#so here’s a ficlet

[ikiprian]

Clark is taking Kon and Jon out for a classic, super-style bonding flight. Just a quick jaunt around the US and back!

They don’t get far. Somewhere in Illinois airpace, they run across another family.

The three (a hulking man, a snarky teenage boy, and a cackling youngest girl, each a grayscale blur in the blue, blue sky) throw neon-lit beams of energy at one another, quips and insults flying almost as fast as they do. It looks like training. It looks like fun!

The boy of them looks like a younger version of the man. Exactly like, even. Clark is familiar with clones.

The youngest, a girl, looks like both of them, but not quite. Perhaps she will, age sharpening her childish features, but it’s hard to say. More likely, she’s the man’s daughter.

Interested, Clark introduces himself to Dan. He seems to be a hero in his own right, even if Superman’s yet to see him in action. And it’s not often Clark sees a family so like his own!

[chronicowboy]

Buck tucks them away in a corner when the mingling begins. They're stood far too close to be decent, Buck pressed up against the hard lines of his date with little care for anything besides being close, close, close. But in his defence, Tommy had taken his turnout coat off somewhere along the way which means he's stood there in a too-tight LAFD tee straining against his biceps and those suspenders Buck has always found more than a little maddening. So, really, it's only right to tuck his hands beneath one of the straps to pull Tommy even closer. And Tommy goes easily, smiling wide enough that it brightens his whole face as he presses Buck a little more firmly into the wall at his back.

"That was good. That was really good, right?" Buck breathes, his own smile making his cheeks ache.

He's horny, yeah, his boyfriend is incredibly hot. And, Jesus, the noise he'd made in the lobby—Buck can't wait to wring more of those noises from him. Mostly, Tommy just looks so stunningly happy to be there with him. So, yeah, he's a little amped up. But he's mostly just giddy. No, happy. He's just happy. Because everyone he loves knows who he is, knows who he's with. And he's just really fucking happy.

"How do you think they knew?" Buck asks then, still a little breathless just from Tommy's closeness, from the way he ducks just a little so their noses brush like they're in their own little bubble. "Like they all just seemed to know. I didn't even get to introduce you as my date." Tommy's eyes do something then, the crinkles at the corners smoothing out as they melt into something so fond Buck's stomach somersaults with it. "I mean, Hen I get. Her gaydar is killer. Like astounding. But Chimney?" Buck's eyebrows furrow, but it couldn't be called a frown for the smile still tugging at his lips. "Do you think he just saw how happy I was—"

"Evan," Tommy says softly. Buck snaps his mouth shut at the look on Tommy's face, all indulgence, downright smitten, if Buck had to take a guess it's probably the same look reflected on his own face.

Tommy reaches up to cup his face, swiping gentle, reverent thumbs over Buck's stubbled cheeks, smile twitching with bitten-back amusement. He pulls his hands away then, freshly cleaned palms coming away sooty.

"Oh," Buck murmurs, face flooding with heat. So, that's how they knew. Makes sense.

"I'm sure they saw how happy you were too." Tommy nudges their noses together again, a gentle little nuzzle that makes Buck's body fizz from head to toes, but there's something hesitant to it that has his eyes flickering back and forth between Tommy's. "You're happy, yeah?"

"Yeah." Buck nods just to feel their noses brush again. "Really, really unbelievably happy, Tommy."

And if Tommy's smile had been beautiful before, this one is radiant as the fucking sun. Buck almost wants to shield his eyes from it, except he doesn't. Not at all. He wants to map every inch of it and remember it forever.

"Good," Tommy breathes out. "Good, that's really good." One of his big hands finds Buck's hip, settles there and squeezes just tight enough to make Buck fizz again. "I'm happy too."

Oh.

Oh.

That's nice. That's really fucking nice.

They have to get out of this very crowded hallway immediately.

Buck lets his smile shift into a smirk and sways forward into Tommy's space. He doesn't look at Tommy's eyes as he does it, zeroed in on those lips that Buck could happily spend the rest of his life getting to know inside and out.

"Hm," Buck hums, pushing far enough forward that Tommy stumbles back a step. "We should probably go and get cleaned up, huh?" He extracts himself from Tommy's arms with only the slightest bit of difficulty, leaving one hand wrapped around his suspenders to drag Tommy along with a raised eyebrow.

Buck isn't entirely sure, but he think there's a little bit of pink underneath the soot on Tommy's face. It makes him even happier.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

What if instead of threatening to take Ford's eyes, Bill just took Fiddleford's?

Tate still remembered the night his father's sight was taken from him.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

He felt the storm coming even before the first lightning struck. From the very moment he opened his eyes that morning until the very moment he lay back down to bed, he could feel a vicious tension brewing in the otherwise serene household.

Storms were very uncommon at Tate's house, and on the rare occasions they did arrive, they never stayed for long.

Yet, after a quiet breakfast full of anxious, unmet glances and clattering cutlery that rang far too loudly in the silence of the table, he knew that this storm was going to be unlike any other storm he'd witnessed before.

A prickling, disquieting static seemed to have made itself at home underneath his skin, that day. It had made every hair on his body stand on end, and an odd stinging sensation to dance across his spine and tongue; an uncomfortable urge to duck and take cover low on the ground nearly overwhelming his every sense. It was like waiting for the shattering thunderclap to sound after the sky turned white with a blinding flash of light. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation was unbearable.

His mother and father had acted as though nothing was wrong; as though they didn't feel the looming presence of the darkening clouds growing like a murky gray forest on the ceiling.

He hadn't been able to fathom at the time how adults could seem so all-knowing, and yet simultaneously be so utterly clueless about the very obvious happenings that surrounded them. Now, though, he just found it strange how adults often tend to assume children don't feel the stifling weight that they hung around themselves; as if children didn't breathe the same bitter choked air as their parents did. It wasn't even as though they did a very good job at pretending; his parents always were terrible liars.

When the lightning finally struck, it set the house ablaze.

He heard the thunder from his room, and felt the crackling heat crawl up the stairs and seep through the gap beneath his door. He'd laid in his bed, hand clasped nervously across his chest and looking up at his room's cloudy, weeping ceiling as a cacophonic explosion of noises came bursting from the living room downstairs. The fight had erupted with such unprecedented force that in Tate's young mind, he'd felt genuine fear of the house collapsing atop them all from the sheer force of the yelling.

The smell of burnt tongues gently wafted through the air, and Tate briefly wondered if it hurt his parents when they scorched their mouths with such scalding words just as much as it hurt for him to hear it.

It was a big fight; a terrible, big fight; so loud, and so very angry, and helpless, and desperate, and betrayed, and sad.

The back and forth screeching seemed endless, and eventually the screaming words began to muddle and merge into one another until they hardly even sounded human anymore. Suddenly there were animals wailing in the living room downstairs, and Tate could do nothing but listen helplessly and grip his interlocked fingers tighter; hoping that if he stayed still enough, then the growling beasts that were shattering plates downstairs wouldn't come upstairs.

But then,

then,

something changed.

The shift was all too sudden; too abrupt; too quick even for the usually sharp witted child to catch on, and before he knew it, the screams of anger suddenly shifted into one of pure, unadulterated horror.

"Fiddleford, your eyes- good lord, your eyes! Let me look at them!" "Don't touch me! I- I must call Stanford, he's done something to me. Him and that demon, they've cursed me." "For Heaven's sake! Please, forget about that damned Stanford of yours for one moment and listen to yourself! My husband's gone mad, mad!"

And suddenly his parents were human again.

Tate was restless in his bed as his heart seemed to beat bruises against his ribs, his sweaty fingers digging crescent shaped grooves into his skin as fear enclosed its frigid claws around his throat in a vice-like grip. He couldn't breathe.

The storm was over, and it should have reassured him, and yet he was anything but.

Curiosity and fear had been what forced him to kick the sheets off himself and creep his way down the rickety wooden steps. He had to know what happened, he had to know what damage the storm had caused, he had to know.

His steps were far from quiet, and the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet hardly did him any favors, but no one answered the calls of the squeaking wood. No one came peeking out from the living room to stop the obviously sneaking presence that was tip toeing through the halls; No one called out to check on their little child; all was silent, and calm, except for his mother's soft sobbing coming from the kitchen.

When Tate eventually found his father, he saw

devastation.

The storm had been merciless. It had left nothing behind but a shuddering husk of a man. His father was shaking like a leaf, shoulders tense and back hunched over as though bowed by an incredible burden. The telephone receiver was held in his hand like a lifeline; as if it was the only thing in the world that was keeping him tethered to sanity, and somehow, Tate didn't doubt that it was.

Curled up on the floor in the dark, muttering and trembling, he dared say his father looked... small.

It almost felt surreal to see his father in such a state, like witnessing a God collapse, or a star's light dim to nothingness. His father had always been a solid, permanent pillar sho seemed able to hold up the whole world on his shoulders, and still stand tall and proud despite the weight.

And yet, the crumbling remains of a once impermeable monolith now lay scattered across the hallway floor and splattered across the walls.

The sight had scared him.

At the time, Tate hadn't known what had happened. Even to this day, he still wasn't too sure he understood what exactly had taken place in that living room for his father to have so sudddenly gone from seeing to blind in the matter of seconds.

His mother had tried, in vain, to explain it to him later, to try and make him understand when he was eventually old enough to hear the gruesome tale; but still, he struggled to fully wrap his head around it.

"It was as though his eyes just sunk into his skull," his mother had recounted to him with a haunted look in her eyes. "They suddenly just vanished into the empty sockets of his face, like someone pulled them out from inside his head. There was no blood, no resistance, no tearing. It was as if his eyes were simply plucked out of sight by some invisible hand."

There had been blood on the walls when he had found father back then, a long trail of gorey wet red smeared all across the lovely yellow wallpaper. He realized only now, recalling the memory, that the blood back then had not been from his father's eyes, but from the deep gouges he had dug into his face with his nails, his searching fingers desperately looking for eyes that weren't there beneath his empty eyelids.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

Tate had never heard his father's voice sound so raw, so afraid. It was so unlike the familiar comforting drawl he'd grown to love and recognize, it almost sounded alien, coming from his father.

"I can't see, Stanford, I can't- my eyes, they're gone. Why are they gone? What have you done?" "Answer me, damnit, what have you done?"

His father never got his answer, because whoever was on the other side of the line soon hung up, and his father was suddenly left blind and alone.

[woof-verine]

guys I’m sorry I know everyone loves grumpy Wolverine (and I do too) but after he and Wade get together I think he is THE biggest user of pet names ever. like Logan is a flirt (see x1 and x2) and he’s possessive as all hell (see his animal disposition) and do NOT think I forgot about him calling Mariko ‘princess’ in The Wolverine, so..

you can’t tell me that he isn’t calling Wade ‘princess’ and ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ all the way to kingdom come, especially when he finds out how flustered it actually makes Wade when Logan flirts back.

like…. (accidentally wrote a ficlet below, good LORD that’s a lot of yapping for one post)

“Back from the grocery store, honey badger! Picked up those doggy diapers for our disgusting little cuntchkin that you asked me to get. Still don’t know why you said no to me just training her to pee on the neighbor’s doormat, though.”

