#Fix-it

[the-odd-shu]

Hey Hextech, is it gay to cuddle your co-workers?

A continuation of lab shenanigans.

Masterlist

Next part here!

Characters: Viktor, Jayce, Reader

(Jayce/Viktor/Reader) (POLYCULEEEE!)

A thread following the chaotic trio that is, laboratory illustrator!Reader, Viktor and Jayce being unsupervised in the lab.

Note; this takes place during season 1, and the reader is gender neutral with they/them pronouns.

CONTAINS VIKTOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2!

There's only one couch in the lab.

There are three desks, four chairs, one whiteboard, boxes upon boxes of chalk, and only one couch.

The couch which Jayce is currently taking a cat nap on and taking up all of the room of. The lab lights are dim, and Jayce looks so comfortable, sprawled out on his back, with his boots still on his feet, whilst his legs hand off the end of the furniture because he's just that fucking tall. He has an arm slung over his eyes despite the low light, and he looks stupidly adorable.

Reader is half tempted to turn right back around and try to find somewhere else to take a power nap. They can't be bothered to lock up their desk, and walk all the way across the academy, and then all the way home to tumble into bed. And their desk is a no no, since hey always wake up with a painful crick in their neck and Viktor's knowing grin taunting them for their bad choices.

The couch looks tempting though... and can they really be bothered to go wandering around campus looking for somewhere comfortable to sleep until their meeting later? The answer is no. No they cannot.

Besides, Jayce finished with the council over three hours ago, so he's had plenty of time for undisturbed rest. And clearly, if he didn't want to share, than he would have put his sizeable salary into finding another couch for the lab already.

Decision made, and sleep tugging at their eyelids, they shrug off their jacket, yank off their boots and carefully sit on the very edge of the couch near Jayce's hip. The worn cushion barely gives under their weight it is so old and devoid of stuffing. How Jayce is deeply asleep on the thing and continues to choose to nap on it since it was brought in, they had no idea.

There's enough room for them to gingerly lay down parallel to Jayce's body on their side. They're so tired, they hardly care. Everything aches. And Viktor isn't around to tease them for essentially 'cuddling' Jayce, which they clearly were NOT! Their back was to the man after all, with the cotton of their shirt barely brushing his jacket sleeve.

If they stayed still, he might not even notice. And they could have their nap and slip away without anyone even-

A sharp inhale of breath at their back has their body stiffening like a deer in headlights. Their tired eyes bug wide, and yet they manage to keep from throwing themselves off of the couch and taking the stupid nap on the hard, cold floor instead. Maybe Jayce won't even notice. Maybe they can pretend to be asleep already.

"You're going to fall off that close to the edge."

And oh fuck... Jayce's voice is deep and slurred from sleep.

Their mind screeches to a hault, when the couch shifts violently, and then an arm is winding over their side to drag them backwards. Jayce does not pull them into his chest, but he does give them enough space to be laying on their side comfortably. He's rolled onto his side too, and has shifted back towards the backrest to create more room. He retracts his arm, and his breath evens out.

Reader's mind spins. Jayce is a touchy kind of guy. Always pressing a hand to their shoulder when commenting on a sketch, or leaning up against their back in the kitchen with a quiet apology when reaching for something in an hoverhead cupboard whilst they're waiting for the kettle to boil.

He does it to Viktor too, so Reader know's it is just Jayce being Jayce.

They fall asleep like that, one hand under their cheek, their back to Jayce with a respectful pinkies worth of space between them.

Of course they wake up tangled together. Jayce's arm somehow around Reader, keeping them from rolling off the edge of the couch. Their head is tucked up under his jaw, and his breaths slowly ghost across their ear. It is the most comfortable they've ever been whilst resting on this couch.

Viktor is at his desk, when they decide enough is enough and they REALLY have to get back to work. Jayce audibly grumbles as they untangle themselves, before rolling towards the backrest and putting his back to the rest of the lab.

Viktor scarcely looks up from his work before offering a simply, "ah, you're awake. When you've finished cuddling, mind helping me out with-?"

Viktor falling asleep at his desk.

Reader and Jayce have been quietly arguing over what angle, they should draw of a new project.

Viktor snores when he sleeps. Soft, barely audible puffs of air that are only really noticable when the debate dies down whilst both sides take a moment to breath and gather their thoughts for another round.

The sound draws both sets of eyes to Viktor's desk. Where he has passed out on his notebook, cheek pressed down against the pages, arms limp at his sides, and his cane leaned up against the desk beside him within arms reach.

Wordlessly, both decide to put a metaphorical pin in the argument, whilst Jayce steps away from Reader's desk and begins unbuttoning his waist coat, which has somehow become the unoffical lab blanket. Not only because Jayce is all to happy to lend it to either of his colleagues, but because it is big and warm and everyone secretly loves waistcoat priviledges.

On quiet footsteps, Jayce crosses the room to drape it over the man's shoulders. He doesn't stir, and the other two get back to their playfully fighting just a tad quieter.

Reader not having the keys to get back into the lab, so they sit down beside the doors in the corridor to wait for Viktor or Jayce to come back. Of course, they fall asleep slumped against the wall, and Viktor and Jayce rock up together to find them. Viktor sighs, very put out.

"If anyone saw this, they'd accuse us of abuse." He mutters to himself, rummaging in his pocket for his keys.

Jayce bends down to rouse reader who was having a surprisingly good nap. They refuse to get up and just curl up tighter.

"Come back in ten minutes." They negotiate sleepily.

And Jayce is torn. They look really comfortable, but they'll certainly be feeling sitting on the floor later, so he's reluctant to just leave them there without a cushion at least. Of course, Viktor is quick to prod him along.

"Come on Jayce!" Viktor prompts. "If they're going to be a brat, treat them like a brat."

Which Jayce interprets as scooping Reader up into his arms instead of leaving them out in the hall with the lab door left unlocked.

Of course Reader wakes up immediately. Demanding to be put down, and squirming, Jayce just grins and hauls them inside whilst Viktor shakes his head at their stupid display. Jayce then unceremoniously dumping reader on the couch, and as tradition at this point, shrugs off his jacket to throw at their head.

"We should probably invest in a blanket." Reader grumbles, spreading the jacket over them as best they can before snuggling down.

Viktor deadpans. Somehow, he doesn't think the sentiment will stick for long. Not with his own secret love of waking up wrapped in Jayce's waistcoat, and not with Reader's visible relaxing form under the weight of the jacket, and not with the stupidly soft look Jayce is looking down at them with.

Reader who drags Jayce down by his shirt collar or the lapels of his waistcoat to press a kiss to his forehead.

Reader who exclusively kisses Viktor's moles. As a rule they kiss both of them in farewell after a long day. On under his eye, and the other above the corner of his lip.

Reader who then has to go back to Jayce to bestow him with his second kiss because otherwise he pouts and demands that you play fair.

They're not dating yet...

Lying in Jayce's bed after a rare evening of leaving the lab early. Sitting elbow to elbow up against the pillows, all three of them are reading books, and have changed into their night wear, with Jayce in the middle and Reader and Viktor on either side. Mainly because Jayce tends to roll a lot and will roll OFF the bed if given the chance, and Viktor needs easy access to his cane or brace at all times.

It is Reader who breaks the silence without looking up from their book. "Would you guys still love me if I were a worm?"

They feel two sets of judgemental eyes turn to zero in on them. So they play it cool and neatly turn a page. Their partners exchange confused looks.

"If it were humanly possible," Jayce started slowly, "maybe?"

"Absolutely not." Viktor firmly added.

Reader sets down their book offended. "Maybe?" They parrot back to Jayce, and then turn on Viktor who meets their gaze with a frown. "Flat out no!? Do you two even love me?"

"Of course." Viktor says calmly, "but if you happened to turn into a worm, I would not be best suited to offer you a comfortably, inhabitable environment, what with my long work hours and dangerous research. Therefore, it would be kinder to set your worm-self free, and let us both move on with our lives."

Reader stares back at him in betrayal.

"So you don't love me."

Viktor rolls his eyes at their dramatics.

Jayce tries to soothe them. "Well, look at it this way, it won't happen, so you won't have to worry about it-"

"Jayce, you both work with MAGIC!" Reader points out. "You have somehow turned magic into a power supply. There is a whole rune dictionary, and thousands of untold combinations that might very well turn the right candidate into a worm."

Jayce is at a loss for words.

Viktor sits back against his pillow and returns his attention to his book, "I still stand by my earlier statement."

Reader tsks and returns to their book to. "For the record, I'd build you both mud homes and take you everywhere with me. It wouldn't matter if you looked different, because you'd still be you deep down."

Jayce looks suddenly touched, and Viktor's hard expression softens a little.

"That is, surprisingly sweet, for such a weird conversation." The latter mutters, whilst Jayce leans in to land a firm kiss to Reader's forehead.

BONUS AND SPOILER FOR SEASON 2:

For some reason, Jayce dragged Reader down into the Hexgate basement before the final fight, getting them to help him pull out all the batteries from the core whilst shit goes down on the surface.

And of course, final form Viktor comes to find them in all his robed, mysterious glory.

Jayce and Viktor having a fun little back and forth.

Reader: looking at final form Viktor with wide eyes.

Reader: flushing under his intense golden gaze and ducking their head, fighting tooth and nail to keep from tucking their hair behind their ear like a school girl with a crush.

