#5+1 things but it's angst

[metalhoops]

The Five Times Eddie Wondered Who His Soulmate Was  and the One Time He Didn’t Have To

1. 

The worst thing about knowing your soulmate was in trouble was understanding there was nothing you could do about it. 

As a whole, Eddie thought the concept of soulmates was bullshit. He thought all that fate and destiny crap was a scam to sell the idea of monogamy or co-dependence. If people were too busy fretting over when they’d meet ‘their person’, they’d forget that actual shit was going on in the world. Who had the time to care about systemic oppression when they were busy trying to work out if the cute girl across the corridor was their one true love? 

That being said, sometimes Eddie got curious about who they were. Not many people found their soulmates. It wasn’t as obvious as you’d think. When they were in pain, you would feel it. Two people could live across the world from one another, feeling each scraped knee and broken wrist but never meet. Hell, you could live across the street from someone and unless you were there to watch them get hurt and feel the same old pang of shared pain, you’d never know. 

It wasn’t like Eddie had never felt his soulmate before that day. They’d twisted an ankle when Eddie was twelve and sprained a wrist when he was fourteen, but he’d felt no pain from them so strong as when he was sitting in detention during his junior year. 

He was counting down the minutes left until he could get out of the high school, hell hole when a sharp and sudden pain flooded his jaw. He gritted his teeth and cradled it with his palm, feeling as though the wind was knocked out of his body. Eddie knew what being punched in the face felt like, and that was it. Just when the ache started to fade, another thud of pain to his cheek made his vision swim. From there, Eddie held his breath, waiting for the pain to end. He rested his head on his desk and felt his heart in his throat as the blows kept coming. 

He missed Mrs Click telling him to go home, too busy gripping the desk for dear life, his fingernails digging into the poorly carved desk graffiti, slicing a line through ‘RB 4 TT.’ He was elated when the pain finally stopped. 

Eddie kept his head down the whole walk home, trying to tell himself soulmates were bullshit, and that he didn’t care about his, but his thoughts kept returning to visions of them. He hoped they were okay. 

Eddie never wanted to know who his soulmate was until that moment. They’d had a hell of a day and Eddie wanted to be there with them, tell them he knew what it was like. He wanted to hold their head in his lap and tell them everything was going to be okay, that if it were up to him, no one would hurt them like that again, but he couldn’t. For all he knew, they could be a hundred miles away. 

2.

The next time it happened, Eddie was at home alone in the trailer. Uncle Wayne was working a night shift, and he was watching a horror movie marathon on the T.V. It was shaping up to be a good night, with him curled up on the couch watching a schlocky creature feature when he felt all the air knocked out of his lungs. 

For a moment, he was worried something horrible was happening to him. When Jeff had appendicitis, he’d reported the same kind of pain. Eddie rolled up the hem of his shirt, watching a black-blue bruise bloom and fade in the span of a second. Sometimes, if the pain was great enough, you’d get what they called an ‘echo’ of the injury. It only lasted a moment, invisible ink fading on pale paper. 

The pain had been so strong that Eddie hadn’t been able to tell if it was theirs or his. From there, it got worse. He felt a sharp pang crash over his head, then another series of blows to the face. It was always the goddamn face.

When it was over, Eddie was left feeling lightheaded. The sensation faded quickly, but he knew his other half would be stuck with the ache for the rest of the night, if not longer. 

There was a lot of conjecture when it came to soulmates. It was hard to conduct scientific studies on something based entirely on sensation, and any research that had been done was less than ethical. All the same, for the rest of the night, Eddie curled his arms around himself, holding his body in the hopes his person could feel it, that he could give them some comfort. 

“I hope you’re okay,” he whispered, burrowing his face into the crook of his elbow. 

Back at school, Eddie floated through the halls feeling less than himself as thoughts of his person swirled. The school was abuzz with rumours of a fight between Billy Hargrove and the former king of Hawkins High, Steve Harrington. Eddie couldn’t care less about some pissing contest for the highest rung on the social ladder, as he still felt the echoed ache of his soulmate’s pain throughout the day. 

He ditched gym, opting to hide beneath the bleachers and smoke. To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one with the idea. When he arrived, he found the overthrown king sitting cross-legged, cradling his still-bruised jaw. Eddie wasn’t a fan of the jocks, but they were the biggest contributor to his wallet, so he tried to play civil with them. Plus, Eddie wasn’t one to kick someone when they were down, and boy was Steve down. He sat beside the man, examined his face, and thought for a fleeting second. Maybe he was the one, but that was crazy talk. The Freak and the King. In what world? 

“You look like you’ve had better days,” Eddie noted. 

“I’ve had worse,” Steve replied. Eddie had a pit in his stomach. 

The two lapsed into silence, hiding out until the bell sounded for the end of gym. Eddie gave the boy a half-hearted salute as he stood.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie spoke before he left.

“You okay?”

Steve gave Eddie the ghost of a smile, all charm drowned out by Steve’s two black eyes. 

“I will be.” 

3.

Eddie had been worried about his soulmate before, but he’d never thought he’d lose them until the summer vacation after his failed attempt at senior year. He and the rest of Corroded Coffin had just finished their set at The Hideout. Eddie and the boys were carrying their instruments back to the van when the feeling hit. 

He fell to the asphalt. The whole scene sounded all the more dramatic as the hi-hat he’d been holding fell with him. He really wished his soulmate would learn to keep their head down and stay out of trouble because this was getting ridiculous. He got ready to hunker down and wait it out, having gotten morbidly used to their annual beatings. Only this time the pain didn’t stop. 

He was hit with wave after wave of agony. This time, it wasn’t just the face. He felt blows to his jaw, his stomach, and his side. He also felt a sharp spike of pain in his hand, as though someone was trying to peel his nails from his skin.

He could hear his friends around him, desperately trying to get something coherent out of Eddie, trying to work out if it was soulmate bullshit or if the guy was having an aneurysm. By the way he was acting, either seemed possible. When the pain subsided, Eddie felt foggy, like he was going through the worst goddamn high of his life. The neon signs of The Hideout and the street lamps danced before his eyes. Hundreds of little halos clouded his vision. He couldn’t think straight. 

He managed to prop himself up against the wheel of the van and pulled his knees to his chest. He knotted his hands in his long hair and tugged, trying to remind himself what his own pain felt like, though stopped when he realised he’d also be hurting them. That was the last thing they needed. 

“You okay?” He heard Gareth ask when the world came swimming back into focus. Eddie shook his head. Far from it.  

“Are they okay? Are they... alive?” Eddie hadn’t let himself entertain that idea until it was brought up. 

He felt the last flush of colour drain from his face. He could still feel them, but there was something wrong with the connection. Maybe he was dying. Eddie couldn’t help but think of his soulmate as ‘he’. He just knew. 

Eddie kept trying to tell himself he didn’t care about them, but the fact that he could die without Eddie ever having met him made his heart ache. People thought the reason you felt your person’s pain was to protect them, to know when something was wrong. Eddie had done a bang-up job at that. 

“For now, but it’s weird. I don’t... I don’t know how much longer-,” Eddie didn’t let himself finish. 

The rest of the band suddenly took on a sombre mood. Jeff and Grant finished packing up the van while Gareth offered to drive. The boys stayed at Eddie’s trailer for the rest of the night, holding their breaths and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Eventually, Eddie dropped off to sleep and when he awoke hours later, he was relieved to realise he hurt all over. He was still alive, still waiting for Eddie to find him and god did Eddie want to. 

His uncle came home at the crack of dawn and let out an elongated sigh of relief at seeing Eddie and his band of merry men curled up together on the living room carpet. Wayne greeted Eddie with a tight hug that still hurt like hell.

“I was worried something happened to you,” His uncle stated in his gravelled tone.

“Why would something have happened to me?” Eddie asked, perplexed. 

“The mall burnt down last night. I was worried you were close by.” 

Eddie shook his head and let his uncle hold him as his mind ticked away. He wondered if it was possible his soulmate was in Hawkins. Eddie wasn’t sure he believed in coincidence.   

4.

Eddie started seeing spots during his lunchtime speech. By the end of his rant, the room had started to tilt. He felt unsure on his feet as he clambered from the top of the jock table to scamper back to the hellfire group. He must look worse for wear because he noticed one of his new recruits watching him.

“Eddie, you good?” Dustin questioned, sounding further away than he should. The lights in the cafeteria were too bright and his head was killing him. 

He felt close to throwing up and wondered where the pain had come from before realising the familiar distance from the sensation. It wasn’t his pain. Eddie didn’t want Henderson to butt into his love life any more than he already did, so he gave the kid a tight-lipped smile that more closely resembled a grimace. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt this sensation from his soulmate, but they were growing more frequent.  

Again, sweetheart? Eddie thought, knowing it was the second migraine that week. 

“Migraine,” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth. He could feel his band members' eyes on him. They knew exactly who the ache belonged to. 

To Eddie’s surprise, Dustin passed him a cool glass of water and barked orders at Mike, getting the kid to remove the ugly Hawaiian over shirt, before throwing it over Eddie’s head, blocking out the light. It wasn’t Eddie’s pain, so it didn’t help but he could appreciate the sentiment. 

“Did they teach you first aid at science camp, Henderson?” Eddie guessed offhandedly. 

“Nah. Steve gets migraines all the time. Helps to know how to deal with them.”

Eddie would never understand how a kid like Dustin came to know Steve Harrington, let alone worship the ground the guy walked on. Usually, Dustin had such good taste.  

“Eddie’s soulmate gets them too,” Gareth spoke unhelpfully. 

Even without looking, Eddie knew he was shooting him a shit-eating grin, knowing the rest of the afternoon Henderson would ask him about his soulmate. Just because the kid found Suzie, he thought the whole world deserved to find their one true love. Instead, Dustin came out with the most bullshit statement Eddie had ever heard. 

“Maybe Steve’s your soulmate.” 

Yeah, right. On what planet would that happen? 

5.

With everything that had happened to Eddie in the past few days, he hadn’t had time to think about his soulmate. He’d watched Chrissy die before his eyes, learnt the existence of another dimension and was walking through said dimension after witnessing Steve Harrington take a bite out of a demon bat’s tail. It’d been a weird ass day.  

He wished he’d been like Robin and Nancy, able to jump in and rescue Steve on a whim, but as Steve disappeared beneath the black water of Lover’s Lake, he’d felt his throat close and his lungs ache for air. It wasn’t a good time for a panic attack. Nevertheless, he’d managed to get his ass in gear and follow the rest of the group down into Watergate. 

He’d dropped back to walk with Steve and found himself complimenting the man. Steve was nothing like he imagined. He was not only kind, but as Dustin had put it, a total badass. 

Once the adrenaline faded, Eddie found himself lifting the hem of his shirt, examining his side. He felt a dull throb of pain. It’d be his luck to bleed out without noticing, but he found there was nothing there. 

“You good?” Steve asked.

Eddie couldn’t help but let his gaze settle on Steve’s bleeding side. He held his breath. He thought about pushing his hand against Steve’s wound, hurting him more just to check, but Eddie couldn’t hurt Steve. Not now. Especially if he was who Eddie thought he might be. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. You okay?” Eddie asked, gesturing to Steve’s side. The boy nodded.

“I’m fine, just a scratch. Can hardly feel a thing.” 

If Steve was his soulmate, he was full of shit. If Steve was his soulmate when everything blew over, they had a few things to talk about.

+1

Something was very wrong. Vecna was going down in a blaze of flame when Steve’s body started to ache. He felt the familiar sting of interdimensional bat fangs digging into dermis flesh. Robin and Nancy were cheering, wrapping their arms around Steve, whooping, hollering and panting while Steve was busy feeling like he was being torn apart. 

He was pulling away from the girls and turning on his heels before he had the chance to explain, running from the Creel House to the trailer park as fast as his feet could carry him. There was only one person this pain could belong to. 

Steve had spent his whole life searching for his soulmate, desperate to know who they were, and he’d been under his nose the whole time. The fact that Steve’s soulmate was a boy hadn’t surprised him as much as it should. That’d been a crisis bubbling away in the background of his brain since he’d gone to his first swim meet. He’d seen a boy in tight swim trunks, with tan skin and felt the familiar heart-pounding, crush he’d experienced on pretty girls he’d passed in the school hallways. 

By the time he got to Eddie, he’d hardly been able to fight through the pain surging through their connection. Dustin was wailing, holding Eddie in the wake of a bat graveyard. He looked up in alarm at Steve’s figure, noticing his pale skin and sweat-slicked brow. 

“Harrington?” Eddie’s weak voice came from Dustin’s lap. 

Steve was busy removing his clothes, trying to stop the bleeding. Dustin didn’t need to show him where the man was hurt, he could feel it. 

“I really must have got some brownie points in the end,” Eddie murmured. 

