.

Fuck. You’d know those deep pools of melted cacao anywhere, and the merest hint of a dimple appearing in the cheek closest to you seals the deal. It’s definitely him.

As you make eye contact with the boy you had a crush on for practically your entire High School career, you offer a slight half smile back to him. At least, that’s what you hope you do, as you suppress a squeak that threatens to leave your chest. You acknowledge that it’s entirely possible you just look like you need to pass wind.

After what seems like a millennia, but in reality is probably only just slightly longer than is necessary, the figure turns back to the records in front of him. He continues to browse, but you think you see his eyes flick in your direction occasionally as he makes a show of checking out the album artwork of some band you’ve never heard of.

You’re nervous as all hell, but something inside you can’t risk losing this opportunity. You’ve got the chance to actually talk to him for the first time ever, and you really wanna take it.

Bravely, you take deep breath, and mutter,

“Hey, is it…?”

Your voice dies in your throat. He cocks his head slightly towards you, a quizzical look on his face.

God, he’s still so pretty.

Okay, that didn’t go well, but in for a penny, as they say…

“Are you…?”

Again, the words dry up in your mouth. Flustered, you almost give up, huffing out a breath and slumping your shoulders.

You close your eyes for a moment, before deciding to give it one more go, quickly blurting out, “Is your name Eddie?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m Eddie.” He looks at you fully now, lifting a brow and quirking one side of his mouth up in a smirk.

Shit. This is so embarrassing. He obviously doesn’t remember you. Why would he, you never spoke. Plus, you’ve changed a lot since school so why would you imagine he’d recognise you even if he did?

“Sorry. I’m- Ah fuck, I shouldn’t have bothered you, I’m just gonna take what few shreds of dignity I have left and just, y’know, go.”

You turn on your heel and take a couple of wide strides, planning to hightail it out of there, move away, leave the state, maybe even leave the country. But a gentle hand brushing against your upper arm stops you.

He’s quickly closed some of the distance between you, and is looking at you with a soft smile and genuine interest.

“No, wait. Please! You can’t leave without giving me at least some clue as to how we know each other.”

You slowly turn back to him, to find him cocking his head to one side in contemplation.

All you can do is blink at him, so Eddie starts speculating.

Warily, he begins, “Do I owe you money?” His eyes flash with mischievous excitement, “Do you owe me money?” Wincing, ”Do you have an older brother who beat me up in high school?” Then finally, more discreetly, “Do you maybe, um, need weed?”

You’re finally able to speak.

“No. No. It’s none of those. But we did go to high school at the same time. I was even more of a nerd than the guys you hung out with, if I recall.”

You tell him your name, like it would make a difference.

It’s your turn to wince now. Eddie still looks blank, registering zero recognition. You sigh, knowing there’s one thing he might remember. Bashfully, you continue,

“I’m the one who made the blood volcano disaster at that end of year science fair…”

Your most mortifying High School memory. Oh god, why the hell did you bring that up?

But it’s something that Eddie remembers.

His eyes blow wide and his eyebrows disappear into his bangs. Grinning maniacally, mouth wide open, he almost yells,

“Oh my god, that was awesome! The chemistry accident that made the hall look like that scene from The Shining? That was you?”

He looks amazed, and takes half a step towards you. It’s like he’s meeting one of his favourite celebrities.

He furrows his brow a little as he squints at you, looking you up and down. Pinching his chin between his thumb and first knuckle, he remarks,

“Wait, you do look kinda familar now… But- also a lot different…”

“Yeah, I suppose I do. Not all of us nail down our personal style in high school, y’know”. You gesture to his all black outfit.

Eddie looks down at himself, before looking back up at you and responding with faux seriousness, “Hey, I’ll have you know this is timeless. Time. Less.”

You grin at each other. He continues,

“Y’know, people still talk about that. The giant volcano turned blood corridor thing. I bet you’d still find stains under the floor panels, if you looked hard enough!”

You bring a hand to your face, feeling its heat beneath your palm.

“Oh, please stop! It was embarrassing enough at the time. I really don’t wanna relive it! Besides, it wasn’t entirely my fault. I was distracted when I measured out the ingredients because I’d just given Tommy Hagan a black eye for touching my ass.”

“Really?”

He’s beaming now, his smile as broad as you’ve ever seen it, eyes wide and deep dimples fully on display.

“Oh, you gotta tell me all about that. That guy was such an asshole. But seriously, sweets, that was one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen! You know, it was almost enough to get me interested in science. Almost. You should always be proud of that, and I’m totally serious.”

As you reel slightly from him calling you sweets, Eddie takes you in properly for the first time. His gaze wanders your form, then briefly flicks back to the display of records before meeting yours again.

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.

“Hey, uh, I'm pretty much done here. It’s hot out and I was gonna, um, go get a cold drink. Youuu… maybe wanna join me? Reminisce a bit more about the ole’ high school experience?”

He screws his face up at that last part. You muse that he realises the reminder of the age gap and how you know each other probably doesn’t make for the most enticing offer.

But you smile and twist in your place a little, your face and neck heating as you reply,

“Yeah, Eddie. I think I’d like that…”

“Great! Uh, great.”

You both turn and start to amble out of the store, a lot closer than you were a few moments ago, arms almost brushing. You spot a slight pink tinge to his cheeks as he turns his head to face you again, and you return his smile as he says to you,

“Goddamn. Tommy Hagan, huh? I can’t wait to hear the rest of that story.”

Thanks so much for reading!

Editing to add THIS edit by @sofiiel, which is so gorgeous and also so appropriate for this story 🧡

As always, if you enjoyed please support and reward your creators with comments and reblogs 💗

I have a general taglist now, so let me know if you’d like to see more ramblings like this.

My Masterlist

Tags: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @curlyjoequinn @madaboutmunson

[wltsquareih]

It's been a long time coming but here's my interpretation of Smaug as a cat :3 the 3rd image is inspired by @hobbitunderthemountain ficlet which also gave me a push to finally draw this entire thing, highly recommend you check it out!

[ronearoundblindly]

You had me at "Steve is a shitty cook" lol

He really can't be good at everything; it wouldn't be fair!!

😂🤭

The grill of the century (according to him)

Title: The grill of the century (according to him).

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Steve Rogers & STRIKE Team.

Word count: 412 words. 

Square: E4 “Steve is a super shitty cook”.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Steve is a super shitty cook.