Final form Viktor: visibly amused, as he always was in the lab whenever he thought they were being stupid.

Jayce with horror in his voice as he follows Viktor's gaze to Reader: "No! Please tell me you're not thinking what I know you're thinking!"

Reader with visible guilt as they throw up both hands and motion to all of Viktor's tall, god-like glory: "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? HE'S HOT, AND HE'S VIKTOR! AND I AM MERELY A MORTAL!"

Jayce: "He is trying to kill us!"

Reader: "So? He looks hot doing it!"

Jayce: "Just focus! Please?!"

Reader: "Then tell him to conceal his itty bitty waist. I cannot focus right now, Jayce!"

Viktor: tilting his head as an unnatural angle with fondness in his voice. "It is refreshing to find that you still find my form appealing, even after such unnatural change."

Jayce just watching on in dismay: ...

Reader turning on him: "I TOLD you I'd still love you both if you turned into worms."

Viktor snorts in the background, whilst Jayce goes through the five stages of grief. He settles on dismay and points his corrupted hammer at Viktor's new form: "THAT is some sort of Eldritch being. THAT is VERY different to a fucking WORM, Y/n!"

Next part here!

[19silvermirrors]

Greeting the Ambassador the proper way💙❤️

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I was today years old when I learned fix-it fics don't necessarily always mean "fics that undo the characters' deaths and make things better for these characters, or fics that rewrite canon to make a ship happen" but it can also mean "fics that just make the torture a thousand times more graphic and WORSE for the blorbos since canon is too vanilla" what????

so fix-it fics is basically fics that make the authors happy? hmm, I am not complaining ;)

[champagnetommy]

hold me, console me

Two months after the break-up, Buck gets an interesting call in the middle of the night. 1.4k words, fix-it, fluff and humor, on ao3

Buck had just face-planted onto his bed, after a long, long day of hectic calls, followed by non-stop baking, when his phone rings. He doesn’t move an inch at first, considering letting it go to voicemail, but he turns his head to the digital clock on his nightstand-Tommy’s - and registers it’s 1 a.m. He figures it could be important.

Through bleary eyes, he glances briefly at his phone screen, it’s an unknown number. Huh. He slides his finger over to answer and mumbles a tired, “Hello?”

“Evan.” He’d know that voice anywhere. It’d been haunting his dreams and every waking thought since—

“—Tommy?”

Tommy chuckles nervously on the other side of the phone. It’s staticky and echo-y; Buck wonders where he is. “Uh, yeah, it’s me. I’m so sorry to do this, the only phone numbers I have memorized are yours and my captain’s and I do not want to call him for this. Oh god.”

“Are you okay?” Buck can’t help but ask. If he’s in trouble, he needs to get to him as soon as possible.

Tommy sighs, exhaling heavily, before answering. “Erm. I- I need you to come bail me out. Please.”

That’s the last thing Buck was expecting. He must have been quiet for too long, because, then, Tommy’s in his ear again.

“Evan?”

“ Yeah, sorry, I’m here. How, why are you…” He’s not quite sure where to start, really.

“I’ll explain later? I don’t have a lot of time to talk at the moment,” he says drily. “Again, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you, I- I don’t want to be a bother. But, I’d appreciate it, if you could help me tonight. I know I don’t deserve it—”

“— You’re not an inconvenience, Tommy,” Buck says quietly.

Tommy clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. Good, a small part of Buck thinks.

“Which precinct?”

***

An hour later, Buck pulls up to the precinct Tommy instructed him. He’s definitely awake now, and burning with so many questions, and he’s unsure wether he’ll get the answers to any of them. As he walks in, he’s relieved and thankful it’s not Athena’s station. He thinks Tommy probably is, too.

He makes his way to the appropriate desk and greets the officer with his most charming- not too much- smile. “Good night- er morning?”

The officer, Cortez, her badge says, doesn’t look very impressed, but then again, it could just be the fact she’s on night shift.

“I’m here for Tommy- Thomas Kinard. I believe he was brought in earlier tonight.”

It’s like a switch is flipped, because Officer Cortez actually cracks a smile and her eyes widen in realization. “Huh, so you’re Evan.” It’s not a question. “Your guy’s a real charmer, you know?”

Not my guy, not anymore, he thinks. He doesn’t say it, though. “Uh, yeah,” he chuckles, instead. “Sounds about right. Do I need to post bail? I’m not really sure how that works.”

“Oh, no you’re fine,” Officer Cortez shakes her head. “The guy he punched didn’t press charges, and he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on, seeing as he was brought in, too. And there were witnesses that vouched for your guy. We just needed someone to come pick him up.”

Tommy punched someone?

“Right,” Buck swallows, trying not to betray the fact this is all new information for him.

Officer Cortez gives him a kind smile and then turns to type and click on her computer for a couple minutes. Buck rocks on the balls of his feet, feeling jittery and like his skin itches, as he waits.

“Ok, he’s all set,” she says a minute later. “Let me go get him, I’ll be right back.”

A few minutes later, Tommy’s walking over to him, the officer right behind him. He looks tired and a little sheepish, but otherwise uninjured, thankfully.

“Hi.” He says meekly, ducking his head and raises a hand to rub the back of his neck.

Buck thought he’d be angry the first time he saw him, after the breakup, but instead he feels a knot loosen in his chest. “Hi yourself.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.”

Officer Cortez looks between them, amusement etched on her face “Alright you two, this has been fun and the highlight of my night, but out you go.”

“She won’t run away with me, can you believe that?” Tommy mock-whispers conspiringly, like everything’s normal, like it’s just another day and they’re not standing in the middle of a police precinct because he punched someone.

“In your dreams, Kinard! Now leave, before I change my mind.”

“Yes ma’am,” he salutes with two fingers and motions for Buck to follow him out.

“And talk to your Evan!” She calls to their retreating forms.

Tommy groans in embarrassment.

Once they walk out of the main doors, into the night air, Buck stops and rounds on him. “So. You punched someone.”

Tommy freezes for a second and then nods. “I did.”

“Why?”

“Can we not—”

“— No. You called me in the middle of the night to come bail you out, so we are doing this now, actually.”

Tommy’s shoulders stiffen and then relax, slumping as he inhales and exhales deeply. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve said.”

Tommy clears his throat. “Right, okay, well. I was at a bar, I was— doesn’t matter, but when I was leaving, I saw this asshole harassing a couple, two men. They were just having a night out a- and this jackass was hurling slur after slur, cornering them in.” He takes another deep breath. Buck notices his hands shake a little.

“Anyway, I stepped in, told him to leave them alone and go on his way. Next thing I know, he swings at me, misses of course. I, uh, swung back and lightly decked him. He was drunk, tripping over his feet and honestly, sent himself to the ground.”

And Buck believes him, knows him, despite everything. “And you got arrested?”

“Yeah, we both did. There was an officer nearby, but the couple and some other bystanders explained what happened. He said he still had to take me in and here I am- or was, I suppose. Not my proudest moment.” He stares at he ground, as if afraid Buck would be angry or disappointed in him.

“Tommy,” he says softly, “hey look at me.” He dares to reach out and gently tips Tommy’s chin up with two fingers.

Tommy eyes him wearily, vulnerability and trepidation achingly evident across his ever-beautiful visage.

“You punched a homophobe,” Buck iterates.

Tommy’s expression morphs into confusion. “Yeah? That’s what I—"

Between one moment and the next, Buck leans in and cuts him off with the press of his lips. It’s as chaste and brief as their first kiss, and it’s absolutely everything. He disconnects their lips, but only moves back far enough to rest their foreheads together.

“God you’re so— I missed you,” Buck mumbles into the scant space between them. “So much.”

“Evan, sweetheart, I missed you too. You don’t know how sorry I am, for leaving, for everything—mmph!— Buck kisses him quiet again.

“Come home with me.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Just to sleep. I think it’s been a long day for both us. We can talk and argue and yell tomorrow. I-I just want to sleep next to you again, hold you.”

Tommy smiles at him, much like the way he smiled at him after accepting his invite to Maddie’s wedding, all soft and awe-struck.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” This time, Tommy’s the one bringing him in for a kiss.

All too soon, their bubble is interrupted by the intercom mounted near the precinct doors. “Gentlemen, as heartwarming as this is,” Officer Cortez says firmly, but not unkindly. “I suggest you move along, lest this turns into public indecency and then I’ll have to bring you both in.”

Their faces turn red, as they mumble quick sorry’s in unison. Tommy pulls Buck by the hand, down the stairs and toward the parking lot. The knot in his chest loosens further.

“And congratulations!” Officer Cortez shouts happily, voice carrying into the nearly empty lot.

Everything’s not magically fixed. They still have difficult conversations to face, fears to work through together and separately, but Tommy’s hand is warm and sure in his and he’ll sleep curled up next to him again, for the first time in months. And Buck’s ready to fight for them, to make it.

It’s a start.