Both boys hissed as Steve shoved his shirt into a wound at Eddie’s side. That was when Dustin appeared to catch on, his eyes swelling wide as they darted between the two boys. 

“What’re you talking about, Munson?” Steve asked, trying to keep the guy talking. 

“Must’ve got into heaven after all,” He hummed, his deep brown eyes gazing beyond Steve at the distant red sky. 

“Hey. No. None of that. You aren’t in heaven because you’re not dying,” Steve hissed, using what little strength he had left to lift Eddie’s body. 

“Gotta be in heaven, if you’re here,” Eddie spoke, giving Steve a lopsided grin. Steve felt Eddie’s pain beginning to fade and panicked, not ready to let things end before they’d even had the chance to begin. 

He hoisted Eddie up through the portal and waited to do the same with Dustin. It wasn’t long before the distant sound of sirens once more surrounded the Munson trailer and Steve found himself passing out from the pain as red-blue lights swallowed the world whole. 

Eddie woke in pain, his whole body humming with a familiar dull ache that was unarguably his. It took time for him to make sense of the scene. He was in the hospital. Steve was slumped over at the far edge of the room, sleeping in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his head thrown back and his mouth agape. Eddie’s eyes trailed to his bedside, where he met Dustin’s. 

“Holy shit, you’re awake,” the boy gasped, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. 

Eddie cringed as he felt a rush of pain swarm through his body. He must have gasped, because Steve sprung to life, waking with a start as his eyes trailed from Dustin to Eddie. Steve’s eyes were a storm of quiet conflict, punctuated by deep purple bruises. 

“Eddie,” Steve breathed, standing to hover beside the bed, unsure of what to do next. 

He was surprised Steve was there at all. He wouldn’t say the two were close. Though Steve had probably found some way of twisting Eddie getting hurt into some fault of his, ever the damn hero. 

“Thought I was a goner for a second there,” Eddie admitted, trying to shake some of the strange tension from the room.

“If Steve hadn’t gotten there in time, you would’ve been,” Dustin spoke. Eddie watched as the boy’s hands trembled. He leaned over, fighting through the pain to ruffle the kid’s hair. Steve’s shoulders hunched over, doubling into himself. 

“I’ll get the nurse. Your uncle left for his nightshift, but he should be back in a few,” Dustin muttered as he made a beeline for the exit. It seemed strange the boy was extracting himself from the scene.

Henderson called over his shoulder. “I told you so.” 

And just like that, Eddie knew. 

He looked up at Steve with wide-eyed alarm, only to find his look mirrored.

“How’d you know we were in trouble?” Eddie asked, though thought he knew the answer. 

“After we killed Vecna, I felt... I could feel you. I knew you were hurt,” Steve explained. 

“How’d you know it was me?” Eddie pushed.

“Thought it was too much of a coincidence that it felt like my soulmate was getting eaten alive by giant bats. I’d call it an educated guess.” 

Eddie gritted his teeth and nodded. Surely, as far as soulmates went, he hadn’t been what Steve imagined. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, surprising Eddie. 

“For what?”

“Not being the person you wanted me to be, I guess,” Steve spoke so candidly, it made pain and panic swell in his throat. How could Steve think Eddie was disappointed that he was his soulmate?

“I’m not disappointed, Stevie. Why would I be disappointed?” 

“You had to have known,” Steve reasoned. 

Eddie didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but it sounded like Steve had been overthinking every second of it. 

“You give me more credit than I deserve. I didn’t know it was you, sweetheart. Cross my heart,” Eddie admitted, surprised at how quickly the term of endearment he’d used for his soulmate slipped off his tongue when talking to Steve. 

He hadn’t worked out shit. He’d had hunches, as though his heart knew, but the logical part of his brain kept overriding it. In what world were he and Steve perfect for each other?

Eddie threw caution to the wind as he saw the genuine look of affection and excitement painting its way across Steve’s face. He looked hopeful. Eddie cringed, sitting up and trying to lean closer to Steve.

“Come here before I hurt the both of us,” Eddie grumbled.

Steve shuffled closer to Eddie’s bed, crouching down, so the two were at eye level. Eddie wanted to kiss the boy so damn bad, and Steve was sending him all the signs that he should, but there was something he had to do first. He took Steve’s face between his hands, running a thumb over the purple bruises beneath his eyes.

“No more playing hero, okay?” 

Steve nudged his face into the palm of Eddie’s hand and nodded, letting out a weak chuckle. 

“I think I can agree to that.” 

Eddie crushed their lips together and despite the pain, it felt like everything was right in the world. 

[hitlikehammers]

Post S4!Eddie Needs a Little Help

Good thing Steve's such an excellent nurse boyfriend? friend, huh?

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

🧊 one: drink 🧊

The first thing he clocks, when he surfaces back to the land of the living: he can’t move his fucking arms.

At first, he thinks he’s locked up, restrained somehow: cuffed, but he can’t even know that, he can’t even check because he can barely fucking move at all, he—

“Eddie,” he hears his name through white noise that’s tunneling his vision, that’s caving in with every blow his pounding heartbeat deals to the walls as they close closer—there’s beeping like a time bomb in the background but it’s not just his name, it’s the voice that speaks it: it cuts through. It bolsters the walls and shelters him from collapse as his eyes dart wild, seeking out the sound.

“Breathe,” plush lips and earnest eyes coax him, and Eddie feels his own eyes widen because: Steve goddamn Harrington.

Here.

“You can breathe, okay,” Steve’s saying and his eyes are bigger now, there’s a pleading in his tone and Eddie sees it happen before any sensation, any feeling comes with it: Steve’s got Eddie’s hand in his, cups it to his chest but never breaks from holding Eddie’s gaze and the first thing Eddie thinks he feels as a touch is the warm pressure of the chest under their joined hands lifting almost-too-strong, almost-too-full.

The things Eddie feels that have nothing to do with his five fucking senses—he’ll work those out later.

“Come on, with me, with me, yeah?” and Steve’s breathing deep and even and forced for it, keeping a punishingly intentional sort of time and Eddie realizes oh, hey, right: he does need to breathe and so the next thing that he feels is the tail-end of pain, sneaking up under a fog that hints at any to come when whatever’s blanketing the feeling gets lifted, taken away, but then Eddie’s zeroing in on Steve’s face again, gasping a little and fuck, but it hurts: but Steve.

Steve’s smiling at him, in a way Eddie doesn’t know he’s ever seen before; definitely never felt before for the way it points a direct hit to his sternum, all fuzzy and sunrise-gold, and he doesn’t know if it helps him or hurts him in trying to breathe, to get the rhythm back to is but it sure as shit kicks at his heart and he thinks that punches his lungs hard enough to do…something, because Steve’s smile just grows, and the warm-gold-glow starts to spread through Eddie as something bigger and brighter and fuller than the pain as Steve exhales once out-of-sync and Eddie feels it, how Steve presses his hand tighter to his chest for it and laughs a little around one single word:

“Yeah,” and then it’s back to deep breaths, carefully measured, and Eddie wants Steve to talk again, but his head’s getting clearer, his lungs remembering how to work right, and he feels things under his hand now where he didn’t before: soft sweater. Rabbit-quick heartbeat.

“Steve,” Eddie chokes it, drags the word across gravel and bleeds it out and he’s disgusted in an instant, horrified by the sound coming out of himbut before he can let the terror and the hurt swallow him, he sees Steve, who somehow found a way to grin broader, shine brighter.

“Hey,” he laughs it out with so much goddamn relief, so much feeling, that Eddie can’t help but melt into it; Steve must feel something in him, or maybe he just knows, because he’s gathering Eddie’s hand, flattening it as a palm against his chest to keep breathing, keep breathing, but then he’s reaching and there’s a gentle whisper of touch against Eddie’s left cheek, and it stings, and he knows he should feel more but it’s…it’s goodeven as it aches and he leans, fuck, he doesn’t think twice before he leans.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice,” Steve says and it’s so warm and honest and it’s fucking laughable because Eddie sounds goddamn abysmal, and his throat tries to push the laughter, even if it’s poorly placed, even if nothing really feels fucking funny about anything but the effort’s like sandpaper on glass, wretched and violent, and Steve’s eyes widen when Eddie flaps at his neck, but he’s already reaching for the side of the bed, and—

“Water?” He asks, holding up a pitcher and a clear plastic cup and Eddie bites his tongue, tries to remember breathing without Steve’s guiding hand and he almost manages as he nods and then tries to reach when Steve places the pitcher, cup in his hand but Eddie’s hand…

He can’t lift it right. His vision’s either totally fucked, or his hand is tremoring hard enough to make him dizzy. He can’t feel anything, again. He—

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice is careful, gentle, but it’s firm: like it knows it’ll find steel to press against when Eddie meets his gaze and makes himself listen: he wants the glass. He can’t…he can’t reach for it, let alone hold it, let alone get the water to his mouth, and not all over everywhere else for the shaking. He doesn’t know if he’d feel the width and weight of the cup, or the wetness of the spill: he’s a mess, he’s broken, he’s totally fucked, what even if this, what is he, is this what it means to have survived, what is wrong with him—

“Look at me.”

Steve’s got that tender-pressed iron in his tone, the command less grating where it would make Eddie seethe—still does, the slightest bit but so far beneath everything else; beneath a sense of being cared for, being held close and then Steve’s hand is reaching for Eddie’s face again, brushing along his cheek and oh.

Oh, tears. He, he was—

“We almost lost you, Eds,” and it’s Steve that sounds choked for it, his voice wet and weeping with it and eyes gleaming just a little too bright and Eddie’s pulse trips to see it: proof that he means something. Proof that the wild things Eddie’d let himself imagine in the past days, in what he was so fucking sure were his last moments at all: they might still be wild, but they might also be things he’ll get to touch just an edge of, a gentle mercy of the corner of the things he spun up in his head.

“We almost lost you,” Steve says it again, and it’s sounds just as gutted, fucking…heartbroken, and for what, for Eddie? He, it’s—

“And you’re on a lot of medications, and you have a lot of injuries, and some of it’s gonna just take time and some of it’s gonna take more work, but Eddie,” Steve tilts his head, leans in and Eddie can feel the body heat of him from the chest on out: “Eddie, we are all here to help you, okay? No questions asked, we’re here to help,” and Steve’s eyes are a piercing kind of starfield, deep-dark but lightened by the fire burning: kinda mesmerizing even before he speaks again:

“Because we love you, all of us love you, and we are so fucking relieved you’re still here,” and there’s no question in it, no hesitation or resistance: it’s wholly felt and believed and Eddie reels a little for it because how and why, and the idea of all of them, and of Steve being included in the all-of-them, and love, of any kind, but love being a word no one fucking uses for a thing that’s small, or weak, or fleeting and just, just…

“And it’s not charity, or obligation, or pity,” and it’s like Steve can read him, can see his soul, the worst endings to the story that had drowned him in an instant when he couldn’t feel his fingers, when he couldn’t grasp a goddamn cup, before he could even stop to consider that he was already in the best possible ending, either way.

Because it was one he was still here to see.

“Kinda the opposite, really,” Steve’s slipping his fingers between Eddie’s atop his sweater; “because it kinda hurts when we’re not here to see you being okay,” and it’s so earnest, so sincere when he says it, when his voice goes low and faint like he doesn’t want to tempt the universe by letting it hear an unthinkable possibility that they’d dodged to by the skin of their teeth, but by the skin on their bones as sacrifice, scars to match and all:

“It hurts to be anywhere but here, where you’re okay, when we were so fucking afraid you wouldn’t be.”

And doesn’t that fucking sear for the slap of it in his face; doesn’t that goddamn sing in his veins that still have blood pumping through them, Jesus H. Christ.

“So,” Steve leans forward, draws Eddie’s touch somehow closer, has to almost be painful when all Eddie can process above the fog and the warmth is the breadth of Steve’s chest, and the thrum of his heartbeat as real-real-real, and there for Eddie to anchor himself in as being real, too.

“Will you let me help?”

Eddie’s eyes dart to where Steve’s placed the cup back on the side table, and has a hand near it waiting: for permission. He’s giving Eddie a choice, and there’s a version of Eddie, in a version of events not so far from these, here, but then so far from these here, that would fight harder at the idea of being coddled, of being invalided and made purposeless, fucking pointless for being wholly ripped of his ability to care for his own needs and wants, but this…

This isn’t that version.

So he nods, and Steve lets out a sigh Eddie can map from inhale to release, and he smiles like it’s a gift to him that Eddie lets him do this, lets him lift the lip of the cup to Eddie’s lips, careful and Eddie can feel it rest on tender flesh, something torn there too like so much else of him, and he drinks like manna from a heaven he doesn’t believe in, save that he thinks there’s something angelic, something godly in the tenderness of Steve’s movements, of his eyes on Eddie, of his heartbeat under Eddie’s touch: just him, there, present.

