#prompt: promise

[serickswrites]

Death Will Do Us Part

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, electrocution, escape, unclear character status, unconsciousness

"Whumpee, you have to promise me you'll stay awake," Caretaker said as they slung Whumpee's arm over their shoulder and began to live.

"T-T-T-ryingggggg," Whumpee mumbled. Their head hung low and they were barely hanging on. Blood dripped from the cuts on their body, some deeper than others.

"Remember, you promised before, death will do us part, Whumpee. You have to stay with me." Caretaker didn't want to think what would happen if they didn't get Whumpee out now.

Whumper had captured the two of them days ago and had been enjoying torturing the two of them. Whumpee was in far worse shape because it seemed Whumper enjoyed Whumpee's screams and Caretaker's anger far more than the other way round. Whumper had shocked Caretaker a few times before returning to cutting Whumpee's skin.

Whumpee had been bleeding for hours. Had been getting weaker and weaker. And now they were barely conscious and this was their chance to escape. Caretaker had to get Whumpee out of there.

"Mmmmm," Whumpee hummed.

They were so close to freedom. Caretaker could see outside. Could see freedom. Just a bit longer. Caretaker opened their mouth to try and urge Whumpee on, but nearly fell as Whumpee's knees buckled. "Don't break down on me yet, Whumpee. We're almost there!"

Whumpee didn't reply, becoming more of a dead weight pulling Caretaker down. "Come on, Whumpee. Come on," Caretaker said as they scooped Whumpee into their arms.

Whumpee's eyes were closed, their jaw slack. Their head lolled on their neck as Caretaker lifted them up. Their limbs flopped as Caretaker ran. But they didn't wake. "Stay with me, Whumpee. You promised. You promised."

Whumpee didn't wake as Caretaker shook them. Didn't wake as Caretaker talked to them. Didn't wake as Caretaker emerged outside with a cry of delight. And they didn't wake as Caretaker begged them to open their eyes and look around to see they were free.

"Please, Whumpee! Stay with me now! PLEASE!"

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[ms-moonlight-inn]

✨ Promise ✨

Mickey's nodding to the beat as he navigates through traffic the first time Ian hears it coming through darkened windows.

🎶 You can be my Superman,

save me here I am. 🎶

Eight days later, he hears it again, coming from behind their closed bedroom door. Mickey's in there; Ian's in the kitchen. He turns off the burner on lunch, intent on investigating.

Ian's not disappointed. “Lace? At noon?”

Mickey snaps the elastic. “That mean no, Gallagher?”

“Fuck no.”

“That’s right. Come get it, Red.”

Ian kicks the door shut.

🎶 ...I'll give my all to you,

I promise... 🎶

***

Inspired by @shippergirl121fic prompt, "promise" & this song by Ciara.

As always, thank you @galladrabbles for the drabble goodness.

[shrinkthisviolet]

Summary:

Cisco's finally uncovered why Barry was acting so off that night: he was Savitar all along, manipulating him. But now the key question arises: what does Savitar want?

So…I know I said the other oneshot would be a standalone, and it still mostly is, but thanks to @alittleflashvibe's tags on their lovely reblog of my prompt fill (especially this one: "#and the morning after i've got chills just thinking about it"), I got inspired to write a little Savisco follow-up with an Angstober prompt! This isn't the morning after per se, but it is sometime after that night, and Cisco has at this point figured Savitar out.

This fills the @angstober prompt "Promise"!

[alaia777]

pre-relationship! sae who saw you sitting on the curb, looking exhausted with your bag open. thinking you were asking for money, he dropped some bills in. you gave him a confused look, but he just shrugged and walked off.

pre-relationship! rin who always trailed two steps behind you at school, looking like he was on a secret mission to protect you from absolutely nothing. one time, someone tried to ask you a question, and rin stepped forward, cleared his throat, and said, “she’s busy.” you weren’t even talking to anyone.

pre-relationship! bachira who kept seeing you on his couch, thinking you were just another one of his imagination’s weird visitors. he’d wave at you, go about his day—until you started stealing his snacks. that’s when he realized you were real, and his mom was tutoring you in art.

pre-relationship! barou had this odd habit of pulling out a handkerchief whenever you sniffled from the cold, pressing it to your nose and saying, “blow.” the first time you were weirded out, but after a while, you just gave up and let him do it.

pre-relationship! nagi who would always destroy you in games, not knowing it was you he was playing against. the next day, he’d sit next to you in class, completely unaware that a few hours ago he was trash-talking you, and you were doing the same back. you’d share a look, but neither of you would say a word.

pre-relationship! isagi who tried so hard to act cool around you, but his ears always betrayed him, going red every time you acknowledged him. one day, in a nervous attempt to be smooth, he accidentally called you “your majesty.” after a beat of awkward silence, he just casually walked away like nothing happened—pretending he didn’t just say that.