[hitlikehammers]

steddie ✨soulmarks✨ except that they spell out your soulmate’s last words 💔

(‘make him pay’ = epically lame iteration of this heartbreaking phenomenon)

From the minute he learned about soulmates as a kid, Steve knew not only that he wanted one—of course he did—but that he was absolutely going to get one. Didn’t matter that they were rare as hell, didn’t matter that every year fewer matches were reported: nope. Steve Harrington had a soulmate, and he was going to find them. When he eventually found out the tragedy of it all, the reason people were celebrating fewer instances of soulmates finding one another, Steve’s feelings on the matter didn’t change. At all. The words that appear to signal your match being the last words they’re meant to speak, before they die? Fuck that.

rating: m ♥️ tags: mid-s4 final battle, canon divergence, eddie says the soulmate words on steve’s skin that double as his last words, steve is having absolutely none of that, canon fix-it, romance, steve stays with eddie to prevent his untimely demise, dustin henderson: surprisingly good with molotov cocktails, happy ending ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day twenty five: “He is half of my soul, as the poets say.” ― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

Steve hears it, nods even and makes to step away—he hears it, but like, it takes a second to sink in.

But once it’s all sunk in, saturated in his cells, his bones?

“Change of plans,” he calls out, and gives a total of no shits if anyone has an objections.

“Henderson.”

Dustin perks up; he might have been playing tough about rolling his eyes over not being a hero but he’s predictable—he likes being important enough to get singled out.

“You think you can hit a target with a flaming bottle while a vine, or a tail, might be trying to strangle you?”

Steve wouldn’t have even had to look to know Dustin’s up for it—suspicion, confusion, those too of course but at least not outright resistance because, again.

Predictable.

He does look at Dustin anyway, though.

Mainly because he knows he won’t find such easy acceptance in any of the other faces gathered around, but like…

Here’s the thing.

From the minute he learned about soulmates as a kid, Steve knew not only that he wanted one—of course he did—but that he was absolutely going to get one. Didn’t matter that they were rare as hell, didn’t matter that every year fewer matches were reported: nope. Steve Harrington had a soulmate, and he was going to find them.

When he eventually found out the tragedy of it all, the reason people were celebrating fewer instances of soulmates finding one another, Steve’s feelings on the matter didn’t change. At all.

The words that appear to signal your match being the last words they’re meant to speak, before they die?

Fuck that.

They said you got the words the year it’d happen, first day. No sense of when, just before the year was over. So, like, it was super simple. Steve would just find them, protect them, make sure they say something else as soon as possible to negate the…the curse of it, save them, and then ride into the sunset. Easy.

And actually, he thought it was pretty fucking stupid that people really bought into the whole thing being, like, a guaranteed recipe for heartbreak. If even Steve could figure out how to navigate the rules that easily.

By high school, he learns that people have tried—which is reassuring, that everyone through all the ages wasn’t that stupid or unimaginative, or so easily resigned to the worst—and they’d failed.

All of them, apparently.

Allegedly.

That part is more of a bummer. But Steve Harrington has known he’d find his soulmate his entire life. And he will. So while now he knows he’s up against almost impossible odds, if the stories are to be believed?

He spends high school practicing. Knowing none of these girls are his forever but learning the long way what works and what doesn’t, how to treat someone with care, how to please someone without question. He gets his reputation: Casanova, but not for keeps. He’s good with that.

By the time the Upside Down had entered his world, it was both the worst thing, and the bestthing. Because alternate dimensions were impossible.

Yet here they were.

And what else had he always been told was impossible?

So it could—would—be possible, too.

Steve wasn’t sure he realized how thin of a thread his hope had been hanging on until it rebuilds in chainlinks the more he sees of the impossible, the more he knows again with all of him that when the time comes, he’ll save them.

Make Him Pay was a weird mark to find on his skin in the early hours of 1986, but it meant that he was right. He had a soulmate.

And he had a whole year to find them. And save them. And ask if they’d like a forever, too.

And how fucking lucky, that it barely takes two months.

Impending apocalypse aside, of course. But those were just details. Practically routine, at this point.

So, again: it takes a couple seconds to sink in. For it to make sense alongside the fluttery feeling he’s been having off and on from the base of his throat to the pit of his stomach, since probably somewhere around the boathouse. He almost gets a full step away, even.

But he doesn’t.

Because this, this right here?

This is what Steve Harrington has been preparing for his whole goddamn life.

Robin—the only other person in the world who knows what’s scrawled on his skin—was too far to hear for herself but he taps the inside of his elbow where the words are branded when she looks at him, flooded with questions but her eyes go wide, she picks it up fast as the answer to basically all of them, then turns to Eddie and they stare at each other, exchanging unspoken confirmations for more wonderings until Robin squares her shoulders, nods at Steve more than once so he knows she’s not just committed to figuring this out with him, but that she supports him, maybe even approves of these cards he’s been dealt to save the beautiful curly haired weirdo standing between them.

Fuck, but he loves her. So much.

“He’s soft on you, Henderson,” she cuts in, takes the reins; “convince me. You any better than you were last summer with squeezing out of tight spots? Particularly, you know,” she flicks her eyes meaningfully over to the angry red lines on Steve’s neck; “those involving psychic sorta-vines, or bat-tails trying to hang you?”

“I…” Dustin still looks a little thrown by the team shakeup but he’s a smart fucking kid, and a quick study when he wants to be: “hypothetically?” He chews on his lip, strokes his chin like he’s putting in real thought, here. “Like, with my cleidocranial dysplasia—”

“Your shoulder blade thing?” Nancy pipes up, a little incredulous, and Steve almost feels for her; she hasn’t spent enough time with Dustin to not only know that she’s wrong, but to know how he reacts when people whose intelligence he respected at least a little bit are the ones who are wrong.

“Collarbone,” he eyes her ruthlessly, wholly unimpressed, then turns back to Robin alone; “but, might be able to wiggle out better?”

Robin nods, considering-like, but Steve can see she’s trying not to laugh a little at how Nancy’s now incredulously gaping at them.

“And how’s your aim?” she asks, a little doubtfully—Dustin doesn’t exactly strike…anyone on-sight as being particularly good at throwing shit and making sure it hits a target.

As in, an intended target.

“I smoke everyone at Front Line,” Dustin announces with absolute confidence before twin snorts come from Steve and Eddie in near-tandem, and he glares hard but admits: “except Max.”

“Oh my god, are we seriously,” Nancy can only be heard if you’re listening close and know what her under-the-breath-disbelief sounds like, not just that they’re having this conversation but that they’re having it, as she says, seriously. And Steve would have missed the sound of it too, save that try as had might have in the most awkward days following the implosion of…everything, with them—he hadn’t forgotten.

But honestly, kinda just…screw her. He won’t pretend it’s not a little fucked that they’re playing a life-or-death battle like it’s picking teams in gym class, but it’s only flippant on the surface. Steve would never, would never trust Dustin where he really didn’t think he could handle himself—maybe it’s not ideal, but he does trust the kid, much as he wishes he could keep him from the frontlines, protect him and let him be exposed to the worst of the horrors as little as possible; but Steve also wouldn’t ever risk Robin, or hell, even Nancy, to himself being as distracted as he’d be not knowing that Eddie was safe.

None of it’s ideal. But what about anything with this monster-mash-realm shit ever has been?

And it’s not like Nancy knows that Steve even has a soulmate. She definitely doesn’t know that he’s just found said soulmate, on his way to the gallows on a coin-toss—and sure, yeah, they all are. But there…it’s just…

There was nothing in this dimension or any other that was tearing Steve away from him, and making damn fucking sure he got to ask that question.

Would he also be interested, as in—would he, too, like a…like a forever.

With Steve.

“Also very much top-three at skee-ball,” Dustin’s adding to his battle-resume; “including Max, there.”

Robin pretends to consider; she looks to Steve—reassures him. She understands, and believes they can do this. That they’ll all be okay. He even thinks—beyond wishful thinking—that her bad feelings about all of this aren’t in play right now in this shakeup. He…breathes a little easier.

“You’re with us,” Robin snaps her fingers and waves Dustin over to her and Nancy; “get ready to light the fucker up.”

“Dustin,” Steve calls the kid back before he can scramble away too quick—way too enthusiastically. He turns, still confused about the change at large but in the moment confused why Steve needs him back but he’s gotta say it, one more time:

“Don’t be a hero,” he says, gripping Dustin’s shoulders and shaking him just a little, squeezing tight before he leans in, stares eye to eye before he pulls the most important card he’s got:

“You die, I die.”

He holds Dustin’s gaze until the kid seems to get that Steve’s as serious as Dustin’s ever been and likely more; until he nods, slow and deliberate and says solemn, like a oath form his dweeb books:

“Okay.”

Then, just as he makes to let go, Dustin’s clamping a hand over one of Steve’s on his shoulder and narrowing his eyes:

“Same goes for you, remember that,” he scolds in advance, because of course he does; “plus, on top of that,” he squeezes Steve’s hand as he uses his free one to shake a pointed finger at him:

“If you told us nothing cute, you can’t change the rules now that you’re staying behind.”

Steve wants to laugh. Wants to bend the rules of the universe so none of them have to separate from each other. But…he trusts the others. And he trusts Robin to understand that he’s not just staying with his soulmate, he’s staying because the die was cast to fight for him, against the end for him, and Eddie’s green to this bullshit where they’re all seasoned vets—he trusts her to take care of herself as he’d take care of her, as half his brain cells and the better half at that, and to make sure the rest of them are as safe as they can be, too.

“Noted,” is all he ends up saying with as reassuring a grin as he manage before giving Dustin a shove toward Rob and Nance that definitely isn’t halfway just so he can keep hold of him a millisecond longer. “Get going,” and he tells himself it’ll be okay; doesn’t know if the toothy grin and the snarky double thumbs-up he gets helps or makes it harder to swallow.