Major Tags: Angst, funny, death grill, burn food, the beef was killed twice.

Additional tags: My entry for @steverogersbingo Steve Rogers Bingo Round 4 (Card SB4004).

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish, so I wanna improve my writing skills in English. Please let me know if you notice any mistakes, and I will correct them.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

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If you like it, please vote, comment, give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @real-fbi @caplanbuckybarnes @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @azulatodoryuga @endlesstwanted @patzammit @kmc1989

Outside S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Virginia.

It was Saturday afternoon, and a makeshift industrial grill was burning in the center of the outdoor training camp, while members of the STRIKE team settled into folding chairs, wooden benches, and blankets spread out on the grass.

Brock had a beer in his hand and dark sunglasses perched on his forehead. Jack sat with his legs stretched out, eating nachos while discussing the latest football game with McKenna and Russo. Everyone was dressed in civilian clothes: black T-shirts, jeans, or old tactical pants, as if no one knew how to dress for a day off.

And in the middle of it all, as if he had something to prove, was Steve... standing in front of the grill wearing a red apron with a white star on it, metal tongs in one hand.

“Are you sure you know what you're doing, Rogers?” Brock asked, barely suppressing a laugh.

Steve raised an eyebrow without turning around.

“I know how to light a grill, Rumlow.”

“Is that what you did during World War II, Cap?” Jack interjected with a crooked smile. “Did you grill bratwurst for the Howling Commandos?”

Laughter. Steve shook his head, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“You know, I grew up in Brooklyn, not Texas. I didn't have many opportunities to barbecue.”

“What did you do there? Boil hot dogs and call it ‘patriotic barbecue’?” Russo teased, eliciting laughter.

Steve ignored the comments and turned the first batch of meat. The sizzling sounded loud, but a burning smell began to rise in the air.

“Cap...” McKenna said, wrinkling his nose. “Is that... smoke?”

Steve looked down and frowned. The meat, which had looked juicy just minutes before, now had blackened, almost charred edges.

“No... it can't be. I had it on medium heat...” Steve muttered, quickly turning the steak. But as he did so, part of the meat fell apart into a burnt layer that stuck to the grill. Jack leaned back, laughing.

“Noooo! You burned it! Rogers, you killed the beef twice!”

“Someone take away his S.H.I.E.L.D. and give him a cookbook, please,” added Rumlow, taking a sip of his beer. “Cap, you're an elite soldier, but as a cook... you're a complete disappointment.”

Steve looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Can you do better?”

Brock stepped forward, beer still in hand.

“I didn't try to grill it like it was an undercover mission.”

Laughter erupted. Russo put a hand to his chest. Rollins was almost doubled over with laughter.

“Oh, no! Captain America is a shitty cook!” Russo shouted between laughs. “Put it in the report; it's official!”

Steve tilted his head and handed the tongs to Brock.

“All right, Commander, show us what you know.”

Brock took the tongs with a smug smile.

“Watch and learn, walking star.”

As Rumlow began to grill with skill and agility, the others began to throw comments into the air.

“Cap, did you use your S.H.I.E.L.D. to block the smoke or to fan the flames?”

“At least he didn't burn the grass... yet.”

“Maybe it's part of his attack plan: to stun the enemy with charred meat.”

Steve shrugged and poured himself a non-alcoholic beer.

“Well, in the 1940s, food wasn't gourmet, okay? I'm used to military rations.”

“What did they say? “Serve and suffer!” McKenna joked.

Steve sat down next to Rollins, who offered him some guacamole.

“Don't worry, Cap. Nobody can be good at everything.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

“But seriously... you're a shitty cook, brother,” he added with a laugh.

Steve raised his beer in a toast.

“Cheers.”

[casdeans-pie]

"Uh? Cas? You're kinda glowing."

"Thank you, Dean. I think you look beautiful after sex too."

Dean choked. "No, I mean- you're actually glowing."

"Hm? Oh. I am." Cas gently removed his hand from its place against Dean's chest and examined his glowing palm, twisting it back and forth.

Dean lifted his own hand up and entwined their fingers together. Cas's skin gave off a soft blue light against his, that pulsed even brighter when Dean kissed the back of his hand. It felt warm. Fluttery almost.

"As soon as my blood goes back to my brain I'll think of something funny to say about afterglow," Dean mumbled sleepily, bringing their joined hands back to his chest and relaxing back into Cas's chest. "Heh. Afterglow."

[spicycinnabun]

stuff, things, and meatball

@steddiemicrofic ⋆ for prompt ‘stuff’ ⋆ wc: 483 ⋆ rated: g (this is a mild italian meatball, folks) ⋆ cw: none

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

The Munsons were having a yard sale. Almost everyone in the group had come by to help (Dustin was a particularly ruthless salesman).

Steve was doing the heavy lifting, bringing boxes out, while Wayne relaxed in his lawn chair outside, sipping a beer. Eddie had been ogling Steve shamelessly until he noticed something missing.

Steve caught him in his bedroom, frantically searching around. “What’re you doing?”

“Stuff, Steve.” Eddie cast him an irritable glance. “Things!”

Steve quirked a brow. “Care to elaborate further?”

“I can’t find my—did you happen to see a brown bear with red ears and paws?“

“Oh.” Steve frowned, scratching his jaw. “Yeah. With the white buttons? Mrs. Grisham bought it about an hour ago. Caught her daughter’s eye.”

At Eddie’s crestfallen face he failed to hide, Steve stepped closer. “Shit, I’m sorry, Eds.” His mouth downturned. “It was in your closet with some other old toys. I thought…”

“No, it’s fine,” Eddie interrupted, schooling his expression quickly. “It’s cool. Stupid of me to hang onto a dumb bear for so long, anyway, right? It should be with an actual child.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid. I’ve got sentimental things I hold onto, too.” Steve touched his arm, thumb caressing Eddie’s inner elbow and making Eddie’s brain screech to a halt. “You know what? I’ll go get it. I know where the Grishams live. I’ll be back soon.”

He left the trailer before Eddie could compute what had happened.

Eddie flailed. “Wha—wait, Steve—!“

He ran outside, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process, but Harrington was already in the Beemer, lifting a hand from the wheel to wave at Eddie.

ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ

“Please don’t tell me you stole Meatball from some poor kid’s sticky little claws,” was what Eddie said when Steve returned. Steve handed him the bear, and Eddie’s fingers squished soft, artificial fur. He resisted the urge to clutch it to his chest. “You should give him back.”

