Javi belongs to the magnificent @bardofheartdive - thank you for letting Scott fall head over heels for him <3
Prompt number: 31 - Moving
Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda - AU
Rating: G
Warnings/Tags: none
—
Excerpt:
Mia slid off the arm of the couch, pouting. She felt almost better, she really did. Her nose was still kinda sniffly, but her throat didn’t hurt anymore when she coughed, and she’d slept the whole night last night. She hadn’t woken up needing tea even once .
Prompt number: 17 - Sparkle
Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda - AU
Rating: G
Warnings/Tags: none
—
Excerpt:
James tapped his own lips as Scott rattled open a few drawers and ran his hand over his mostly neat desk, looking for something with a reflective surface before finally grabbing his phone and setting it to the always risky reversed-camera mode.
“Huh.” His partner studied the shiny blue speaks, taking in the hypothermic blue sheen that went with them. “I look like a mermaid.”
It was a lazy Sunday morning, and for once Aziraphale was fighting against his natural tendency to hop out of bed at the crack of dawn. He was trying his best to linger. Moreover, he was trying NOT to, as the demon was fond of putting it, “prance downstairs in an insanely perky mood, practically sprinkling rainbows behind him as he went.”
Crowley was not a morning person.
Aziraphale rolled over onto his side and found Crowley awake and staring up at the ceiling with a sleep-grizzled look on his face. He rolled over and kissed him, and then flopped back down and ran a hand over Crowley’s hair, smoothing it out of its morning tangles with a little divine intervention. He found his fingers drawn to Crowley’s snake tattoo, tracing its coils.
“Did it hurt?” he asked quietly.
“Did what hurt?” the demon replied.
“Getting the snake tattoo,” Aziraphale said. “I mean, did you have to get it tattooed or did it just show up of its own accord when you fell?”
Crowley frowned a little. It wasn’t something he really liked talking about, falling, and the angel usually respected that. “It just showed up,” he said, somewhat begrudgingly, “as part of the general dive. As for whether it hurt – can’t really say. Everything hurt, then. Hurt isn’t even the right word! It’s hard, when your burning up on every physical and metaphysical plane of existence, to track any of it down and determine if part of it is coming from your right temple, you know?”
Aziraphale sucked in a breath, realizing his error. “I’m sorry, my dear, that was a stupid question.”
“S’okay,” the demon said. “Why do you ask though? You don’t usually ask me about … that.”
“I was just wondering if it was painful to get, that’s all.”
Crowley grinned. “Are you thinking of getting a tattoo, angel?”
Aziraphale smiled wryly. “Oh, no, I don’t think I’d ever get another one. I was just wondering how Hell did their tattoos and if it was any less bad than the human way.”
Crowley sat up and looked suddenly and completely awake. “ANOTHER ONE?” he exclaimed. “What do you mean another one?”
Aziraphale gasped and hopped out of the bed. “Oh, would you look at the time?” he said. “Must be going!”
He all but bolted down the stairs, miracling himself a comfy robe as he did so. Crowley followed hot on his heels.
“You have a tattoo, angel? Why haven’t I seen it?”
Aziraphale waved a hand behind him in a disparaging manner and continued a fast march to the kitchen, where he set about setting out the kettle and tea things as loudly as he could, as if it were possible, ever, to truly drown the demon out when he wanted to be heard.
“Angel” Crowley sing-songed, sitting right smack on top of the breakfast table. “Angel. AngelangelangelangelangelangelANGEL -- ”
“Oh good grief!” the angel said, whirling around to face him with a tea cannister in his hand. “Yes, I have a tattoo. No, you can’t see it. I keep it out of sight nowadays. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Done.”
“Aw, angel,” the demon whined. “Come on, don’t keep secrets from me. What kind of tattoo?”
“The permanent kind,” the angel replied prissily. “Made from ink.”
“Show me?”
“No, I will not.”
“Show me?”
“No.”
“Show me!”
“Crowley, you need to – no.”
The demon thought for a moment. “Okay,” he said slowly. “How about a wager?”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Because that’s worked out so well for us in the past. You remember that bet we made about not using miracles?”