There’s a yapping at his feet, and Wade sets the grocery bags on the counter, then leans down to rub the scabby head of the aforementioned cuntchkin. Logan is in the kitchen frying up something (smells like bacon? Wade doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but it really, really smells like bacon).

Logan takes the pan off of the stove — it is bacon, and Wade’s never been more excited in his life, not even when Gossip Girl announced their short lived 2021 reboot that immediately flopped — and wanders over to Wade, putting his hands on Wade’s hips to give him a kiss.

Wade doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. Some days, he can’t even believe he’s alive at all, much less that he’s alive in a world where he’s dating the god damn Wolverine.

“Thanks, princess,” Logan rumbles against his temple, arms wrapping further around Wade’s waist, keeping him there.

Wade does his best impression of a large, bald fish that just got pulled out of water and thrust onto dry land. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Sorry, what was that?” he asks eventually.

“Thanks?” Logan says, taking a step back, confused.

“No, the other thing.”

“…Princess?” Logan tries.

“Yeah. What’s that about?”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“No! No,” Wade says, backpedaling. He loves it, he just… he just… he doesn’t know what he thought. The whole pet names thing had always been his schtick, never Logan’s. Wade becomes aware of how hot his face is, of the flush that must be creeping up over his scarred cheeks.

“Ohhh,” Logan purrs, nice and low, stepping forward again to crowd Wade against the counter. Wade’s face heats even more. “You like it, princess?”

Wade swallows. This man is going to be the death of him.

[stevebabey]

As Steve had found, sleeping beside Eddie is perhaps the most fantastic nightmare-repellant out there.

It’s why it’s so surprising when Steve lurches out of his sleep, sudden and unexpected. He startles a bit, confusion muddling in his brain as it braces for the familiar wash of terror… that never comes.

Instead of feeling doused in cold water, gasping and aghast, there’s a grogginess moving through his veins— something else, besides a nightmare, has woken him up.

It takes him another second to realise it’s Eddie’s hand. Eddie’s hand on his face.

“Wuh?” Steve rasps out.

He blinks slowly, the ceiling bleeding into his field of vision. It’s still dark out, indicated by the faint amber glow of streetlights spilling through the slit in the curtains. As sleep trickles out of his system, confusion takes it place — what is Eddie’s hand doing on his face?

As if the thought summons the action, Eddie’s hand on his face shifts, splaying across his cheek with a soft slap. He pats Steve’s cheek once, twice.

“Gone skip to town, baby.” Eddie says loudly.

What? Steve feels his face screw up, brows drawn together as he tries to make sense what Eddie’s just said. Gone to what? He pushes the hand off his face and lifts his head, peering across the darkness to the other side of the bed.

“What?”

“The river rapids told ‘em.” Eddie says, making no sense.

Steve squints and, wait, holy shit, is Eddie still asleep? A grin sneaks onto his face and just to be sure, he leans across and waves his hand an inch above Eddie’s nose. Nothing, not even a twitch. Holy shit.

“Told them what?” Steve asks, shifting up on one elbow to see if Eddie will respond.

“Where to go.” Eddie says, matter-of-factly, his eyebrows raising and falling as he says.

Steve snorts, his head ducking forward to smother it, even though Eddie seems far from waking. In fact, he snuffles a bit and turns his head towards Steve, nosing into the pillow. Steve can see his feet wiggling beneath the covers.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Mmf,” Eddie mumbles into the pillow. “Muffin man.”

“The muffin man?”

“What’s it to ya?”

Steve guffaws at the sudden Cockney accent that’s taken over Eddie’s voice. It makes him laugh so much that, incidentally, it’s loud enough to wake the other up. Steve’s pressing his face into his pillow, silent laughter shaking his frame, when Eddie’s bleary “…Steve?” reaches his ears.

He can’t stop laughing, a funny sounding squawk coming out his throat the moment he tries to explain. Eddie takes it the wrong way, a hand on Steve’s shoulder in a moment, that soft hushing voice dipped in sleep. “Steve? Baby? Was it another one?”

Steve rolls his face out so Eddie can see his stupid smile, can hear his laughter escaping out into the quiet night. He sees Eddie freeze as realisation moves slowly through him.

“You’re… laughing?”

It’s said with a breath of relief and Eddie’s entire body relaxes a bit. He swipes his hand up Steve’s shoulder, thumbing gently at his neck. “What? What’s s’funny?”

“You—” Steve manages to wheeze out one word. “—Sleeptalking.”

The two words are instantaneous, Eddie’s entire frame flopping down back onto the bed, bursting into his own sleepy giggles. Apparently, this is not the first time someone’s had this conversation with him.

“You fucking slept-talked, man.” Steve continues, his laughter finally beginning to die down. He’s still grinning, especially at the mirrored mutual, but slightly embarrassed, joy on Eddie’s face.

“It only happens sometimes,” Eddie admits bashfully. He grins across the pillow at Steve, wiping at one of his eyes tiredly. “When I sleep real deep.”

He lets out a deep yawn as if to prove it and Steve can’t help but yawn too. Damn, he was having a really good sleep— still, he can’t be mad at being woken for this.

“What exactly I’d say?”

“Ah, just,” Steve considers the truth and then discards it for a lie. “Talkin’ about how much you love my ass.”

Eddie’s cheeks turn red enough that it can be seen even in the dim light of the nighttime. He groans and buries his face in the pillow for a moment, before digging it back out. He darts across the sheets, pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s shoulder.

“Well, it’s true.” He says, before turning over. His voice is a little muffled with his face turned away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, if I get back to sleep quick enough, I’ll have the same dream.”

Steve’s sure he’s got that dopey smile on his face that labels him positively whipped. He snuggles closer anyways, hand crawling over the dip in Eddie’s waist to tuck in, his body pressing up flush behind Eddie’s, a pair of perfect spoons.

“I’ll let you get back to that then, baby.” Steve hums, planting his own kiss on Eddie’s shoulder. Sleep claims them both, Eddie first and Steve… much later. But, well, Steve figures he’s lost sleep over a lot of things worse than this.

—

saw sleeptalking (and walking) eddie in this piece by @dwobbitfromtheshire and i literally. i was thinking bout sleeptalking eddie all day like headcanon freaking accepted— that boy talks stupid shit in his sleep 🫶 hope it’s ok to tag u! i wanted to give u credit

[unclewaynemunson]

Pt2 to this post

'Is something wrong?' Nancy asks, not long after the two of them have taken their familiar spots on the hood of Steve's car. They're basking in what might be the last warm sunlight of the year, looking out over the quarry, at a safe distance from the edge.

It's become a tradition the two of them share, ever since they reconnected back in March. It calms them both, to just sit here and take in the view, no one around but each other. Nancy is one of the few people Steve can share a comfortable silence with: sometimes they sit here quietly for what feels like hours, side by side, listening to music or to nothing but the birds singing around them. But they also have their best conversations here: it's the place where Nancy entrusted him she wanted to break up with Jonathan; it's the place where they talked about their shared past and decided they would always love each other as friends; it's the place where they finally talked about Barbara in a way they couldn't when they were younger. It's where Nancy talked about the ghosts still haunting her and Steve talked about how lonely he sometimes felt.

Steve huffs. 'How did you guess?'

'When you frown, you always do it with your whole face,' Nancy notes. 'So it's hard to miss, really.'

Steve glances at her side profile. There's a serenity to her features that's still relatively new. It means she's healing, slowly learning how to be happy again. It means she stopped waiting for the end of the world and started believing in a real future again. It makes Steve proud of how far they both have come.

'I had a fight with Eddie,' he confesses. 'And with Dustin, I guess.'

'What happened?'

He sighs. 'It's complicated.'

'Wanna tell me about it?'

The look in her eyes is kind and inviting. Steve hesitates. He wants to, but he doesn't know if he can. It's a risk. It's scary.

But he can't imagine Nancy Wheeler ever being careless with his secrets. He can't imagine her judging him, can't imagine her being as small-minded as most people in this town.

He was planning on telling her anyway, because things had been going so well with Eddie lately and – no, he shouldn't think about that right now. But maybe it would actually be nice to talk about it with Nancy.

'So, um...' His throat feels tight and his hands are sweaty. 'I recently discovered some things about myself. I-' The words get stuck somewhere on the way to his mouth, and he clears his throat.

Nancy doesn't push, but only gives him an encouraging nod, waiting for him to find his voice again.

'I found out I like boys,' he finally manages to confess. 'And I need you to know that – that that doesn't mean that what I felt for you wasn't real. It was. I loved you, and now I fell in love with a boy. And-'

'Steve.' Nancy's hand suddenly covers his, causing him to finally jerk his head away from the view over the quarry, to focus on her face again instead.

Her eyes are wide, and she squeezes his hand.

'You don't have to explain yourself to me,' she tells him. 'We're good. But thank you for telling me. For trusting me with this.'

Steve heaves out a relieved sigh, and Nancy smiles; it's that genuine kind of smile which reveals all kinds of dimples and soft lines across her face.

'We might be more similar than you thought,' she tells him, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks.

'Really?' Her words make his breath catch in his throat. He squints at her, trying to see her in this new light. 'Are you saying what I think you're saying?'

She shrugs. 'I don't know. I'm not sure yet,' she admits. 'Still figuring things out.'

'Take your time, there's no rush,' he tells her. 'But...' He bumps his shoulder against hers. 'When you're done figuring it out, talk to me, okay?'

She nods. 'Okay.'

For a while, it's quiet between the two of them. Some kind of raptor circles high above them in the sky. They both follow it with their eyes until it disappears among the tree tops west of the quarry.

'Is it Eddie?'

Steve blinks dumbly a couple of times.

'Wha- what?'

'The guy you were talking about. The one you fell in love with. It's Eddie, isn't it?'

'Jesus, Wheeler, what kind of sorceress are you?' Steve exclaims.

Nancy laughs again. 'You're not being as subtle as you think,' she tells him. 'The two of you have been hooking up for a while now, haven't you?'

Steve huffs dramatically. 'This is unfair. You know everything; I can't even tell you my own secrets anymore!'

'So what happened?' Nancy asks. 'You said you had a fight with him?'

'It's fucking stupid,' he sighs. 'Dustin was getting way too excited about the fact that I was gonna be hanging out with you, so I told him I was seeing someone. Next thing I knew, he was telling Eddie all about how I was seeing a girl.' He waves his hands around to make annoyed air quotations. 'I wanted to tell Eddie it was a misunderstanding, but Dustin was there, so I couldn't out us just like that, and he looked so betrayed and heartbroken... He didn't wanna listen to me.'

Steve sighs; he still can't manage to forget that look in Eddie's eyes when Dustin delivered the big news. 'I wish I would've talked about what I felt for him earlier. I should've been honest when I had the chance, y'know. But I was afraid he wouldn't wanna label what we had, that he wouldn't feel the same way – and now we're in this whole mess. God, he must hate me right now, Nance.'

To his surprise, Nancy gives him an unexpected slap against his arm.

'Ouch, what the hell was that for?!'