Steve smiled at him. “I didn’t steal Meatball. I sorta… made a trade.”

“A trade?” Eddie repeated, perplexed. “What did you trade?“

“I, uh, went to the mall and bought a new stuffed animal?” Steve shrugged. His cheeks were pink. “No biggie.”

Eddie made an incredulous noise. No biggie? That… had to be one of the nicest goddamn things anyone had ever done for him.

He threw his arms around Steve, nearly bowling him over. Eddie hid his face in Steve’s neck as his traitorous eyes threatened to burn. Meatball’s shiny plastic nose dug in between Steve’s shoulder blades. “I can’t believe you fucking did that, you motherfucking sweetheart,” Eddie muttered. “Why did you do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” It was Steve’s turn to sound confused. He returned the hug, arms settling comfortingly around Eddie. “It’s important to you, and you’re important to me.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Eddie said. He sniffled. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Steve squeezed him. “You’re welcome, Eddie bear.”

ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ❤︎‬

[hauntedhouseofhargrove]

hauntedhouseofhargrove | Fluffy July 2025 - Day 6

Happy Ending ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Billy Hargrove

Billy Hargrove x Female Reader

Genre(s): Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k+

Warnings: Neil being a pos, he and Billy fighting, some mild language, Billy being a sap/not knowing how to properly convey his feelings really

Prompt(s) @fluffyjuly: Love letters - "Come here and kiss me"

Read my other works here! | Join my taglist here!

A/N: I cried while writing this but idk if it's gonna have that effect on you guys 💔 this has got to be one of my favs so far tho! Threw in a little nickname that I often associate with Billy 🤭

Your heart ached at the fact that Neil really had it in him to put Billy out on his own. He’d tossed several of his belongings out onto the front lawn. Billy had done his very best not to put his hands on Neil in the entirety of their time together, but he couldn’t constrain himself that day, and rightfully so. You were right by his side, trying your best to stay out of it as he had ordered you to do so.

You naturally gravitated toward him as Neil landed a nasty one to his cheek, bruising Billy’s soft skin with the band that sat around his ring finger.

“Billy!”

Billy spat blood, not holding back as he gave one last good punch after bunching up Neil’s shirt in his hand, grunting “stay back” while doing so. You watched in horror as Neil went unconscious. You were never afraid of Billy, knowing what he was capable of after the many times he’d tussled with Steve and plenty of others. But this, this was something entirely different, and it held a different type of weight.

You knew Billy would be in trouble, considering he put his hands on Neil first, but it was by means of finally getting justice. All of those years he spent taking crap from Neil, sucking it up because he was trying his very best to not be like the man he was supposed to look up to, he was finally getting justice in this way, not allowing Neil to push him around like that anymore.

He stared down at Neil’s unconscious figure, angry tears pouring from his eyes.

“I’ll spit on your fucking grave,” he fumed, his chest huffing.

“Baby,” you muttered, carefully approaching him.

You placed a gentle hand on his back. He tensed but relaxed immediately upon snapping back to reality, realizing it was you. He shook his head, disappointed in his dad, but more disappointed in himself.

“Gotta get the rest of my stuff.”

He swallowed harshly, leaving Neil there as he made his way into the house. You copied his actions, tears in your eyes on behalf of Billy, starting to feel his anger as you looked down at Neil. You stood there alone, allowing the weight of it to simmer until you wanted to hurt him yourself.

“Your own son? Really?”

You wiped at the few tears that escaped, sniffling as you ran after Billy.

You paused, standing at the door, upon seeing that his room was trashed. It was bad enough as is that Neil hurled his stuff onto the lawn, but he made sure to make a mess of whatever Billy had remaining in his bedroom.

Billy was distraught, but he didn’t show it much. He moved hurriedly, throwing the belongings that were still intact into a garbage bag, deeming it easiest to carry around at the moment. He was frantically grabbing things, pacing around the room. If you weren’t careful enough, he could just about knock you over.

“Gonna start on your closet, babe,” you said softly, watching him with sympathy.

You did it subtly enough that he wouldn’t notice. He hated it when anyone spewed sympathy at him in any shape or form.

He acknowledged you, though, with a small “k.”

You grabbed a garbage bag, headed over to his closet. You weren’t throwing his things into the bag haphazardly; instead, you took your time, folding his clothing or laying them down with extra care. You were reaching up to the extra space above the clothing racks, pairing his shoes together as you put them into the bag. 

You had accidentally knocked over a blue box, its contents spreading across the grey carpet that sat in his closet. You gasped, hoping it was nothing too important. You hurried to scramble it all back into the box, your fingers lingering on the heart locket necklace that’d popped open.

It was a picture of little Billy on one side and his mother on the other. Billy was leaning up against a red Impala. He’d recalled that being one of his favorite memories with his mom; he had done excellently on a math exam after struggling for months on end. At a young age, Billy was infatuated with cars, so his mom decided to go on a trip to a lot and allow him to see the cars as a treat. It wasn’t a grand outing, but he was perfectly content, looking at one of his favorite things on earth with his favorite person at the time. They circled back to an ice cream parlor on their way back home.

Unfortunately, Neil had beaten them home and it was cutting close to Billy’s bedtime. He did what he does best, nailing both his wife and Billy for being “irresponsible”. Poor kid didn’t get many happy endings.

You closed the locket, the ruffle of Billy’s garbage bag snapping you out of it. You continued to mindlessly shuffle papers, hoping to get them into the box quickly enough. However, your eyes landed on a worn sheet of looseleaf, your name bleeding through in red ink. 

Eyebrows furrowing, you took the note into your hands and carefully undid its folding. You didn’t want to overwhelm him with more. You figured if it was anything bad, you’d ask him about it at a later time. 

Your eyes seemed to glitch as you watched multiple sheets fall, blue ink now littered across the ground. You didn’t want to automatically assume the worst, but you couldn’t help that your heart seemed to beat ten times faster. You began to read off the paper that once held the rest:

Y/N.

So, as far as letters go, love letters at that, I’ve never done this before. The most I’ve done is probably a half assed paper for English. I don’t know where this is going or how to write this but I figured it would be a nice addition to your anniversary gift ;) (if we make it, which I hope we do) I’m sorry. This is weird and, admittedly, going horribly already.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I love like love like you a lot. You know I’m no good with my words. I like you a lot, nonetheless. It’s weird. I might even say it’s scary. Cause you’re always in my head and it’s messing with my ability to act normal. I’ve changed a lot since meeting you. I think it’s a good change, though. I dunno.