Crowley grinned. “That was FUN, angel. But this is nothing like that. Hear me out.”
The angel sighed and sat down at the table, fingers steepled in front of him. “What do you propose?”
“How about if I can guess what it is, you have to show it to me?”
Aziraphale considered it. “All right,” he said, “but you don’t get unlimited guesses. I’m willing to give you ten chances.”
“S’not enough,” the demon protested. “How about fifty?”
Aziraphale scoffed. “Fifteen.”
Crowley gave him a winning smirk. “Forty?”
The angel narrowed his eyes. “Twelve.”
“Okay, fifteen it is.”
“And if you lose?”
Crowley smiled. “Then you can ask for one favor, anything you like.”
“Done.”
++
To Aziraphale’s surprise, Crowley appeared to let it go, at least for the moment. Instead, he kept his distance while Aziraphale opened up the shop and attended to customers for the morning. Instead of pestering him, the demon spent ages messing around on his phone, and seemed to be making a list of something on a small pad of paper. He looked up once in a while and smiled at the angel in a way that made him nervous, before returning to whatever he was doing.
The minute the last customer was ushered out and the angel closed the shop for lunch, Crowley pounced.
“All right, angel,” he announced, “I have a few guesses.”
Aziraphale sighed and pulled out some good French bread and fine salted ham he’d stored away to make sandwiches with. He grabbed himself a plate and began working on putting a nice meal together for himself.
“Yes, yes, go ahead,” he said, when he noticed that the demon was actually waiting for his permission to start.
“Okay,” said the demon, consulting his notepad. “Is it a heart?”
Aziraphale smiled and occupied himself spreading butter on the bread. “No, it is not,” he replied.
The demon made some kind of annotation. “Is it a book?”
“I can see why you’d suspect that, but no, it isn’t.”
The angel added several nicely folded pieces of ham, then picked it up and had a small nibble.
“Hrm,” said Crowley. “Is it a wing or wings?”
“No,” Aziraphale said reproachfully. “I’m already an angel, what would I need with an angel wing tattoo? That’s just ridiculous.”
Crowley thought for a few minutes, making multiple notations on the paper he was holding. He crossed a few things out and scribbled a few words.
“A snake?”
“No.”
“Is it a word or a phrase?” Crowley asked.
Aziraphale took another bite and took his sweet time chewing, swallowing, and daintily dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Oh, you got me,” he said dramatically.
“Really??”
“No, of course not,” the angel grinned. “How could I narrow it down to just one?”
Crowley frowned.
“You’re going through your queries rather quickly, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps you should give it more thought.”
Crowley decided to take him up on it.
++
Crowley continued to guess all day. A peace symbol, a dove, a star, the word “Mom” (for which he was hit in the face with a pillow), a piece of cake (a rather good guess, actually, the angel thought). He frowned with each wrong answer, reminded the angel several times that he couldn’t lie, and then went back to his research for another hour or two before coming back with more guesses.
His final five guesses were more whimsical. A hot air balloon. (Why? The angel thought.) A flaming sword. (No, but even the angel had to admit that would be somewhat interesting.) A top hat from his magic act. Dog. A halo.
Each was met with a firm and resounding no.
“All right, angel,” Crowley said, finally. “I give up. I admit defeat. You have a tattoo and I am never going to get to see it, I accept that. Although why you have a tattoo that you keep completely hidden and won’t even show to me, I will never understand.”
“Well,” Aziraphale said, “it’s just that it’s somewhat embarrassing.”
He’d gotten the tattoo in a fit of drunkenness in the 1920s, when he’d been quite sure he’d never see Crowley again and his friends from the late 1800s were mostly gone. As a result, he found himself at loose ends. He’d had much time to replay their last argument about the holy water, and Aziraphale felt, in retrospect, that he’d said things that might actually be unforgivable. In the angel’s world, up to that time, forgiveness was a thing he’d rarely seen put into practice. The archangels certainly weren’t a forgiving lot. Gabriel and Michael, he was sure, would lord over him until the day he died each and everything poorly-considered statement and impulsive action he’d ever taken in his life, apologies and intentions be damned. Hell certainly wasn’t forgiving either. And humanity? Well they varied. But he’d decided true forgiveness was rare.