[blueskittlesart]

Linktober day 1: Mirror

[whump-in-the-closet]

weak in the knees for situations where a stoic whumpee allows someone to help them. they don't say a word of acceptance but they don't protest either. Too injured to say no and too tired to deny they need it. Just grudgingly letting a gentle hand guide them to a bed or to wrap a wound. Then a quiet, "thank you." in between sharp breathing as they try not to break down in front of someone else. Love love love shielded vulnerability

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Tim Encounters a Fae at a Gala

Which may be a problem, yes, but the much more alarming part? The Fae looks like Damian.

"This is pretty boring, don't you think?"

The voice comes from behind, and Tim recognizes it instantly, but at the same time, he doesn't. He's never heard Damian talk like this, easy and a little amused, with no usual stiffness to his speech. Yet this couldn't be anyone else - being a vigilante means you can never drop your guard even in your civilian identity, and who other than Damian could have sneaked up on him?

He turns around.

It is Damian, and at the same time, it's not. The boy looks just like the demon child, the same face, same height and skin tone, the same way he puts his hair. But something is wrong. The way he holds himself, his relaxed and almost lazy posture, the absence of a usual scowl on his face, the way he feels comfortable here, in a crowd of people.

And his eyes, when he looks at Tim. Icy blue, almost translucent, like the color of icebergs and glaciers.

The not-Damian tilts his head a little and smiles just slightly. Tim blinks, realizing that there was a question, and he just stares at the boy instead of answering.

"Yeah, sure," he clears his throat and breaks the eye contact, looking away from not-Damian's eyes, his thoughts a frantic mess. Is this another clone? Or some kind of a shapeshifter? In any case, they approached Tim first, he can't lose his chance at gaining some information. So Tim smiles back, "Is it your first time? At the gala, I mean."

Now, when he looks at the boy again, the stricking resemblance doesn't hit him so hard. Instead, Tim notices something else - the boy is... eerily beautiful. He's never noticed Damian looking this nice - because that would be kind of creepy if he did, - but this not-Damian is... He can't really put it into words.

He's just beautiful.

Almost unnaturally so.

"You could say that," not-Damian answers, looking over the crowd around them, "I'm not used to so many people around, but I've seen my fair share of social gatherings."

Tim blinks. That statement compiled with his absolute lack of any kind of nervousness makes little sense.

Alright, he needs to get at least some information from the mystery twin. He is a detective, for god's sake.

"Are you here with someone?" That can be a useful question. Tim sure as hell knows that Bruce could not invite some Damian lookalike without prior warning, which means the boy had to come as someone's plus one. Or he sneaked in with no invitation, that's also a possibility.

"My godfather should be here somewhere," not-Damian nods, scanning the crowd before nodding his chin in the direction of a small cluster of people. Tim follows his gaze and finds a white-haired man in a matching white and silver suit in the middle of telling some kind of story.

"Vladimir Masters?" He questions with a noticeable amount of disbelief. The man never said a word about having a godson. Ever. And Tim did a thorough background check on the owner of DalvCo.

"Got it in one," not-Damian grins. Is it just Tim, or do his teeth really look sharper than they are supposed to?

Come to think of it, his ears are also not as round as they should be.

Unnatural beauty, sharp teeth and pointy ears, questions answered in a vague and unclear way. And Tim hadn't noticed him blink even once.

He has a guess. He doesn't like it, it's a very, very bad guess, but Tim is a Bat, a Robin, and a Detective. He knows when he needs to trust his gut even if his gut is telling him absolute nonsense.

He just needs to make sure.

Tim swallows the anxious feeling in the back of his throat and turns back to not-Damian, smiling:

"I think I didn't catch your name?" He does his best at sounding confused and not alarmed. The boy's grin widens just a bit, but Tim feels a cold shiver run down his back, and his mind is all but screaming for him to run away for this is not human, and whatever it is, it is dangerous.

"Would you give me yours in exchange?" The boy's voice is soft and easy, not a hint of mischief. Just a casual question. Maybe a little teasing.

Tim's blood runs cold as he tries to remember everything he has ever read and heard about the fair folk. Never give them your name, but there has to be a way to answer this question, right?

"You may call me Damian," he finally answers. Maybe this is a risk, calling himself his brother's name, but Tim feels like this is somehow a right thing to do since the boy - the creature - looks like him.

Not-Damian's eyebrows shoot up, and there's a hint of surprise in his eyes when he starts quietly laughing. The heavy pressure of the air around him disappears at the sound of the crystalline laughter, like it was never there. Tim feels like he had just disarmed a bomb or passed a test with his own life at stake. Maybe he actually did.

"Clever," the boy grins again and nods politely, bowing his head down like they are at a medieval ball and not a gala, "My name is Danny. It is nice to meet my brother's brother."

| <-prev | next-> |

[splinterclan]

Moon 29.3: Aaaaaughhh

[nanmeo]

costume party!