He forces himself to toss a salute toward Robin and turn the fuck away before he ruins his own fucking plan of action by demanding that they all find a way to stick together, restructure from the ground up but really fucking quick—

He forces himself to turn back.

To Eddie. Who is staring at him, a little gape-mouthed. A little fast-blinking.

“The fuck was that?”

Which, okay. Okay, that…that is very fair.

But Steve needs a second. He needs a second to soak in the words, from Eddie’s mouth; to pretend to itch near his elbow to see if the words had changed: no.

No, they’re still the same, and he…right. The words were said. His soulmate’s last words had been said, and now his soulmate has said more words.

Right. He’d managed this much—the hardest part, and he had thought it’d unclench the vise in his chest a little more than this but: fine. Fine, he’s over the biggest hurdle. Keeping Eddie safe is in hishands, now, like he always planned—how could you not save your soulmate—and now he just, he…

He just has to make sure Eddie doesn’t fucking say them again before this is over, and then maybe they’d have a chance.

Maybe…maybe they could even have a forever.

He can fucking do this. He was goddamn born to do this.

Steve takes a deep breath and meets Eddie’s questioning gaze.

The fuck was that, he’d asked. Ha.

“You want the heavy version now, or after?”

Eddie narrows those dangerous fucking doe eyes at him, looks him up and down: sees him.

Steve kinda wants to give in to the urge to shiver for the way that gaze sweeps down him across maybe twenty whole heartbeats and Steve feels more deeply known than he thinks he’s felt…ever. Like this.

Eddie heaves a very deep breath and concedes:

“Guess ‘after’ is fine, given we appear to be on a time crunch.”

That’s the right answer—and it’s enough to spur Steve into immediate motion.

He’s already grabbed Eddie by the frayed edge of his vest and is dragging him into the trailer where he lets go, pauses, zips Eddie’s jacket up all the way to the chin, then starts making his checks.

“The hell are you doing?”

Eddie sounds genuinely baffled, more than anything. It would sound adorable in any other moment.

(Goddamnit, but it still sounds adorable, now.)

“You���ve lived in a trailer,” Steve says as he jumps from one side of the very trailer they happen to be in—one that maybe Eddie used to live in, or maybe just a shell, an echo, a carbon copy—fuck if Steve understands what the Upside Down really is on that level;

“But I used to dream of buying an RV,” he tries to underscore the was of it, the used to: the very intentional past tense.

What he wants now is…a future. Almost any future. With this man. With his soulmate.

Eddie.

What he wants is for Eddie, to want to be his Eddie.

And to want Steve, to be Eddie’s Steve.

“They’re not entirely different, but,” Steve pulls furniture out to aid his manic quest, hears Eddie’s voice stop and start around words, mostly only settle around befuddled noises and squeaks; “one thing all the magazines said to watch for is—”

And then he sees it. Grins like he found the…holy-cup, thingy. World Cup?

The really important thingy.

“The ventilation.”

He points and turns to Eddie with what has to look like the grin of an absolutely crazy person but he doesn’t care one fucking bit.

He is somehow more relieved than he thinks is probably necessary to have found them, but like:

“The vents are often overlooked.”

All the RV magazine made comments about ventilation somewhere. He even read about improperly cleaned vents causing a fire, once.

But now he can cover all the bases. Now, he can protect Eddie. Now he has a fucking shot.

But first:

“We fortify this thing like Fort fucking Knox.”

Eddie takes him to where his uncle keeps most of their home improvement type supplies, which turns out to be under the couch and in various random places in the kitchen. He carries an arm full of tape and scissors, hammers and nails over toward the vents before going back for trip number two.

Eddie’s pulling another roll of duct tape out of another mystery drawer in the kitchen—Steve would ask what they needed so much of it for in ‘83 but it’s working for them, so he keeps his mouth shut—for them to block all possible creases and crevices, top to fucking bottom.

Which is exactly what Steve makes damn fucking sure they do.

“Do you really have to play, like, live? Outside, I mean,” Steve asks from focusing on his tape-job, before he starts boarding up the last possible point of entry, as Eddie starts hooking up the audio for the, y’know, the original diversion part of the plan; “or can you rig it to play like a tape, or something,” he’s grasping at straws, pulling too violently at the tape as he sticks another layer on, maybe the fourth by now and it still feels inadequate; “or can you play from in here—”

“Steve.”

He doesn’t expect Eddie so close, close enough for him to grab Steve’s elbows and still them.

To move his hold down Steve’s forearms. Like…deliberately.

“Let me lure them from out there, at least to make sure they’re taking the bait,” Eddie says, those eyes like the ocean in the dark, near-black and fathomless, but also safe and true and right; “and then we can swap a tape in, we can set that up now real fast, so it’s a quick-change?”

Steve blinks, stares down at Eddie’s hands on his, unexpected but right in a way Steve hadn’t even thought to anticipate, for if he ultimately found that soulmate he was after.

“I need you to stay safe. Please.”

The words catch in Steve’s throat, entirely unplanned, and rip rough over gravel on the way out as he looks up, then, and holds Eddie’s gaze with a level of intent he wasn’t sure he had in him before this very moment:

“Promise me.”

And there’s a second where Steve thinks that’s too much, that it goes too far—

“I swear, Steve,” Eddie barely breathes, but those depthless eyes almost seem now to glow: “I don’t understand, but I promise.”

And they let go of one another, and get back to work but…it all feels more vital now. More charged and absolute.

So when Eddie picks up his guitar, fiddles a little and checks the amps, ensures that this’ll shatter eardrums like it’s meant to—Steve pulls him by the collar, and re-zips every layer on him straight to the top.

“No being cute,” Steve reiterates, but even firmer this time; “no trying to be a hero.”

“Told you that wasn’t my area of expertise,” Eddie smirks enough to hollow a dimple.

“Fuck off,” Steve shoves at him, but not toward the door; not yet; “but you’re already plenty cute, so,” he reaches and straightens Eddie’s battle gear one last time as he takes a breath, clears his throat:

“Stick to the plan.”

It must feel as real in this moment to Eddie as it does to Steve, as final and as much of a risk as anything could ever be—or maybe Steve hadn’t cleared the heart in his throat, seizing up a riot, well enough to hide because Eddie stills, goes very suddenly very deathly pale, and blinks too fast to a long stretch of seconds before he’s the one clearing his throat, stumbling over words at a pitch at least an octave too high:

“Which was?” he asks, shaky, like he’sgrasping at straws now, or else: maybe just grasping.

“Umm,” “Eddie fumbles, and Steve can see the pulse heavy in this neck when he swallows; “just to remind me?”

Steve…Steve always knew whoever his soulmate was, he would love them. It’s just how he’s built. But like, soulmate or not, in this moment?

Steve thinks he’ll walk out of this with his heart on a fucking platter for this man, words on his arm or not.

He moves on instinct, and pulls Eddie into a tight hug, the bracing type to steady him as he whispers close to his ear, maybe too intimate by anyone else’s standards, but honestly?

Everyone else can go fuck thensleves.

“Play until they’re maybe…two minutes out,” Steve bullet-points the plan as clear as he can, wills himself not to be distracted by how Eddie seems to shake with the force of his own pulse. “Then get your ass back in here. We lock down and start the tape.”

He dares to squeeze Eddie close, so tight, just once, before moving his hands to Eddie’s shoulders and searching his eyes for questions—and yeah, also maybe just looking at those eyes.

“Roger that,” Eddie exhales so soft, and swallows hard, grabs for one of Steve’s hands on his shoulder still and squeezes it tight kinda out of nowhere, then they moving.

Steve takes another deep breath to steady himself and, after checking every nook and crack and cranny, and starts getting the tape and nails and boards set up to quick-fire seal the door once Eddie’s safe inside.

He’s freaking out, he’s not gonna sugarcoat or downplay it: but the way his heart’s pounding is kinda split for cause because…even though he knows every note his soulmate plays from the goddamn roof is meant to coax the apocalypse to turn their way—fuck, but Eddie’s good with that fucking guitar.

Steve doesn’t have to be into the genre to appreciate that it’s hot and yeah, okay—there’s no more he can do until Eddie’s inside so maybe he…takes a peek.

Oh yeah. Fucking hot.

He makes himself turn, check the sky: the bats are taking the bait.

They’re close e-fucking-nough.

“Eddie!” he yells it but it’s not enough over the amps so he guesses where a break will come and whistles between his fingers, startling Eddie enough to nearly drop his guitar.

“Inside! Now!” he snaps his fingers as Eddie scrambles down and into the trailer, setting his instrument aside as Steve flips the tape to play, more muted but still ear-splitting enough to take over before he starts taping the door once, twice, cross-cross, a third time—then he grabs for the nails and the panels they’d ripped from anywhere they served a purpose that wasn’t fucking structural, and starts hammering them in, decides another layer of duct tape can’t hurt, then, well, there’s more wood so, again, can’t be too careful—

He’s not expecting the hand reaching out to stop him.

“This the heavier version, then?”

Steve turns toward the rough, shaky words, means to tell Eddie to just wait, let him finish this, they don’t have time, but—

The arm Eddie’s grabbed…his sleeve has runched up. To show the words near his elbow. In…

The words come in your soulmate’s handwriting, right, so Eddie would…would recognize that, even if he forgot saying…

“I,” Steve thinks his mouth moves more than it makes actual noise, and this time his heart pounding isn’t split for its reason in any possible way, no, it’s all tangled up: terror and want and nerves and resolve all mixed together. He tries to read anything from Eddie’s face, from the way he stares at Steve with those wide, wide eyes.