Which is why, at the time, he’d decided that his spat with Crowley at St. James and the estrangement it had caused since was probably permanent. After all, he hadn’t seen the demon since, in almost fifty years.
Until the church, when Crowley came to save him, and he realized that the demon had forgiven him long ago.
“Embarrassing?” Crowley said. “Come on, now, I’d put my entire net worth down on the bet that it’s probably incredibly sexy.”
Aziraphale blushed. “I highly doubt that.”
“Angel,” Crowley said, his voice a little gravelly. “Everything about you is sexy, to me.”
Aziraphale’s heart fluttered a little, and he suddenly couldn’t remember why it was so important to him to hide this secret anymore. Crowley was looking at him with utmost sincerity, and there something so deeply romantic about that – about his snarky, defensive, highly-choreographed demon, who was always thinking about how he appeared to the world, just sitting in front of him with the walls dropped down. Crowley let this self out for no one but him, he knew.
A hot rush of love flooded over him, and he covered it up as best he could with brusqueness. Old habits die hard.
“Oh, all right, you unmitigated bother,” he said, letting a little flash of humor show in his eyes to belie his words. “You want to see my tattoo? You really want to see?”
Crowley, surprised, nodded wordlessly, his head moving very fast. The demon watched, wide-eyed with shock, as the angel carefully took off his coat and waistcoat and slowly folded them over the back of his desk chair. He then meticulously unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his shirt sleeves up above the elbows. Crowley could feel his pupils widening. Something about watching buttoned-up Aziraphale roll up his sleeves was an element that had transfixed him in numerous fantasies over the years. He had, in the end, decided he was an utter chump, to be so overcome by a glimpse of angelic forearm. He had also decided that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it and that he might as well enjoy the feeling.
This decision had worked rather well for him, to date.
The angel came back to the couch and sat down next to the demon, facing him, and very close.
“Don’t laugh,” Aziraphale said. “Promise me?”
“I won’t, angel,” Crowley said hoarsely. “Promise.”
Aziraphale laid his right forearm on Crowley’s knee and turned his hand face up so that the underside of his forearm was exposed. He pushed the sleeve up a little further and laid a finger on the pale, unmarked, impossibly-soft skin right below the inside of his elbow.
“It’s right here,” he said, “although I keep it glamoured away. Are you ready?” He looked up at Crowley, who nodded quietly. And with a wave of his hand, he released the glamour keeping it smooth and covered.
A small, perfect dark feather appeared, its colors shimmering between black and sapphire blue and a hint of purple, beautifully iridescent. A small bit of fluff near the bottom of the shaft softened it, and it was slightly curled as if it were drifting on a breeze.
Crowley stared at it wide-eyed and tried to make his brain function. “Ngk,” he finally offered.
“You can see why I had to cover it,” Aziraphale said kindly, trying to help him recover. “Can’t walk around with a demon feather tattooed on my arm.”
“Wh- wh- “ Crowley cleared his throat. “Is it mine? When did you get it?”
“Yes, it’s yours. 1922, I believe. Had it recolored later, though, when the equipment improved.
“Why?” Crowley asked, genuinely puzzled.
“I missed you.” Aziraphale had long since given up any hope of maintaining his dignity in this conversation, so he decided there was no point in obfuscating.
“You missed me.”
“Yes, I did,” Aziraphale said. “It had been almost half a century at that point. Didn’t figure you were ever coming back, and one night I had a little too much absinthe and decided to get a feather tattooed on my arm to remind me of you.”
“That seems… unlike you,” the demon said slowly.
“Well, absinthe can make a man do dangerous things,” Aziraphale admitted. “But even though I’ve mostly kept it covered ever since, I’ve – well, I’ve liked having it there. Even when we weren’t together. It felt like I could have a little part of you with me. My only real friend.”
Crowley ran a finger very gently around the edges of the feather, tracing its contours closely.
“S’beautiful, angel,” he said, voice husky with emotion. “I fucking love it.”
Aziraphale smiled, and when Crowley looked up to meet his eyes, the demon’s eyes were a little red around the edges.