'What are you even doing here with me, Steve? You should've gone after him, tell him how you feel!'

'I tried, obviously, but he didn't wanna listen to me!'

'So make him listen! You're in love with him, he obviously feels the same way about you, and you let him leave to wallow in a broken heart he doesn't even need to have!' She rolls her eyes and slides off the car, adding something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like an exasperated 'Boys!' before she pulls Steve off the car as well. 'C'mon, time to get your ass over to the trailer park. Right. Now,' she says through gritted teeth. And, well, Steve knows better than to argue with a determined - and truthfully quite terrifying - Nancy Wheeler.

Read the last part here Taglist: @withacapitalp @ultimatedreamer104 @irregular-child @jcmadgirl @estrellami-1 @myguiltyartpleasure @hallucinatedjosten @jaybren @thew1ldblueyonder @melodymeddler @alycatavatar @zoeweee @lolawonsstuff @fairy-princette @saramelaniemoon @phirex22 @krazyperson @xxsky-shockxx (I only put people on this list who explicitly asked to be tagged. That's really no problem, I love to do that so dw about asking, but I got a lot of relatively vague reactions to the previous post that i'm not gonna dissect and interpret, bc I don't wanna clog anyone's notes unwanted. So just to be clear: i consider it a huge compliment if anyone asks for a tag but please do it clearly if you do!)

[steddieasitgoes]

Steve and Robin have spent most of their shifts at Family Video, whispering and giving each other suggestive glances whenever a pretty girl walks through the door. Steve used to hate it whenever Tommy H. made him do stuff like this, but it's different with Robin. Less about objectifying and more about admiring a woman's beauty — at least, that's what Robin tells him when he brings it up one day. 

With his conscious clean, he leans into it, and the two have so much fun silently staring at pretty girls. They learn that they have pretty much the same taste in women — minus Tammy Thompson — which isn't surprising considering they share just about everything in common. 

And while it's fun sharing glances and watching each other blush red when the cute girl gives one of them more attention, Steve also wishes he had someone who would do that with him when he spots a cute guy in the mix. Steve tried to bring it up to Robin once, but she wasn't having it. 

"Stevie," she leveled. "All I see is a faceless blurb that smells too much like pine. You're the only guy for me." 

So, he let it go. 

- 

Eddie and Gareth have a similar game they play whenever they drive out to Indy. Gareth is usually the one to point out a petite blonde walking in their favorite record shop. If she heads to the metal section, Eddie can make a move. If it's anything else, Gareth gets to try. 

Nine times out of 10, it's Gareth who flirts his way to a phone number. 

Not that Eddie minds. 

He has just as much fun watching his friend hopelessly flirt while casually checking out the guys who wander in the record store. 

Gareth always gives him a friendly nudge whenever he notices Eddie staring too long at the back of some guy's short haircut, but it's not the same as the gentle ribbing they give each other when a cute girl walks in. 

Gareth isn't into guys like he is, and that's fine.

But sometimes Eddie wishes he had someone to compare his taste in men with. 

- 

When Steve and Eddie realize they're both bisexual, they rejoice. Finally, they have someone to play their silly games with.

 Except, it doesn't go at all like they'd except. 

See, Steve and Eddie are both so used to having friends share their tastes in women that they don't even consider the fact that they might have different taste in men. 

But they do.

They're hanging out in the lobby of the Hawkins Theater, waiting for the kids to finish getting their snacks, when Steve sees him. A guy with disheveled auburn hair and a black denim jacket cuffed at the sleeves with random patches on it. He's got a blue bandana tied around his forearm and bulky black boots. 

"He's cute right?" Steve asks, nodding his head toward the guy in question. 

Eddie scoffs. Scrunches up his nose like he's just smelt the worst smell imaginable and turns towards Steve. "You're kidding me, right Stevie? That dude is a grade-a-punk! A wannabe one at that! I bet he smells like cheap cigarettes and hasn't washed his hair in days." 

"You smell like cheap cigarettes and don't wash your hair every day," Steve says, rolling his eyes at Eddie's outburst. 

"Yeah, but I'm also broke. That guys doing it for the stupid aesthetic." 

Steve scoffs and lets his eyes follow the guy until he disappears inside one of the theaters. 

"Alright then, what's your type, Munson?" 

Eddie hums and takes a moment to scan the crowded theater and the stops. When he turns toward Steve, he's sporting a giant grin. 

"Guy. Six o'clock. By the butter dispenser." 

Steve slowly turns around and nearly buckles at the knee when he spots the guy in question. 

Short hair, combed back so every strand of hair is in place. He's got on a letterman jacket from one of the neighboring schools, crisp white shoes, and his left hand is tucked into the jean pocket of who he assumes to be his girlfriend. 

"Him?" Steve chokes. "But he's so…" 

"Pretty?" 

"Jock-ish!" Steve supplies instead. "I thought you hated jocks!"

"I hate what they represent," Eddie says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He tears his eyes away from the guy and stares right at Steve. "But I can't help it if they have a cute face that's begging to be corrupted." 

It isn't until days later when Steve and Eddie are both complaining to their best friends, do they realize that having different tastes might not be such a bad thing. 

Especially when their taste in men is each other.

[natalievoncatte]

19. Bake

Leaning against the doorframe, Lena watched as Kara furrowed her brows in concentration so intense that it seemed her project might burst into flames. Literally. She was was craned over a cookbook on the counter and mumbling to herself about pearl-sized beads of butter and exactly what size a pearl is.

She never admitted it, but Kara sometimes she struggled with metaphors like that, little things that a human would know that eluded one of the last survivors of a doomed planet. The others, even Alex, thought it was cute or funny but they didn’t seem to notice the pain in Kara’s eyes or how lost she looked when she missed something others all knew.

Lena stalked up behind her and leaned over the counter beside her.

“Hey,” said Lena.

“Hi,” said Kara.

“What are you up to?”

“I’m making a pumpkin pie for tomorrow, but the dough doesn’t look right.”

Lena looked over Kara’s work and frowned. What she had was most definitely not pie dough. She then glanced at the fridge and saw the list of things Kara was trying to make.

“Hmm,” said Lena.

She opened the fridge and freezer and looked over Kara’s pantry and sighed.

This would not do at all.

“We’re taking a break,” said Lena.

“We?”

“Yes, we.”

In a few minutes she had an Instacart list cobbled together and had placed the order. Kara pouted when her attempted dough went in the bin, but Lena stood firm.

“Let me help you.”

Kara signed. “I want to do it myself.”

Lena’s heart felt like it was climbing up her throat. Kara was so effortlessly pretty that it was, frankly, unfair. Her glasses were off and her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and Lena was obsessed. She had on a baggy t-shirt that softened her lithe, muscular frame and hung a little off one shoulder. She looked so soft despite the cords of steel hard muscle that flexed beneath her silky skin.

It made Lena a little panicky. Sometimes she’d think to herself that seeing Kara every time was just like seeing her for the first time, which was exactly like the first time she looked at another girl *like that* as if some pathway had just opened in her brain.

After the grocery order arrived and Lena bumped the driver’s tip to four figures for coming on the day before Thanksgiving, Lena set to work.

“I’ve never seen you cook,” said Kara.

“In the only one in the family who can,” said Lena, as she scrubbed a potato. “Lillian thought doing menial tasks was beneath our dignity, and forbade it. Of course I snuck out to spend time with the staff.”

Kara looked at her softly.

“Let’s get that pie in the works while these boil,” she said, slipping the potatoes into the pot.

Kara ended up helping more than anything, as Lena worked her way through the list.

“This way we’ll just have to make the turkey tomorrow,” she explained. “The rest will all be done and we’ll have some time to relax before everyone arrives. Is your mother coming?”

“She’s staying with Alex this year,” said Kara.

She was looking at Lena as she spoke, her voice a little distant. A shiver passed down Lena’s spine and she felt her cheeks pink a little, as she glanced away and turned back to grating frozen butter for the pie crust.

Kara sidled closer, seemingly reading the cookbook, but every time Lena looked over, Kara met her gaze and quickly turned away.

“Here you go, darling. Fold it like a letter, turn, fold it like a letter, turn. Do that three times, then back in the fridge for half an hour and we do it again.”

Lena was, in all honesty, doing the real work and giving Kara the simple tasks, like peeling the potatoes (which was easy, because she could not only do so without burning herself, but could also just reach into the boiling water to grab.)

Kara neatly folded the pie crust while Lena mashed the potatoes and pushed them through Kara’s sieve for perfect, Michelin-star restaurant smoothness. Lena was a little daunted by the “green bean casserole”, not exactly standard Luthor thanksgiving fare, but it was easier as she was watched Kara follow her instructions to knead dough for dinner rolls.

They worked in companionable silence, Lena doing one task while Kara did another, and slowly they built up an array of side dishes and a wonderful smelling pumpkin pie that Lena had to practically tear Kara away from. She almost wished she’d made a spare pie for Kara to eat right now.

“I’m huuuuuungry” she pleaded.

Looking over Kara’s now-full fridge, full of delicious Thanksgiving fare ready to be warmed in the oven, she pulled out her phone.

“We’ll get take-away delivered.”

Knowing what she was dealing with, Lena ordered enough Chinese for a small army and ended up picking at spicy beef and broccoli while Kara sat next to her, devouring her own body weight from five different containers.

“Here,” she said, offering Lena a fortune cookie.

Smirking, Lena popped it open and unfurled the little message.

“What’s it say?”

A great opportunity lies before you.

Lena laughed. “Nothing. Now we have to clean up, you know.”

“I can do that, you just relax.”

Lena sank back into the couch -she was tired- while Kara rolled up her sleeves and did the dishes, moving a little too fast for a human, at least until Lena looked over to watch her, studying the flexing muscles in her forearms as she worked. There was something playing on the tv, but it was vastly less interesting.

Kara smelled pleasantly of soap when she plopped on the couch, rocking Lena towards her. She sank back and sighed, letting her head loll over so she could look at Lena.

“Thank you for doing all that work. I’d have been hopeless without you.”

“It was my pleasure,” Lena said, softly.

It was getting late, the sun having long set; they’d toiled in the kitchen past nine o’clock.

It was time for Lena to go home.

Kara looked pensive, pretty eyes downcast.

“You’re coming back tomorrow, right?”

It was an absurd question, profoundly silly, even. Lena had been to every Danvers family get together for the better part of three years now (there was that one missed year, gaping like a void in her chest, but that was over now, they were better, she wouldn’t spend another Thanksgiving drunk on her sofa and sobbing ever again)

Lena wished she’d opened one of the wine bottles. She needed a little help with her courage. Her voice cracked a little when she managed to say, “It’s getting late. I could just stay.”

Her heart was pounding.

Kara’s hand slid along the back of the couch and she crooked one of Lena’s curls around her finger, playing idly with it. They sat close, turned into each other, almost touching.

“You can have the bed,” said Kara. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Lena felt her throat go dry, and squeezed her hands together to keep them from shaking. She was as nervous as a schoolgirl, and it was weirdly delightful. Kara was watching her cocky confidence and a crooked smile.