“Yeah?” Steve kinda chokes around it a little—maybe he’s hoping something telling, something readable will shift in Eddie’s expression: no dice. Just staring, and breathing a little heavy, and the chittering of the bats getting ever-closer outside.

Steve breathes out, nails the last panel in and straightens up, looks Eddie straight in those big gorgeous eyes that he desperately wants the chance to drown in later, when this is over.

He really hopes being honest right now doesn’t cost him a chance at later.

“Yeah.”

And in what feels like the last fucking second left before Steve’s heart fucking rips through his skin, Eddie’s face flickers and gives…everything away.

He fucking glows.

“Good,” and Eddie’s breathless with something other than the fear of dying, despite the circumstances, despite the incoming flood of creatures out for their blood; he’s not wholly absent of nerves as he rolls up his own sleeve, but he’s vibrating almost, more than he’s shaking, and it comes through in the words that spill forth in a rush:

“Because this one’s mine.”

And there it is, thrust into Steve’s eyeline, in Steve’s very familiar scrawl:

stick to the plan

He…he remembers saying that. And he remembers Eddie paling so fast Steve would have been scared if they weren’t awaiting a fight for their lives but…

Maybe that hadn’t been it at all.

“Seriously?”

It comes out of Steve breathier than he wants, or expects because…he guesses he never really processed, in all the years and in all the yearning, the planning, the wanting, the…the all of it.

He didn’t really process the soulmate he’d find, finding him back.

“Couldn’t let you stop talking there,” Eddie says, a little small, almost shy; “whether you’d want me or not, I couldn’t—”

And Steve, who had wondered just how bad the nerves were for Eddie to have forgotten the pretty straight forward plan they’d both been working on pretty single-mindedly since they’d split from Dustin and the girls, but now, now he—

The bats will be here in a fucking second.

But fuck it, Steve leans in.

And fuck but Eddie meets him halfway without a second’s hesitation.

Steve maybe hears the bats start to hit the trailer; might be his heartbeat in his ears. He knows he hears Eddie moan and tease Steve’s lips, hears that moan go deeper when Steve’s mouth opens and their tongues find each other and, well.

There’s nothing left for them to do, really. They’ve played their role—and Steve hadn’t battened down the hatches on this place for nothing, after all.

This is a hell of a lot better way to wait out their end of things, by a fucking long shot, regardless—and Jesus.

Steve couldn’t ever have expected Eddie to taste this sweet.

♥️🦇🦇♥️

✨also on ao3

For @stuftzombie (to whom I apologise 1) for completely misreading your prompt and writing this first, and then going back and reading it RIGHT—so like, please tell me if you want a second CORRECT fill now that I’m back online to post one, I can absolutely write the original prompt no problem—I feel both very stupid and also TERRIBLE for somehow making THIS THE PROMPT, and then 2) I also apologise PROFUSELY for the EGREGIOUS delay—I had a folder of prompts that I saved twice, but didn’t realise was a separate file 🫠) who requested SOULMATE AU at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @eternal-sunflowers @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here

[ominouspuff]

could you do captain rex in 1c sounds of crying?

Hoho we can do that

Thank you for playing!

[g405t-t43]

Svsss wrong number au but across dimensions

Basically it's the svsss universe but only sqh transmigrated and (since it is pre-abyss/ current abyss ark) sj is still alive

There's this artifact that each of the sects have (Maybe it's passed down to sect leaders? Or it's common place enough that almost everyone has one). The artifact is either a stone slab or scroll or book that whatever you write on it will also be written on the other books

(A way of long distance communication via sqhs bullshitting because he would definitely find ways to put modern inventions in his book)

It could be common place, like an enchanment/curse easily placed on objects? But sect leaders obviously have their own secret network/book thing or whatever

Que shen yuan! (Terminally ill silly guy who doesn't really have many friends but loves lurking around fan servers) He gets randomly added to the sect leaders gc (and for him it does function the same as a normal groupchat would) while binghe is in the abyss

Wife beam shen yuan and he absolutely charms them all (even though sy thinks he just stumbled upon a hard core pidw role play chat- that doesn't even have the main character! How stingy!) Everyone loves sy, he's already gathered a reverse male Harem

At the same time lbh find a similar artifact in the abyss and is also able to message sy. And now there's 2 way this can go;

1. He knew lbh before the rest of the gc and lbh is just better at acting like a normal person and likes having someone who knows absolutely nothing abt him to talk to

2. He starts talking to lbh around the same time he joins the other gc and misunderstands the situation (he thinks the gc kicked this poor lbh role player out bc all the characters they are rping as have been wronged by him in some way and they don't like him- which sy thinks is! Ridiculous!!! Even being this in character how could you not like the protagonist?????!?!?) So lbh ends up getting a lot of sympathy and anger on his behalf from sy and immediately falling in love

Then sy somehow single handedly fixes the pidw universe bc he thinks that of this many people are going to be rping this in character than goddammit he's going to make this gc into a self-insert fix-it fic!!

Climax comes with miscommunication! (Probably)

Things are heating up in the pidw universe and lbh is abt to go on his revenge ark journey when suddenly sy falls very ill! Then everyone worries and stops fighting, sy opens up for one of the first times in his life and asks his friends to stop fighting (and roleplaying) and just visit him

However, since they are literally from different universes, they CANT come visit, but sy takes this as they refuse to take him seriously and break character just for once bc he's trying to be emotionally vulnerable here dammit!!

Sy ends up just cutting contact with all of them (and they literally have no other way to contact him)

Everyone is forced to work together to find sy (they cannot) and some discussions of feelings are had

Sqh has the whole situation figured out but due to being very nervous abt how they will react if he revealed himself (+the system) it takes him a while to say anything

Sqh reveals the whole other world, transmigration secret and everyone is shocked

Then lbh takes his sex sword and some other people (haven't decided who yet- probably sqh and sj) to find sy

When they find him he is NOT doing well (cutting contact with the only positive influence you have had in your life for a while can do that) and everybody sits down and talks shit out

Lbh takes the opportunity to woo sy as well as he can bc he is making that man his wife no matter what (or he will be the wife- just as long as he is with sy)

Not quite sure how it should end yet

I think sy should go live in the pidw universe???? But at the same time his terminal illness (+ the comforts of modern life) And his family is probably going to be more present in his life so he would be less likely to leave them

He could be the child of divorce between the 2 universes???? Visiting each one for a certain period of time then going back to the other (lbh ofc stays with him no matter what universe he lives in)

Sqh knows that sy is from the same world as him bc sy user shows up as peerless cucumber for a while, but after a short conversation in dms that was supposed to clear everything up it only made it worse

(Sqh thinks sy is also a transmigrater who just got sent into some Canon fodder side character that wasn't even named, while sy thinks this is a fellow poor unfortunate would who accidently got added to the gc and just stuck around like he did and began to have fun.)

[kikidoesfanfic]

-Good old fashioned Munson hospitality-

>On Ao3<

Written for the lovely @jaytriesstuff for the @strangerthingswritersguild Winter Fic Exchange!

Summary:

When Wayne sees Steve wandering injured down the side of the road, what else is he to do but take the kid home. AKA a post starcourt fix-it, because Steve needed taking care of, so he's gonna get taken care of.

"I can take the floor," Steve says, and it's absurd. The guy is absurd.

"You look like you lost a fight with a truck." Eddie says, trying not to let his incredulousness show through his voice, "you're taking the bed."

"S'just Russians, not a truck." Steve says, freezing immediately afterward, halfway climbed onto the bed.

"Russians?" Eddie prompts when he doesn't move for a few moments longer.

"You didn't hear that," Steve says sounding slightly panicked, so Eddie nods agreeably.

"Okay, well I'm rush'in you into bed so scoot. Go on sailor boy." And what a sailor boy he makes, Eddie's not going to admit out loud how many times he's visited the mall just to get a glimpse at Sailor Steve. The guys already give him enough shit for it.

"M'not anymore, it burnt down." And maybe Eddie needs to watch the news more often, because that's certainly news to him. Though Steve seems so out of it right now who knows if that's even true.

"Aw but I was looking forward to setting sail on the ocean of flavor with you, Captain." Eddie works his softest band tee over Steve's head, maneuvering his unresisting arms through the holes.

"I'll... sail on your ocean." Steve says nonsensically.

"I'm sure you will big guy." He ushers Steve into his bed, bringing a blanket over him from where he'd kicked it half off the mattress, tucking him in softly.

When Wayne had said they had a guest, he hadn't expected Steve Harrington to come stumbling out of their bathroom, shirtless with his hair dripping wet from the shower. He'd only had a second to appreciate the view of his own sweatpants hanging low on Steve's hips before his eyes tracked across to the watercolour spatter of deep bruising darkening across his ribs and stomach, and up to his absolutely messed up face, eye swollen shut and nose crooked.

"So," he says, collapsing onto the couch next to where his uncle is repacking their first aid kit. "How did he end up here?"

"He was staggerin' down the road dressed in a sailor outfit covered in blood an' god knows what else." Wayne heaves a sigh hand rubbing over his mouth before he continues, "I pulled up to ask if he was alright an' he said 'yes' like it was a question, like he didn't know why I was askin'."