“I’m glad,” he said. “Maybe I’ll just leave it on the surface, then, for now. If that’s all right with you, that is?”
“Please!” the demon answered. “I wish you would.”
“All right then,” the angel said, sounding pleased.
“Only I get to see it, though, angel,” the demon said, a possessive glint in his eyes. “That’s just for you and me.”
“My dear, I don’t think there’s another person on this planet who’s even seen so much as my wrist in the last thousand years. What do you think, I’m going to go sunbathing? For heaven’s sake!”
Crowley grinned. “Well, I wouldn’t have thought so, but then again I wouldn’t have thought you’d have a tattoo, either. Who knows what you might do next? Might just take up streaking through the park on Saturday mornings, mightn’t you? I wouldn’t be entirely surprised.”
Aziraphale huffed and dumped a blanket over the demon’s head, then went off to make more tea. And to consider what kind of favor he should claim for winning the wager. There were so many interesting possibilities to consider, and he planned to carefully think through them all.
kiss me twice (’cause it’s gonna be alright) - flufftober day 7: second kiss
read on ao3
“Do you remember our second kiss?” Magnus whispers, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over them both with the night.
“Second?” Alec asks, turning and propping himself up on an elbow to look at his husband. “Don’t you mean first?”
Magnus’s lips curl into a soft smile and Alec can see the memories dancing in front of his eyes. It’s something he’s come to know about Magnus over the years: the expression that means he’s reliving something from the past and whether it’s a good memory. Even without the fondness glittering in Magnus’s cat eyes, Alec knows this memory is good.
“Our first kiss happened at your wedding to a woman,” Magnus teases. “I think it’s safe to say the entire Clave remembers that.”
Alec hums, cocking his head with a playful frown. “I’m not sure I recall. Why don’t you remind me?”
Magnus rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “Answer the question, Lightwood.”
“That’s Lightwood-Bane to you, actually,” Alec says, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his husband’s lips. “And it was after our first real date, when I was panicking a little that we might be too different, but then I decided that didn’t matter to me.” He let out a laugh. “And then Jace interrupted us and I thought about disowning him for a solid two minutes.”
Magnus laughs, surprised and unbidden. “I think about that kiss a lot, you know.”
“You do?” Alec asks.
Magnus nods, taking hold of Alec’s hand where it rested between them on the bed. “I was so used to people walking away that it didn’t surprise me when you started to. It hurt, but it wasn’t unexpected.” Alec frowns, brushing his thumb along Magnus’s palm. Magnus flashes him a smile in return. “But you turned around. You cared enough to want to know me. That’s how I knew you were different, Alexander.”
Alec pulls his hand out of Magnus’s to cup his cheek instead. “Turning around is the best decision I ever made.”
“You have to dance with who you love,” Christopher said simply. “Like Bobby and Athena and Chimney and Maddie and Hen and Karen. You love Buck so you have to dance with Buck.”
Summary: Eddie doesn’t really like parties, but he’s glad he went to this one.
Written for Flufftober Prompt #1, ‘Dancing’. Doesn’t really fit canon, but would probably be set in an alternate season 3 where Buck heals up without any issues and gets straight back to work.
Eddie wasn’t really a fan of parties. They were loud and busy and full of couples, and since he and Shannon had split every party had inevitably ended with him stood alone in a corner or sat alone at a table, watching a roomful of people laugh and dance and enjoy themselves in a way he hadn’t since who knew when.
So no, Eddie didn’t like parties at all, but when Bobby and Athena had decided to throw a belated wedding reception, he couldn’t exactly not show up. Besides, he wanted to show up, to be there for them even if he’d end up awkward and alone by the end of the evening. So he dug out his suit, searched Christopher’s wardrobe for the smartest clothes he owned, bought what he thought passed as a decent bottle of wine to gift a newly-married couple, and hoped for the best.
The venue wasn’t dissimilar to the place where he and Shannon had had their own reception years ago: a decent-sized hall with wooden flooring so shiny it reflected the spotlights over the makeshift dance floor, paper decorations thrown over beams and wrapped around pillars. The hall was already over halfway-full with family members and coworkers and friends of friends Eddie couldn’t place, all so absorbed in their own conversations they barely noticed as he and Christopher walked in. Eddie swallowed, straightened his tie, and rested a hand on Christopher’s back.