“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” said Lena. “I trust you to keep your hands to yourself if we share the bed.”

“What will you sleep in?”

“Won’t you let me borrow something?”

Kara made a little gesture with her head. Lena nodded and headed behind the partition that made up Kara’s “bedroom wall” and turned to the clothes rack that served as her closet. Hand trembling, she swept each item aside, stopping when she found an old hoodie.

It was threadbare and the drawstrings were missing and it was much too large for her, but it was perfect, a maroon Midvale High sweatshirt. Lena carefully laid it out on the bed and in a single nervous, trembling motion, pulled her top over her head and set it aside.

It was chilly in the apartment, and her skin pricked with goose pimples as soon as the air hit it. She licked her lips nervously and popped the clasps on her bra before discarding it and dumping the sweatshirt on over her bare skin. The hem hung well below her waist.

Feeling her pulse in her throat, she pushed her leggings down and stepped out of them, then padded back out on bare feet, toes curling from the cold floor.

“You coming?”

Kara’s eyes went comically wide when she saw her, gaze instantly drawn to her pale legs.

“Yep.”

Lena retreated to the bedroom… then realized that Kara hadn’t changed. Lena was standing there awkwardly when Kara strolled around the partition and, in a slightly too hurried motion, pulled her own top off.

She was facing away, her back flexing magnificently as she stretched, now clad only in a soft black sports bra. Lena knew she was staring as Kara pushed her jeans down, revealing a pair of flannel boxer shorts beneath. She turned and looked at Lena.

Oh holy fuck, Lena thought.

“I usually just sleep like this,” Kara said, her voice quivering a little. “Is that okay?”

Lena nodded.

She climbed into the bed, sort of precariously parking on the edge. Kara lifted the covers and slid under, her weight on the mattress making it curve towards her, as though Lena were drawn, by gravity, to her embrace.

She let it take her. She ended up right next to Kara, and the lay turned on their sides towards each other.

Lena wanted to scream. This was a terrible idea.

“Hi,” Kara whispered.

“Hi, yourself,” said Lena.

God, she was right there, those muscles, the silky golden-tanned skin of her long legs (how did she have a tan in November?!), the supernaturally perfect blonde curls, and those big, pretty blue eyes just drinking her in.

Lena snuggled up under the blankets, shifting closer.

“So we’re sleeping in the same bed,” said Kara.

“Yes, I see we are. Though neither of us appears to be sleeping.”

“True,” said Kara, “though one might say that we’re about to sleep together.”

“One might,” Lena agreed.

“English is such a funny language. Someone might be confused if I went around saying I sleep with Lena Luthor.”

“Some might be jealous,” said Lena, arching a brow.

“Well of course. They don’t know what a little snuggle bunny you are.”

Lena grinned foolishly, trying to hide it behind the baggy sleeve of Kara’s sweatshirt.

“You’re wearing my clothes, too. Someone might say we’re going steady.”

“Aren’t we? Neither of us had been on a date with anyone in years.”

Lena wanted to feel bold, she really did, but she was so nervous she could barely breathe.

“Are you okay, baby?” Kara whispered. “Your heart is going really fast.”

Lena nodded. “I’m okay, just, um.”

She felt so silly. Here she was, bold, sassy, uber-confident battle bisexual Lena Luthor utterly tongue tied and helpless and in bed with her best friend.

Kara shifted closer, then closer still. Lena thought she might literally depart from her body when Kara’s legs tangled gently with hers. She stared in astonishment when Kara gently rolled her on her back… by climbing on top of her, slipping an arm around her back while the other hand brushed loose locks from her eyes and swept around to cradle the back of her head.

“Are we really doing this?” Lena choked out. “What are we doing?”

Kara’s face filled her vision, inches from kissing her. Hot breath ticked her lips.

“I think the real question is why did we wait so long?”

“If you don’t kiss me, I’m going to die.”

Kara did, dipping down slowly to brush her lips lightly over Lena’s in the most teasing, potent first kiss she’d ever had, a kiss to make her forget all her other firsts. Then Kara kissed her harder and Lena could feel the need in her, hunger and passion pent up for years.

She responded with her own, pressing her hips up to meet Kara.

“You took my favorite hoodie.”

“I did.”

“Be a good girl, and give it back.”

Lena, it turned out, was a very good girl.

When she woke up the next… noonish, she was still feeling the afterglow. Kara was passed out and snoring next to her, arm casually thrown over Lena’s belly. She slipped out from under it and stretched in the sunlight before pulling the hoodie back on. She’d have to find something more proper to wear, after a shower and some breakfast. She didn’t want to spoil her dinner, but she was hungry. Kara had been… exhausting, honestly.

She wanted to do a little dance, right until she walked out into the main area of the loft, bare-assed and hoodie-clad, and found herself face to face with Alex and Eliza Danvers.

“What are you doing here?” Lena and Alex both yelped at the same time.

Eliza was beet red, but said, “Ah, hello, Lena. You came early?”

(And often)

“I, um, that is, I, we…”

Eliza was bemused now, giving her a motherly smile.

“Why don’t you go change and wake Kara up?”

Alex continued to stare at Lena, the wheels almost audibly spinning in her head.

“Okaygoodidea,” Lena chirped out, awkwardly tugging her sole garment down as she darted back into the bedroom.

A few minutes later, Lena was in the shower while Kara very loudly explained the merits of texting first or just knocking on the door like a normal person, while Alex snapped back that it was technically still her apartment.

When she finally emerged in Kara’s flannel and Kara’s jeans, Alex and Kara were still bickering while Eliza was simply staring at the contents of the fridge. Lena walked over awkwardly (for multiple reasons) and rubbed at her arms.

“I helped Kara get all the other dishes ready. We only have to worry about the turkey.”

Eliza looked up and smirked at her.

“May I just say… it’s about time, sweetheart.”

[starrystevie]

18+ | explicit sex & smoking | read here on ao3

it's 1996 when steve's world gets turned upside down again.

or, well, technically it's a few minutes into '97 when everything changes. he's at a new years party that his ex timothy is hosting and everyone is still hooting and hollering as they ring it in, pressing sloppy kisses to cheeks and lips with arms hooked around necks.

steve doesn't get kissed. not because people aren't eyeing him with a smirk and mischief and open arms of their own. no, he doesn't let himself get kissed because something feels... off about the night. the energy is weird, buzzing through his skin like electricity, keeping him on edge in a way he hasn't been since he left hawkins for boston in the fist place.

it isn't long until he figures out why.

timmy is walking up to him with his hands on some guy's shoulders, pushing him backwards with a wide smile like he's trying to convince him of something. the guy is about his height, short cropped dark hair and a leather jacket, the sight of his back alone getting steve excited. timmy always did know his type to a t.

"hey!" timmy yells over the music as he catches steve's eye. "got someone for you to meet."

once the guy turns around, the smiles on both steve and the mystery guy's faces fall before their minds catch up with them and plaster them back together. even with the short cropped hair, even with the piercing in his eyebrow, even with the stubble spreading over his defined jaw, steve would know that face, that heartbeat, anywhere.

"steve, i wanted to introduce you to someone. jamie, this is steve, you know... the guy i was telling you about?"

timmy's trying to be helpful, not even attempting to be subtle as he pushes the two closer together with a wide grin. steve's going on autopilot, reaching out a hand to grab the one outstretched towards him, but his brain is going a million miles a minute.

"nice to meet you, steve," eddie, or... jamie, says, palm pressed tightly against his own.

steve can't say anything, focusing too much on the warmth on his palm and the way his deep voice shakes through him like thunder and the way he feels like he's 19 again with a stuttering heart.

"what are-" he starts.

eddie shakes his head and tugs on steve's hand. "not here. come on."

they end up in a secluded corner, close enough that steve can smell smoke and leather polish and the sharp bite of his cologne. close enough that he can see the lines starting to appear on the corners of eddie's eyes, the stray grey hairs popping up in his beard, the questions swirling behind his eyes.

"eddie."

"jamie," is all he says back, not even bothering to look away from steve's eyes. "it's jamie now."

they both sigh like they don't know where to start because they don't. steve grapples with all the questions in his mind before settling on one. the one that tore through him late at night. the one that stayed on the tip of his tongue anytime he heard a van backfire or metallica.

"where did you go?" he knows it sounds like an accusation because it is. he doesn't let himself feel bad when eddie (jamie) flinches.

"feds," he replies easily, sneaking a cigarette out of his pocket and putting it between his lips. he tilts his head back to light it away from steve's face, blowing smoke up towards the ceiling. "once i got better, they scooped me up and brought me to boston. new name, new hairstyle, new life. at least they let me choose my name so i didn't get stuck with some thing awful."

steve snorts. "so you ended up with 'jamie' how?"

"middle name's james. it just made sense." he says it with a shrug and puffs at his cigarette again.

they look at each other for a moment. steve watches his tongue flit out of his mouth to wet his lips, watches the overhead lights glint off the metal of a surprise tongue piercing, watches his throat swallow around nothing but spit.

he can see, feel, eddie doing the same. he hams it up, pulls his lip between his teeth and makes it a show, looks back up at eddie from under his lashes. takes in a deep breath when eddie inches closer to him until their hips are bumping and steve plucks the cigarette out of his lips for a puff of his own.

he's 19 again, in love or like or lust with a boy in a leather jacket that has the world against him. he's 19 again, working a hand over himself to thoughts of his crush who up and vanished without so much as a goodbye. he's 19 again, crying after he comes, wishing he could go back in time before he met curly hair and a battle vest.

"so how do you know tim?" eddie whispers like he has to be quiet even though the part is loud and no one could hear them if they tried.

"how do you know him?" steve asks back, blowing out smoke and putting the cigarette back between eddie's barely spread lips.

his eyes flick down to look at steve's still pursed lips from when he angled the smoke over his shoulder. "we used to fuck, once upon a time when i first got to boston."

steve hums like it's the answer he expected and maybe it is. "same here. dated for about a year."

eddies eyes grow wide and his hip bumps into steve's like it's a question in and of itself and maybe it is. "didn't know you swing that way, harrington."

"well, you don't really know anything about me then, do you? didn't back then either, munson."

his eyes goes even wider, something like fear and shame and comfort and hope swimming in them. "leonard. it's leonard now."

steve hums again, says 'jamie leonard' like he's feeling it out on his tongue. tasting it between his teeth. teaching his mouth how to form the words instead of what he really wants to say like 'eddie' or 'munson' or 'i'm still somehow in love with you no matter your name'.

"jamie leonard," he says again, breath hitting eddie's lips. he shivers when he sees his lips part a bit more like he wants to swallow the sound and air that steve gives him. "we have a lot to catch up on, don't we?"

steve's apartment isn't all that big, isn't exactly small either but it has everything he could possibly need. he has a living room that looks out over the harbor and a kitchen with all new appliances and eddie munson naked in his bedroom. you know, the essentials.

their clothes are all over the floor, eddie's motorcycle helmet flung somewhere in the vague direction of the armchair in the corner but the smack it makes when it hits the wall makes steve think there's probably a hole in the drywall.

but eddie's sucking on his cock, hands wrapped around his thighs as he takes him even deeper, eyes flicking up to meet steve's, beard scratchy as it rubs against his sensitive skin. he's never been blown by someone with a tongue piercing but he doesn't think he can ever go back now.

the last thing on his mind is wondering if there's a hole in the goddamn wall.