"He tell you what happened? He seems to get in a lot of fights, Hargrove cleaned his clock not that long ago..."

"Mall burnt down, heard it on the radio." Ah, so that did happen, or maybe, because Wayne looks at him then, and Eddie knows he doesn't necessarily believe it. "He worked there, right? I heard enough from you about those sailor shorts the last few weeks."

"He did, yeah. But a fire didn't do that to him, Wayne, he has boot shaped bruises, and marks from restraints around his wrists that I watched you wrap myself." Eddie argues, ignoring the rest of it. The redness in his cheeks is from annoyance and nothing else. "And his pupils are all blown out, could be the concussion but he's acting so out of it. He did say it burnt down but, he also said something about Russians? There's not a burn on the guy."

"He said somethin' about Russians in the truck too, got real squirrely after." Wayne shakes his head, "nothin' for it now, maybe in a few days he'll be willin' to talk when his head's more straight."

"A few days?!"

"Ed, he came out of the mall lookin' like that and decided to walk home alone. He said his parents are home but that boy's a terrible liar, he's stayin' here until I can be sure he won't be found dead on the floor of that big house o' his." And it's a good point, it's kind of an open secret, Steve Harrington: big house, no parents. While it may have been great for the ragers King Steve used to host a year or two ago, it always sounded kind of lonely to Eddie. He and Wayne mostly cross paths on his days off and at meal times, when Wayne's leaving for a shift or making his way home, and Eddie wouldn't trade that time for anything.

Then again Wayne wasn't Richard and Delia Harrington, so who knows.

Still, Wayne's right, Steve isn't leaving until he's at least able to look after himself.

Which leaves plenty of time to dig into the mystery of the so called mall fire.

"Don't you go pesterin' that boy before he's ready, go get some sleep, I'll wake 'im up in an hour." Wayne says, because he knows Eddie well.

"Yeah yeah, leave the giant glaring mystery alone, but where am I gonna sleep? There's a sailor in my bed."

"Hes not dressed like a sailor anymore is he? pretty sure we're gonna have to burn that thing with how dirty it is." He says, ignoring Eddie's forlorn noise. "I'm sure the two of you can figure the rest out." Eddie ignores his knowing smile, it'd do no good to give the old man an ego.

"He's said he'd take the floor. Him. On the floor." He says, both to change the subject and have someone to share his indignance.

By the time they're finished talking, Steve's got two very concerned Munsons ready to eagle eye his every move.

~~~

When he tiptoes back into his room he expects Steve to be long asleep, looking like he could barely keep his eyes open before as it was. Instead as soon as Eddie looks at him his eye snaps closed like he doesn't want to be caught, tears silently tracking down his cheeks. Eddie's torn between pointing it out and letting him get away with it, but in the end he just can't let him cry alone.

"Hey, you alright?" Wow, great opener, Eddie thinks to himself with a mental face palm, because that one's not obvious at all what with all the injury and the tears. "Do you... need something?"

"Nah man, m'fine." One watery eye peers back at him, "s'nothing."

"Okay well, not that I don't trust you but, maybe I should be the judge of that?" Eddie says awkwardly, he's already known from watching Steve over the past year that he's not the same asshole he was when he hung with Tommy and Carol, but it's still weird to have him in his bed.

"Didn't know f'you were coming back." Eddie waits, sure more is coming, until he realises that maybe Steve just didn't want to be alone and didn't know how to ask. Or maybe he just assumed Eddie wouldn't want to stay.

Well he'll just have to keep him company then, anything to keep that sad little look off his face.

"Just had to check in with Uncle Wayne, he's gonna wake you up in an hour to keep an eye on your noggin." He explains, watching Steve get more comfortable, rubbing the less injured side of his face into one of Eddie's pillows.

"Kay," he says blinking slowly, quiet a while and Eddie could almost believe he was already asleep until, "s'nice."

"Hm? What's nice?" He asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Your uncle."

"Oh. Yeah he's the best."

"S'friendly," he adds, and Eddie snorts, because usually the only word people use to describe Wayne Munson is gruff. Steve's frowning at him now, an almost stubborn pout on his face. "He is," he insists.

"Sure he is, when he likes someone well enough."

"Oh, then why-" he shakes his head, sighing heavy and impatient before Eddie can figure out what he meant. "M'tired."

"Yeah? Well, how about you get some sleep?" Eddie pushes Steve's still slightly damp hair out of his face, lets himself indulge.

"You staying?"

"Yeah, I'll be just down there," he points a thumb over his shoulder and Steve's eye narrows.

"I'll go home," Steve slurs, and Eddie narrows his own eyes at him in return.

"What? No you won't."

"Get on th' bed."

"I am on the bed?" Eddie says, confused, and Steve groans at him, sounding so put out.

"Why're you being difficult. C'mere." He wiggles a bit, an innefectual attempt to move over and make some room Eddie assumes, and then pats the mattress next to him.

"Oh. If you wanted to cuddle you just had to say so Steve," he says, voice sly. And sue him, he's being a little more liberal with the flirty teasing than he would be if Steve was more himself, but it's not like he'll get another chance where he won't risk being punched in the face. Steve probably won't remember this come morning anyway.

"I want to cuddle, Eddie." Steve says dryly, slow and matter of fact.

And well. Eddie wasn't expecting that.

"J'st-" he slaps the bed beside him, sluggish and uncoordinated. The only reason Eddie follows the direction because it's pitiful. Really.

"Alright Stevie, keep your hair on." He sits down next to Steve, above the covers thank you he's a gentleman, and settles in against the wall. It's not late enough yet for him to sleep, maybe he'll read something if the light isn't too annoying for Steve to sleep through, though he looks about ready to drop off any second. The time his eye stays closed when he blinks is getting longer, but he's still staring fixedly at Eddie, like he's waiting for something.

Eddie must take too long to figure out what it is that he wants, because Steve huffs at him, sounding even more put out than before, shoving his forehead into Eddie's hip and mumbling something into the space between them too quiet to make out.

Leaving the lamp on, he figures Steve will tell him if he wants it off, he picks up the closest book. Opening it up he intends to read silently to himself, but after a moment of scanning through the first page Steve's arm slowly, cautiously, makes its way across his thighs, hand anchoring around his opposite hip like Eddie's an oversized teddy bear.

Freezing momentarily Eddie forces himself to relax when Steve's arm stiffens in response, lets one of his own hands drop next to Steve's head, fingers curling into the hair at the back of Steve's neck he clears his throat.

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit." He starts, and Steve melts into his side, prompting Eddie to continue with a hum. And continue he does, letting Steve drift off to the beginnings of Bilbo's adventure, anything else can wait.

~~~

Steve wakes with a groan, his head pounding and the sliver of light that managed to invade his blearily blinking eye before he snapped it back shut sending zaps of pain through his skull. He gives himself a moment to get oriented, inhaling the smell of the pillow his head's wedged against and getting a hit of tabacco, weed, and the same 3 in 1 his own hair currently smells of. A crime, but he'd had little other choice if he didn't want to leave all the blood in there.

So he is in the trailer, and it wasn't all an elaborate dream, then.

He can't remember all that much of the last... however many hours he's been here, getting flashes of memories of both Wayne and Eddie, of showering, of the little bit Wayne had made him eat- just enough so his stomach wasn't completely empty but his nausea wasn't set right back off- of Eddie's soft voice as his body finally felt safe enough to let him sleep.

He's not going to examine that one too closely yet.

The last thing he properly remembers is leaving the mall carpark, Robin and the kids having been bundled up one by one and driven off by their parents as dawn broke, until he realised there was no reason for him to wait anymore, and without his car keys the only thing to do was start walking.

When he'd left, he'd felt mostly fine. Sure his head hurt something fierce, and breathing didn't feel great, and his whole body was kind of aching and throbbing, but he could walk just fine.

A few miles down the road the adrenaline had finished wearing off and he'd felt a whole lot worse, the sun fully rising so he'd had to squint to see while the morning heat was beating down on him, turning his thoughts more and more soupy as time passed.

He knows he said and did some probably extremely embarrassing things yesterday, even before Eddie got home, that Wayne woke him up hourly for half the... day? Night? until he was deemed clear headed and coherent enough to sleep.

Sitting up makes his head spin, room tilting a little to the side as he makes himself stand up anyway. Eddie's gone, and Steve doesn't know why a small bubble of hurt has lodged itself in his sternum at that.

Sure, he's been coming by to scoops a lot the last few weeks and sure, maybe Steve's been flirting and sure, Eddie had responded by calling him 'pretty boy' that one time before scurrying out of the store like he was on fire. But it's not like Steve's exactly pretty right now.

"Oh hey, Sleeping Beauty awakens," Eddie says, and his voice is soft, mindful of Steve's head, even while his face is loud. "what are you doing up?"

"Giving you your bed back, thanks for that by the way, I owe you one." He walks while he talks, trying to look casual about it in spite of bumping his hip into the counter as he passes it.

"Just sit down dude, Wayne made eggs a minute ago, he's just grabbing your meds and shit from the truck."

"I don't- my meds?"

"Yeah he picked up some stuff for when you woke up."

"I-" before he can finish protesting the door opens, Wayne looking him up and down skeptically.