[nemesyaaa]

buffalo 66' au ! old!serial killer!rafe x young!sugardoll!reader (how they met, and their first night together.)

you were red and you liked me 'cause i was blue. but you touched me and suddenly i was a lilac sky.

warnings : lmfaooo this part always killing me but here it is....rafe being 90% of the warning part and the menace he already is, kidnapping, daddy issues, urge of sexualing your own self, slight of stockholm syndrome, dubcon, smut, dark!rafe, violence, mentions of threats, r being a missing girl, age gap, size difference, choking. rafe being mean to the reader. slight of daddy kink. sick attitude. dirty talk. attention whore. just minors DNI. (why it's bigger than my grocery list actually...). please carefully pay attention to the tags !!?

author's note : it's my first time writing a dark fic so don't expect too much 🙏🏿 you can read this without watching buffalo 66.

some girls were the trailer park princess, and others the queen of the gas station.

as the girl of the gas station, you were there all day on the road of these men much older than you, who had and drove pretty vintage cars who were literally bigger than you. those rich daddies surely had more money than your poor father who was always sitting behind the desk of his shop waiting for the night.

your father never gave you any attention, not even a look, he didn't care about what you did on your summer days as long as he never saw you. so you stayed all day at your playground queendom across from the pitiful, filthy motel where you lived. because here at least the men were looking at you.

of course they were looking at you, you always gave them something to look at with your tiny dresses that showed your naked thighs, your tits pressed together in that backless top. you always dressed in that soft and milky blue shades. as the sea and the sky, you were blue.

while their wives found you sick, you could feel their stares every time you leaned down to grab the keys that they forgot to give you each time. you could feel their eyes completely charmed by the way your summer dress rode up above your ass, and your panties stuck out.

fully bent over, you could hear the groans of these old men, the way they forced their hands themselves to not touch you when you wanted nothing more than to see them give in to the young temptation that you were.

you had a power in them and you loved to see them completely crazy.

you worked as a gas pump attendant. in reality, you did it behind your father's back because it allowed you to stay in the company of these men who only had eyes for you.

you always put on a show for them, and it always worked because you were irresistible.

but there was this guy every time, a regular customer, cold and short-spoken who never spoke to you.

he had a beautiful and luxurious car and you always wondered what job he did to drive such an incredible vehicle, and to spoil you so much with all this money.

he never said thank you for your service. after all, you were paid for it. his eyes were blue as you. he could park and glare at you for hours, sitting deep in his seat, a cigarette stuck between his opened lips.

he was so much older than you, so much to the point it was indecent. when you had first seen him, you had melted like sugar.

as you were coming back from the ice cream parlor, your lips sucking that delicious vanilla ice cream, you sat on the edge of the gas station, right in front of his car, your legs completely spread, white cream melting and dripping between your thighs. he rubbed his painful boner through his boxer.

you were sick, you let him look at you with this completely perverted stare while you let chunks of ice fall into your cleavage.

his eyes were all over you, but this time it was different, because this time it was him who was thinking about you while touching himself. this time it was him who was sick about you , him who had all these furious ideas about you. he pumped himself so hard, biting his lips harshly. and you continued your depraved show, while he jerked off, his big cock shaked and leaked in his own hand, his thick and already experimented fingers moved around his length faster and faster, the sweaty and dirty sound of his balls slapping, the squeaking noises of his chair, his arched back making the chair shaking. you thought of the veins of his dick engorged of blood pulsated against his hefty strength. that was enough to make you fully wet.

you wanted nothing more than to make this old man reach for you. but the problem was, you were too young and naive to know how mad he was, and what he really wanted to do with a pretty doll like you.

you stood up when you finished your ice cream, putting your dress back on neatly, and leaned down, leaning your porcelain princess arms over his car window.

you shuddered when he spread his cum on your face without any warning, smeared the remains of vanilla ice cream over your sloppy lips gloss with lick of drool.

he pushed his big thumb against your little mouth, pushed it into an o shape, and you closed her to start licking up the drops of his cum.

but like every time he came here, he never spoke to you. you had just seen the car leave, while you still had the taste of him on your lips. it was rude.

the next day, your father sent you out to do some groceries on a sweltering hot summer day, tired of seeing you around doing nothing. what he didn’t know was that this was probably the last time he saw you. and even shoupe that you had seen earlier in the morning, and who had told you to be careful, something with a killer around.

when you were done with the grocery, you started walking through the empty parking lot.

you thought you were alone, even though there were a few empty cars.

but it was a mistake, a terrible mistake that you were going to regret.

“didn't shoupe tell you to be careful this morning, sweetheart ? because i'm pretty sure, he did. ”

you screamed when the man grabbed you by the waist, pressing your little ragdoll body against his chest much stronger. the stranger quickly covered your mouth, and bruised your pretty lips with violence without any caring, shoved down his fingers between them to the point that you almost choked with your own breath and saliva.

“ you hurt..me…! ” you tried to say with a lot of difficulty, as his firm grip crushed against your breasts.