"oh fuck, yeah there you go. feels so goddamn good," steve breathes out as he feels the back of eddie's throat on his cockhead. he tangles a hand as best he can in his short dark hair to try and coax him even deeper. eddie hums at either the praise or the tug on his hair or the way it feels as he works his tongue over steve's cock and it makes him jolt unexpectedly.

if he could go back in time and tell his 19 year old self that eddie was alive, that he was okay and breathing and learning how to suck cock like a goddamn professional, he'd do it in a heartbeat. save himself a few years of pining and fly straight out to boston to see it for himself. he's sure robin would have preferred to not have to listen to his whining everyday about brown eyes and dark curls.

eddie brings a hand to cup his balls, finger teasingly pressing into steve's taint, bobbing his head eagerly like he wants him to come in his mouth, but steve has other plans. he tugs eddie off of his cock quickly, lines of thick spit falling between them and sticking to his chin before crowding him up against the pillows.

steve kisses like he's dying and eddie is survival. he kisses him like he is drowning and eddie is the shore that he's clawing his way towards. he kisses him like 19 year old steve could only dream about.

soon enough, steve's sliding into him with a groan that he lets eddie swallow from him. the headboard knocks heavily into the wall a few times making even more possible holes, but all steve can focus on is the heat around him, the way eddie's whines bounce off the walls of his too empty bedroom and cover him like a blanket.

he likes fucking this way. he likes being able to watch as someone's face contorts into pleasure, like to see eyes rolling back and mouths dropping open and sweat beading around their hairline. likes seeing eddie fall apart.

"steve, oh my god," eddie's voice is still deeper than he's used to as he moans so he angles his hips up more to hear it again, the low timbre snaking through his veins and leaving fire in its wake. "don't stop."

"i won't," he groans into eddie's open mouth. "wanted this for so long, for fucking 11 years, not giving you up yet."

it's a bit more open than steve normally is when he first fucks someone but this isn't just someone. this isn't fucking a stranger he picked up in a bar that had almost the right shade of brown eyes and patches on his jacket that are almost the right shape. this is eddie. his eddie. or well... jamie.

"fuck, i'm gonna date you so fucking hard, harrington. yeah, right there keep going, shit-"

he's babbling as steve works his hips faster, tangling their free hands together to press above their heads on a pillow, and it's everything steve could have asked for. hearing his name fall from the lips he's dreamed about for years, sharing the same air as they breath into one another.

he thought he was over it, thought he had moved on at least a little bit from a halfway stranger he knew in his teens, but with the way they're both looking straight into each other's eyes begging each other to see them, he thinks they might both be back in 1986.

"what do-" steve cuts himself off as he whimpers, close, so close to the finish line. "what do you want me to call you? is it jamie or-"

he's shaking his head on the pillow, leaning up to bite at steve's lips and pull it between his teeth. he looks serious and certain when he says, "no, that name's not for you, it's... i need-"

steve brings his hand down to work over his cock and revel in the way his eyes roll back until he can only see white. he hits something that makes his eyes fly back open and he gets to see his favorite shade of brown again.

"eddie," he whispers. leaning down quickly, steve presses a kiss to his ear before whispering his favorite name there too. "eddie, baby, come on. let me... come on, eddie."

it feels silly to be chanting a name of a ghost as intensely as he is. but he can see it crawl over eddie like it's bringing him back to life. like he isn't bones on the ground in an alternate dimension. like he isn't a plain headstone in a graveyard next to a forgotten trailer park. like he isn't playing pretend with a fake name and a fake life.

steve says eddie and it brings him home.

afterwards, they lay together in steve's probably too soft bed, tears drying on both of their cheeks as they catch up. as they tell each other secrets that their younger selves could never dare. as the piece together the lives they have and the lives they want to have and slot each other into the mix.

steve has a hand in eddie's hair, eddie has one trailing over steve's arm that's slung over his chest. he's always been a fan of cuddling after sex.

"y'know," eddie mutters, "tim's been trying to get me to meet his hot teacher friend for months now."

steve hums, presses a kiss to his temple. "and he's been trying to get me to meet his hot motorcycle tech for months, too."

there are a few holes in the walls from the headboard and eddie's helmet, but steve thinks that they can patch those up, too.

he's still jamie leonard to the outside world. he's still a guy who doesn't have much family other than a mysterious uncle in indiana and doesn't have many friends other than ex boyfriends. he still introduces himself with a handshake and says a fake name like it's real.

but when he gets home, when he crawls onto a couch that overlooks the harbor and has arms wrapped around him, he gets to be eddie munson once more. and with the ghost of a man in his arms, steve harrington feels more like himself than he ever thought he would.

[rosyhoneydew]

“Hey.” Buck startles at the soft sound of his boyfriend padding into the kitchen. “What are you doing up?”

“Did I wake you?” He tried to be quiet slipping out of bed, but Tommy’s a light sleeper and Buck accidentally hip-checked the doorframe on the way out of the room.

Tommy hums and comes to stand behind Buck at the island. He molds himself to Buck’s back, nuzzling his face into his neck.

He doesn’t answer the question either, just says, “You okay?”

Buck huffs, a little puff of humorless laughter.

“Had a nightmare,” he admits.

Tommy lifts his head. “Oh, honey,” he says, amusement kept just at bay, but still bleeding into his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Buck rolls his eyes even though Tommy can’t see him.

Tommy does laugh then, just a little chuckle.

“Sweetheart, this is really doing a number on you, huh?”

“You know some guy disturbed a mummy’s grave and he actually thought he was being haunted by it through his dreams after?”

Tommy fits his hands to Buck’s hips, maneuvers him to turn about-face.

“You are not cursed,” he says.

Buck laughs a little, hearing his boyfriend say it outright a little jarringly absurd.

Tommy lifts a hand to the side of Buck’s face, where the rash had started that morning.

“It’s getting better already. Meds must’ve kicked in while we were asleep.” Then he leans in and kisses the soft part of Buck’s cheek, right under the red mark.

Buck smiles. Tommy’s a touchy-feely guy. They’d both hated keeping their hands off each other until they were sure what he had wasn’t contagious. When they’d gotten the steroids and heard the okay from the doctor Buck had actually seen Tommy sigh in relief.

Tommy continues kissing down Buck’s neck. Chatting while he goes.

“But if you were: cursed,” he says, “that little Freddy Krueger mummy wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Buck laughs again.

“You gonna beat up a mummy for me?”

“If I have to.” Tommy nods and the movement rubs his nose against Buck’s throat.

“He’s already dead,” Buck says. “You’re going to kick the guy while he’s down like that?”

“He should’ve thought about that before he decided to mess with my boyfriend.”

Buck smiles and lifts Tommy’s chin to bring him back up to his face. He kisses Tommy. Two little pecks.

“My hero.”

[louisferrignojr]

It’s a little past midnight when they stumble through the threshold of Tommy’s house, and Buck’s equal parts drunk and sleepy, the workday’s events taking their toll on him, and the two bottles of wine they shared between them painting his cheeks a pretty pink and sending him into a bit of a daze. All he can think of is stripping down to his underwear and getting under the covers and wrapping himself around his boyfriend like a koala bear on a eucalyptus tree. 

“Did you know koala bears have a pouch too, like kangaroos?” he says as he takes off his shoes at the entryway, kicking them towards the coat stand. “Where the baby lives. In its mother’s tummy.” He pauses for a second before he adds, “Wish I was a baby koala bear.”

Tommy laughs softly. “Okay, big baby, let’s get you to bed,” Tommy’s hands are on his hips, spinning him around and leading him down the corridor to his bedroom.

Buck grins, slips out of his grasp and turns around to face him. “I’ll go to bed if you come with me,” he says, trying to be sexy, but it doesn’t quite hit the mark. He’s really not sober enough to make his voice take on that sultry tone that gets the message across no matter how ridiculous the line.

“Yes, I sleep here, too, Evan,” Tommy’s smiling fondly at him, and Buck can’t help it, he throws his arms around the man’s shoulders and pulls him in for a kiss, keeps him close as he stumbles backwards and falls on the mattress, pulling Tommy with him, a surprised gasp breaking their interlocked lips. 

Tommy’s laughing then and pulling out of his grasp, moving off of the bed to start undressing. “How are you still horny when you’re this drunk?”

“I’m always horny when you’re around.”

“Such a smooth talker.” 

“Okay, but wait, wait, Tommy, listen,” Buck pushes up to his elbows, grabs the front of Tommy’s t-shirt in a mistaken effort to pull himself up the rest of the way, only succeeding because Tommy reaches for him with his arms outstretched and helps him sit up. Buck frames his face between his palms as his gaze locks with Tommy’s. “You want − do you want to be my baby-daddy?”

Tommy snorts a laugh, which is not the reaction Buck was hoping for. “You might have to retake Biology 101, Evan,” he says then, and Buck’s face breaks into a grin, relief washing over him. Of course his boyfriend’s only teasing him. Of course it makes his stomach do a flip in response.

“I’m serious,” Buck says then, though he’s still grinning like a loon. “I wanna have your babies.”

“Mm, still not technically possible, honey.” Tommy’s hands are working on the buttons of his shirt while he speaks, having removed his own t-shirt already. 

“Tommy,” Buck whines now, evidently having run out of patience. “I’m serious. I want this.”

Tommy nods, pauses for a minute to cup Buck’s cheek in one hand, the other finding Buck’s to interlace their fingers. “I know,” he says in a gentle tone. “We can talk about it when we’re sober, yeah?” And with that he leans in and presses a soft kiss to Buck’s smiling mouth. “But in the meantime…” he trails off, pulls back to meet Buck in the eye, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth is all Buck needs to catch on to Tommy’s intentions. 

Finally, they’re on the same page, and soon enough, Buck’s horizontal and fully naked, with Tommy lying next to him, kissing him sweetly, one hand tangled in Buck’s hair while the other is wrapped around his cock, jerking him off with slick, rapid motions, each upstroke bringing Buck closer to the edge until he comes all over Tommy’s hand, toes curling and back arching off the mattress as his orgasm washes over him.

Tommy’s still pressing a myriad of soft kisses along his jaw, down his throat and over his collarbone, and Buck’s expression melts into a hazy smile, head sinking further into the pillow − until he feels Tommy shift, moving away, and that won’t do at all.

“Gimme,” Buck stretches out his arms, making grabby-hands motions at Tommy. “I can’t get up. Bring it here to me. Please.” He accentuates the request with his puppy-dog eyes that he knows works like a charm on Tommy, pushing out his pouty lips that he knows Tommy can’t resist. 

“Fucking shit, Buckley,” Tommy leans over to kiss him before he gets to his feet, taking his jeans and briefs off in one quick motion, then proceeds to climb on the mattress. He swings a leg over Buck’s torso and settles down with a hand wrapped around his beautiful hard cock just inches away from Buck’s mouth. “This okay?” 