"Sit down before you fall down." Wayne says, heading to the stove and starting to plate up food around where Eddie is making coffee, they move around each other with ease, somehow staying out of each other's way even in the small kitchen.

"I'm good, really, see?" Steve gestures down at himself, trying to exude steadiness he doesn't feel, he's imposed for long enough. "Besides I was just about to get out of your hair."

"I don't have much of it for you to get into, kid, so y'might as well sit down." He looks up from where he's plating up scrambled eggs onto toast, pan in one hand and spatula in the other that he uses to point at Steve as he adds: "I'm not letting you outta my sight for a while yet."

Steve sits, because there's not much else to do in the face of Wayne Munson brandishing a spatula, and now that he can smell food and coffee his stomach is protesting, days without anything besides bin popcorn catching up to him.

"You're going back to bed after this," Eddie says placing a plate and coffee in front of him, "we have more of our book to get through."

"Oh," Steve says, fishing for any memory of what Eddie was reading beyond the feeling of fingers stroking through his hair and a warm melodious voice, "... Bilbo?"

"Yes!" Eddie almost shouts, catching himself at the last second and turning it into more of a stage whisper, "I'm gonna make a nerd of you yet Stevie." He murmurs, and Steve is so busy watching him he barely notices Wayne drop two painkillers down next to his plate, staring at Steve until he washes them down with a little coffee.

"Now, I have to head out, Ed'll keep an eye on you while I'm at work, there's Arnica in the bag, Ed can help you put that on-" "Waaayne." Eddie whines, but Wayne continues as if he hadn't said a word. "-before you two get back to bed." He ruffles Eddie's hair on the way past, does the same to Steve a moment later.

"Yeah yeah, Nurse Munson on the job, don't think I don't know what you're doing old man."

"I'll see you in the mornin' Steve." Wayne says before heading out the door, and it doesn't sound optional, so Steve answers:

"If you insist, Mr Munson," and gets a snort from Eddie for his trouble.

"Okay so," he starts, "what do you remember about the Hobbit?" Steve watches him talk more than listens to everything he says, catches something about Bilbo's dinner party and rowdy dwarves as Eddie takes their dishes over to wash in the sink, only pausing to tell Steve to 'keep his ass in his seat' when he makes to help, and continue on without missing a beat. Steve feels that warmth back in his chest, fiddles with the tube of Arnica just for something to occupy his hands so he won't tear up at the feeling of being cared for for the first time in god knows how long.

All he can think while Eddie ushers him back to bed is maybe... maybe staying one more day won't hurt.

[piwo-zero]

EDIT: THE FIC IS POSTED

here's the link:

OKAY.

IM WRITING JAYVIK FANFICTION. FIX-IT. HAPPENS AFTER THE ENDING OF S2.

ITS KIND OF ARTISTC...