“ not yet actually, doll. but i promise, i will if you continue to fight. so beware, or i will fucking kill you. not a threat, sweetheart. it's a promise. “ and you knew that even god couldn't save you at this time.

you tried to bite him, but your teeth barely touched his skin. his lips hovered above your ear, you could hear his deep older voice warned you.

" bite me one more time, and i will break you. i love wrestle with you little girl, but i think you will really hate the way i fight. because when daddy fight sugardoll, he kills. and tiny things like you are so easy to wreck. and you dont want to die today, right ? you're too young for that. do you got it ? nod if you got it, yes. smart baby, understand easily that she needs to listen and not fucking run away. ”

his strength was heavy. you had stopped resisting a few minutes ago, even when he put you in his car.

he started driving, with a smirk, he looked in the rearview mirror before telling you.

“ what's the matter, sugardoll ? don't want to put a show for me, anymore ? ”

he had taken you to a shitty old motel down the road, where no one would be able to pick you up here. you knew he was intelligent, you knew it because you understood that every time he came to see you, he tried to learn more about you, but not to know you no, but to know when would be the right time to kidnap you. you knew it because he had stalked you carefully.

he had tried to tie you up while you tried to struggle one last time. but he had grabbed your jaw so violently that you felt your face shiver in his hands. “one more move, and i’ll show you how dolls are really treated, how i have no fucking bother to kill a tiny thing like you. ”

“i’m not going to run away.”

"i know.” he shushed you with a sick evil smirk. “ but it's not because you don't want to, sugardoll .but more because you can't.” he said, while releasing your jaw.

“ that's the small but important difference. i kidnapped you. do you even know what it means ? "

you started to cry, tears running down your cheeks.

“ you want a real reason to cry? fine. i can do that for you. i kidnapped you but you want to know the big part of all this? is that no one will come for you. your father doesn't love you , and that's why you work in this stupid gas station. you love the attention of these men so bad that you feel obliged to sexualize yourself to feel desired but me, i wanted you the first time i saw you. i let you do it, i let you play with them, but now it's all over. since i own you, this game is fucking over. ”

“shoupe will come after me ! ”

“but maybe you won’t be around to see it anymore.” he looked at you, and shushed your tears, while staring in your wet eyes. “ yes, i really like when you give me those tears, cry to me, little girl i'm the only men that really got you. ”

you glared at him as if he had fallen from the sky.

“ but now you have to be careful, don’t get on my nerves. i know it's hard for you, but don't do stupid things. ”

he placed your hand on his lower back, where you had felt the metallic coldness of the gun. and you shivered.

"yes, you got it. don't ever get on my nerves.”

“ how can i get on your nerves ? you don't really seems like a bad guy. more like a sweet guy ? ”

“ i'm not. and i'm not trying to be so watch your mouth. “

“ but i really think you are. can i hug you ? ”

“ try it, doll, literally try it. just try to touch me, i dare you. and i bet you will never tell me i'm the sweetest guy again. ”

“ can you at least bathe me ? ” you asked seriously.

“ jesus, do you think i'm your slave or whatever ? do you forget which position you are in ? in the captive one. so do not ask me those stupid things again. and don't try, no, never try to run away because, i can promise you that when i will find you, it will not be a pleasant time for you. and not even a little, but to the point, you will ask me to kill you. and i will be in a mood to accept your request ? yes, me. ”

you nodded as the kind and little girl you are who cannot argue against this tall man. he released your small face, and you were bathing alone. while you were taking your bath, alone in the tub, you heard rafe on the phone without being able to understand what he was saying but after that call, he left the room.

you had decided to buy some food with the little money you had at the food and drink vending machine.

with a happy smile, you went back up, hoping to please him. but you had found him on the chair in front of the TV.

“look, what…”

“i think you’re really nice. but not at your own good, sugar. ”

“ i just wan…”

“ get on the bed, now. ”

he couldn't help but relaxing when he saw how your blue dress was so tiny, already showing your soaked underwear.

" no whining. " he said as he shoved himself deeply in your tight abused cunt, your ragdoll body pressed down in the mattress, his thick stronger arms hugged your small waist, while thrusting harder and harder, your walls clenched around his fat cock. you can felt the size growing bigger in your wettering pussy, as he turned you into a real crybaby, tears flowing down your cheeks. you were caged by his beefy and muscular body on the bed, gasped on the edge. “ you wanted to act like a big girl ? then take it like a big girl. no fucking whining, i'm just giving you what you want. ”

he was literally buried inside you, snapping your hips, moving in and out. the atmosphere was hot, you felt the heat, there were trails of saliva around your mouth. “stop whining babydoll, daddy is not at his worse actually. and you don't want to see this happen.” you wanted to hate him but it was like you appreciated him being so mean to you, your pussy was dripping, your fluids drenching him, your sticky walls surrounded his girth. " yes, that's it. pull up some juices for daddy, make it easier for him to destroy you. "

everytime you runned away from him, he lifted your head with a grunt, and with a wild thrust inside of you, making you drip even more as his glistening tip reached your spot, the dirty and wetness sound of his moves echoed in the room, your body trapped against his taller one.