I don’t know how to say this without sounding stupid, but being around you makes everything feel good way better. Everything is just amazing with you. I smile for no reason when I’m with you. I never do that. Ever. You’re important and to me, doll. And I would end the world if anything ever happened to you.

I’m addicted to you, and I can’t get enough. I might even be obsessed…your not-so-secret admirer. After you say something, it replays in my mind like a broken record. I actually want to remember our conversations. Even when I don’t have much to say, I still wanna be near you. That’s not something I’ve felt in this lifetime. Not once.

I know I’m nothing like the other guys who’ve tried to win you over. You deserve someone a million times better than me. I know none of this will probably ever get to you cause I’m too much of a pussy to actual show you my feelings like this. 

This isn’t a romantic letter. It’s not gonna woo you. But it’s real. This is how I feel about you. I care about you. I might even say I love you if this is how love feels – like I want to make you my wife, or like my stomach is raging with butterflies, or like I wanna kill anyone that dares to ever hurt you, or like I’m not as scared to show you what’s in my heart as I’ve been with others. I care about you, probably too much. And I hope that’s okay with you.

That’s the letter. If you made it this far, thank you. Thank you for batting an eye at this poor sucker. If there’s anything even slightly mutual, I’d love that. 

Yours truly,

B.H. (or Buh-Buh-Billy as you like to say)

P.S. I wrote this letter four different times, and it still didn’t come out perfect. I might just seem like a lunatic cause I feel like I’m really just talking to myself. Either way, I meant every single word, especially those that didn’t come out properly or those that were crossed out.

The note was dated just two days prior. You felt your chest blossoming. You couldn’t even process the tears that welled down your cheeks. You held the letter to your chest, firmly pressing it above your heart. You got up at last, standing in the doorway of the closet. You watched as Billy was still gathering his things, his demeanor more so annoyed now than fueled with raging anger as it had been previously.

“Billy,” you called out.

He ignored you.

“Billy.”

Ignored again.

“Buh-Buh-Billy.”

“What?”

His answer was sharp, but you knew not to think too much of it.

“Look at me.”

He paused what he was doing, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand as the other found his hip. He sighed.

“I have to get going. Now. Before a shithead trooper shows up and takes me straight to the slammer. I don’t have time fo-”

He finally locked eyes with you, instantly shedding his hard guy demeanor upon seeing your tear-stained cheeks and wet eyelashes. You felt the tears starting up again, looking up to the ceiling so they wouldn’t fall. It was no use.

“Just come here and kiss me,” you choked out.

He wasted no time, slinging an arm around your waist and bringing his free hand to your face. He kissed you harshly, concern scrawled across his face.

“Billy,” you giggled between your cries. “Kiss me. Kiss me, please! Kiss me like today’s the last day we’ve got on earth.”

He held you at a minimal distance, eyeing the letter as it sailed to the ground.

“I wasn’t snooping, baby. I promise. It fell out of a box and my curiosity got the best of me. I didn’t want to bombard you with an-”

He cut you off, arms finding their respective positions again before kissing you properly. His lips remained soft yet firm, his tongue gently finding its way into your mouth. You leaned further into each other, tongues entangling one another, mouths eager for each other. He pulled away, you landing one more peck to his plushy pink lips.

“I love you.”

That was the first time he’d said it. He didn’t hesitate either.

You smiled, your hands finding his face.“I love you, Billy. So much,” you paused, your eyes flickering between both of his. “I love you. I promise, we will make it out of this shitty place, and I promise, Billy, you will finally get your happy ending.”

[30somethingautisticteacher]

"How'd it go, baby?" Tommy asked as Buck walked in the door, despite already knowing by the defeated look on Buck's face.

"Failed it. Again," Buck said with a quiver in his voice.

"Oh sweetheart," Tommy said, scooping his husband up into a hug.

"Three times, Tommy. I've failed the Captain's exam three times," Buck choked out, his eyes welling with tears. "I ace the interview portion and the simulations, but I just freeze with the written exam. As soon as they tell me that I have 150 minutes to complete the exam, my whole body locks up. I know this stuff, Tommy. I know it by heart. Why can't I do it?" Buck said, his voice breaking on the last words.

Buck snuggled deeper into Tommy's shoulder. "It's always been like this too. I knew the material in school but I would end up with Cs in my classes because I would bomb the tests. My parents would get so frustrated. Everyone thought I was dumb."

"Evan, you are not dumb. You are so incredibly smart," Tommy said firmly, running a hand through Buck's hair.

"I don't think I'm dumb, but I just feel like a failure," Buck said, his voice muffled against Tommy's shirt. "Even when I got my certification for being a firefighter, I broke records on the physical stuff but barely squeaked by on the written exam. I was so relieved that I didn't have to take the written portion for recertification after my leg."

"How would you feel about requesting accommodations?" Tommy asked, his voice gentle.

"Accommodations for what?" Buck asked.

"For the test," Tommy replied simply.

"How would I even go about that?" Buck asked, lifting his head slightly.

"Well, the first thing we'd have to do is get you diagnosed with ADHD," Tommy said.

Buck groaned and buried his face back into Tommy's shoulder.

"I know, Ev, but it doesn't change anything. If anything, it opens up doors. I love your bouncy, sparkly brain. But tests like this aren't designed for it, and you deserve to be captain, baby," Tommy said, pressing a kiss to Buck's temple.

"Can I think about it?" Buck asked, his voice uncertain.

"Of course. Do your research. See what accommodations are available and if they might help you, and then we go from there," Tommy said, his eyes warm with understanding.

The next few months were a blur of appointments, assessments, and preparing to take an accommodated exam. When the day of his fourth attempt came, he was nervous but ready in a way he hadn't been before.

Tommy looked up from where he was doing some preflight checks on his helicopter to see his husband walking into the station. The bounce in Buck's step told him everything he needed to know.

"You passed?" Tommy asked, beaming.

"I passed!" Buck exclaimed, eyes bright with excitement. "Having that extended time and someone reading the questions to me was a game changer. Thank you so much, Tommy."

"For what?" Tommy said with a confused look on his face.