Like all the idly musings he’d allowed himself in the dark of a hellscape, in the moments he’d thought for sure would be his last: like those fleeting little fantasies may not have legs for themselves, but could grow into something just as good, or better even.

Because maybe they’ll be something true.

“Thank you,” Eddie manages to say, and it’s a whisper but it’s not something out of a horror film, so it’s an improvement after five careful swallows and Steve’s deft hand to wipe his bottom lip.

“Thank you for letting me,” Steve’s foolish enough, perfect enough to say; “it helps me, too.”

How, though? How, and more: how are they here like this, in this moment? Just—

“How’d I get out?” It’s an easier question to ask, so he feints that way instead.

“We carried you out.”

Vague.

“Who did?”

Steve only blinks, but his heart thumps an extra beat against Eddie’s fingertips.

“I did.”

Of course he did. Of course it was him.

“You’re,” Eddie licks his lips, closes his eyes; tries to figure out if he needs more water to keep going: no. No, he can do this.

“You’re okay?” he turns his hand just a slightest bit, doesn’t want to stop touching Steve but wants to press his hand to Steve’s the other way ‘round.

“Bats,” he manages to mouth, and Steve’s got the water to his lips again, now, carefully portioning his sips as he answers:

“Getting there, but I’m fine.”

Eddie wants to roll his eyes. Eddie wants to hold Steve to his chest and check his wounds himself. Eddie wants…

“Everyone else? Dustin?” he follows up because he can guess; Steve wouldn’t be so calm if something terrible had come of the battle, but still. “And—”

“Healing,” Steve’s quick to answer the half-formed questions, knows what Eddie’s concerned with most without trying and maybe it’s obvious, probably yeah it is but it feels warm in him again, through him like honey, thick and slow and sweet. “Max has got a rough road ahead, and it’s touch-and-go, because we’re pretty sure the things that are still wrong with her are tied up in Vecna,” Eddie frowns; regrets it for the pull and why is sensation coming back for hurting; “we didn’t wipe him out entirely, we lost this battle,” but then Steve’s hand is closer against his cheek: he doesn’t know if he leaned in or his Steve moved nearer but it doesn’t matter because Eddie will hurt far more than this, will take feeling for all it’s highs and lows, will claim it back and clutch it close if he also gets to feel Steve.

“But maybe more it’s like a draw, really, because it could have been such a bigger loss,” and Steve’s voice catches, and so does his breath where Eddie’s hand’s still charting; his pulse trips and Eddie frowns deeper, fuck the pain of it and whatever real damage it does above the waves of heavy narcotics, Steve’s eyes have gone glassy and his throat’s working harder around something thick, difficult, and the hand holding Eddie’s to Steve’s chest is rubbing the skin at his wrist near-raw for how hard and how metronomic it’s digging against Eddie’s veins, and his mouth’s parted and he’s staring at Eddie like—

Oh.

Oh, that’s what he meant, about…bigger losses.

Well, shit.

“And there’s still hope, y’know?” Steve’s voice comes quiet in comparison to where it was before but it’s still music. Still beautiful.

Eddie tries to swallow, wet his mouth on his own but he can’t so he turns eyes that can’t possibly look short of pleading, now, and blinks toward the cup at the bedside and Steve’s on it in an instant, easing it to Eddie’s mouth and tipping gently, painstaking in its care until Eddie pulls back and steels himself to try again with words, because these ones, he needs the to come out strong, and right:

“We’ll win the war.”

It’s scratchy, and probably more motion than sound but: it’s there, and it’s full and solid and Steve fucking beams for it:

“Yeah,” Steve speaks it like it’s fact, or like in saying it he’ll seal it as law and Eddie believes it just as sure, too, so:

“Yeah, we will.”

They will. They will.

They sit like that for a while, and Eddie feels the exertion of doing very little at all start to creep up on him and he must shift, or make a sound he can’t quite pick up himself to notice because Steve’s quick to jump:

“What else do you need?”

And Eddie’s drifting, and he doesn’t want to be a bother, a burden—useless—but Steve’s looking at him…the way Steve is looking at him?

It kinda prickles behind Eddie’s eyes, so he closes them, which feels like such a goddamn loss because then he can’t see Steve and he, he just…

“Can you,” Eddie starts to bite his lower lip but the sting rips through at the first hint of pressure so he bites at the tip of his tongue instead, and Steve’s already settling him; he never sat up, not truly, but Steve’s making sure he’s laid flat and comfortable, pillows arranged just so and Eddie can barely manage to pat the mattress when Steve retreats, but Steve knows him for that innocent gesture, too: grabs for his hand and Eddie remembers breathing well enough, now, to sigh in contentless, in fucking relief for the touch.

“Couldn’t feel,” he rasps a little; “hands, arms, when I first,” and then he opens his eyes, and locks gazes with Steve and forgets, for a second; forgets again, about the breathing.

And it’s okay; he’s okay with forgetting.

“Would it,” Eddie struggles with the words, throat start to feel a burn in it for the strain; “okay if—“

“The answer’s yes, man,” Steve’s soothing him, but also kind of shushing him, all in one go: “whatever it is, okay? So just ask, don’t like, pull the punch,” then Steve’s squeezing his hand, and murmuring deep and smooth and almost like a purr, a source of pure comfort just to hear, and then to feel through the air between them:

“‘Cause it’s not a punch, yeah?”

And: okay. Okay then, he can; Eddie can do this.

“Can you keep,” he barely breathes, but it’s all he remembers so he goes with it, hopes it’s enough: “holding? I can feel, when you’re…”

He trails off, but it’s…fine. It’s fine, because Steve never lets go once, just readjusts the hold of his hand on Eddie’s, of Eddie’s inside his, and settles next to him quiet and steadfast and kind of fucking everything and Eddie fades into the feeling of it with the last of his words like a vow:

“I’ll hold it until you wake back up, if you want.”

And if Eddie knows anything as sleep claims him: he knows that he wants.

>>> two: wash 🧼🫧🚿

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick

divider credits here & here

👾 title credit here

💫 ao3 link here

[the-wandering-mage]

5+1 Danny Phantom x DC universe prompt

Five times The Teen Titans thought they were fighting a new bad guy and the one time they realized they were just trying to make a friend.

Had this idea don't know if I'll ever fully write it but here it goes for anyone else to use. As is Fanon ghosts socialize by fighting. Dani is sent to a dimension (clockwork identified as the safest for her or because it has a lot of young heros for her to make friends with and not enough healthy ecto to create ecto ghosts) her safety while Danny fights the whole war with the GIW and there is some political upheaval about how Danny is handling it. Danny doesn't want his child in the middle of it. Dani is sent with an emergency communicator, Cujo, a backpack full of things to help her, and most importantly a case with healthy ecto.

Dani wares a medical device that gives her transfusions of ecto and nutrients her human body needs to keep her form stable. Idk if a belt or a arm cuff I like the idea of better. I briefly thought a crown belt combo for the aesthetic but a princess crown would be really impractical.

So, to the meat of the story. Dani tries to make friends the only way she knows how from both her instincts and time spent in the realms before being basically witsec'd, she picks fights with them. Stealing their stuff to get them to chase her ect. A lot of taunting and shit talking and generally being a pain. Maybe even stealing food from stores because she needs it and knows Danny will pay them back. The teen titans think she's a villain she thinks they are really bonding. The more she evades them the more they get frustrated and uping the ante. They get confused when she actually helps them take out an actually baddy. Then she steals Robin's cape and they are right back to being pissed with her.

Then one day during one of their "spars" Starfire or someone else gets a lucky shot on her medical device which of course they think is just villain tech or something. Or alternatively she could just be running low and needs to refill if you want to be boring. Her medical device gives a warning beep and she calls time out. Now anytime she'd ever called time out it was a respected rule in the realms. In a play fight you call break everything stops so she is completely caught off guard when her new friends don't stop. They keep going and it's not fun anymore it's scary.

She starts crying and she gets hurt and doesn't understand why and is begging them to tell her why they are being mean. The team at first is annoyed and scoffs while thinking they finally got the upper hand and she is just trying to trick them with crocodile tears. Then she starts destabilizing. Then they start to freak out and realize that it's real. She calls Cujo to fetch her medkit with her ecto. They treat her and inbetween sobs and trying to help what they now realize is a scared little girl that they get she thought they were playing. Starfire and Robin are the first to figure out it's a cultural/species difference. The whole team feels super guilty.

Then scared when Dad Danny and Tucker show up having gotten an alert her medical device has malfunctioned. Danny explains everything and apologizes about the trouble. The team apologies for their side of things. Dani ends up with friends in the end and the team takes care of her and nicknames her princess. Funny beginning heartache middle and happy ending.

[kjack89]

Dial Drunk

5 times Enjolras bailed Grantaire out of jail, and one time, well...

The door of the holding cell clanked open and as one, the nine men sitting inside glanced up. “Alright,” the booking officer said in a bored tone, glancing down at his clipboard. “Bail’s been posted for arrestees Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Feuilly, Joly, Lesgle and Prouvaire. You’re free to leave after you sign out at the front desk.”

There were a few grumbles as the men started to get to their feet, but Enjolras remained resolutely seated, his brow furrowed with a frown. “What about Grantaire?”

The man in question chuckled darkly, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell. “Is that actual concern for me that I hear, Apollo? I could die happy.”

Enjolras ignored him. “Pontmercy was supposed to post bail for all of us,” he said instead, aiming his words at Courfeyrac as if the man was somehow still responsible for the actions of his former roommate some five years after they had stopped living together.

Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I mean, we all know Marius is a bit of an idiot, maybe he miscounted.”

Combeferre shook his head. “I’m probably wrong and should defer to the lawyers amongst us but I thought I remembered reading something in one of the articles about reforming pre-trial detention that an individual can only post bail for 8 detainees at a time.”

“And so I must’ve drawn the short straw,” Grantaire sighed. “Story of my fucking life.”

Bossuet clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. “On the other hand, you could take it as a compliment that Marius thinks you’re the one most likely to survive an extended stay behind bars.”

Bahorel snorted so loudly the bars of the cell almost rattled. “Sorry but literally not a single one of us would survive an extended stay behind bars.”

“Speak for yourself,” Feuilly said. “I know how to whittle.” At the blank looks he received, he huffed a sigh and added, “So I can make a shank. No wonder none of you would survive in jail.”

“This is making our goal of prison abolition seem oddly self-serving,” Joly murmured in an undertone to Jehan, who stifled a laugh.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Not that I’m not sympathetic to Grantaire having to be stuck in here, but I’d just like to remind everyone that since Marius posted bail, we’re technically now here voluntarily.”

“Yeah so GTFO,” Grantaire said with a grimace masquerading as a smile. “Let me rot in peace, etcetera.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue more, but Combeferre muttered something in his ear and he made a face before filing out of the cell. “Serious miscalculation on Marius’s part with this one,” Courfeyrac said brightly as he followed everyone else out. “Because God knows you’re going to complain about this for the rest of all time.”

Grantaire gave him the finger and Courfeyrac winked as the officer closed the cell door behind him.

Sighing again, Grantaire sat upright, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before settling back against the bench. “You need anything?” the booking officer asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “Not my first rodeo. Hopefully I won’t be stuck overnight, but I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Oh, yeah?” the officer said with mild interest.

Grantaire nodded. “Central booking at the 16th Precinct is a piece of shit,” he said brightly.

The officer barked a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gave Grantaire a long look. “Should I ask what you were picked up for previously?”

Considering the answer to that question was a vast litany of misdemeanors (and felonies reduced to misdemeanors) that the boys in blue tended not to appreciate, Grantaire hesitated. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer at all by the crackle of the officer’s walkie-talkie. “Just a moment,” the officer told him, heading out of the booking area and Grantaire let out a sigh of relief as he slumped on the bench.

“You’re free to go,” the officer said upon returning, and Grantaire looked up, surprised.

“Really?”

The officer nodded, opening the door to the holding cell. “Bail was posted. So I guess you’ll have to save your rap sheet for the next time you’re in here.”

Grantaire snorted a laugh. “I’d say there won’t be a next time, but…” 

He ducked out before the officer could respond to that, making his way to the front desk, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras leaning against the desk, clearly waiting for him. “What’re you doing here?”

Enjolras straightened. “It didn’t feel right leaving you in there,” he said with a shrug that didn’t quite come across as nonchalant as he’d probably intended. “And I happened to have some cash on me, so…”

“Between this and being worried about my welfare, you’re gonna give me the wrong impression,” Grantaire said.

“Guess that depends on what impression you’re getting,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire’s eyes flickered to his and away again, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. Enjolras cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Anyway, we should get to the Musain to debrief.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”

Grantaire just shook his head, and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. “After you,” he said, his voice low, and together they walked out of the precinct, their arms just brushing against each other as they headed to meet their friends at the Musain.