“Is Buck here?” Christopher craned his neck hopefully, trying to peer through the groups of strangers.
Eddie mustered a smile. “I’m not sure, buddy. I’m sure he will be, though, eventually.” But Christopher’s eyes had already lit up, a beam stretching from ear to ear.
“Buck!”
Buck weaved his way through the crowds and grinned back. His tie was a little crooked, Eddie noticed; he resisted the urge to reach out and fix it for him. “Hey, Christopher!” Buck’s eyes, warm, reassuring, flickered to Eddie’s face. “I was starting to wonder if you guys were gonna show.”
“Fashionably late,” Eddie smiled apologetically. “We’re here now.”
“Good.” There was a look in Buck’s eyes that Eddie couldn’t quite place, written in the lines of his face. It lingered for another moment before he seemed to remember himself, his grin wavering a little. “We’re over in the corner, Maddie and Chim and Hen and Karen and me. Want me to save you a spot?”
“Sure.” Eddie moved his hand to rest it briefly on Christopher’s shoulder. “Hey, bud, why don’t you go back with Buck while I say hi to Bobby and Athena?”
“Okay!” Christopher turned away as if he only had eyes for Buck - and honestly, Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if he did. He idolised Buck. Buck laughed.
“See you in a minute,” he said to Eddie, before steering Christopher through the busy hall. Even over the hum of conversation spread throughout the room, Eddie could still hear the sound of his son’s voice excitedly relaying every important detail Buck needed to know about everything that had happened in the three days since Christopher had last seen him.
Eddie managed to find his way through to the centre of the hubbub for long enough to hug Bobby, kiss Athena on the cheek and congratulate them again.
“Thanks for inviting us,” he added, glancing over his shoulder to where Christopher appeared to be mid-conversation with Chimney. “We really appreciate it.”
“Of course,” Bobby shook his head almost in disbelief. “You’re family.”
Eddie nodded, breaking eye contact until he could be certain the lump in his throat had gone. He left Athena and Bobby with the still-building crowd of well-wishers and found his way to the spot Buck had saved him at their table, ruffling Christopher’s hair as he passed him.
“Hey,” Buck smiled up at him, and there was something about that look that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. “You alright?”
“Yeah.” Eddie sat down beside him, studying him surreptitiously. Buck’s tie was still just off-centre, like he’d made a valiant attempt at fixing it but hadn’t quite succeeded. “Just… parties aren’t really my thing.”
“Maybe you just haven’t been to a decent party before,” Buck grinned.
But Eddie had been to enough parties to know how they went. The last of the guests drifted in and said their hellos and found spaces to gather. People waited eagle-eyed for someone to make the first move to the buffet table, springing up from their seats determined to be next in line. The music kicked in a little later, and the last half-dozen parties he’d been unable to worm his way out of came to mind. He knew this part well enough. The seats around him would begin to empty as couples drifted over to the dance floor, and he’d play I Spy with Chris to keep him entertained and wonder why he hadn’t just taken him to the movies or something.
It happened almost exactly as he’d thought it would. The guests. The food. The music. Maddie had pulled Chim to his feet and Hen and Karen had followed on their heels, and he’d stayed at the table with Chris. But they hadn’t been left completely alone.
Buck had stayed.
He was deep in conversation with Christopher, his eyes crinkled as he attempted to fold a napkin into an elephant. So far, all he seemed to have made was a slightly squished rectangle; Christopher had his head thrown back in laughter. Buck stared down at the napkin in his hands, a bemused wrinkle of confusion between his eyebrows.
“I swear this is how you do it,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “Maddie showed me years ago. It can’t be that hard.”
“Why don’t you try something easier?” Eddie teased. “Like a boat. Or maybe just a square.”
Buck stuck his tongue out in reply; Christopher laughed again.
“You’re welcome to try it yourself.” Buck threw a spare napkin at him and turned back to his fourth attempt.