"For helping me help myself," Buck said, squeezing Tommy's hand.

"Anytime, Captain Kinard," Tommy said with pride in his voice.

"Oh, I like the sound of that," Buck said,

pupils darkening.

"Down boy. I still have 4 hours left on

this shift, but we'll celebrate at home," Tommy said with a wink.

"I'm counting on it," Buck said, kissing his husband and turning to leave, still basking in the glow of his accomplishment.

[1thesewordsaremyown1]

Inspired by the snippet in the promo of Buck in the hallway in 8x15, I present to you this ficlet.

Buck froze in his tracks, the words over the radio halting his momentum, leaving him stunned.

Robert Nash was dead.

Bobby. Dead.

In an instant, Buck felt his frozen body melt, his legs turning to jelly, and he fell to his knees. A pain deep in his gut rose up within him, a loud ringing in his ears deafening him. It took him a few moments before he registered the screams that were echoing through the hall and a few moments more before he realised they were coming from him.

He hadn't been fast enough. And now the man who had been more of a father to him that his own biological father was gone and the pain was immeasurable. How the hell was he supposed to go through life now without Bobby there to guide him?

Buck slumped against the wall, his body wracked with heaving sobs. He didn't hear the footsteps as they rushed towards where he lay slumped in the middle of the hallway. He didn't notice the pair of legs that stopped by his side, not until he felt the warm hand land gently on his shoulder.

Looking up, through a haze of tears, Buck saw Tommy's concerned face looking down on him. Tommy, who had been waiting back at the helicopter as Buck had raced inside to save his family. Who, judging by the grief filling his eyes, had heard the same call over the radio and immediately came looking for Buck.

Tommy knelt down in front of Buck, and Buck, without thought, immediately sought the comfort of the other man's arms. Tommy shifted his legs so they were on either side of Buck's body so that he could pull him closer, his arms holding Buck tightly as Buck's body shook with uncontrollable sobs.

Tommy didn't say a word. Instead, he rocked Buck back and forth, offering what support he could. Alone in the hallway, the pair had each other tightly as they mourned the loss of a man who had shaped their lives in different but equally impactful ways.

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Fluffbruary with turtely

fluffinity edition. 14-11-2024

(i wrote this yesterday i swear!)

prompts: cuddle - happy - spell

special thanks to @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk and @fluffbruary for reminding me to write 😩🙈

i am sitting here in the armchair. my cold feet covered by the body heat of redbeard, our dog. his - sherlock's - head lays on my chest. arms wrung around me. i feel his deep breaths through my jumper, on my skin. even after all this years, it tingles.

the fingers of my left hand are raking through his slowly thinning, grey but oh so luscious curls. my other hand - on his belly. it had grown a bit. he isn't quite as skinny as he used to be. you can barely see it. but i love the feeling of that tum underneath my palm.

the dying embers are shining weakly into the living room. putting everything in a spellbinding light. always loved that. love it now even more it seems. i smile about that thought.

sometimes i still can't comprehend how i got so lucky. how i found this man. how he died for me and then came back for me. how he raised my daughter with me.

rosie - she will be here. only a few weeks until christmas now. we'll be having dinner. she will give both of us terrible christmas sweaters. i'm looking forward to that look on sherlock's face after i convinced him to wear it. absolutely completely miserable but then those odd, gorgeous features breaking a smile.

and i will be as besotted as i have been since the beginning.

i press my lips to his forehead, close my eyes, breathe in his scent.

being old and happy. what a beautiful thing that is.

read "that stuff called fluff" (fluffbruary ficlets) on ao3!

(if you could show some love to this i would greatly appreciate it as i am in a massive writer's block and seeing people reblogging etc. might actually motivate me to write. thank you ✨) (i sound desperate, but- well, i am. ngl)

☕︎☕︎☕︎

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful @kabubsmagga @sunshineinyourmind @booksoversleep @startrekker2011 @justjayisfine0

[mercurial-chuckles]

A Tale of Timely Interventions

Part 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You were sent on a mission in the 40s. It was highly unusual and you might play a bigger role in Captain America's life than you can even remotely comprehend. You also had no clue that Steve Rogers feels strongly for you. In this journey, Tony and Steve dream share the past

Warnings: Depiction of War time nothing graphical, some curse words, slight angst, Inaccurate time travel science :D, slight pining trope. Fluff, eventual smut.

GIF credits to the creator. thank you :)

I'm a fairly new writer here! So, Reblogs would be great! Follows would be fantastic! Thank you! :)

Unedited. Will edit as soon as I can.

Note: Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work!

@steverogersbingo

This is a part of Steve Rogers Bingo Round 3

Prompt | A4: Dream Sharing

Check out my other works: Masterlist

Three Part series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The past conversations of Howard and the reader are in Italics for easy understanding.

Read Away!

****

Updating. Will post it back up soon :)

****

I hope you enjoyed it.

Check out my other works: Masterlist

If you wanna be added to my tag list, send me a message. :)

Lots of Love for all the support! <3 <3

Tag list: @nekoannie-chan @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @bitchy-bi-trash @theallknown213 @tripletstephaniescp

[caramelpenguin]

It's the summer, where sunlight slides in through the clouds like honey. It's hot and sweaty and a bit unbearable, heat clinging to surfaces, the air dense and lazy. Simon quietly sings as he wipes down the counter and cleans the coffee machine, his tune weaving into the quiet atmosphere of the café. Leah is on a well-deserved break, his manager is taking a call in the back room, and it's the fragile lull before the afternoon rush, where only a few people are currently scattered around on tables.

Very slowly, music has been seeping back into to his veins. Hillerska closing a few weeks ago and the beginning of a summer he's never going to forget is what Felice says was the solution all along. Away from a trapping environment and out in the open, where he can find music and rhythms everywhere - the whoosh of the winds, whistles of birds, muffled chattering inside and the padding of footsteps against the tiled floor...

"A mocha, please?"

Simon straightens up from beneath the counter, a grin breaking across his face before he even sees who it is. Three days—it’s only been three days since they last saw each other in person. Here he is, grinning like an idiot. Pathetic. Or maybe just in love.

"Of course. Coming right up!" He checks behind him, making sure his manager won't suddenly materialise. Then, with a glance to make sure the coast is clear, he reaches forward, catches the collar of Wille's shirt and pulls him forward for a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick, but it lingers, both of them smiling against each other’s lips before they break apart.