— — — — —

“Jesus Christ,” Enjolras muttered as the booking officer removed the handcuffs from a sheepish-looking Grantaire. Well, as sheepish as a man sporting the beginnings of a pretty impressive black eye could look, anyway. “Here,” Enjolras said roughly, holding an ice pack out to Grantaire. “I posted your bail as well.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered, taking the ice pack and wincing as he pressed it against his eye.

Enjolras pursed his lips as he gave him a once-over. “Any other injuries I need to worry about?” he asked.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own.”

“Because that’s reassuring,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead, but when he looked at Grantaire again, there was something almost soft in his expression. “You didn’t need to do that.”

What he could see of Grantaire’s expression tightened, just slightly. “You didn’t hear what that guy called you.”

He said it calmly, evenly, but his hand automatically balled into a fist at the memory. Enjolras reached out automatically to rest his hand on Grantaire’s fist until it relaxed. “It doesn’t matter what he called me,” he said, his voice low. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Grantaire scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Enjolras just shook his head, running his thumb across Grantaire’s bruised knuckles, a testament to the fact that despite the black eye, he’d emerged from the fight victorious. “I should’ve brought another ice pack,” he murmured.

Grantaire just half-smiled, twisting his hand so that he could lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “It doesn’t really hurt at the moment anyway.”

Enjolras cleared his throat and looked away, but he didn’t try to untangle his fingers from Grantaire’s. “Well,” he said, “we should, uh, get out of here.”

“Before they realize you have about a half dozen outstanding warrants for your arrest?” Grantaire asked with a smirk, his voice quiet enough that only Enjolras could hear.

“You’d be amazed what having a multi-million dollar settlement pending against the city will do to the police’s willingness to bring you in,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “Not that I want to test that, of course.”

“Liar,” Grantaire said, grinning. “But better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

He started toward the door, pausing when Enjolras didn’t immediately follow. “Thank you, by the way,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced back at him.

“Anytime,” he said simply. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

Enjolras gave him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Just don’t go making a habit of it,” he warned. “One day I won’t be here to bail you out.”

“Only because you’ll probably be locked up with me,” Grantaire said.

“Well,” Enjolras murmured, not quite able to stop his smile, “you’re not wrong.”

— — — — —

Grantaire rested his elbows against the bars of the holding cell, his arms dangling into what was technically freedom on the other side. The booking officer, some new guy he didn’t recognize, gave him a look but didn’t say anything, which he took as a small victory, and he allowed himself a small smirk.

A smirk that faded as soon as he saw Enjolras, escorted by another officer. “No dice on bail?” Grantaire asked, seeing the look on Enjolras’s face.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, they’re going to go through the whole arraignment rigamarole. I’ve already let Pontmercy know.” He made a face, casting an irritated look at the booking officer who was pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Apparently they take battery of a police officer pretty seriously these days.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras sighed and Grantaire gave him a look. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “This wasn’t about you not being able to take care of yourself—”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Enjolras interrupted, his voice tight. “I’m well aware that cop would’ve bashed my head in if you hadn’t intervened.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I was going to say thank you.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, managing a tight smile. “You’re welcome.”

Enjolras just shook his head again. “You still shouldn’t have done it,” he continued, “because honestly, I’m not worth all that—”

“You are, though,” Grantaire said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Enjolras scowled and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine, then why don’t we make a deal?” he said. “I’ll stop defending you when you stop bailing me out.”

“At the rate you’re going, I won’t be able to anyway,” Enjolras said sourly. “Not without putting up some major collateral.”

Grantaire shook his head. “And I’m definitely not worth that,” he said.

Enjolras’s eyes met his. “You are, though.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue. Instead, he reached for Enjolras’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles through the bars of the holding cell. “No touching,” the booking officer barked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes as he reluctantly let go of Enjolras’s hand. 

“Will you be at my arraignment?” he asked.

Enjolras shrugged. “Someone’s got to post whatever bail amount the judge decides,” he said.

Grantaire half-smiled. “In that case, I’ll be the one in the front.” 

“Pretty sure that’ll be the judge,” Enjolras murmured, grinning when Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

“It’ll be the only thing that gets me through spending the night in here,” Grantaire told him, and it was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes, though there was obvious affection in the motion.

“Pretty sure Bahorel was right,” he said. “You definitely wouldn’t survive in jail.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Only if you were in there with me.”

Enjolras shook his head, reluctantly backing away toward the door. “Still time,” he said, and Grantaire’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you dare do anything stupid while I’m locked up in here.”

Enjolras just smirked. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he left, and Grantaire sighed, though there something strangely content in the noise, despite, or maybe because of, the circumstances.

— — — — —

Grantaire didn’t meet Enjolras’s eyes as he rapped his fingers impatiently against the front desk at the precinct, waiting for them to bring him his personal effects. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. Grantaire looked pointedly at the conspicuous clock on the wall and Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Exactly, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. I have a 7 o’clock meeting, which you knew damn well, so why you had to go pick a bar fight with some guy twice your fucking size—”

“So sorry to be an inconvenience to you,” Grantaire drawled, slurring his words just slightly. “Can’t imagine what it must be like to have made plans that get interfered with by someone else’s priorities.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Are we really doing this here and now?” he asked.

Grantaire just jerked a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”

Enjolras sighed and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. “I’m sorry that I had to cancel tonight,” he said, with as much patience as he could seemingly muster, considering the circumstances. “But I needed to get this proposal done ahead of the meeting tomorrow, and I don’t really see what the big deal—”

“You never do,” Grantaire interrupted, still not looking at him. “That’s the problem.”

“You knew going into this—”

“Just like you knew going into this that I’m a drunk and a disaster,” Grantaire interrupted, finally looking at Enjolras, his expression hard. “Well, congratulations, Apollo, it looks like we both knew what we were getting into and yet somehow, we’re both still disappointed.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I’m not,” he said tiredly. “I’m not disappointed, Grantaire, because that would require me to actually expect better from you, and I learned my lesson on that a long time ago.”

Grantaire just grinned, a horrible, twisted grin. “Right back atcha.”

The officer returned with Grantaire’s belongings, and Grantaire grabbed his phone, wallet and keys, returning them to his pockets. Enjolras took a deep breath, but whatever he clearly wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, and he looked away. “C’mon,” he said instead. “Let’s go home.”

Grantaire nodded once, shoving his hands in his pockets as he slumped after Enjolras, neither man touching the other.

— — — — —

“He’s not technically under arrest,” the cop told Enjolras as he led him back to the holding cell. “But that’s because we couldn’t really mirandize him when he was passed out.”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire, sprawled across the bench in the holding cell, and sighed. “So once he’s coherent, he’ll be charged with, what, drunk and disorderly?”

The officer nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Enjolras. “Look, it’s not my place, but, uh, maybe look into getting your friend some help?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras murmured, his expression drawn. “Maybe.” He sighed and turned. “Guess I’ll go preemtively pay his bail—”

“Apollo?” Grantaire croaked, and Enjolras sighed again.

“Give us a moment?” he asked the officer, who just shrugged.

Enjolras crossed to the bars of the holding cell, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “Tell me,” he said, his tone clipped, “were you trying to get hit by a car by passing out in the street, or would have just been a fun little side effect of this spectacular attempt at blowing up your life?”

Grantaire groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position. “Honestly don’t remember if it was deliberate or not,” he muttered, swaying slightly as he blinked unfocusedly at Enjolras.

“There are easier ways of killing yourself,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire managed a small, sharp smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve considered those as well.”

Enjolras’s expression tightened and he looked away. “You used your one phone call for me,” he said.

Grantaire shrugged. “Didn’t know who else to call.”

“Probably anyone besides your ex.” Grantaire flinched and Enjolras sighed before telling him, as firmly as he could manage, “This is the last time. Do you understand?”

Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh. “If there’s one thing I can promise, Apollo, it’s that this won’t be the last time.”

“Maybe not for you,” Enjolras said. “But I’m done. So the next time you get picked up for a bar fight or public intoxication or whatever suicidal shit you decide to get yourself into next time, call someone else.”

He didn’t wait for Grantaire to answer, just turning on heel to leave him in the holding cell while he went to go pay his bail.

One last time.

— — — — —

The phone rang, and rang again, and Grantaire’s grip on the phone tightened. “Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Come on, pick up, pick up.”

But the phone just rang until the tinny, robotic voice informed him that no voicemail had been set up for this phone number, and he heaved a sigh as he hung up, a headache blooming in his temples that had absolutely nothing to the better part of a handle of whiskey that he’d worked his way through that evening. 

“Nothing?” the booking officer asked, and Grantaire ground his teeth together at the fake sympathetic tone.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, and he scrubbed a hand across his face before heading back to the holding cell.

The booking officer trailed after him. “Do you, uh, want to try calling someone else?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “No,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the officer opened the door of the cell for him. “I’ll try again later. He’s probably asleep.”

The officer glanced up at the clock that showed it was barely 10pm, and he shook his head as he closed the door after Grantaire. “Your choice,” he said with a shrug.

Grantaire sighed heavily as he slumped down onto the hard metal bench, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for an absent glass or bottle of beer, or else for a hand that used to be his to hold. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell.

He closed his eyes against the tears that he could feel prick in the corners of his eyes, though he honestly didn’t know if he was crying because Enjolras hadn’t picked up, or because there was a part of him that still thought that maybe, in the morning, he would. One more time.

[morganski-19]

With All My Love

ao3 link if you don't want to read this on here.

One

It started with silence. Husk was never one to speak unless he had something to say. But when Angel came home from one of his many shifts, he always had something to poke at. Something to push and pry. Get a rise out of Angel and make him admit that he needed someone to talk to. That something was wrong. 

Truthfully, something was wrong. It was always wrong when he came home from a shift, tired and bruised. Makeup a little heavier than when he left, depending on how the day went. 

Today was too different. And then the day bled into night, and Angel felt the pull on his bones to go to a club. To drown himself in alcohol and coke, or something stronger, just to feel the haze start to erase his mind. Find some guy who wanted to fuck him, because most of them did anyway, just so that the last person who touched him wasn’t Valentino. 

Maybe then, he would be able to sleep a bit better. 

But instead, he went home. His new home where he was trying to be better, trying to change. To be a person that looked in the mirror and didn’t hate what he saw. He went home with a fresh bruise around his eye, already starting to purple, and his limbs so exhausted they might just fall off the bone. But he was still ready for the accusations of the man standing behind the bar. 

Except they never came. 

Instead, his drink was already poured and placed at his seat at the bar. The condensation just beginning to form on the glass, waiting for him. And he didn’t even have to ask.

Angel sits down, taking a sip. The faint taste of alcohol rests on his tongue before he swallows. He’s tempted to ask for something stronger. Something to wipe his mind off the day he just had. But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he looks at Husk and feels everything start to fade away. The man just cleaning glasses, putting them away softly. Waiting for Angel to say the first word between them. Waiting for Angel to choose to speak. 

Giving Angel a chance to breathe. 

“Not going to say anything, Whiskers?” Angel teases, trying to get under the other’s skin. Still unsure of what is slowly blooming between them. 

When Husk turns his face and looks at Angel for the first time since he left this morning, Angel’s breath can’t help but stutter. And his heart stopped like he almost died again. 

“What do you want me to say?” Husk replies in his low, uncaring voice. Even though Angel was starting to see right through it. 

Angel huffed. “Well, normally you have somethin’ to say whenever I get home.”

“Well,” Husk leans on the bar, “sometimes ‘normally’ changes. And you looked like you didn’t want to talk, so I didn't say anything. But if you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

Angel’s mouth is suddenly dry. 

The dynamic between the two of them shifted some time ago, and Angel couldn't pinpoint it. Maybe it was a few months ago when Angel went out and Husk was the one who came looking. Maybe it was the time Cherri brought them out and Angel said no to the pills. Or maybe it was right before the battle when all Angel wanted to do was sit and talk to Husk. And the look that he knew painted his face as soon as Husk looked away. 

The same face he felt the want to make now. 

But now, he was tired. He felt used. His body was calling for sleep, and Angel knew he needed to go to bed. To his cold, empty bed. 

Swallowing the rest of his drink, he stands. Takes a moment to bring the rest of his strength to his legs enough so he can walk up the stairs. 

“Thanks for the drink, Husk,” Angel says with a slight yawn. Too tired to talk with his persona, so he just talks. “Night.”

“Have a good night,” Husk says while Angel walks away. Each word pulling him back to his bar seat. Where he could talk to Husk for hours, or just sit there in the other’s safe company.

As he walks towards the stairs, Angel feels the familiar tingle underneath his skin that lets him know he’s being watched. Only this time, he doesn’t mind it. Doesn’t feel pressured to put on a show. 