with a hand on your throat, you were arched to the point where he could see your wetted eyes rolled up. "try to run away again, and you will have the fucking pleasure to be a momma, as well as a missing girl. i'm not asking you to take my cock better.” he said with a threat. “ no, i'm telling you to do it as your fucking job. ”

all teary, you could bet that rafe didn't know how big he was for telling you this. you were trying your best actually. he was rutting in you, holding your tiny size with one big hand, getting so feral everytime he saw your small body twitching when he pushed himself further. your moans were loud, as your squirted more than one time on him, your dripping walls clamped his hard cock. even when your third orgasm flowed against your bulging pussy, creating a mess at the surface, he continued.

" you know sugardoll, you better work faster for my cum, because i will only stop when i will see how creampie your pussy is for my dick.”

he stuffed your puffy messy cunt, while your pumped his fingers who slidded deep down in your throat, your warm and bullied tongue fighting to not dropped them.

you slobbed more with the overstimulation. you felt like this man was insatiable. rafe loved to see you, his sugardoll in pain, taking so much for him.

when he finally stopped teasing you, and fighting himself to not cum, and clearly toying you, he exploded, making you cried out. all your body was filled with spasms.

you expected something from rafe when he pulled out, a little soft spot, or at least, just one look but he just went to the bathroom. alone.

you expected him to be sweet for you, like the sugar you were for him. and you knew, that you will work for this later.

when he came back, you looked at him, always attracted by his charisma, the way he made you felt so tiny by his big size, the way he was old enough to make you feel like a little girl, just the way his raised voice made you feel so small.

“ can i sleep with you ? ”

“ whatever. just don't touch me. ”

“ you're not gonna be my big spoon ? “

“ what the fuck is this ? i'm not gonna be your spoon. jesus, can you just sleep and not ask for any stupid things that you think i will do because you're already so obsessed with me ? and give me your hands. ”

he tied them up on the bed with your little blue ribbon.

“ just in case you think you can escape me. ”

“ i can't sleep like that ! ”

“ i fear it's not my fucking problem, sugardoll.”

“ fine. i will talk and talk all night. ”

“ i can fuck you all the night too. but one of us will not survive this. so stop being so damn annoying. ”

“ what if i want to pee in the middle of the night ? ”

“ you're strong enough to hold it. and you fucking better be strong enough to hold it. ”

“ why are you so mean to me ? why you kidnapped me ? ”

“ sugardoll, listen to me. look at me, yes. eyes on daddy right now. i swear, and you need to listen carefully because i will tell you once, just once, so your dumby brain need to pay attention, if you're talking another time, even if i see your lips moving, just a twitch, i will put my dick right in your mouth, making you suck it for without a break until the sun rises again. and i can promise you that after, you will never talk to me because you will never be able to open that mouth again. do you got it ? nod your head if you got it, doll.”

and you nodded.

as a doll, you were conditionned to listen to your owner, even if he was so mean to you. but you were as soft as sugar, always melted around, already thinking he was the best guy around.

“ sweet dreams, sugardoll. ”

i promise one day i will write something very good, just give me a chance. i think the only sweet thing in this work, it's rafe calling r " sugardoll ", he's so mean please 😭😭 i think i make him a little too dark to the point, i'm questionning about how he can be sweet to the reader now ????? but i guess, it's part of the game. tysm @bunnyrafe and @fae-of-prey me a lot !

[quuuueto]

- I treasure my puzzle

- And I treasure us!

[thebibliosphere]

I feel like I've complained about Tim's email situation in Gotham Knights before (edit: I have), but the truth of it is just so funny.

He's signed up for so many podcasts, video game streamers, and random news alerts; it's just a constant barrage of data going straight into his constantly whirring brain. Hell, he even floats the idea of the Batfamily having their own podcast as a way to correct misinformation about them (which Jason shoots down instantly), and it's made me realize something.

Timothy Drake would be a YouTuber.

In this universe specifically, Timothy Jackson Drake, the heir to Drake Industries and the foster son of the late Bruce Wayne would be a YouTuber.

Think about it. It'd be the perfect cover. Who would ever suspect that some 16-year-old nepo baby with a YouTube channel could ever be Red Robin? You'd have to be mad. I mean, look at him.

Red Robin just dropped out of literal thin air and garotted someone four times his size, and you expect anyone to believe that's the same kid who does 24-hour Minecraft charity streams and occasionally drops 6-hour video essays (his last one was on Lex Luthor's illegal bit mining operation on the moon)?

That kid?

You think that kid is Red Robin?

Ch'yah, okay, sure. And the Joker is funny 🤡.