Wille leans casually against the counter, an elbow propped up, his eyes fixed on Simon as he hums and makes the drink. He has the most dopey expression on his face. He doesn't care. It feels a little bit like a dream.

Simon adds extra chocolate sprinkles because he can and because his manager isn't here and because he's in love. "Anything else I can get for you?"

Wille eyes him up and down.

"You can get me in an hour, when I finish," Simon rolls his eyes, fighting back a laugh.

Wille smiles, kissing the tip of his nose, voice soft as he says, "Deal." And saunters to a nearby table, back facing the café so that he can watch Simon while aimlessly scrolling on his phone.

[mmmichyyy]

40? for the prompt

#40. "am i your husband or your taxi service?"

the first time it happens, mickey doesn't think much of it.

can you pick me up after my shift? too tired to take the L

when mickey is near the station, he parks the van a block away. force of habit from when he and his brothers used to sneak up and collect from people who owed terry money. plus, he doesn't particularly want ian's coworkers to see their stolen ambulance, even though it's completely unrecognizable after debbie helped them revamp the entire thing and paint over it with the logo sandy designed.

here

i don't see you

i'm parked a block away

pick me up at the station

your legs don't work?

i'm tired :(

i drove the van

it's fine no one will be able to tell lol

mickey rolls his eyes and drops his phone in the cupholder. as he pulls up across the street from the station, he sees ian standing on the curb, chatting with someone wearing a matching EMT uniform, a shorter man with tan skin and curly hair.

mickey honks once, a bit impatient since he's hungry as fuck and there's a large pizza he ordered earlier waiting for them at their apartment. ian lifts his head and smiles. as he waves goodbye to his coworker and jogs over to the van, mickey doesn't miss the way the dude is gaping at mickey with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

the hell is this guy's problem?

"everything okay?" mickey asks, once ian buckles his seatbelt and reclines his seat.

"just tired." ian yawns. "had a long shift today."

"well," mickey puts the van in drive, reaching over the center console to ruffle ian's hair, promptly forgetting ian's weird coworker, "i already ordered a pizza so we can eat then turn in early."

ian smiles sleepily and interlaces his fingers with mickey's. "you're the best husband ever."

mickey shakes his head, biting back a smile. "sappy fucker."

*

after almost two weeks of ian asking to be picked up, mickey suspects something is up. not that he minds or anything, since he makes his own schedule nowadays. after the security business started turning a profit and ian went back to being an emt, he hired a couple of guys to drive the routes so he could work from home and catch up on admin work, freeing up a lot of time in his day to day.

but ian never used to mind the commute. he's the kind of long-legged freak who liked to take the scenic route and go on long runs in the morning, just for fun. absolutely deranged behaviour, in mickey's opinion. but lately, ian has been flashing his kicked-puppy eyes and asking to be chauffeured like a pampered prince and, well. mickey could never resist spending more time with his husband, so he hasn't said anything. not yet, anyway. god he's so whipped.

the excuses ian came up with, however, were more unbelievable as it went on, ranging from the train broke down (mickey knew for a fact it didn't), to spraining his elbow (though he had no problem throwing mickey on the bed later that night with his supposedly injured arm), to how it was going to rain later (it was sunny all day without a cloud in sight).

when mickey tried to call him out on his bullshit, ian either got down on his knees or flipped mickey over and fucked him senseless into the bed, promptly making mickey forget what the hell he was trying to say.

it's gotten to the point where ian stopped making excuses and simply asked mickey to come get him. which truthfully, mickey doesn't mind at all. but he just finds it odd how his beefy athletic husband had gotten so lazy.

"what's with you?" mickey finally asks one day, as ian climbs into the passenger seat.

ian blinks innocently. "what do you mean, dear husband of mine?"

mickey rolls his eyes. "am i your husband or your fuckin' taxi driver? 'cause i've been picking your ass up every day for the past two weeks when you have two perfectly functioning legs."

ian huffs, crossing his arms. "maybe i just want to spend more time with you."

"we live together," mickey points out flatly, "how much more time do you need?"

"i–"

a tap on the glass interrupts them, and mickey turns to see a woman with brown hair tied back in a ponytail, enthusiastically gesturing at him to roll down the window.

"the fuck?" mickey turns to ian, whose face has turned slightly pink. "did you forget something at the station?"

"ah, no." ian scratches his head sheepishly. "sue is just being... sue."

sue waves her hand again and mickey reluctantly lowers the window.

"mickey, this is sue, my supervisor, and sue, this is–"

"the elusive husband." sue grins. "i've heard a lot about you, mickey."

mickey raises his brow. "have you now."

"oh sure," she says, ignoring ian's frantic head shaking, "ian won't shut up about you, yapping on and on about mickey this and mickey that. we're all jealous at the station actually, everyone just complains about their partners while ian keeps gushing about how perfect and amazing his husband is. his words."

"huh." that explains a lot, actually, why there was always someone different waiting with ian every time he came to pick him up, and why they all stared at him like a circus freak. "well, i bet ian didn't tell you the time we stole an ambu–"

"okay," ian cuts in loudly, reaching over to turn the key in the ignition, "we're leaving. i'll see you tomorrow, sue."

"come to the company picnic next month," sue calls out. "it's a potluck and everyone is bringing their family. it'll be fun!"

"uh sure," mickey says, even though a social gathering with ian's nosy coworkers sounds like the least fun thing he's ever heard of. he looks over at ian, slumped in his seat, avoiding mickey's eyes. "I'll check my schedule."

once mickey drives around the corner, he playfully flicks his finger at ian's temple and ian rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

"you yap about me to your coworkers," mickey teases. "you're so fuckin' whipped."

"whatever," ian grumbles. "stupid sue calling me out."

"is that why you keep asking me to pick you up?" mickey asks, amused. "to parade me around like a little show dog?"

"well, eduardo blabbed to everyone he saw you, then everyone kept asking about you and wanted to see you in person, so..."

"hm." mickey reaches over and brushes his thumb over ian's palm. "what do you say about me?"

ian links their fingers together and sighs. "that you're attentive. funny. caring. protective. loyal. the ideal man."

mickey laughs. "you're really overselling me here, gallagher. did you forget i'm an ex-convict, pimp and drug dealer?"

ian waves him off and continues. "kind. loving. perfect in every single way, except when you leave your socks on the floor. oh and that you're hot as hell with an ass that won't quit."