Buck nods eagerly, arms wrapping around Tommy’s thighs to pull him closer, lifting his head off the pillow and taking him in his mouth. Tommy moans loudly and Buck smiles with Tommy’s dick in his mouth, starts sucking the head of it, lapping at it eagerly with the tip of his tongue, until he suddenly drops his head back on the pillow.

“Just fuck my mouth, Tommy. Please.”

Tommy doesn’t need to be asked twice. He shuffles even closer and guides himself back in, starts with shallow little thrusts into his mouth - because as much as Buck might want to take more of him in, Tommy knows it’ll trigger his gag reflex, at this awkward angle. Buck makes a note to tell him afterwards, how good Tommy is to him, how careful and gentle and patient he’s been from the very beginning, giving Buck another chance that he didn’t really deserve. It sends another rush of emotions flooding through him, and Buck makes a high pitched keening noise at the back of his throat, his fingers digging into the meat of Tommy’s ass hard enough that his nails will surely leave little crescent moon-shaped imprints, but it only makes Tommy moan louder. Buck tries to reach further in between his cheeks to push two fingers against Tommy’s perineum, and just like that, Tommy tips over the edge, spilling into his mouth. 

Buck swallows him down and licks his lips, making sure he gets every last drop, before he says, “That definitely won’t make a baby,” with a cheeky grin on his face.

It makes Tommy laugh. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“I’ve been told.” 

Tommy shakes his head. He climbs off of him and lays down on the bed next to him, snaking an arm underneath Buck’s neck to pull him close to him, fingers under Buck’s chin tipping his head into a soft kiss. 

“I love you.” Tommy says, his expression the very definition of fond. “I’d love to be your baby-daddy, Evan.”

Buck can’t help the grin that splits his face in two. “Yeah?” he asks, and Tommy’s smile mirrors his own.

“Yeah.”

[fazedlight]

Alone (rift with hopeful ending, content note for self-harm)

The problem is me, Kara thought.

She collapsed to her living room floor, panting and panicked, still feeling the kryptonite in her veins as she watched her best friend try to kill her. The problem is me. I’m not supposed to be here.

“One more go?” Mxy said.

Kara didn’t answer. She shoved herself off the floor, making her way to her couch to sit down, staring at a wall as her panting began to slow.

Mxy’s brow furrowed curiously as he took a seat next to her, but Kara wouldn’t meet his eyes. So he waited, and waited, watching the kryptonian as she thought through the problem.

Finally, Kara spoke. “There’s one more reality I want to see,” she said.

“That is?”

Kara turned up to him. “I want to see the world, if I had died on Krypton.”

Mxy froze. “I can’t show you that.”

“Why not?”

“I can only show you changes in your life, your choices,” Mxy said. “I can show you the events immediately following your death. But Krypton died decades ago - I can’t show you Lena so far after.”

Kara frowned, leaning up against the couch. “Then there’s something I have to do.”

---

Lena was making tea when Kara tapped down on her balcony that evening. Though it was close to 11pm, when most of the city was preparing for bed, it seemed that sleep was alluding the Luthor just as much as it was alluding Kara.

Lena tensed as she watched Kara step into her living room - wariness and cold anger highlighting her features. Kara didn’t offer greetings or niceties, knowing that Lena would prefer she leave sooner rather than later. “I’m being given a chance,” Kara said, “To rewrite time.”

“Rewrite time?” Lena asked.

Kara’s jaw tensed nervously - a flicker as she thought about the hourglass in her suit pocket, the timepiece that Mxy had given her if she made the choice he told her not to make - before speaking again. “I am being allowed one chance to change history,” Kara said. “I can make it so that we never meet.”

Lena’s eyes widened.

“Is that what you want?” Kara asked quietly.

“Yes.”

---

Kara flew.

She didn’t say goodbye - there was no point. She told Lena the change would happen at midnight, that the Luthor will wake to a new day without having ever known Kara Danvers. No memory of her old life, no memory of the pain or betrayal. It would simply be morning.

She thought about saying goodbye to her sister, to Eliza - even to going back to Argo to see her mother. But she couldn’t bring herself to. If Alex realized something was off and dug deeper, if Eliza soothingly tried to prepare some hot cocoa, Kara wasn’t sure she could go through with what needed to be done.

Kara landed outside the Fortress, walking inside the hallowed grounds of what was the only piece of Krypton on Earth. She had thought of it all too often in the aftermath of Krypton’s destruction - how death was always in solitude, and the Fortress was as good a place as any.

She reached inside her pocket, pulling out the palm-sized hourglass - given to her by a Mxy who wanted no part in all of this, telling her she ought to smash the device instead of activating it. But Kara set it gently on the console, and sand began to flow.

She exited again, floating up to the roof of the Fortress. It was cold, dark. Not that it could penetrate her skin, as she looked up to the skies.

This is forbidden, came the idle thought, an affront to Rao.

Kara ignored the bubbling thoughts, pushing back the lump in her throat. After all, she wouldn’t really exist anymore - there would be no one to punish for any transgression she committed. A thirteen-year-old child would flee Krypton in her father’s pod, but the debris from her dying planet would ensure she’d never wake up again. The Kara that existed now would simply not, and no affront to Rao would be made.

“She’s worth it,” Kara murmured up to the stars, eyes landing on a faint red glow in the distance.

---

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Lena had realized her error as soon as Kara left - as soon as Lena had had more than two seconds to think through the implication of we never meet.

Not haven’t met yet, not haven’t met as Kara and Lena - but to never meet at all? There was only one way to keep that sort of promise. Kara, don’t you dare…

Like a fool, she had run out the door, landing on the steps of Kara’s apartment building in the dead of night only to find that the blonde wasn’t there. Lena cursed herself as she rushed back to her condo, digging for the portal watch and praying she had enough time. The Fortress, she thought, that’s the only other place she’d be.

Lena prayed she was right as she stepped through the portal field, mentally planning on how she’d need to call Alex or Nia or anyone to find out where Kara was, before the kryptonian did something so utterly fucking stupid-

“Fuck,” Lena murmured, glancing around the ice walls. She’s not here.

More than that, the Fortress was cold. Not that those rooms were ever balmy - but the door had been left wide open, allowing an arctic breeze to send a damning chill through Lena’s bones. The North Pole is around -40 degrees, she thought, scrambling for her watch as she could feel her fingers already getting numb.

But to her relief, the cold didn’t last long - she heard the shift of the door behind her, could feel the stagnation of the wind. A heartbeat later, she turned to find impossibly warm arms around her. “Lena,” Kara murmured worriedly, “What are you doing here?”

“How is it that we never meet?” Lena pleaded, ignoring Kara’s question. “What happens that prevents us from meeting?”

Kara stilled.

“Kara-”

“You won’t remember me,” Kara said, holding her tighter, “You won’t remember this.”

“You’ll be dead!”

Lena struggled against Kara, but she could only feel the kryptonian’s infuriating hold, preventing her from going anywhere. “It won’t be much longer,” Kara said softly, turning her head to her side, “You’ll be free.”

Lena followed Kara’s gaze, her eyes landing on the Fortress console. It was then that she noticed it - the small hourglass on top, sand ticking through the narrow waist. She doesn't have much time, Lena realized, noting that Kara might only have minutes left.  “Kara, don’t-” Lena struggled again, “I don’t want you dead!”

“I don’t want you in pain,” Kara said simply. “I love you too much for that.”

Lena glanced up at Kara. You love me?, Lena thought, the seeming impossibility washing over her. She feels what I feel?

Because Lena thought she had been obvious, years ago. The flirting and the flowers and the solemn confessions - compassionately denied for a friendship instead, which Lena tried to graciously take. Even if Kara didn’t feel the same way, Lena had wanted her in her life.

But Lena saw something different in that moment - maybe a kryptonian who couldn’t cross that line while carrying secrets. 

And maybe there was hurt and pain and being wronged… but ever since the night in the very Fortress they were standing in - where Lena had once walked away after encasing Kara in toxic air, after manipulating her and stealing from her - Lena found it harder and harder to look at herself in the mirror. Is this what we’re supposed to be?, Lena wondered, two people who just hurt each other?

It doesn’t have to be this way.

Lena’s fingers slipped up Kara’s shoulders, tugging firmly on the collar as Kara turned towards her with somber blue eyes. Lena knew she could never fight arms powered by the yellow sun, couldn’t argue with the kryptonian’s foolish sense of duty. 

So she did what she wished she had done years ago. Tipping her head slightly, pushing up on her toes to counter Kara’s boots, Lena pressed her lips against Kara’s own.

The kiss was soft. Chaste. No more than soft lips meaning soft lips. Where first kisses were usually of joy or lust, there was none of that here as Kara stilled, as Lena let her work through her confusion and fear. There was only a solemn confession, and the kryptonian who was uncertain of how to accept it.

Lena broke away. “Stay with me,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me alone.”

Kara’s eyes darted between Lena’s own for a moment, until her arms finally loosened, allowing Lena to pull back. Lena watched as ambivalence crossed Kara’s face as she stepped away, but she could feel nothing but relief.

Lena turned to rush to the console, fingers reaching the hourglass as it steadily trickled along, perhaps another minute or so of sand left. Lena raised her arm and threw the timepiece to the floor, smashing fragments of glass and a spray of sand across her shoes and the icy floor. If I had been any later…

Lena shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.

She turned up to Kara again, and the blonde smiled softly back.

[softcenteregg]

// you saved me // // you called my name // It has been one month since I started drawing them, and it still fills me with such joy. My eternal thanks for all of the support ~ I hope I keep doing right by all of you. I am currently OBSESSED with that liminal space/time post-Time Ripper and pre-TVA talk.

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[stevebabey]

no one asked but this is the post that inspired this! thank u immensely for the luv <3 number 1 comment was wondering what steve’s bids were & from his pov, so without further ado...enjoy — part one here!

—

Begrudgingly, Eddie has to admit that Robin might be right.

It’s impossible not to be looking for the bids since he brought them up to her. Even though Eddie was fully expecting to tell Robin to suck it, maybe even wager what little money he had against this working out, Eddie can’t help but watch for them in every interaction. And fuck, she’s right.

They’re little, but they’re there.

The first one Eddie would’ve missed if he wasn’t looking for it. Actually, that’s a lie; Eddie does miss it, until Robin points it out, the nosy bitch. It’s minuscule and honestly, it just seems like Steve asking his opinion — which friends do all the time! It’s why Eddie brushes right over it.

“Okay, be honest,“ Steve had said, walking and talking as he entered the living room where Robin and Eddie were sprawled across the couches. They were both waiting on him, the three of them set on heading out to the drive-in to catch a film.

Eddie can’t fathom why Steve felt the need to change his outfit for it, but when he returns, he gets it. It’s not quite the usual polo Eddie had grown to like on Steve, this one hanging a little looser, the colour a bit darker than Steve’s usual choice, the sleeves a little shorter — almost midway to a muscle tee.

Steve’s fingers fiddle with the distressed collar of the shirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles and fussing over nothing. He swishes back his floppy hair with a flick of his head. “It’s a new shirt, I know it’s a little different - but what do we think?”