[adverbally]

Now My Bedsheets Smell Like You

Written for the @stmarchmm prompts “fake dating/courting” and “scenting” | wc: 1,645 | rated: E | cw: sexual content | tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, mating cycles/in heat, intersex omegas, getting together, scenting, first time, vaginal sex

———

Steve splashes another handful of water into his face, scrubbing at the dried sweat along his hairline. He’s still flushed, pupils still blown wide, but maybe Eddie won’t notice. Maybe Steve can sneak out before Eddie even gets up.

It wasn’t Eddie’s fault, after all. It had been Nancy’s idea for the two of them to pretend to court. Steve’s family name made him an Omega of high standing, and being seen with him could only improve Eddie’s reputation. It would only be until the end of summer, until everyone in Hawkins could accept that Eddie was innocent and let him go about his business without constant harassment.

Steve couldn’t blame Nancy, either. He was the idiot who had agreed to the plan. What could be so bad about spending more time with his new friend? Steve would make sure nobody bothered Eddie and keep an eye on his progress as he healed from his injuries. A little more touching in public, a little more scenting, sleeping over at Eddie’s occasionally, none of it was a hardship.

Until this morning, when Steve woke up in Eddie’s bed with the Alpha clinging to him, surrounding Steve with his smoky-sweet scent.

Steve knew Eddie smelled amazing. He’d spent many an evening curled up in his nest with the shirt he’d worn to hang out with Eddie that day, breathing in the mix of their scents— cardamom and vanilla layered with Steve’s sage and citrus. But to wake up with a nose full of Alpha, so warm and thick that it drowned out Steve’s own scent and made him lightheaded?

Well, that’s why Steve is hiding in Eddie’s bathroom now, half-drowning himself in the sink in the hopes that the cold water will bring him back to his senses. He should shower, probably, scrub any trace of Eddie from his skin so he can think clearly, get out of the trailer and breathe in the fresh summer morning instead of wanting Eddie so bad—

A knock on the bathroom door. “Steve? You okay?”

God, why does Eddie have to sound good, too, all raspy and deep with sleep? It makes something clench in Steve’s gut, makes him want to whine and lick the spicy sweetness directly from Eddie’s scent glands until Eddie gives in and fucks Steve cross-eyed…

Oh. Steve isn’t just regular horny, he realizes like a slap in the face. He’s going into heat. Eddie smells so damn good that he’s causing Steve’s hormones to riot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s next knock is more insistent.

“Don’t come in,” he blurts, burying his face in the nearest hand towel.

“Uh… okay?”

Steve sighs and braces himself on the edge of the sink. “Sorry, I know it’s early but I have to go.”

He can hear Eddie’s bare feet shuffling on the carpet in the hallway. “Was it— did I do something?”

Eddie’s voice sounds small, scared, and Steve made him feel that way. His heart breaks a little. “No. No, Eddie, of course not.” He needs to see him, touch him, reassure his Alpha. Before he can think better of it, Steve throws the door open and launches himself into Eddie’s arms.

“Oh. Oh, oh my god, Steve, you—” Eddie buries his face in Steve’s neck, lips grazing the swollen scent gland there until Steve shudders beneath the touch. “You smell so good,” he mumbles into warm skin.

Steve’s head swims at the feel of Eddie’s body pressed up against his, but he tries to stay focused. “I think you triggered my heat. So unless you want me to jump you in about ten seconds, I need to—”

“You don’t want me to help?”

When Steve meets Eddie’s gaze, all he finds is genuine confusion. “You want to?”

Eddie bites his lip. “I haven’t been pretending. The fake courting thing, I’ve been… I wanted to do it for real, so I treated it like it was real. And I know you’re not in charge of how your body reacts to stuff, but if this heat means you’re interested, too—”

Their lips crash together with too much teeth but Steve doesn’t care when Eddie is groaning and licking into his mouth like a starving man. His Alpha tastes as good as he smells, a little more peppery but complemented by the vanilla that bursts on Steve’s tongue.

“Yeah?” Eddie breathes when he pulls back. He cradles Steve’s face in his blessedly cool hands, running his thumbs across Steve’s feverish cheeks. “I’ll take care of you, I just need you to say—”

“Yes, Eddie, please,” Steve gasps, rolling his hips against Eddie’s so he can feel Steve’s cock, hard and needy. He’s wet, too, wetter than he can ever remember being. He wishes Eddie would just push him up against the vanity and fuck him right there.

Like he’s reading Steve’s mind, Eddie guides him back into the bathroom and steals another kiss. “Okay, baby, how do you want me?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate to hook his fingers in the waistband of Eddie’s boxers and yank them down to his knees. He does the same to his own underwear and leans over the sink, catching Eddie’s dumbfounded expression in the mirror. “Here, just like this.”

Eddie catches on quickly, crowding Steve against the counter and sliding two fingers through the slick between Steve’s legs. “Fuck, sweetheart. Is all this for me?”

“Uh-huh,” he confirms, nudging his hips back into the pressure of Eddie’s fingertips circling his hole. Steve can’t hold back a gasp when they breach him with an easy glide.