Instead, he turns back and looks, catching Husk’s eyes for just a second before the other man turns away. A smile finds its way to Angel’s face and stays there until he finally falls asleep. 

Two

“But I don’t want to marry the boring old duke,” the dead roach in Nifty’s hand says in the high-pitched voice it’s been designated. “He’s too boring.”

“Well that’s too bad,” the other roach with a much deeper voice grumbles. “You have to for the family.”

The roach puppet shows are always something new. Angel was a bit disturbed by it all at first, but when the TV breaks down as much as it does, there’s only so much entertainment. And if he was being honest, Nifty scared him, but he would never admit that. 

But it made her happy, and kept him out of the stabbing line, so he watched. Laughed even. Enjoyed himself with people he grew to care about. Was able to let loose for a while. 

Husk even joined in for this show on the couch instead of behind the bar. He was grumbling about being forced to care about this shit, but everyone knew it was just a facade. 

Deep down, old Husker was a big softie. And Angel liked him for it. Liked the way he got to tease him about it. 

Just for a second, Angel shifts his head under the ruse of fixing his hair, looking at Husk to his left. Just sitting with his arms crossed and a smirk resting on his face. At peace. Calm. 

It was moments like these that Angel enjoyed the most. Where they could pretend that their lives were normal and the fate of their existence wasn���t constantly up in the air. Where the chain wrapped around Angel’s neck was looser, and Husk’s was too as long as Alastor didn’t need them. 

They could be free for a moment. A brief fleeting moment, but it still felt amazing. 

Angel ends up staring a bit too long, and Husk turns to catch Angel’s eye before he quickly turns away. Feeling a faint flush bloom in his cheeks, as if he was embarrassed. 

Angel Dust doesn’t get embarrassed, not like this. He’s brash and flirtatious. Made every sex joke in the book, and every sex act in the book. Was the first to talk and fast to spit back the next line. He was great at improvising shit. But he didn’t want to improvise this. 

Husk shifts beside him. Moving his arms so that one rests on the arm of the couch, holding his head, while the other rests in between his and Angel’s legs. Lightly brushing against Angel’s lower hand, lying open facing upwards. 

It’s so soft that Angel would normally brush it off, but can’t. The first brush is an accident, the second is a coincidence, the third is purposeful. Especially with the gentle press against Angel’s finger. Like Husk is telling him that his hand is resting between them for a reason. 

Angel looks down, watches as the finger stays still. It did what it needed to do, got Angel’s attention. After that, it was all up to Angel for what happened. Husk wasn’t going to push, not with this. 

Gently, Angel slides his hand into Husk’s. Letting their fingers lock into place. With his lower hand, as the upper two are crossed over his chest. He may not be afraid of the spotlight, but sometimes things are best kept a secret. Silent. 

Most of the things Husk does are quiet. Silent judging from behind the bar, simple smiles or smirks. He wasn’t one for big shows of affection, or anything really. On the outside, Husk was a man who cared about nothing other than booze and the cards in his hand. But on the inside, Husk cared more than he liked to admit. 

And he cared about Angel. 

So much so that he didn’t pull his hand away when Angel interlocked their fingers. Instead, he just gave it a squeeze, gently rubbing his thumb against Angel’s. Silent, simple, and sincere. 

Nifty’s maniacal laughter brings Angel’s attention back to the roach show he was supposed to be paying attention to. 

“And then, because she was forced to marry the very boring duke, she stabbed him in the chest while he was sleeping,” Nifty yells, no longer pretending to play with the roaches and fully just stabbing the duke with a sharp needle. 

“Fucking Christ,” Angel mumbles. “That got dark.”

Husk chuckles. “Yeah well, it’s Nifty, what did you expect?”

“I’m not sure.”

Three

“And then I said, ‘If you like him so much, go ask him out on a date,’ and he got so mad his entire screen of a face glitches. Like he actually glitched out like a fuckin’ broken TV,” Angel laughs. 

Husk lets out a low chuckle, cleaning up Angel’s latest empty glass. “Overlord’s and their shitty tempers.”

“Literally. And then Val gets all pissy just because I offended his boyfriend. It was worth it though just to see the sick fuck go off on a tirade. The shoot ended early cause Val needed to do damage control or some shit.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re bugging me this early in the day. Normally I get a few hours of peace before you defile the bar with your presence.”

Angel props his head up with his hands. “Aww Husky, and here I thought you were starting to like me.”

“And what if I was,” Husk asks, looking Angel up and down. 

Blood rushes to Angel’s cheeks. He’s used to being hit on. Used to being the object of desire. But just that, an object. Angel Dust was who the people wanted. The persona, the whore. All things that Angel usually prided himself on. He did like sex after all. 

But this was different. When people hit on him, they wanted something. He knew that, they knew that. It was all just a ruse to get him into bed and sleep with the famous porn star. Didn’t matter if Angel was left broken afterward, or if he was too drugged or high to remember who it was. It was purely physical. That’s all Angel was used to. 

This wasn’t physical. Whenever Husk gave it back after one of Angel’s lines, it was real. Husk didn’t bullshit. He gave it straight, not caring what others thought of him. Always said his opinion, not caring if anyone asked to hear it. It wasn’t easy to get on his good side. Until it was. 

Until Husk looked at him with those eyes after saying a line that was geared to make Angel pounce. But instead, it just melts everything inside of him to a useless fucking puddle on the ground. Leaving him vulnerable and defenseless. But he didn’t care, because Husk made Angel feel something again. Something real instead of just pure pain. 

Part of him was terrified. It’s been so long since he felt like this, and the last time he did left him fucking broken in more ways than he could count. He should be cautious, should run away. Lock himself in the deep confines of his mind and let Angel Dust take over again. Ruin all of his progress just to get high and forget all over again. 

But the other part of him wants to reach out. Grab the thing that it’s always wanted, but never got to have. Finally find a way to break free of the chains and live the life that he wanted to. That he chose. Angel was born into a certain life that he couldn’t get out of, and was bound by a contract in his afterlife. 

Maybe just this once, Angel would get to choose something that would end up making him happy. 

“Well,” Angel says. “That would just mean there’s a big softie behind all that fluff.”

Husk huffs, rolling his eyes, mixing a drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“If you say so.” Angel watched Husk pour the drink into a glass. “That looks like a fruity drink ya got there. Not normally your style.”

“No, it’s not,” Husk laughs. “That’s because it’s not for me.” He places the drink in front of Angel, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and pours a drink for himself. 

Angel stares at the drink in front of him. “I-. How did you know this is what I wanted? I didn’t ask for it.”

“You went to work so you wanted something strong to begin with to cool down but the day wasn’t terrible and you’re in a good mood right now, so you want to switch to something more flavorful on the tongue,” Husk rattles off as if it’s nothing. “Am I right?”

Angel feels as if he can’t move. Heart pounding in his ears with something that feels like panic. Like his shell was ripped away and he’s left defenseless and raw. Open for anyone to see what hides inside. 

And Husk is just waiting for a response as if this wasn’t a whole psychoanalyzed therapist situation. Like he didn’t just read Angel perfectly in a way no one has before. Or in a way that he ever wanted. 

The walls threaten to rebuild, the mask already halfway down his face. He has to remind himself that this was Husk. Husk was safe. He wouldn’t play with Angel’s mind, with his emotions. He wasn’t a psychopath freak. He cares. 

Husk knowing Angel wasn’t a bad thing, so Angel shouldn’t make it a bad thing. 

“Yeah,” Angel whispers, mouth dry. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

He takes a sip of the drink, almost tipping it higher to throw it back in one gulp. Get on with it so he can stop feeling so vulnerable. So known. But when the sweet taste of the drink hits his tongue, with the slight tinge of the strong alcohol that can’t quite get covered up, it doesn’t betray him. If anything, it’s better than the hundreds of drinks he’s had like this before. Because someone knew him enough to know exactly what he wanted before he could say it, and it was right. 

It wasn’t an assumption that was harmful or wrong. Wasn’t one that put pressure on Angel to say yes to. It was a simple drink with nothing attached. Nothing hidden inside. Nothing in the space between the lines. 

Angel takes another sip, reveling in the taste of it. In the experience. Husk continues the conversation, saying something that makes Angel laugh. Really laugh. The kind that makes eyes water and lungs heave. 

And for the first time, Angel doesn’t feel afraid of being known. Not if he’s being known like this. 

Four

Angel wakes up to Fat Nuggets rubbing gently against his face. A small beam of light came through his open blinds illuminating his room. Soft sheets tangled around his limbs as sleep calls to him again. 

Gently shooing away Fat Nuggets, Angel rolls over, Untangling the sheets and pulling them up to his chin. Glancing at the clock on his bedside table before closing his eyes again. Only for the time to register as his eyes fly open. 

“Fuck, it’s ten,” he whispers to himself, one of his hands running through his hair. Charlie never lets him sleep this late, not on days when there are seminars and lessons. Picking up his phone, he checks the shared calendar for the hotel. There was definitely supposed to be an activity this morning.

Charlie’s never late. And never misses his absence. If he didn’t wake up himself, she wasn’t far behind to burst into his room along with the harsh light from the hallway. Why was he allowed to sleep this late? Undisturbed?

Not that he’s complaining, really. For the first time in a while, he actually feels refreshed. Looks like it too, without any help from his makeup bag. And if no one has come to get him yet, he might as well make the best of it. 

Getting up from his bed, he notices a piece of paper that was slipped under his door. Picking it up, he reads the note.

Convinced Charlie to give the hotel a day off and let you sleep. Take a bath or some shit. 

-Husk

Angels smiles to himself, laughing a little. Places the note on his dresser before walking to the bathroom. Bringing a set of comfortable clothes with him. 

He washes his face, does his hair. Everything he normally does but slower, more carefree. He has time in the morning for once. He savors it. Gets dressed in a sweatshirt and soft shorts. Puts on less makeup than normal. Relaxes. Because he can. 

He spies the note on his dresser again. Picking it up and reading it again. Angel hasn’t felt like this in a long time. Like his heart was lighter in his chest. Like everything felt lighter. Even the corners of his lips rise without him telling them to. A stupid smile forms, he knows. But he lets it stay. Real things deserve to stay. 

Walking over to his mirror, he takes a piece of tape and sticks the note to the side among the other pictures. He doesn’t really know why. Just that it needed to be there. And if it happened to be underneath a picture that Angel forced Husk to take with him, that was his business. 

When he does go downstairs, there is laughter coming from the living room. Charlie and Vaggie sit on the couch watching a movie. Nifty is running around chasing bugs. Alastor is fuck knows where but that’s not important. 

What is important is Husk standing behind the bar like he always is. Cleaning some glasses that are probably already clean just to bide time. He didn’t have to work today, Charlie gave them a day off. Which should include Husk. But there he is waiting behind the bar for Angel. Like he always is. 

Husk sees him approaching and smiles at him, even if Angel knows he tried not to. “Thought I wasn’t going to see you till noon,” Husk comments as Angel takes a seat. 

“Thought about it, but then I wouldn’t be here talking with you.” Angel rests his head on his hand. “Thank you.”

Husk looks down at the bar, a little sheepish. There might even be a blush behind all that fur. “What for?”

Angel laughs. “If you wanted to stay anonymous, you shouldn’t have left a note.”

“That would be a dead ringer,” Husk snorts. “There’s still some breakfast left if you’re hungry.”

“Only if you come eat some with me. I don’t like to eat alone,” Angel flirts. It wasn’t exactly untrue, he does prefer to eat with other people around. Just doesn’t most of the time. “You said Charlie gave the hotel a day off, that should include you, Whiskers.” He reaches across the bar to poke Husk’s nose. 

Husk swats his hand away. “Not exactly how that works. I work here.”

“So,” Angel questions, determined to give him some time off too. 

“Just how it is,” Husk shrugs, going back to cleaning glasses. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Angel turns, looking toward the living room. “Hey Charlie,” he calls out, “Can Husk have the day off too?”

“Absolutely,” Charlie beams. “We all have the day off today, including the lovely staff.”

“See,” Angel gloats, turning back to Husk. “So unless you really don’t want to have breakfast with me, you are out of excuses, Husky.”

Husk sighs, finishing the glass he was polishing and placing it back on the shelf. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey, he starts to leave the bar. “Aren’t you coming?”

Angel can’t help the smile that forms on his face. “You can say this is my payback, for this morning.” He walks with Husk to the kitchen. 

“Don’t have to pay me back, it was nothing.”

“Oh my fucking god, can’t let me say thank you, can you? You did somethin’ nice for me let me thank you for it.”

Husk smirks. “No.”

Five

Angel isn’t quite sure how he’s still standing. He can’t feel his legs, having become numb halfway through his shift and stayed that way since then. His arms fall limp at his sides, barely able to reach the door handle when he gets to the hotel. 