He says we but he’s looking at Eddie.

Eddie, who has taken to trying to reel in his gawp because what the fuck Steve? It’s like he’s well aware of what drives Eddie insane and has specifically leaned into it. Some evil goblin in Eddie’s brain whispers think how good he’d look in your shirt and he squashes it, giving a visible twitch to shut down that train of thought.

From the other couch, Robin clears her throat loudly and smiles sweetly at her best friend. “It looks great, Steve.”

It’s sincere and Steve’s mouth tugs up, nearly a smile but his gaze fast-tracks back to Eddie. Eddie nods in agreement, a bit sluggish from his distracting thoughts and god dammit, the extra exposed skin of Steve’s arms are so not helping. “Yeah, looks... looks good, man.”

Steve smiles, lips pressed together but his shoulders curl in just a bit, deflating just a tad. From where Steve can’t see her, Robin waves her hands wildly and catches Eddie’s attention. He watches as she gestures wildly and it takes a moment to realise what’s she mouthing — ‘A bid! That’s a bid, you idiot!’

Oh fuck, Eddie thinks. Cos it totally was; the question, the focus on Eddie. He doesn’t even think about the logistics of it, of the fact Robin was right, just jumps right into picking up the bid.

“You trying a new style?” Eddie asks and then thanks whatever god invented the whole fake-it-to-you-make-it schtick because he’s feeling so far from casual or confident. “Going metal on me, big boy?”

Eddie just manages to catch the grin that breaks across Steve’s face as he turns away, giving a scoff — it comes out too soft though, giving away his complete lack of annoyance. He pulls that usual Steve Harrington pose, hands sliding onto his hips, and screws his face into some melted smiley-grimace. “Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie grins and goads on the blush that’s beginning on Steve’s neck, a glorious tinged pink colour. “If this shirt is any indication, you’d pull it off just fine.”

Eddie watches the blush climb higher as Steve ignores the comment, his smile still giving him away. He grabs his coat and pats down his jeans — ridiculous tight acid wash jeans that Eddie hates he’s somehow become attracted to — ensuring he has his keys and wallet. Once assured, he looks up at his two friends again, brows raised, and says, “Ready to rock and roll?”

That comment alone has Eddie seriously reconsidering his type in men.

There’s only a brief moment to talk about it when Eddie and Robin cajole Steve into going and getting them both popcorn to get a moment alone. Steve had scoffed, face twitching in the way it did whenever he tried to hold back a bitchy comment, but he still stomped off in the direction of the snack stand.

The moment he’s out of earshot, both voices explode in the back of Eddie’s van.

“What did I say—”

“Jesus H Christ, you were right—”

“Literally how many times do I have—”

“Oh my god, you were right—”

“ —before you realise I’m always—”

“Robin.” He cuts her off, hands landing on her shoulders. Robin eyes them warily, lips still parted from how her rant had been cut off. “Robin, I’m gonna kill you.”

“What?” Robin’s nose scrunches up. “What the hell are you—”

“Oh Christ, I can’t believe- how long have you noticed those bids?” Eddie’s aware he sounds a bit estranged, eyes probably wide and it doesn’t help when he softly shakes Robin back and forth. She lets herself be shaken, hair flying back in forth. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! You are such a bad gay friend!”

Robin smacks his hands off her shoulders with a frown, her freckly face perturbed at Eddie’s outburst. “Dude, it’s not my fault! May I remind you that until very very recently you were seeing someone else? What difference would it have made?”

Eddie waves his hand, disregarding the point with a shake of his head. His unkempt curls cover his face and Eddie sweeps them back in one motion, “What difference would it have made? Oh my, Jesus—“

Whatever long-winded sentence Eddie was about to spit out is lost by the sound of Steve’s approaching footsteps, effectively shutting both of them up.

Eddie flings himself to the other side of the van, putting an unusual amount of distance between Robin and him like they were being caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Robin frowns at him and gestures wildly with her hands in a way that means what the fuck man? Eddie gestures back, though he’s not entirely sure what his fast hand motions are supposed to mean when Steve rounds the door.

He’s got two buckets of popcorn tucked under each arm and Eddie quickly crosses his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits like his stupid hand motions will somehow give him away. 

Steve looks up, stopping just a way from the edge of the van, and looks at the pair of them. His eyes track from Robin still sitting on one of the old cushions and looking two seconds from burying her face in her hands, across to Eddie. He huffs a laugh and kneels on the edge of the van.

“I know he’s gross Robin,” He begins, tone light, as he holds out one of the buckets for Robin to take. “But c’mon, is the distance really necessary?”

Robin snickers as Eddie makes an appalled noise, both of which make Steve smirk. He holds out the other for Eddie to take and Eddie snatches it, glaring at him over the buttery rim for his comment. Then takes a handful and shovels it in because he can’t think of a witty comment to retaliate. Steve crawls into the van and plops himself between them with a content sigh.

“See? Gross.” He teases, shoving his hand into Eddie’s popcorn bucket to grab a handful. Eddie scowls and chews a little faster when the flavour on his tongue seems to register in his brain.

His eyes stare at the popcorn bucket as he chews, then swallows — up the front of the van, the radio that’s tuned into the correct frequency begins playing the opening credits song as the screen changes. Silence sweeps across the drive-in but despite the sudden hush, Eddie has no qualms about breaking it.

“Sweet n’ salty flavour?” He asks Steve, only half attempting a whisper. Robin shushes him instantly, her focus already on the movie that’s beginning. Steve smiles, looking a bit sheepish beneath the glow of the drive-in screen, but he nods.

“I know you like it.” He whispers with a small shrug of his shoulders. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Fuck, Eddie thinks again and hastily feeds himself another handful of popcorn before he says anything majorly stupid in response to that, like: Oh, amazing- have you noticed the big fat crush I have on you as well?

He doesn’t even need to look at Robin to know she’s smiling, smug as ever.

—

Steve, God bless his oblivious little heart, doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Steve likes Eddie. Eddie is— god, Eddie is different but he’s good.

He’s this strange amalgamation of traits that Steve can’t comprehend how they fit together in one body or how Eddie manages to pull it all off completely charmingly.

He’s loud, he says rude things, he’s fucking dorky, and far too sweet on the kids — he likes to tease Steve, and yet somehow, when Eddie calls him ‘pretty boy’, Steve knows he’s not actually making fun of him.

Steve likes Eddie, likes his boyishly endearing charm, likes his touchiness towards Steve that no other boy his age is like, likes his messy curls and his ‘holier than thou’ attitude about metal music even though Steve doesn’t get it, like at all. And fuck, Steve really wants Eddie to like him.

It reminds him faintly of when he first started working alongside Robin at Scoops. That thought tickles in the back of his mind, something along the lines of how he had wanted Robin to like him for other reasons, but he doesn’t delve into it.

To Steve, it’s simple: he just wants Eddie to like him.

After the night at the drive-in, between Eddie acting strangely skittish and Robin giving more amused snorts than usual, Steve knows something is up.

He knows they must have discussed something when they sent him on popcorn duty, the bastards. He tries his best to not feel left out; god knows Robin and he have more than a dozen secrets they’ve sworn not to tell anyone but each other.

Besides, Steve trusts Robin to come and tell him if he really needs to know, even if it does worry him a bit. He bites down his anxious thoughts, even trying for a moment to see if there’s a pattern he’s been missing.

That train of thought gets derailed when Steve recalls instead Eddie’s delightful reaction to his new shirt — that Steve definitely hadn’t bought for that specific reason.

Even though Robin had given him that look when he’d first shown it to her — her bright eyes had narrowed, her smile turning a little more coy, and Steve had felt his ears get a little hotter. She hadn’t said anything though, just suggested that he should wear it tomorrow night when they were going out with Eddie.

God, he was glad she suggested it.

Rewinding over Eddie’s parted lips, the way his brown eyes had drank in the details as they trailed up his body and lingered on his arms— Steve had the sudden thought to flex the muscle, just to elicit some reaction, but it had gone out the window at Eddie’s original dismal reaction.

‘Yeah, looks... looks good, man’. Said all aloof, like he hadn’t really thought it. It was like bursting a balloon hidden behind Steve’s ribs, one he wasn’t even aware was there until it was deflating pathetically, making his shoulders sag.

Then— ‘You trying a new style? Going metal on me, big boy?’ And dammit, it’s like Eddie had clocked exactly what calling him ‘big boy’ had done the first time in the Winnebago.

Eddie had then grinned, done another once over of the new shirt, even as Steve pretended to search for his keys and wallet while saying something snarky to try to cover up the heat crawling up his neck. Yet, Steve found himself smiling too because, fuck yes, Eddie liked it too.

But, apparently, whatever Eddie and Robin had discussed wasn’t considered important enough because Robin never brought it up.

The thought and worry about it melt away in Steve’s mind until the memory of that night is about Eddie’s compliment, about his cat-like grin over the popcorn bucket, and how he had leaned over to whisper every bad joke into Steve’s ear all through the movie.

Some of them had been down-right filthy jokes which Eddie only seemed to enjoy more when Steve screwed his face up and nudged Eddie in the ribs, yet unable to hide his smile.

After the third vulgar joke and subsequent nudge, Steve had chided ‘dude’ with a poorly hidden grin. Eddie, smile all cheeky, had nudged him back with a ‘dude’ of his own.

Which, of course, ensued a nudge competition til Robin had given a shush that librarians all over the world would be jealous of. But Steve didn’t even care because he and Eddie were arm to arm, pressed close together and Eddie…didn’t move. Stayed close, like he wanted the closeness the same way Steve did.

Steve only remembers the strange drive-in moment when Robin brings it up finally, on one interesting Saturday night.

It’s not the usual routine; it’s not very often that the whole group gets together to share drinks and get rowdy.

But it was for Robin’s birthday and she’d been persuasive enough to get even the introverts, like Jonathan, to come along. Though, she was aware he’d probably spend the night on a pool lounger, stoned to high heaven. Whatever floats your boat, she’d said, happy for the company in any form.

There’s enough of them there that it almost resembles some sort of party— and makes Steve try not to think about the last small party he threw here. He can tell Nancy notices it too, eyeing the pool a bit too long in a way he’s very familiar with, then taking a swig of beer.

So, Steve heckles them inside — doing a fantastic mothering impression as he waves the group indoors with a promise of pizza, and that has both Jonathan and Argyle perking up and beginning a fast discussion on the best pizza toppings.

Eddie makes a fuss, because of course he does, and moans terribly when Steve tries to roll him off the pool lounger he’s on. He’s had a bit of a joint and some beer, and Steve’s learned that he gets adorably stubborn after some substances.

“Stevie, this is mean,” he had pouted, gripping the edges of the lounger and staring up at Steve with those big brown eyes. “You telling me I did all that bonding with you for nothing? Can’t even lounge by the pool! I’ve got a couch at homeeeee.”

Steve had sent him an amused look of disbelief, hands on his hips after his first round of flicks against Eddie’s arm were apparently fruitless to get him to move. “Really? Didn’t peg you for a gold-digger, Eds.”