“Can’t wait to taste you,” Eddie murmurs in his ear. His lips trail down Steve’s neck, leaving little nips and kitten licks along the way until he reaches his scent gland. “Gonna be so sweet, so good for me.”

Another finger slips into Steve’s pussy alongside the other two. The fullness is just right, enhanced by the promise of more to come when Eddie finally gets his cock in him. Steve can’t wait much longer. “Eddie, c’mon, fuck me!” he pleads.

“Give me a minute, Stevie, I don’t wanna hurt you. Gotta make sure you can take me.” Eddie nips at Steve’s neck as he scissors his fingers apart.

Steve keens at the stretch, clenching down when he imagines how much better it will feel once Eddie fucks him, knots him. “I can take it, I can take it,” he babbles. “Please, let me take it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie hisses to himself, his free hand dropping from Steve’s waist to squeeze the base of his cock. “Baby, I don’t know how long I can last.”

“I don’t care, we can go again. Ed, I need you, please—” His begging suddenly turns into a disappointed whine when Eddie’s fingers leave him, only to be replaced by an involuntary chirp as Eddie notches the head of his cock at Steve’s entrance.

“Okay, okay, oh, fuuuuck.” Eddie buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, gulping in breaths like the Omega’s scent is the only thing keeping him sane as he sinks into the tight heat of Steve’s pussy.

It makes Steve burn with jealousy, the fact that Eddie can smell him but not the other way around. He fumbles behind him to grab one of Eddie’s hands, drags it to his nose and huffs the sweet warmth of his scent straight from his wrist like a drug he can’t get enough of.

“Steve, oh my god, how are you even real?” Eddie’s hips jerk against his ass, grinding into him helplessly. There’s no real rhythm to his movements yet, caught up as he is in the whirlwind of heat pheromones, but it’s everything Steve wants at the moment.

“Alpha, smell like mine,” he purrs against Eddie’s pulse point. The skin is thin at the inside of his wrist, practically begging for Steve to bite until he draws blood and tastes cardamom and vanilla on his tongue.

“You, too,” Eddie groans, sucking hard at Steve’s scent gland as his thrusts find a steady cadence that knocks Steve’s hips against the edge of the sink. “Mine.”

It should be embarrassing how quickly Steve’s orgasm creeps up on him but Eddie is thick and hot in his cunt, and Steve’s cock is grinding against the countertop, and Eddie’s scent is right there in his face and in the stale air of the Munsons’ trailer and—

Steve can’t even choke out a warning before he’s coming, clamping down on Eddie’s cock and clutching his wrist for dear life as he makes a mess of the sink.

Based on Eddie’s strangled growl, he’s not far behind. “Ohjesusfuck, Stevie, I’m gonna—”

His knot catches painfully on Steve’s rim, just this side of too big, but Steve shoves back against him until it breaches him with a wet noise and a curse from Eddie. He can feel each spurt of the Alpha’s come filling him up, Eddie’s hands shaking against Steve’s hip and mouth, his hips grinding deeper and deeper where they’re locked together.

It’s good, so good that Steve’s knees go weak and Eddie has to hold him up as they both tremble through the aftershocks. It’s even better when Eddie starts whispering to him, sweet nothings like, “So good for me, honey. Felt so good, made me pop my knot so fuckin’ fast. Just a few more minutes and then once my knot goes down, we can go back to bed, nap some more before the next wave.”

Steve just purrs, content to be surrounded by— and full of— Eddie’s spicy-sweet smell. His Omega is satisfied for now, finally settled on Eddie’s knot, and the urgency bubbling in his veins calms. For once, Steve is looking forward to the rest of his heat, knowing he’ll be cared for by an Alpha with calloused hands and a soft heart and a scent that feels like a warm hug.

[starry-bi-sky]

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

[semperama]

if you're still taking setting prompts - 46 💛

the back of a taxi stuck in traffic

"Where are you?" It's Buck's voice in Eddie's ear, crackly from poor signal and thready with...something like panic?

Eddie feels an answering anxiety stir in his stomach, because—Buck doesn't know, right? He can't know. Eddie shoots Christopher a look, and Christopher looks back at him, eyebrows raised. When he mouths Buck, Chris's eyes widen and he makes a cutting motion with his hand across his neck, like Eddie needs to be told not to blab.

"What do you mean, where am I?" Eddie asks. He cranes his neck to look out the front window of the Uber—a Prius, as luck would have it—but the traffic still stretches interminably ahead of them, cars inching forward at the customary crawl. Eddie almost picked the 5 am flight for exactly this reason—so they could avoid rush hour—but he's pretty sure waking a teenager up before dawn is against the Geneva Conventions, so. Here they are. Stuck in traffic. The anticipation of surprising Buck fizzing under his skin, making him jittery.

But now Buck has called him, is asking where he is. Does he know? How can he know?

"I'm, uh." Buck pauses, clears his throat. "I'm at your house," he says.