This is a new for him. He is never this sore. Never this tired. Never this used. Today was excruciating, to say the least. Val was pissed about something and took it out on him. Like normal. Like always. But this time was worse. It just keeps getting worse. 

There was a time when Angel liked his job. Liked the attention it gave him. The money. The fame. But now all of that is a sick reminder of the permanency of ink-stained paper. And a name that is no longer his. 

Now, he comes home bone tired and ready to crash for a millennium. But harsh reality comes in each morning in the form of a wake-up call and breakfast that he can barely stomach. He wants to just sleep. Hoping that when he wakes up he’s able to wash what happened to him away in the shower. Knowing that it’s all just going to happen again. And again. Forever. 

Last week’s surprise was a blessing. Getting more than five hours of sleep, feeling refreshed. He hoped the same miracle would come tomorrow. With another note under his door that makes him feel like everything doesn’t suck. That tells him that someone does actually care about him. 

Somehow that was possible. Somehow Husk could look at all the ways Angel was fucked up and still decide that he deserved another glance. Angel knows he doesn’t deserve it. There was so much better out there than him. With everything that was broken, not able to be fixed. He was damaged goods and knew what that meant. 

The door doesn’t even shut before Angel falls into it, slamming it closed. His legs shake as he tries to stay standing, trying to push himself off the door. Eyes spying the stairs that taunt him. Will take everything out of him. Just one flight between him and his bed. Where the satin sheets can cover up the marks that will be bruises, and the tears can fall where no one sees. 

All he has to do is climb the stairs. 

He takes a trembling step forward, coming into the light of the hotel. A few more steps and his knees buckle. He starts to fall. But gray flashes before his eyes and suddenly he isn’t falling anymore. Warm arms wrap around his torso, holding him upright. 

“Come on,” Husk mumbles, throwing Angel’s right arms over his shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Angel has a line waiting at the tip of his tongue, but doesn’t have the energy to say it. Or to protest the idea of being helped. When he’s fully upright again, he leans all he can on Husk, feeling the slight relief of less weight on his feet. 

The stairs prove as difficult as Angel thought they would be, but he doesn’t fall. Husk doesn’t let him. He almost picks Angel up entirely in order to get them both up the stairs. Angel almost lets him. 

When they reach Angel’s room, Husk opens the door and carefully walks them through the doorway. Fat Nuggets runs up to them, rubbing at Angel’s leg when he senses that something’s wrong. 

Husk leads Angel to the bed, pulling back the sheets before helping Angel lay down. There’s part of Angel’s mind that has a blaring siren. A warning that things are going to turn bad as soon as the door closes. But this is Husk. He hasn’t hurt Angel yet, he wouldn’t start now. 

“You need help getting changed?” Husk asks gently, placing a glass of water on Angel’s bedside table. 

Angel tries to ignore what that means when other people say it. Just focusing on what it means when Husk does. “Just, just help me get the jacket off. And the boots.” 

The room is still dark, so Husk can’t see what lies underneath. The marks, the faint bruises still left on his skin. Part of the job, for most of them. But some of them, they’re damning. But even if the light was on, Angel had a feeling that Husk wouldn’t say anything about them right now. He’d ask later, let Angel decide if he wanted to share or not. He can tell that tonight has already been enough.

Husk helps him sit up, undoing the buttons on the front of his jacket. Gently sliding the fabric off his arms, leaving him bare. Taking off his boots next, leaving him in his socks. Angel points him to the drawer in his dresser that holds the soft shirts he likes to sleep in. 

There’s something intimate about this moment. Being taken care of without any pretenses or conditions. By someone who cares more deeply than they’d like to admit. Even being here in this moment is something that wouldn’t have happened a few months ago. The walls each of them built over time started to lower together. And it led to this. 

As the fabric gets pulled over his head, and onto his upper pair of arms, Angel feels safe. Safe with another person seeing him like this. Without a camera in sight, or payment in the end. That all stops the second his eyes meet Husks. When he starts to feel love for the first time in a long time. Maybe ever. 

It hits Angel like a truck when Husk helps him lay down in his bed. Angel loves him. He didn’t even know if that was possible anymore. After the last time he fell in love went to shit, he swore it off all together. Determined that anyone that would ever spare him a second glance would want one thing and then fuck out of his life forever. 

But here Angel is completely defenseless, and Husk doesn’t make him feel like he is. It might be common decency, and his bar for romance might be six feet under, but that face makes his heart pound faster than it ever has. With a singular word, Husk would stop what he’s doing and leave. Angel doesn’t want him to, though. He very much does not want him to. 

The sheets are draped over Angel’s shoulders, covering him in warmth. Sleep calls to him, his eyes almost closing when his head finally hits the pillow. He needs to say something before he can sleep. 

“Wait,” Angel says, reaching out to grab Husk’s arm when he turns to leave. “Stay, please.” 

Angel doesn’t like to be alone on nights like this. Before he moved to the hotel, Cherri would sneak in through the window and stay with him. Lay next to him when he cried after the high wore off and the hurt set in. Now was different, he was sober, for what it was worth. It only made the hurt worse, though. 

The only reason why he isn’t crying right now is because he’s too tired for the tears to form. For the anger to bubble and the rage to set in. To want to find a way to go over to Val’s stupid fucking studio and rip the wings off his chest and put a million bullets through his head. He can’t, but he wants to. 

But he still wants another person here when he falls asleep. Extra protection. For his body and his mind. If that person was specifically Husk, it shouldn’t matter that much. Yet it did. He was in love for Christ’s sake. Even if it wasn’t reciprocated, he wanted to pretend like it was. To feel safe with someone for just another moment. To go to sleep thinking that hell might be heaven enough for them. 

Husk doesn’t say another word, but walks around the bed. Angel rolls over with a wince and holds the covers up for him, letting him know that it was ok. The bed dips when Husk lays down, keeping a small distance between them. Angel wants it gone, but that could be a later issue. 

Right now, his eyes finally shut as he finally falls asleep.

+One

Warmth radiates beside Angel when he starts to wake up. Comforting warmth. Such a drastic difference from the cold sheets that greet him each morning. Enough to pull him back to sleep. Comfortable sleep. 

Angel moves closer to the warmth. He falls back asleep. 

When he wakes up again, his eyes blink open fully this time. Confused at the textured feeling under his hand. Running his fingers through what feels like fur, the events of last night come back to the forefront of his mind. His eyes finally meet Husk’s sleeping face. 

It’s so peaceful. So quiet. Other than the heavy breaths and gentle snores. A smile finds Angel’s face as he takes it all in. He feels so safe it’s crazy. And so many other things that he can barely name. Mushy, mostly. 

He takes his hand and brings it up to Husk’s face, brushing past his cheek and gently scratching at the side of his neck. Husk makes a sound, scaring Angel into thinking that he woke up. But he just lays his head back down and his heavy breaths resume. This time with a slight purr. 

It’s stupid how much this makes Angel feel. How soft he feels. Finally knowing what all of those love songs were talking about. He thought them stupid back when he was alive, even more so when he was dead. It was all fake, too good to be true. But good and true were synonymous now. There’s no mistaking it anymore. 

Peaceful, is all Angel can think. He didn’t know love was supposed to be this peaceful. It never seemed like it was. With the screaming matches his parents would have, and the way people treated him. Love never seemed this way. 

He’s sure that there will be moments where it won’t feel peaceful. Where he’ll mess up and cause an argument, defenses raised. Knowing how he can be when he’s upset. When he feels broken and unfixable. Husk’s already seen some of it, back when Angel didn’t care about him like this. Husk ever held him against it. Letting that moment be in the past. Even in the moment, Husk didn’t make Angel feel lesser, only equal. 

“I love you,” Angel whispers in the dark. Not even realizing that the words slipped out of his mouth. Needing to say the words somewhere other than his head in order to make them feel real. 

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it. Or if Husk even feels the same. There’s something between them, he can feel it. But this. This is so much more than attraction. So much more than a drunken night or tangled sheets. Angel wants more than the physical this time. Without even knowing what the physical is. They’ve never even kissed, let alone anything else. 

Yet, he feels so sure about this. So fucking sure it scares him. 

“I love you, too,” Husk whispers back, his eyes opening slightly. 

Angel pulls back his hand in shock, fear filling his head. “What?”

Husk’s wings stretch out in a flutter as he lets out a yawn. “I said I love you.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Angel says in disbelief, not registering what Husk had said. 

Husk laughs. “I wasn’t really, could still hear you.”

Angel rolls onto his back, burying his face in all four of his hands. “Fucking hell, this is so embarrassing.”

“Why is it embarrassing?” Husk props himself up on his arm. 

“Because I only said what I said because I thought you were asleep. Now you’re awake and probably thinking I’m this fucking idiot and whatever friendship we had is now fucking ruined because I opened my stupid fucking mouth. Cause you don’t feel the same. How could you when I’m such a broken fucking mess? I just-. Just don’t hate me, please. I can’t lose you just because I was stupid.”

Angel doesn’t look at Husk until he starts laughing. Full on laughing, dropping down onto the bed and rubbing his hands down his face. A flush finds Angel’s face, and embarrassment fills him as he turns his head away. Making him want to curl up and make himself smaller. 

Bearing his soul to another person wasn’t easy, but it was easier when it was Husk. Now he’s shared one of the most vulnerable things anyone can, and Husk is laughing at him. 

“I get I was an idiot, but you don’t have to laugh at me like that, asshole.” Angel sits up, pulling his legs close to his chest and resting his chin on his knee. 

“No,” Husk gets out between laughs. “No, no, that’s not why I’m laughing. Did you hear what I said at all?”

He knew Husk said something, but didn’t pay attention. Too riddled with shock and embarrassment for anything to register. “No,” he admits, sheepish.

Husk sits up and Angel can feel his gaze. “Angel, could you look at me for a second?”

Angel turns his head, not sure what he’s expecting. But Husk’s face is so soft, so gentle. Looking at Angel with admiration instead of disgust. Like Angel’s something special instead of a piece of broken glass left on the ground. Without trying, his heart starts to beat a little faster and there’s the tight pull of nerves at his stomach. He doesn’t feel like he ruined anything anymore. 

“I said that I love you. All of you. Everything that you think is broken and everything that I know isn’t,” Husk says like he means it. Like this isn’t just some big joke. 

“You love me?” Angel whispers, waiting for the other shoe to drop and the curtain to come crashing down. No one can say those words and truly mean them. No one has. Even if his heart is telling him that this is true, his brain convinces him that it’s fake. 

Husk shifts closer to Angel, gently pulling Angel’s hands away from his legs. Breaking down his defenses. The touch so gentle, so nondemanding. He’s not asking for anything other than Angel to understand. To tell the voice in his head whispering it’s a trap to shut up. There’s no pressure behind the movements. No expectations. 

“I love you,” Husk states, like it’s some fact in a history book. Taking his hands and cupping Angel’s face, brushing a stray strand of hair up out of the way. “And I’ll say it as many times as it takes you to believe it.”

Angel forgot what it felt like to have something like this. Where the sparks are so bright they’re almost visible. Tension so thick not even the sharpest blade could cut through it. Both people in it just as much as the other. With nothing else behind the words they said. Just pure truth. 

A soft smile forms on Angel’s face. And if a small line of tears formed in his eyes, no one mentioned it. “I love you, too.”

Husk for the first time in what feels like forever, is left speechless. Mouth opening and closing, like he’s trying to say something but nothing comes. Instead, the softest smile forms on his face. Like Angel just did something that was worth the world to Husk. 

He doesn’t understand it. With the way Husk was, it was easy to love him. No one ever wanted to see past the persona enough to actually care about Angel. That’s all Husk wanted to do. Everything else paired with that, it was easy to fall. Angel on the other hand, he’s harder to deal with. Loving him is harder. 

It doesn’t feel like it anymore. Not with the way Husk holds him like he doesn’t believe it’s real. Expression is rich with disbelief. Maybe he too was scared that this was never going to happen. That someone could never love him for the way he is. 

Being honest with himself, Angel knows that Husk isn’t perfect. The same ways that he isn’t perfect either. They both have their vices. Their reasons why they’re here. But despite all of that, they found each other. Someone who can understand better than anyone else in the hotel. Maybe even in Hell. 

Angel takes his hand and cups Husk’s face. Revels in the way Husk presses into the touch. Using the others, he pulls Husk closer, letting their foreheads meet. Letting this moment be this moment and not pushing for anything else. Even if he wanted to, they had time. 

Husk takes a deep breath, still a part of him not believing this is real. Angel’s feeling the same. Pulling back, Husk looks at Angel studying his face. Eyes drifting down to his lips before jumping back to his eyes. Angel does the same, nodding slowly. 