Eddie had snorted at that, one hand coming to slap over his mouth. Steve couldn’t quite hear what he had said but the words pegging and anytime slipped through and Steve thinks he could get the gist of that.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Steve muttered, feeling the tips of his ears turn warm. He didn’t know how Eddie could be such a menace— or why he enjoyed it so much when he was. Steve waved a hand in the direction of the doors, ignoring Eddie’s delighted snickering. “If you go inside now, you can be on music, alright?”

And that had finally got them all indoors, Eddie whooping and skedaddling through the doors in an instant, with a call of ‘no take backsies!’ echoing behind him.

Inside was much cozier, the whole group a little more connected when squished up on the couches together. Eddie had taken Steve’s word and was jamming a cassette into one of the speakers when Steve made it back inside after scouting around the pool for leftover cans and butts to throw out.

He’s just been thinking about what playful jab he could make at Eddie’s music, like Eddie always did to him when Robin hollered at him from the kitchen.

“Steve!” She’d yelled excitedly and he come to find her quick, brows raised as he entered the kitchen. She was grinning, already a bit jumpy as she got when she had a bit of liquor — but apparently not enough because when Steve saw what she’d called him in for, she’d announced, “Tequila shots!”

Which lead to now. A hazy combination of beer, tequila, and a bit of weed, and Steve is feeling good. Robin had managed to hijack the music not too long ago, with a hiccup of ‘it’s my birthday’ that had Eddie surrendering with a pout.

She’d since put on a bit of everything: some Blondie for Nance, Talking Heads for Jonathan, and some Bowie, just so she and Steve could dance along to ‘Magic Dance’ and she could do all the silly little goblin voices that made them both cackle.

Steve realised at some point that Robin was playing their mixtape, the one she’d made for driving in the morning, and nearly tripped stumbling over to her in his excitement. He grabbed her shoulders, not too hard, and squeezed.

“Is it- is this our mixtape?” Steve asked, words slurring only a bit. Robin gleamed, hair bouncing with her excited nod.

“Yes!” She was already dancing, even though the tape was between songs — because she knew what song was coming. “It’s Springsteen time, Steve!”

Right as the drums to Born to Run filtered out the speaker.

And oh, Steve loves Robin so much. He loves having a best friend that knows his favourite song and gets jittery and excited because she knows it’s about to play— that she put it on this mix for him.

“You’re my best friend!” Steve says, the words bursting out like he can’t control them. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed, just happy, just drunk, and overwhelming happy to be able to have this.

And even though Robin knows this, she still beams, feet dancing along and just begins to sing along with the song, “In the days, we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream…”

It’s a brazen drunken performance from the both of them. Steve’s chest is heaving after just one chorus that he’s pretty sure he put his whole soul into and he’s so fucking happy —and it feels like pure instinct to seek out Eddie, his eyes scouring the room for him.

Eddie’s leaned up against the wall, hiding his smile behind a can and Steve doesn’t think twice about it— doesn’t think about why he’s so drawn to Eddie, why he wants to include him in this happiness — just extends his hand out and grins.

Eddie sees the bid coming this time.

Part Three.

— 

yes i saw all ur lovely tags and MAYBE cried about it. but thats none of ur business.

@orangeandthefairroadkill @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sadcanadianwinter @phantypurple @omg-elledubs-things @henderdads @farfaras @mixsethaddams @prismandblue @kerlypride @bushbees @legitcookie @temporalcoffin @callmesirkay @beautifully-useless @millyditty @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @ninjapirateunicorns @darkwitchoferie @vi-the-best-you-can @psychosnowfox @desert-fern @scarletzgo @cr0w-culture @softpink-candlelight @livingforfictionalcharacters @makewavesandwar @kozuuji @rhapsodyinalto @eddiethesexy @cassaloopa @lightwoodbanethings @qu33rcommunist @moonlitkilljoy @starkdusk @theysherobinbuckley @sanguineterrain @loganwright @sillysparrow @hotcocoaharrington @eddie-munson-is-my-wife @she-is-tim @steddiehearts @sideblogofthcentury @sidebarre @corrodedcoughin @stevieclaus

[hairmetal666]

Read Part One here

cw: implied child abuse

Eddie's coming over for coffee. Not Eddie with Nancy and Robin or Eddie with the kids. Just Eddie.

They haven't been alone in 9 years and now Eddie is coming over for coffee.

They're friends, of course. After Vecna they didn't have much of a choice, but they've never talked about it--that they used to be something.

After Steve kissed Eddie goodbye for what turned out to be the last time, they didn't see each other again for months and months, except for a devastatingly fleeting moment in the Family Video parking lot. And the next time after that, Eddie's pinning him to the wall of a rickety boathouse, a broken bottle to his throat.

What's going through his mind, his body, at that moment is relief. For days, weeks, months, he ached for Eddie's touch again, and even though he was in danger, he relished in the push of their bodies together. Thought, if this is how he dies, he won't mind going.

But they don't talk about it, about them, because Eddie is on the run and Max is going to die, and they have to save the world, so there's no time. In the aftermath, it's the least of their worries, and now it's been almost a decade and Eddie is coming over for coffee.

The thing is, it's not like Steve has been pining away for a love long lost in the intervening years, and neither has Eddie. They've both had longterm, serious relationships; Steve almost got married. But for Steve...Eddie is the one that's lingered, the one that knocks around his ribcage on late sleepless nights, the one that makes him dream of what might have been. Because Steve truly loved his other partners, but Eddie--nobody will ever compare.

Someone is knocking a rhythm at his front door, and he can't stifle his smile even as his heart runs riot in his chest.

"Hey, man," he says, remarkably nonchalant as he takes Eddie in. Still beautiful, still brimming with energy; his smile wide and dimpled, bouncing on his toes.

"Harrington!" Eddie grabs him into a quick side hug, slapping his back. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

Steve chuckles, touching the horn-rimmed frames. "Oh, god, Robin forced me to get them back in '87? Too many concussions." He touches his forehead. "I usually just wear contacts."

"It's a good look," Eddie says. He's very much not looking at Steve, eyes roaming around the Chicago apartment he's been to many times before.

He watches as Eddie spots the display of his own books, index finger slowly slipping across the spines in a way that makes Steve remember when those same fingers would slide down his spine. He stifles a shiver, turns towards the kitchen.

"So, how's New York? How's the book coming?"

"Livin' the dream." It's not flippant, not like how most people mean it. Eddie leaks genuineness, always has. "The book though...it's a little rough."

Steve sets the coffee maker going, brings fresh pastries and a couple plates over to the table. "I can imagine. It doesn't--it doesn't have to be the same, you know?"

"Yeah, if only I hadn't written three other books leading up to the evil mind wizard," Eddie chuckles. He grabs a croissant and tears it in half. "It'll be alright, Harrington. I'll figure it out. I lived through it the first time, after all."

Steve doesn't remind him that he almost didn't, that they almost didn't. Instead, he pours coffee, listens as Eddie talks about how to fictionalize the worst month of their collective lives.

He splashes milk into Eddie's coffee, taps in three scoops of sugar. He carries it to where Eddie waits, still talking about the logistics of Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One in his novel, but his words abruptly stop as his hands wrap around the porcelain.

"Steve?"

It's only then that Steve realizes what he's done--made Eddie's coffee like he took it back then, made it without thinking, totally on muscle memory, when the best of his mornings were spent in Eddie's arms.

His cheeks glow crimson and he grips at the back of his neck. "S-sorry." He says. "It--is this still how you take it?"

"Yeah." Eddie's eyes fall from Steve's face, his own cheeks pink. "It's--yeah. Still the same."

"I'm sorry--"

"--Steve, I--"

They don't laugh. They both stop speaking and look at each other, faces still red. Steve thinks there's nothing for it but to get it all out now.

"I'm sorry, Eddie." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I never came back. I'm sorry I didn't explain why. I'm just--really, really sorry."

Eddie's eyes are hooked on the table top, fingers twisting and twisting his coffee mug. "Can I--why? I waited and you--why?"

Steve swallows, but it gets stuck in his throat, and now he's the one who can't look up from his hands.

"My parents got home early," he manages. "My dad, he was waiting for me. I guess one of the neighbors thought it best to tell them who I'd been spending my time with."

Silence falls over the table, and he chances a look up at the man across from him, the one whose knuckles bite into his lips, whose eyes shine with unshed tears.

"You should've called me. You should've--you could've stayed with us. We would've kept you safe."

"Eddie, I couldn't. I physically couldn't," the admission costs him so much.

"Steve," Eddie chokes on his name, voice nothing but anguish. "Did anyone--You could've--you were all alone."

He shakes his head. "Robin knew. She snuck through my window to take care of me, but my parents--I couldn't--" This time the words really won't come. "We made a plan. We started that job at Family Video, and we saved up our money."

Now, Eddie's face is creased with grief. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

Steve shakes his head, smiles despite the wreckage around his heart. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I left you with no explanation. I broke your heart. And--and--" He thinks, what does it hurt to say it at this point. "I love you. I love you so much. I convinced myself you were better off without me, that we could have a clean break and you could get over me."

Eddie's hands cover his face, muffle the sob that slips out. "Get over you?" He whispers. "There's never been one like you, sweetheart."

He slides around the table to kneel at Eddie's side. "Hey." Deep brown eyes stare back at him, Eddie's face wet with tears. "It's always you, Ed. Always. I didn't want to say anything, if you had moved on, but--"

There's not really any transition from them talking to them kissing; Steve slips into it like he did all those years ago, when he first asked for Eddie's kiss. Their mouths slot together, their bodies fit like they always used to, perfect puzzle pieces. Steve's knees give out at the first brush of Eddie's tongue, and they collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor. Even then, they don't part.

Eventually, Steve does break the embrace, face flushed and hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear. "Okay, trying to be responsible here. Should we take a pause, go on a date first? Slow down?"

"Nine years isn't slow enough?" Eddie's pupils are blown, hair frizzed around his head.

"When you put it that way," Steve can't help but laugh. "I just want to do right by you, Eddie. Make up for--everything."

Eddie grins down at him, that sunshine beam smile where his dimples pop. "Tell you what, how bout you take me to bed now, and I'll let you take me on a date tomorrow?"

"Oh, you'll let me?" Steve rakes a hand through Eddie's mane of hair. "I don't think you'll have any choice."

"You sure about that, Stevie?" Their lips are so close, the brush with every word.

"Uh-huh," Steve's having trouble keeping his eyes focused, overwhelmed by the sheer force of Eddie Munson. "Never letting you go again, Ed."

Surprise! Part 2! I genuinely had no intention on doing a follow-up, but so many of you asked so nicely that it gave me this idea. Sorry if I miss anyone in the tag list and thank you for reading! @everywherenothere @tiny-enthusiast @emma-elsa-0000 @fuzzyduxk @moonythepluviophile @anaibis @rhapsodyinalto @bunk12bear @tillystealeaves @velocitytimes2 @s-trawberryv-eins @marklee-blackmore @ignoremyworld @its-a-me-a-morgan @goodolefashionedloverboi @starman-jpg @djohawke @adaydreamaway08