"I know that, Buck," Eddie says slowly.

"No, I mean. I'm at your house. In Texas. Right now." Each word drops like an ice cube into Eddie's stomach. "But you weren't answering the door, and—and I looked in the front window and there's no furniture here?"

That's—what? No. Eddie shoots a panicked look at Chris, who must be starting to put it all together too, because his expression is scrunched up with dismay. Their furniture isn't in Texas, because it's on a moving truck on the way back from El Paso as they speak. And if Buck had showed up at the house a few hours later, he'd have been tipped off by the For Sale sign the realtor promised she'd put up later today.

Did Buck drive all the way to El Paso? Or did their airplanes pass each other in the air?

"Buck," Eddie says, "Chris and I are in the back of an Uber on the 405. We're like three miles from home."

Silence on the other end of the line. Crackling static, like a puff of air. Then, "You're in LA?"

"We were going to surprise you." Eddie had it all planned. He tested the waters a couple weeks ago, told Buck that Chris hinted about maybe wanting to come back to LA eventually and asked him if it was okay if they all shared the house for a while. Of course Buck said that was fine, more than fine, they could stay as long as they wanted, It's really your house anyway, Eddie.

Eddie called the realtor the next day and got to work making little last-minute repairs so he could sell the house for enough of a profit to recoup his down payment. He'd had to cut back on FaceTiming Buck from the house so Buck didn't see the boxes, calling more between rides to make up for it. And he swore Bobby to secrecy when he called last week to ask for his job back.

Everything was going off without a hitch. Eddie should have known something would go wrong.

"Surprise me?" Buck repeats. "I was going to surprise you."

"Well, I—yeah, I'm pretty damn surprised, Buck," Eddie says. He shoots an apologetic look at Chris for the swearing, but Chris just rolls his eyes.

It's just...this kind of sucks. Eddie has been looking forward to this for weeks. Longer than that, actually. Even before he knew for sure he'd be coming home, he imagined it, the look on Buck's face, the way a smile would spread over his face like the sunrise, the way they'd fall into a hug, the scratch of Buck's stubble against his neck. Before Christopher moved back in with him, sometimes imagining that moment was the only thing that got Eddie through a day. And once it became a real possibility, once Chris said he wanted to go home, it became all Eddie could think about, the reunion playing in his head in technicolor all day long, in a hundred different ways,

"Shit," Buck says on the end of a sigh.

"Yeah," Eddie agrees. He scrubs a hand over his face. The traffic keeps inching, inching, but it doesn't matter as much anymore. They'll get there when they get there. "Please tell me you didn't drive."

"No, I flew," Buck says, and thank God for that. "I was only going to stay a couple days. I just thought—Chris said he was kind of missing LA, and—"

It's Eddie's turn to roll his eyes in Chris's direction. "And you thought if you showed up, you'd remind him of what he was missing even more, and he'd want to come home?"

"Something like that," Buck says, and Eddie can hear the sheepish grin in his voice. "Ugh, changing my return flight is gonna cost an arm and a leg."

"I can split it with you," Eddie offers automatically, but Buck scoffs.

"It was my stupid idea, not yours."

"Uh, we had the exact same stupid idea, Buck," Eddie says. This will be a funny story later, but for now, it stings a little. All this waiting around, and he doesn't even get to see Buck at the end of it.

"I wish I could laugh," Buck says, echoing Eddie's thoughts, "but—"

"Yeah," Eddie says softly. He glances at Christopher, then away, willing his blood to stay away from his face. "Look, Buck—"

"No, hey," Buck says in a rush, "don't—don't say anything, just. I'll get the soonest return flight I can, and I'll see you soon, okay?" And then Buck does laugh after all. Just a little chuckle, but it warms Eddie all the same. "The way LA traffic is, maybe I'll be on the plane before you even make it home."

It doesn't happen quite that fast. Eddie and Chris have time to make it home, to take showers, to order pizza. They have time to put a good dent in the stash of cookies Buck made with Jee the previous weekend, and then to clean up their crumbs. They have time to blow up an air mattress for Chris, because Buck left his room empty.

It's midnight, and Eddie is fast asleep, when a rush of cool air wakes him up. The blankets pulled back, then hiked up again, a warm body at his back. He turns, slow, and there's Buck, looking at him wide-eyed in the dark.

He puts his hand to Buck's face. Buck's fingers wrap around his wrist. This isn't the reunion Eddie pictured.

"You're in my bed," Buck says.

"Mhm." Eddie shifts forward, his knees slotting between Buck's. "That's what you get for leaving it empty."

"Are you—?" Buck whispers, stuttery. "Can I—?"

"Yeah," Eddie says. "Of course. Anything."

This isn't the reunion he pictured, but as Buck nudges their noses together, as they breathe the same air for long moments before their lips brush, Eddie finds he doesn't regret it at all.

[smatterbrained]

Just realized I don't have enough women on this blog,, fixing immediately