"you talked about my ass?"

"okay, i didn't say the last part," ian amends, "your ass belongs to just me. but i meant everything else i said."

"you really are a sappy fucker."

"you love it."

"i'd love it even more if i didn't have to be your chauffeur every day, at least they get paid to drive back and forth."

"you come with me to the picnic, i'll pay you with favours in bed. i'll even throw in a big tip."

"a big tip, huh..."

[natalievoncatte]

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Kara looked at the chunk of oily black crystal sitting in front of her and said, “No, not really, but has that ever stopped me?”

Lena frowned. Kara’s levity was strained, brittle. There was a tension between them, like the invisible pressure formed by pressing the wrong end of one magnet to another. It made Lena more than nervous, she was scared. They had both seen so much since the cyborg returned to their world, carrying a dying copy of Lena, the same woman who was now waiting in a ship full of Lena dopplegangers, watching over the unmoving form of the love of her life, weighing the decisions she had to make.

“Something is bothering you, Kara. What is it?

Kara sighed.

Lena arched her brow. “It’s not as if you’re good at keeping secrets from me, now is it?”

Kara smiled wistfully. The big secret had almost destroyed them, nearly torn them apart. It had driven Lena down a dark path but Kara had never abandoned her.

“If it was you, if the only way to save me was what they wanted to do with that empty shell, would you do it?”

The major part of Lena, the part of her that wanted to believe in her own goodness as ardently as Kara believed in it, would immediately say no. It was grotesque and wrong, no different from, say, stealing an organ. It might even be murder.

Lena couldn’t say no.

“You know what’s been on my mind since… since that night?”

Kara meant the night that Lena had a few two-finger glasses of whiskey and flat out told Kara how she felt, the night when Kara, ever the knight in shining armor, refused to take advantage of Lena’s inebriation while making her reciprocal feelings very clear. The night that Lena felt those last pangs of dead and doubt flow away and she could finally sleep, a sleep so deep and so sound it was like the first real sleep of her life, sheltered in Kara’s loving embrace.

“Tell me,” said Lena.

“That I might be immortal and you’re not. That one day you’ll be gone and I won’t, and what that will mean for me.”

Lena swallowed hard, trying not to choke up.

“I have to find a way then, I guess, because I won’t let you live on without me. I can’t leave you.”

Kara blinked a few times and Lena saw she was crying.

“I don’t want my love to be the thing that destroys you,” Kara whispered, taking Lena in her arms. “I love you so much. I love you with every cell in my body, it’s etched into every fibre of my being like the sunlight of my new home. You’re more to me the a red sunset. You’re my everything.”

Lena choked back her own tears, burying herself in Kara’s powerful embrace.

They took a moment for themselves, alone in the chamber, and stretched it out while Lena helped Kara change. She unclasped her cape and folded in her arms, surprised by the weight of the dense alien fabric, and set it aside.

She then found the hidden zippers and catches and helped Kara strip until she was bare, her sudden vulnerability making Lena’s chest clench. For all her muscles and surprising number of scars, she looked soft, almost delicate. Lena found herself touching those scars, feeling the hurts that had been so terrible that not even Kara’s invulnerability had saved her from them. The worst was the long but healed gash that ran from above her hip to just under her breasts, a gift from Reign.

Lena then helped her slip into a simple, loose white dress.

Old Lena- she had rejected taking a number and called herself that- joined them a few minutes later.

“Are we ready?” She said.

“We’re ready,” said Lena. Kara nodded in assent.

The lab was set up with three beds, each with their head aligned to the pedestal that held the sample of Harun-El that Lena had synthesized just for this. Kara would lie on one, the cyborg on another, and hopefully, the third would be occupied by a new body in a few minutes.

“I’ll start bringing her in.”

The life support for the cyborg’s body came first, and then they brought her in, using the same stasis pod that had carried Old Lena here from the Fortress of Solitude. Once they disabled the stasis field they’d have minutes.

More Lenas piled into the room, most notably 938, who stood aside to merely watch, and 1610, who could hopefully guarantee that transference was possible.

Only Lena and Old Lena worked on wiring Kara up and preparing the bed for the cyborg.

Neither of them had spoken of it, but somehow they had mutually agreed that they didn’t fully trust 938 or the others that came with her.

It was time. Lena rushed to help Old Lena move the broken body of the cyborg, with Diana stepping in for the literal heavy lifting. Lena could feel her brow burning with sweat as they worked.

Finally, they were wired up and that extra bed was waiting.

“It’s time,” said Lena.

Old Lena nodded and threw the switch.

Power and alien radiation cascaded through the dark crystal and Kara arched on the bed, the cyborg matching her movements with mechanical whirring sounds and the grinding of damaged joints.

“Kara?” Lena said. “Are you alright?”

Kara answered her by screaming. Her entire body arched, heels and shoulders lifting her up, and she screamed a wordless cry of agony as the her skin paled and black veins thickened down her limbs, swelled under the skin of her face.

“Oh God,” said Old Lena. “We can’t do this! Shut it off!”

“NO!” Kara shrieked, “I can take it! I can take it!”

“Look,” 938 said, “Look!”

Something was happening on the third bed. A circulatory system was weaving itself through the air, black veins sliding through invisible flesh. Astonished, Lena watched a brain grow itself from thin air as a brilliant purple energy formed an aura around it. A skeletal structure soon followed.

1610 made strange gestures and her hands took on a strange glow as she concentrated on something Lena couldn’t see.

Kara was grinding her teeth. “I can feel her, I can hear her thoughts, it’s like when I touched Red Daughter.

A full on nude Kara lay on the third bed now. Her chest slowly began to rise and fall and her eyes twitched beneath their lids, as if she were breathing. Her mouth formed silent words.

The cyborg went totally limp, whatever left of the will and energy that kept her alive fading as her head tilted to one side and her form went slack, her remaining eye gone glassy and lifeless.

Finally, Old Lena broke the circuit and the machine powered down. The room was utterly silent except for Kara’s soft, pained whimpers and the steady breathing of an immaculate copy of her lying on the bed. Old Lena rushed to cover her, sweeping a blanket over her to her chin.

Kara slowly rolled off the bed, leaning on Lena. Alex and Diana rushed in, crowding in to support her.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” she panted. “I’m okay, it just stung like hell.”