this is the beginning. Tell me what u think... should I continue?

~~~~~~~~

They were nowhere. Disappeared into nothingness. Maybe it was terrifying, but he (they?) didn't feel scared, not really. They were together. They disappeared together. That what mattered.

So their existence in nothingness was peaceful. It felt like forever, but it also felt like a second, or a few. The no-forever of being with love of your life can't be scary. Because the nothingness surrounding you is filled with the strongest emotion you can feel - affection, admiration... Love.

Love.

Love.

He woke up, he knew - gaining consciousness after non-being was hard to miss. So he knew that they were back. He kept his eyes closed.

The first breath hurt, because it always hurts when you confront reality. The nothingness isn't frightening. The chaos of every-day is. He couldn't open his eyes. He was afraid.

The first thing that hit him was all the things that happened. The emotions. The memories. They teared his being, his mind apart - at least for a moment. The need to confront his affection with everything that was. Suddenly, the space for the emotion that gave him peace in no-eternity... shrinked. But he didn't forget. He knew he needed to fight for it. He knew he was about to do everything in his power to never stop loving Viktor.

He opened his eyes.

okay.... this is it. I'm kinda sleep deprived and very emotional after the ending. obviously it's not beta read lmao. maybe someone wants to be a beta reader?

I think I'll post this on AO3 btw!!!

the fic will focus on jayce and viktor relationship (obviously) and how they navigate their life after whatever the fuck happened in the end of S2.

the rest of the fic is a mystery, even for me. weee

[the-odd-shu]

Lab shenanigans

Characters: Viktor, Jayce, Reader

A thread following the chaotic trio that is, laboratory illustrator!Reader, Viktor and Jayce being unsupervised in the lab.

Note this takes place during season 1:

Gender Neutral!Reader who got hired as the lab illustrator because neither Jayce nor Viktor can draw and they need an illustrator to document all their official papers with recognisable diagrams of their inventions.

The next part

Masterlist

Reader who was just freshly been employed as the lab illustrator, sitting diligently at their new desk whilst Jayce fetches the research folder and Viktor tinkers away in the background.

Reader who lets Jayce set down the heavy folder on their desk, which holds all of the pair's research as well as hundreds of cruedly drawn sketches of inventions such as the Hexclaw and early drafts of the Hexgates, drawn by both himself and Viktor. (They are not drawn well, and it is only because most of the drawings are labelled with big, obnoxoious arrows that you actually know what you're looking at).

Jayce pausing in his explanations of the tech on each page and his promises to pull everything out of storage when you need it for a refence, slowly trailing off when he catches sight of your reaction to the drawings: "Why are you making that face?"

Reader who is diligently flicking through the pages and trying not to crack up at the poorly drawn stick figures, and the messy, uneven parallel lines of wires and robotic arms, and the scribbled oblong that is supposed to be one of the gemstones. They're not half bad attempts from people who focus their energy and time into math equations and flowery research papers, but that doesn't mean they're not amusing to look at.

"What face? I'm not making a face."

Reader turns all of their attention down to the pages and proceeds to fail at smothering their snort as the concept sketch of one of the Zaun suits. They push the folder back along the desk, to create enough space to prop their elbows on the table, to pinch the bridge of their nose hard to try and school themselves into some form of calm.

"Why are you laughing?" Jayce asks, sounding geniunely confused.

Whilst Reader tries to save face by responding, "I'm not. I'm just- uh, coming to terms with how much work I have ahead of me."

Jayce frowns.

The commotion has caught Viktor's attention.

"Well, it is a lot." Jayce allows, "but we won't rush you. The deadline is months away after all, and if-"

His words fade into the background in your mind as Viktor chooses then to roll over on his wheelie office chair to see what's going on, only to immediately grin in understanding. He rolls his chair up on the adjascent side of your desk, mouth pulled into a wicked smirk as he points to a particularly wobbly zaun suit drawing. "That would be one of Jayce's masterpieces."

Jayce lets out an offended noise, whilst Viktor takes malicious joy in flipping through the folder to point out which other drawings were done by Jayce. Most of them are wobbly and uneven, but have clearly been mapped out with steady, slow care.

In retaliation, Jayce swipes the folder out of Viktor's gleeful hands, and pointedly flips to a fresher page dated back to a couple of days ago. You catch a glimpse of the title 'hexcore', scrawled across the top in confident letters, before Jayce is turning the folder back to you and loudly proclaiming the work of art as Viktor's.

[The ‘hexcore’ has been drawn with wobbly, uneven lines that lacked the sleek, parallel look of the actual subject, with poorly recreated runes that did not at all take into account perspective or foreshortening.]

Reader loses it at the attempt, whilst Jayce and Viktor continue to squabble with one another in the background.

I just NEED all three of them to spend countless hours in that laboratory getting stuck in their respective tasks (creative Vs Scientific) and all three of them come out aching and satisfied by the time the janitor comes round to kick them out for the night, despite doing jobs that require different parts of their brains. The overlap of countless, almost unsolvable equations, with the hours of staring at a blank page and slowly but surely coaxing out an image, it just so precious to me somehow.

Bonus points of course, if Jayce and Viktor are getting really into a scientific debate across the room by the chalkboard, flinging enormous words back and forth at one another, whilst Reader slowly dies inside trying to make the metal part of an invention LOOK like metal.

I just need Reader allowing the background muttering and excited exclamations to sooth them as they carefully draw another diagram above a neatly scrawled out text box of the pair's latest concept.

Jayce: “Yes! That could work! What do you think, Y/n?”

Reader: Head snaps up at being addressed. “Uh…”

They blue screen as they come back to reality and realise they haven’t moved in hours and their back and neck desperately ache from the movement. They're suddenly starving, and hungry, and really need to pee, but didn't notice before because they were so engrossed in their work. Kind of like how the other two get about their research.

Viktor being a night owl and working on projects late into the night.

Jayce being smart and taking cat naps on his desk because he's an early bird, but a deadline is coming up and he refuses to be defeated by exhaustion.

And then you have Reader. Who is not being supervised in the kitchen, where they've made their fifth coffee and with shaking, caffeinated hands, they begin pouring in a generous helping of a Piltover energy drink.

Viktor hears the can pop.

He says your name warningly. "You better not be making that culinary monstrosity again."

Instead of responding, they knock back the whole mug in desperate gulps, ignoring the rancid taste and shivering from the mix of burning liquid with the pop of hundreds of tiny bubbles.

The mug gets slammed loudly back on the counter. Viktor sighs heavily and pushes his wheelie chair towards Jayce's desk.

He wakes him up, with a prod of his cane into his side.

"I'm about to have a breakthrough." He explains quickly motioning to his desk. Blary eyed and clearly not fully awake yet, Jayce nods along. Viktor points dramatically to Jayce and then in the direction of the kitchen. "You're on assistant duty for the next half an hour."

The tiredness leeches out of Jayce's face. "They didn't-"

"They did."

"But they've already got caffeine shakes!"

"Tell that to the sound of the kettle bubbling away and the pop of a can lid. It has already happened Jayce. All we can do now it keep the damage to a minimum."

On silent feet, Reader's shadow appears on the other side of the desk. Both men jump. The light overhead casts their face into shadows and somehow makes their eyes glow. It is a terrifying sight.

Viktor recovers first. "We need to put a bell on you!"

"Kinky. Now, whatdoyouwantmetodrawnext?!" Their assistant rushes out in a single breath.

And both scientists pale. It was already beginning then.

The next four hours consists of Jayce struggling to keep his eyes open whilst Reader pokes fun at him and offers up their 'creation', Jayce firmly declining and trying to get on with his work, whilst Viktor keeps to himself and snorts periodically at the banter.

Reader draws and draws and then rubs out, before diligently getting back to drawing again. There is a frenzy to their marks. A wildness to their eyes. The scratch and scritch of their pen, getting lost amongst the sound of cogs turning and screws tightening and Jayce's yawning. So much so that when it suddenly ceases, neither of the scientists notice at first.

Not until Viktor asks for a warm tea, only for the previously eager assistant not to respond. He lets out a fond sigh, Jayce straightening up from his own work.

Reader is passed out on their sketchbook, having FINALLY crashed.

Viktor gets up to make his own tea.

Jayce shrugs off his jacket, and puts it over their shoulders as a makeshift blanket. The man has such broad shoulders that it practically swallows the assistant from sight, but they do not stir.

"That'll give them an awful neck ache tomorrow." Viktor observes aloud.

Jayce snorts. "Maybe it'll be enough of a punishment to stop them making that foul concoction."

"Unlikely."

Jayce just shakes his head and collapses back onto his desk and lays his head down on his arm. "Ten minutes." He mutters out before closing his eyes.

Viktor hums. And by the time he gets his tea back to the desk, his partner is out like a light, just as he had predicted.

"I CANNOT believe you're making me do this Jayce." Viktor exclaims sarcastically.

"Viktor. Please let me get that cog for you. Just this time. Please!"

"Oh no, no, do not get up on my account." Viktor firmly dismisses as he shimmies down his cane, one hand over the other all the whilst making exaggerated groaning noises.

Jayce is practically vibrating in place. "Please! It is literally all the way under that side board. Can I just slide it out for you? You can pick it up yourself."

"Oh no, do not strain yourself!" Viktor insists, sitting himself down on the floor, one hand holding his cane up as he shoves his other arm under the side board.

"VIKTOR!" Jayce all but whines, and takes a step forward.

"Ah!" Viktor immediately reprimands. "Y/n get the spray bottle!"

You've been watching the entire scene in amusement from your desk. Quietly giggling at Viktor's ribbing and Jayce's desperation to be useful. They make a rather amusing duo.

Jayce's eyes have jumped up to you. Frozen mid-step, eyes pleading.

You grin, pointedly reaching across the gap between yours and Viktor's desks to grab said spray bottle.

On the floor, Viktor makes a triumphant noise, before straightening up and brandishing the cog above his head. "Got it!" He exclaims, before slamming the blasted thing onto the side board. Then he tries to clamber back up his cane to his feet. He is unsuccessful as his leg decides not to co-operate this time.

He sighs. "Jayce." He says heavily, "as punishment for making me get down here in the first place-"

"What?! I've literally been-"

"As reprimand for your dastardly crimes. You are obligated to offer me one hand. But ONLY one, or your punishment shall evolve into death by spray bottle." Dramatically, he holds out his hand to his exasperated partner.

In support, you give the spray bottle a little squeeze in Jayce's direction, to which he shoots you a dark look. You merely grin back.

Then Jayce offers Viktor his hand, their fingers wrapping around the others wrist. "Slow." Viktor instructs, as he readjusts his legs into the right position. Jayce nods.

Then Jayce gently pulls Viktor up as Viktor balances between his feet and his cane.

"Thank you." He says, patting Jayce on the cheek, before promptly turning on his heel to retreat back to his desk.

They're so silly, I love them so much.

The next part

[batterycows]

Running Windward:

Chapter 1 pt2

< Pt1

Index

[19silvermirrors]

recovered his treasure 🙏

[shu-box-puns]

I've got this image of Dad!Tsu’tey from my Father-son-shenanigans AU turning up in ATWOW during the aftermath of the SeaDragon, specifically on that one rock. And he has no idea how he ended up there, but whilst Jake and Neytiri are quaking at the sudden appearance of their dead friend (visibly aged from the joys of fatherhood), Spider pops out of the ocean.

Naturally, Tsu'tey only has eyes for his son, and immediately gets launched head first into Protective!Dad mode at the state of him. He looks like a drowned rat, has several sluggishly bleeding cuts along his body, his stripes are faded more than his Spider ever allows. Not to mention, his dreads are matted at the scalp and are in desperate need of a retwist. But most alarming of all, none of his other family members (The Sully's) seem to remember to check on him in their shock of discovering Tsu'tey's presence.

Since no one else seems to be bothering, Tsu'tey helps Spider out of the water, noting the shock on the boy's face as he hesitantly takes Tsu'tey's outstretched hand.

<"Are you okay?"> Tsu'tey asks, as he has done for countless years. And horrifyingly, instead of Spider replying with "yes Dad," or "no Dad" Tsu'tey gets a-

<"Yes sir.">

Spider has never referred to Tsu'tey as 'sir' before. It's either 'Olo'eyktan' when he's in a mood and wants to get under Tsu'tey's skin, or 'Dad'.

<"Sir?"> Tsu'tey repeats with a curl of his nose. <"Who the hell is sir? I am Dad to you. I have always been Dad to you."> And of course, Tsu'tey is dead in this universe, and Spider has no clue who this strange forest na'vi is. Not to mention he's had a very long and emotional day surrounding another father figure.

<"Dude, I have no idea who you are.">

Cue:

Tsu'tey from my Dad!Tsu'tey AU looking at Spider in our ATWOW: "Watch out kid because you're about to get the strongest and most stable support system any clan has ever seen."

BONUS:

If Spider were to admit to Tsu'tey that Quaritch is alive (he's only known the man for an hour but Eywa does he trust him to keep Neytiri from mauling him):

Side Note: Tsu'tey has it all under control, and now has recruited Neytiri to go hunt down that dead beat dad.

[deancaspinefest]

Searching For Burning Feathers

Author: Altiria | Artist: stonelions

Posting on Thursday April 3

Again and again, Castiel must watch Dean die as the Empty dangles happiness before him, only to rip it away. There is no escape; this is the reality he accepted to save Dean. His fate, his destiny, is to watch Dean suffer while he is forbidden from changing his fate—to stand there as his happiness destroys them. Dean, meanwhile, makes a drastic choice. He wants his apple-pie life; he wants to be happy… but he wants it with Castiel. He’s sent to the empty, facing down a Castiel who doesn’t remember their real life, while the Empty kills him again and again right before Castiel’s eyes. All of this, with the simple goal of staying alive long enough for Jack to get them out.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Dean should have come for Cas sooner, should have gotten him out already— fuck— Dean had been fighting Chuck and reading, eating and sleeping away perfectly good hours while Cas witnessed Dean die time and time again. He’d done all that while Castiel had been tortured.

“Oh Castiel, you make it so boring,” The Empty drawled at Castiel. “Oh! I’ve got it, let’s do another one where you betray Dean! Yes, it’ll be great!” the Empty snapped its fingers and Dean—

Dean was standing in an eerily familiar room with an angel blade in his hands. This was a rehash, a recreation of when Castiel had been fighting Raphael.

“Son of a—” Dean gripped his weapon tightly. Bastard Empty probably wanted Dean to attack Castiel with the damned thing.

This was crap. The Empty had crafted a Hell specifically for Castiel. An eternity where again and again and again, Dean would die and every time Cas would be helpless or just seconds too late to save him.

This is what Jack had meant by keeping Cas still for long enough because he couldn’t. Because it was Dean who kept dying, and every time he died… they’d reset and do it all over again.

To save Cas, Dean had to save himself somehow, and prevent himself from dying.

That was exactly the thing Dean was the worst in. He sacrificed himself for his loved ones without hesitation, without pause and now… now he’d have to purposely live and avoid any sort of death when the ‘ruler’ of this reality had it out for him.

Just great.

He and Cas were so fucked.

Keep reading on Ao3 after Thursday April 3 🌲Find more 2025 Pinefest previews here 🌲

[screamlet]

118 daily drabble (day 18; monologue)

@118dailydrabble

notes: bucktommy makeup/makeout

---

It wasn't that Buck didn't want to hear him talk. He'd missed Tommy's voice more than anything—the lilt and the laugh, all the ways it sweetalked him—but they were going in circles. Tommy was going in circles, leading them to the same place over and over again: 

Buck should give him another chance. 

Buck would be an idiot to do it, but he should give him another chance. 

Tommy would probably fuck it up, but he'd try so hard not to fuck it up. 

He didn't deserve another chance, but Buck should—

Monologue over, he thinks, as he pushes Tommy onto the kitchen counter. He drags Tommy into a kiss where everything stops and starts over again.