When their lips meet, it’s nothing that Angel’s ever experienced before. He’s kissed a lot of people, but never like this. Never where his love was truly reciprocated. Where there’s no pushing in the motion, using it as a key to something else. The other person wanting only this and nothing else. 

It’s refreshing. All of this is. 

[love-me-a-good-prompt]

5+1 IDEAS

Here are some ideas for the 5+1 trope! (I've included prompts for 2 characters and prompts for 1 character)

2 characters:

5 times Person A was Person B's hero + 1 time Person A needed saving

5 times Person A pranked Person B + 1 time Person B got revenge

5 times Person A wanted to tell Person B they love them + the 1 time they finally did

5 times Person A cheered Person B up + 1 time they couldn't

5 times Person A embarrassed themselves + 1 time Person B did it for them

5 times Person A thought Person B had a crush on them + 1 time they knew

5 ideas Person A and Person B had for matching tattoos + the 1 they ended up getting

5 times Person A called Person B beautiful + 1 time Person B called Person A beautiful

5 places Person A and Person B have kissed + 1 where they did more than that

5 times Person A saw Person B cry + 1 time they saw Person B laugh

1 character:

5 times Person A thought the world was ending + 1 time it actually was

5 times Person A pretended to be fine + 1 time they didn't

5 times Person A was afraid + 1 time they faced their fear

5 times Person A almost lost their cool + 1 time they did

5 times Person A knew exactly what to say + 1 time they didn't

5 times Person A felt alone + 1 time they knew they weren't

5 decisions Person A regrets making + 1 they don't

5 secrets Person A will never tell + 1 they couldn't keep

5 times Person A almost gave up + 1 time they did

5 people Person A thought they were in love with + 1 person they actually were

[hoodie-buck]

—y’all my self indulgent birthday duck fic is here! i had way too much fun writing this and hope y’all enjoy the terrible puns 🫶🏼

rated: t | words: 13.5 k | read on ao3

summary:

“Where are the ducks?”

Eddie took himself out of his head once more, looking down to his son and following the boy’s line of sight. He was looking at Buck’s jeep, Eddie letting out a weighted sigh for it.

All of his coworkers had been welcoming, accepting Eddie right into their little family. Well, all of them except one that was. Buck had made it clear from day one that he didn’t want anything to do with Eddie, for whatever reason. It was fine with Eddie, really. Evan Buckley had no lasting effects on him.

“What ducks are you talking about bud?”

Chris looked up to him, all but rolling his eyes.

“Dad, every jeep has ducks.” He might has well have added a ‘duh’ at the end, Eddie holding his hands up in mock defense for not knowing such things. Why the fuck would jeeps have ducks?

Chris, with all the exasperation a seven-year-old could muster, looked up to him once more. “Look it up dad. It’s a thing.”

While Eddie wasn’t convinced, he assured Chris he would.

—or—

Buck doesn’t have any ducks for his jeep. Eddie decides to fix that. AKA 5 times Eddie secretly leaves ducks for Buck, and the one time he hands one right to him.

tagging squad below, just lmk if you wanna be added or removed <3

tags: @loserdiaz @redlightsandicedtea @loveyourownsmiilee @monsterrae1 @buddierights @swiftiebuckleyhan @honestlydarkprincess @barbiediaz @spotsandsocks @justsmilestuffhappens @cowboydiazes @djdangerlove @alyxmastershipper @elvensorceress @jacksadventuresinwriting @stanningsky @wh0re-behavi0r @ronordmann @spaceprincessem @transbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @betty-boom @sunflowersandcinnamon @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @pirrusstuff @nmcggg @theotherluciferr @louis-tenn @the-gayest-wug @murder-trio @buckley-diaz-rules @muppetbuddie @gamer-kai @blorbodiaz @heartshapedvows

@steadfastsaturnsrings @faggotjonesss (sorry, i wasn’t able to tag y’all! i think you’ll have to change your visibility settings in order for me to do so?? 🩵)

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 spoke like we meant it by BlackWiresOnHerHead

💙 spoke like we meant it

by BlackWiresOnHerHead (@blackwiresgrowonherhead)

T, 10k, Wangxian

Summary: A smile spreads across Wei Ying’s face. He has a long and extensive list of Favorite Gifts From Lan Zhan, and at the very top of the list are nights like this. “Lan Zhan? Sleepwalking again, huh?” Lan Zhan looks up at him, eyes open but unmistakably glassy, and continues methodically peeling stalks of celery. “Mn.” -- Five times Wei Ying says how he really feels while Lan Zhan is sleepwalking, and one time Lan Zhan is awake to hear it. Kay's comments: What an absolutely adorable story!! Cuteness overload!! I still haven't recovered!! A 5+1 story in which Lan Wangji sleepwalks and his roommate Wei Wuxian looks out for the most adorable sleepwalker in the world. I loved, loved, loved how until the very end the only interactions we had between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji was only during the night when Lan Wangji sleepwalked, so we really only knew what Wei Wuxian told us about their relationship through their POV. Major cuteness with a hint of angst. Excerpt: He smiles when he speaks again, even though his audience won’t really see it. “Ah, wonderful Lan Zhan, you’ve worked so hard, and you’re going to wake up soon. You need to go back to bed.” Lan Zhan emphatically shakes his head. “I have to make him something. It must be perfect, he deserves—” He shakes his head again, agitated. “He is so good, he doesn’t think he should get good things, but he does. I will give him good things.” “I can—” Wei Ying coughs a little. There’s a lump in his throat, and he wonders if he’ll ever get used to this. All these reminders of how good Lan Zhan really is. How good Lan Zhan is to him. “I can make the cake for Wei Ying. You need to go rest, Lan Zhan. I promise I’ll make him the best osmanthus cake in the world, I just need you to go back to bed.” “If it’s not good, I will kill you,” he says, deathly serious. Wei Ying carefully breathes around the sensation in his chest that feels like it’s being filled by an expanding balloon. “I’ll keep that in mind,” says Wei Ying, and he gently tugs Lan Zhan back to his room to put him to bed.

pov wei wuxian, modern setting, modern no powers, 5+1 things, roommates, friends to lovers, getting together, sleepwalking, sleepwalking lan wangji, humor, fluff and humor, cute, soft lan wangji/wei wuxian, accidental confession, love confessions, family feels, light angst, angst with a happy ending

~*~

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

[sadiecoocoo]

TBB Fanfiction: Wrecker is the Bestest Brother

Relationships - wrecker & Hunter, Wrecker & tech, Wrecker & Crosshair, Wrecker & Echo, Wrecker & Omega

Characters - wrecker, tech, hunter, echo, omega, crosshair, Lula

Tags/warnings - no warnings apply, 5+1 things, fluff and angst, platonic cuddling, brotherly affection, sibling bonding, Hunter has sensory processing issues, hurt Hunter, protective wrecker, soft wrecker, emotionally intelligent wrecker, good sibling wrecker, Crosshair has PTSD, Crosshair angst, Crosshair needs a hug, hurt Crosshair, tech is autistic, tech needs a hug, hurt tech, echo needs a hug, hurt echo, echo has ptsd, omega needs a hug, hurt omega, nightmares, other tags to be added

Summary - Wrecker is a lot more emotionally intelligent than people give him credit for. Sometimes he even notices things that his brothers don't. And most of the time, he's happy to help his brothers with anything they need.

five times Wrecker comforts his brothers and sister, five times they do the same

(Title is subject to change)

Chapters - 7/10

Current word count - 8,067

Link -

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

what’s in a name, anyway?

by alligator_writes

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Character: Steve Harrington, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers, Nancy Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington's Mother, Steve Harrington's Father Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Good Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler is trying her best, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson Friendship, Dustin Henderson is the Best, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Friendship, Good Friend Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson Lives, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Good Boyfriend Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington hates his name, (that’s the plot of this one babes), Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, I'm Bad At Tagging, I’m literally at dinner right now, adding tags as I go, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort Words: 4,823 Chapters: 1/1

Summary

“On good days, Steve sees his name as a gift from a well meaning but distant relative, like an ugly sweater that doesn’t quite fit. On bad days, he hates it.” OR Five people who call Steve by his full name, and one person who never does.

[purrgilpawkins]

Slime + Ink

Summary: Jack realized pretty early on that Mac always needed something. Whether it be something to distract him or something he needed to help finish his projects. (Or 5 times Jack is there to give Mac something he needs and 1 time he isn’t.) (Also available on AO3)

Pairings: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver

Part of the Comfortember 2020 series Prompt: Fidgeting / Jacket

Warnings: n/a

Notable tags: fluff, light angst, 5+1 things, caring Jack

Twenty-three hours into this surveillance mission, Mac had run out of paper clips and, unfortunately for Jack, found a pen and immediately started clicking it.

Jack was a very patient person (even if he liked others to think he wasn’t), you gotta be in order to be a truly professional sniper. That being said, he snapped after about three minutes.

“Mac, I am this close to smackin’ you upside the head.”

Mac stopped at Jack’s statement and glared at him before flipping the pen in his hand…and biting the tip. Jack sighed, glad he was no longer hearing the clicking (even if Mac’s pen chewing is still a little noisy).

They sat in (mostly) silence for the next few minutes, Jack trying to do his job and Mac still eating his pen. That didn’t last too long either, seeing as the pen Mac was chewing on burst and filled his mouth ink. Jack looked at him in amusement as Mac sputtered, reaching for one of the water bottles in the cup holders.

“Jesus, kid. I know you’re bored outta your mind but do you really need to poison yourself?”

Mac opened the door to the car and spat out his watery-ink mixture and closed the door. He glanced at Jack and wiped his mouth, which was still black. “Sorry. Guess I’m going a little stir crazy.”

“No shit.”

Jack sighed once more before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a packet of tissues that he handed to Mac. The ink-stained blond took it and wiped at the ink he just painted his hand with.

“Sorry. For blowin’ up at ya. We’ve been here for a day, I’m tired, and our intel must’ve been wrong cause the guy didn’t even show up!” Jack sighed yet again as Mac dabbed at his mouth, “How mad you think Patty’ll be if we left?”

“Probably pissed,” Mac said before attempting to remove the ink from his tongue.

“Yeah, well,” Jack sighed (yes, again) and dropped his head onto the steering wheel before quickly bringing it back up with a look of determination on his face, “She’ll just have to send somebody else out here to waste their time.”

Jack started the car and took off while Mac protested with a tissue in his mouth.

—

Jack saw that look in Mac’s eye. The one he got when he was about to run off and start making something out of random junk. And that was exactly what he did.

Mac ran out the back door of the restaurant and Jack followed him, not surprised to see the younger man digging around in one of the dumpsters.

“If you’re that hungry, they got fresh food inside the place, hoss.”

Mac ignored Jack and continued rummaging in the dumpster, throwing things back just as much as he was keeping them. He looked to his partner and Jack got the idea just before Mac started tossing him some of the things he’d dug out.

“You mind telling me what your plan here is?”

“Would you listen if I told you?”

Jack shook his head, “Probably not, no.”

Mac gave Jack a look and carried on with excavating. He stopped for a moment and jumped out to the next dumpster before he started his digging again.

“Jack.”

“Huh?”

“I need something to, uh, to inflate. Kinda like a balloon but it doesn’t have to be exactly like it. Just, something to blow air into and tie off at the end.”

“Right, yeah. I know how a balloon functions.”

Mac ignored Jack’s snark and the older agent turned to search for the requested item in the restaurant itself when an idea struck him.

“Would a condom work?”

Mac paused, “Yeah, that’d work.”

Jack moved the junk to his other hand and reached into his back pocket and pulled out the aforementioned condom, handing it to Mac. Mac looked at the condom and then at Jack. “Why…?”

Jack smirked and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Mac shook his head, “Never mind. Don’t need to know.”

—

Mac still had a few more weeks of recovery ahead of him. The PT was going well and the burns on his hands seemed like they wouldn't scar too bad, if at all.

Despite all the progress he’d made, it was still a struggle to move his hands. And for Mac, that was torture.

Bending his fingers too quickly was painful and some objects were rough against his still healing skin. It all made Mac upset and Jack saw just how upsetting it was.

They were sitting on Mac’s couch, Jack pretending to watch a movie while he sneakily eyed Mac as the man in question got lost in his own head. His fingers seemed to twitch even more now that they were hurting and Jack knew Mac would do anything for some kind of distraction.

So, the delta reached into his pocket and pulled out a mesh stress ball. He’d put it in there while at the store, completely forgetting about it, and ended up stealing it; he’d picked it up in the first place with the intent of giving it to Mac at some point anyway.

Jack reached over for Mac’s hand and gently turned it over to place the ball in his palm. Mac gave him a tired look but started squeezing the ball. He continued squeezing after several moments and once Jack realized he’d done good, he turned back to the movie, glancing at Mac occasionally, seeing him still slowly squishing the ball.