Lena felt a wave of relief followed by a sudden terror. What if it hadn’t worked? What if there was simply an empty shell lying there on the bed and the cyborg, after everything she’d experienced, after all that suffering as she combed the multiverse for her love, as just… gone? Over? Nothing left but a few chunks held together by old wires and broken bumps?

“I want everyone else out,” Lena said. “Kara stays. Everyone else goes.”

“You heard her,” Alex piped up.

It was Diana that herded them all out. 938 was the last to go, tears hot on her cheeks.

The clone was not moving, just breathing.

“Please,” Old Lena murmured between sobs. “Please don’t leave. Not when we’re so close. I can’t do this aga-“

She went silent, then looked up.

“She squeezed my hand.”

Slowly, the clone’s eyes fluttered open.

“Where am I? Lena?”

“I’m here, baby.”

Kara grabbed Lena’s hand and their eyes briefly met.

“I couldn’t see,” the clone whispered. “I was falling, falling, I could hear you but you were always slipping away but now… great Rao, I can feel. I can feel.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes. The pair looked at one another and Old Lena pulled her into an embrace, the clone lunging into her arms. Moments later they were kissing each other relentlessly.

“Let’s give them some space,” said Lena.

Neither seemed to hear them, or even recall that they were there. As they hurried out of the room, Old Lena was pressing the clone back onto the bed.

Lena stepped out into the warm air of a Themysciran hotel evening and took a deep breath, the sweetness filling her lungs.

“I feel like someone dropped a prison asteroid on me,” Kara said, wryly.

“You smell like burnt rubber, too,” said Alex. “You need a bath.”

938 stormed up to them. “Did it work? Did it work? Did it bring her back?”

“Yes,” said Lena. “It worked.”

938 looked frantic, almost manic. “Do you think you could do it again?”

Lena felt a pang of unease.

“It’s too much strain on Kara. I won’t let her risk it.”

938 swallowed hard. “Give me the formula. Or just a sample. Anything. Please.”

Lena looked at Kara.

938 grabbed her shoulders. “We could save so many Karas with this. We could help them. So many that wouldn’t need to die.”

“The Harun-El is dangerous,” said Lena. “It has almost magical powers. Honestly, after I saw you and your group being so nonchalant about mindwiping a Kara variant, I’m not sure I can trust you with it.”

938’s face fell.

“You don’t understand,” she pleaded. “I can’t watch any more of them die. Every time it happens it’s like I’m watching my Kara fall all over again. I need to help them. Please.”

The doors opened behind Lena and she turned. The clone, once the cyborg, strode out of the temple in bare feet and a plain white gown, her Lena walking proudly beside her.

Old Lena looked down from the apex of the marble steps.

“I’m older than most of you,” she said, her voice carrying over them all. “I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. I escaped the Phantom Zone myself and tumbled through more worlds than I can count, looking for my Zhao, trying to find her before she suffered the consequences of my actions. The woman I loved was a rotting corpse kept alive by science created to kill her, because I couldn’t let her go.”

938 scowled, her voice strained. “It’s not fair for you to lecture us. You got yours back. You got yours back. I’ll never see mine again, except I do, every time I close my fucking eyes I see her falling and falling and it’s my fault! I killed her! I KILLED HER!”

938 sagged to her knees, burying her face in her hands.

“If I’d just jumped after her instead of using her webs… if I hadn’t been so focused on beating my brother… I lost everything.”

Diana, who had been silent the entire time, walked over and towered above 938.

“Lena,” she said. “Look at me.”

She looked up.

“It’s not your fault.”

“But I didn’t catch her.”

“Did you throw her off the bridge?”

“No, but it was my fault she was there, any way you slice it. He killed her to hurt me.”

Diana knelt.

“You are not responsible for her death.”

“You don’t understand,” 938 said. “With great power must also come great responsibility.”

Resting a meaty hand on her shoulder, Diana said, “Perhaps, but you are not a god. You are not responsible for everything.”

Old Lena and her Kara strode down the temple steps and joined Lena and Kara.

“Fine,” 938 finally said. “I can’t make you give it to me and I’m not going to fight any of you. We’ll go, but take this.”

She offered Lena a small device, a copy of the one she wore on her wrist. Lena tentatively took it.

“You can use that to call us if you need us.”

Without another word, she turned and fell in with the others, boarding their ship. When she reached the top of the ramp, she stopped and took a long look at both Karas before disappearing inside.

The ship lifted silently into the air and then winked out of existence with a blast of air rushing in to fill the vacuum.

“We should start looking for a way home, as well,” said Old Lena.

Lena turned to her.

“Don’t.”

Old Lena looked her in the eye.

“Don’t do that to yourselves,” said Lena. She turned to the clone. “Especially you. Whatever debt you think you owe, Kara, whatever guilt you have from being the last survivor of your home world, you’ve paid it. You’ve suffered so much, and your kindness has meant so much to me. Stay here.”

“This world already has a Supergirl.”

“Exactly,” said Kara. “That’s why you should stay. I can handle the cape stuff. You can just rest.”

“You can remain here,” said Diana, rising to join them. “Remain here on this island, beyond the reach of man’s world.”

Old Lena and the clone looked at each other.

“I want to stay,” said Old Lena.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” said the clone. “I just… if you really need me, you’ll call, right? You’ll ask me for help.”

Lena looked at her Kara, then at old Lena.

“No. I don’t think we will.”

“Even the mightiest warrior dreams of laying down sword and spear,” said Diana. “Rest.”

“Yes, Kara rest. We’ll be taking your new body for a test drive soon enough.”

The clone blushed beet red. “Ah. Yes. I see. May I speak with Lena? Alone?”

“Come on, Kara,” said Alex. “Give them some space.”

The others left. Lena was alone with the clone, the cyborg, whatever she was now, the breeze tugging gently at their clothes.

“Am I really her?” said the clone.

“What?” said Lena.

“I can’t help but wonder. I remember Lex running me through with the harpoon. I remember fading out, then waking up with the machinery in my body and a sobbing Lena greeting me full of grief and joy. Then it happened again. How many times can I be remade before I’m not me anymore? What if-“

“Kara,” Lena interrupted. “Do you feel the breeze on your skin? Is that real? Is your love for her real?”

“Yes.”

“Then so are you. We’re on Paradise Island and the love of your life is waiting for you. Go get her.”

The clone smiled. “I’m going to. You go get yours.”

“I will,” said Lena.

She did.