Not even thirty minutes go by before a faint pop! sounded from the general area of Mac and something warm and slimy smacked Jack in the face. Jack looked over to his partner and saw a trail of green slime inching down his face from his hair, his eyes squeezed shut, and a now deflated stress ball in his hands.

“Mac.”

“Sorry.”

—

Jack popped out of cover, getting three shots off before the guys on the other side of the warehouse got a few shots off themselves and he fell back behind the box he and Mac were using for protection.

“Anytime now, Mac!”

“Working on it!” Mac was very clearly working on it. Jack wasn’t sure the exact details of what “it” was but he was promised something explosive and that was all he needed.

The firefight continued as Mac took his time building his makeshift bomb. He looked up at hearing the click of Jack’s now empty gun. That was the last clip too.

“Mac!”

“Just another second!”

The goons were still firing their weapons from their places scattered about the “abandoned” building but they were likely to realize soon that the dudes who interrupted their illegal activities had stopped firing back.

“Okay, okay. Done!” Mac said as a bullet ricocheted past his head. He reached behind him to the matchbook he planned to use to light. “Oh, dammit.”

“What? What’s the problem?”

Mac picked up the matchbook, soaking wet after it had managed to land in a small puddle of water, now completely useless. The pair looked at each other and Jack was a little worried at the slight fear in Mac’s eyes. The bullet storm from the baddies had all but ended and then Jack remembered.

He frantically went for one of his inner jacket pockets and pulled out several loose matches, quickly handing them to Mac. A look of surprise replaced Mac’s scared one as he lit a match.

“The moment I throw this, run.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, hoss.”

—

It was unfortunate how used to the scents and sounds of a hospital they were. It practically came with the job, being in a hospital waiting room, if not the hospital bed itself.

Riley had been shot. She was currently in surgery and the doctor who’d talked to the two other agents had assured them that if all went well, she would be fine.

Jack remained worried, of course. It was his job to worry, after all. Mac was worried too but it was obvious by his pacing he was feeling guilty as well.

Riley had shielded him from the bullet. It was supposed to hit him. Now she was the one in surgery, getting a bullet removed from her back when it should’ve been him. She didn’t deserve this.

Jack had been watching him like a hawk the whole time. Mac knew he was making him worry, which just made him feel worse. He shouldn’t be making Jack worry about both his kids, especially when one was more deserving of that worry than the other. Mac's unhealthy train of thought came to a stop when Jack spoke up.

“Hey, Mac.” Jack motioned to the seat next to him and Mac sat down, avoiding eye contact.

They sat in silence for a moment before Jack reached into his front pocket and pulled out a paperclip. He moved it in front of Mac’s face, making sure he saw it, before he started talking again.

“I’m willing to bet that there’s no way in hell you can bend this into…the Eiffel Tower.”

Mac scoffed, “Jack, you’ve seen me do it before.”

“The hell I have!”

“You have! We were in Paris trying to take down that arms dealer, remember?”

“Nope. Not ringing any bells.”

Jack smiled and Mac smiled back. The younger agent knew what his partner was up to and Jack knew he knew. Mac took the paperclip, happy to be distracted, and started bending it.

—

It was their first mission without Jack.

If anyone had noticed that the jacket Mac was wearing was Jack’s, no one acknowledged it.

It was a little too big on him, but that was okay. It was comforting, in a way. It felt like Jack was still there. Still protecting him.

During their mission, Mac had made a mistake. He hadn’t been able to focus properly since…well. A man had come at him with a knife and Mac froze. Luckily for him, Desi actually took her job seriously.

A good helping of blood had landed on Mac and therefore also on the jacket.

Mac didn’t want to wash the jacket. It still smelled like gunpowder and leather. Like Jack. But it was also starting to smell like blood and Mac was sure Jack wouldn’t be too happy about a bloodied jacket when he came back.

If he came back.

He’d eventually made up his mind and decided to wash the jacket.

Mac knew from experience that putting something in the wash before checking the pockets could lead to some kind of catastrophe, so he decided to empty out the pockets. He opened the zipper of one of the inner pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper, simply labeled Mac. The man in question looked at it curiously, flipping it over and back before he folded it open.

Hey Mac,

I’m sorry I broke my promise. You should know that I didn’t want to leave if I didn’t have to. I know this seems like something I don’t have to leave for but, trust me, I do. Irregardless, my place will always be by your side. And don’t you worry, I promise I’ll be back as quick as I can. If you’ll have me, of course. Tell the others I love them.

Love you kid,

Jack

Mac wondered if Jack had anticipated Mac taking his clothes or if this was something he was supposed to read at all.

Either way, the short note brought some comfort to Mac, like his partner was still checking up on him despite his absence.

Mac slipped the note in his back pocket and put the jacket in the wash, a smile of his face.

[chaosfairy18]

Three little words pt. 3

5+1-esque thing with Bumswiftery, this time Swifty/Bumlets

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

It was loud in the lodge this night. Kloppman wouldn’t be in tonight and had left the keys with Bumlets – he’d said he wouldn’t trust the others to run off with it – meaning there were no people around to complain about the noise or that they were staying up later than they should. Bumlets had, as promised, locked the doors – the only one that had gotten in five minutes after was Race but only because he’d had to run all the way from Brooklyn, and it had been raining cats and dogs – but he had never said that he would keep the others in bed early. Not like he would have succeeded anyways.

The others were well distracted by poker games and marbles, Bumlets and Swifty a bit to the side in a little nook that was difficult to look into. They had first gone in there to avoid getting roped into any games about money but had found it a nice spot to hold hands undetected. They weren’t sure who in the lodge knew, if anything most probably ignored any signs to keep being oblivious, but they still didn’t want to be too obvious about it.

While Bumlets was sitting on a desk, feet swinging slowly under him, Swifty leant against the wall close to it, their joined hands hanging between them as they talked. What they were doing was still pretty new, but… they had found they liked it, no more of the uncertainty of what those feelings could be or if they ever could be reciprocated, just stolen sweet secret moments like this. They liked the others, of course, but getting to spend their time with just the two of them was sometimes even better.

“You really don’t want to play against Race to see who of you can cheat more money out of the others?”, asked Bumlets after a while, squeezing Swifty’s hand.

He shook his head, raising their joined hands and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “No, I’d rather stay here with you. And I earned more than enough today.”

Knowing him as well as he did, Bumlets knew that didn’t just mean profits from selling. “You know, I’d love you even more if you didn’t make me worry about you getting sent to the refuge for stealing all the time.” He only noticed after he said it that he’d basically just told Swifty he loved him – which was true, he just hadn’t been sure if the other was okay with it.

But he just grinned, tugging Bumlets a bit closer. “And I would love you even more if you didn’t berate me about stealing every two seconds.”

“It’s illegal.”

“So’s this.”

Bumlets looked to the ground, mood now more sombre than before. “I know. It could get us to the refuge just as easily. But I still worry, Vince.”

Swifty kissed his cheek and murmured, even quieter than their conversation up until now: “There’s no one I’d rather be illegal with.”

They didn’t go back to the others, just went upstairs when they felt tired, giving each other a good night kiss and then going to their bunks.

It wasn’t always easy, but at least they had each other.

[cringefail-loser]

whenever I'm feeling depressed, I just think about Mike sobbing uncontrollably, listening to "Smalltown Boy" at full blast in his basement while thinking about running away with Will, and then I get a bit more depressed

[sshcomic]

You have given me a great joy in life with your Renkaza au

May I ask, what happened to the rest of the Kamado family? Did they get their canon ending or are they with Nezuko as they try to deal with her new demonification?

oh yay im glad you're enjoying it so far! 🥰

nezuko's actually with her brother in the box, like in canon lol. i just havent drawn her--or inosuke or zenitsu--in the panels we've seen, but they're there!

as for the rest of the kamados... i actually havent decided LOL. my instinct is to save everyone, since this is a light-hearted comic strip, but also i'm not sure i'd be able to reliably write that since it involves more plot than the "stupid jokes loosely following canon" i mostly have written down aha. so i suppose it's a surprise for now, even for myself.

i guess we'll see!

[royjamielibrary]

RoyJamie Recomendations — Hurt/Comfort (Part 1)

All the Angry Men by PGHumfort (Rating: Teen and Up | Chapters: 1/1 | Words: 12,232 | Setting: Season 3 Canon Divergence | POV: Alternating | Other Tropes: Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together | Warnings: Abuse/Domestic Violence)

When they finally get together, Jamie keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Roy to lose his temper with him. Jamie's father and some angry exes have laid the groundwork for disaster, but Roy is nothing like the other angry men Jamie has known before.

don't you forget about me by andrealyn (Rating: Teen and Up | Chapters: 3/3 | Words: 20,283 | Setting: Post-Season 3 | POV: Roy | Other Tropes: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship | Warnings: N/A)

Roy wakes up with a splitting headache and a few years of memories missing, which is bad enough. Worse is that everyone is withholding information from him because they're all loyal to Future Roy. All that means is that Present Roy is getting fed up not knowing who it is that he's dating and why it is no one will just tell him.

i watched the world without knowing what to look for by buckstiel (Rating: Teen and Up | Chapters: 1/1 | Words: 6,140 | Setting: Post-Season 3 | POV: Roy | Other Tropes: Getting Together | Warnings: N/A)

It's snowing in Newcastle, and Jamie's Man City ankle injury already hurts before he hits the pitch. Or: all things must come to an end, eventually.

kip by fleeceframe (Rating: Teen and Up | Chapters: 1/1 | Words: 10,433 | Setting: Season 3 Canon Divergence | POV: Roy | Other Tropes: Pre-Relationship | Warnings: Abuse/Domestic Violence)

The energy of the room shifts suddenly as Jamie’s eyes widen. It’s as though he’s just waking up, looking around quickly to get his bearings straight- as if he doesn’t remember coming to Roy’s house at all. Maybe he doesn’t. When his startled expression finally lands on Roy just off to the side, Jamie’s eyebrows raise even though his shoulders relax. He looks down at the bath again. “What’s this?” Jamie asks as he combs a hand through the beer head of bubbles on top of the water. “A bubble bath,” Roy says gruffly. He stares straight forward at the open-faced cabinet in front of him that has piles of fresh black towels on each shelf. A pause. “You put me in a bubble bath?” or the one where roy and jamie have a run in with tarrt senior and roy has no idea what he's doing even though he's trying really hard

weave your little webs by floweredhalo (Rating: Not Rated | Chapters: 2/2 | Words: 25,703 | Setting: AU | POV: Alternating | Other Tropes: 5 + 1 Things, Getting Together, Magic/Supernatural | Warnings: N/A)

“Sorry,” Sounds more like sorreh, “can you uh, stitch me back up again?” Roy can now see the large gash across his stomach and the cut on his jaw. He hisses through his teeth and winces in solidarity with the man. Roy just stares at him. Spiderman cocks his head and puts a hand on his hip as if to say well? “Yeah yeah, come on then.” Spiderman trails after him, thankfully not dripping blood on the wood floors. Though Roy thinks he wouldn’t mind cleaning up the mess. “Spidertwat.” Spiderman laughs at that. another 5+1: 5 times Roy patches up Spiderman and the 1 time he patches up Jamie (Or the one where Jamie is Spiderman and he keeps showing up hurt.)

[hoodie-buck]

rated: t | words: 6.4k | read on ao3

—secret fic is here y’all! this goes out to my wife @monsterrae1 thanks for always believing in her babe…i finished it just for you 😂 happy birthday bestie!! 🥳🫶🏼🩵

summary:

It wasn’t until a few days later when Eddie was doing laundry that he came across Buck’s discarded clothes. He must’ve tossed them in the hamper after his shower, Eddie holding the warn and stained clothing up in his hands.

Eddie toyed with the fabric, clutching it a little in his hands. Buck’s clothes were in his laundry, mixed with his and Chris’, like they belonged, like Buck was a part of their family.

Against his better judgement, Eddie brought the clothes up to his face, closing his eyes as he inhaled. While they smelled awful, reeking of soot, sweat, and blood, they also smelled like Buck, like home and safety. Eddie couldn’t get enough.

—or—

Five times Buck leaves his clothes at Eddie's, and the one time they're right where they belong

tagging squad below: lmk if you wanna be added or removed <3

tags: @loserdiaz @redlightsandicedtea @loveyourownsmiilee @monsterrae1 @buddierights @swiftiebuckleyhan @honestlydarkprincess @barbiediaz @spotsandsocks @justsmilestuffhappens @cowboydiazes @djdangerlove @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @jacksadventuresinwriting @stanningsky @wh0re-behavi0r @ronordmann @spaceprincessem @arthursdent @disasterbuckdiaz @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @betty-boom @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @pirrusstuff @nmcggg @theotherbuckley @louis-tenn @the-gayest-wug @buckley-diaz-rules @muppetbuddie