Eddie raised his hands in surrender. “I think I’ll leave that to you.” He watched the way Buck’s hands moved, saw the focus on his face, the sheer determination in his eyes as he tried to make something that would impress Christopher. Honestly, everything Buck did impressed Christopher anyway.
The music in the room changed. The electro sounds of a pop song Eddie didn’t quite recognise (and God, that made him feel old) faded away, and something slower took its place, acoustic guitars and soft vocals.
The couples in the room moved closer. Athena and Bobby were so close their foreheads almost touched; Hen and Karen twined their fingers together; Maddie rested her chin on Chimney’s shoulder.
“Dad,” Christopher tried his best to whisper over the table, his hand pressed to the side of his mouth as if he could keep Buck from hearing the words. Buck smiled, continuing to haphazardly fold the napkin in his hands as if he hadn’t heard anything.
“Yeah?” Eddie whispered back.
Christopher leaned forwards conspiratorially, fingers clutching at the edge of the table. “Now you have to dance with Buck.”
Eddie blinked. Buck raised his eyebrows, glancing across at Eddie without comment.
“I, uh…” Eddie cleared his throat. “What do you mean, buddy?”
“You have to dance with who you love,” Christopher said simply. “Like Bobby and Athena and Chimney and Maddie and Hen and Karen. You love Buck so you have to dance with Buck.”
Eddie could feel his face burning red; he only hoped the lighting was low enough that Buck wouldn’t notice. “Chris-”
“Come on, Dad.”
“I…” Eddie caught Buck’s eye and paused. Buck was looking at him, but there was no embarrassment in his gaze, nor was there a throwaway laugh ready on his lips. He was waiting. Waiting to see how Eddie would respond. He looked almost… almost nervous.
Christopher rested his elbows on the table.
“Listen, bud, I don’t think Buck wants to-”
“I don’t mind,” Buck interrupted. He flushed. “I mean, you know. If you don’t… whatever, it doesn’t-“
“No, I just-”
“We don’t-”
Christopher held his chin in his hand and sighed emphatically.
Slowly, hesitantly, Buck dropped the napkin and stood. He tried to give an effortless shrug, something that might at the very least feign nonchalance, but his fingers were clumsy as he tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Chris is probably smarter than me, honestly.” He gave an uncertain smile. “If he says we should dance, I’m not gonna argue with him.”
Eddie wiped his clammy palms against his pant legs as he stood. “Buck,” he said quietly, his mouth suddenly dry, “you don’t have to, really.”
“I know,” Buck replied. He rubbed his thumb absently against his wrist. “But I want to. Is that… is that okay?”
Eddie moved around the table until Buck stood directly in front of him. Buck swallowed. Eddie reached out, the fabric of Buck’s tie soft against his skin as he straightened it.
“I’ve wanted to do that all evening,” he said, eyes drifting upwards to meet Buck’s. Buck chewed the inside of his lip.
“Well, I guess we should…” He rested his hand on Eddie’s forearm tentatively, as if he wanted to guide him over to the middle of the room but didn’t quite know how to find the courage.
Eddie glanced at his son. Christopher beamed back at him, tilting his head to urge them towards the dance floor.
Eddie took a deep breath. He placed a hand on Buck’s elbow and nudged him gently in the direction of the other swaying couples, stopping just on the fringes of the dance floor.
Buck looked down at his feet before finding Eddie’s eyes again. “How… how do you want to do this?”
Eddie laughed, and suddenly the nerves gripping at his chest were easing away. Buck’s shoulders slumped in visible relief.
“Here.” Eddie took Buck’s hand and placed it on his own shoulder, then took Buck’s other hand and put it on his hip. “Like this.” Eddie mirrored him, resting his palms against the smooth polyester of Buck’s suit jacket. He swayed gently from side to side.
Buck smiled, copying the movement. “Am I doing this right?”
“Yeah. You haven’t done this before?”
“School dances probably don’t count, do they?”
“Mm, probably not.”
They were quiet for a moment. Buck’s smile twitched. “So, about what Christopher said…”
“Right.” Eddie ducked his head. “I, uh, I don’t know what he… not that I…” He lifted his hand from Buck’s shoulder to scrub at his face. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to say something stupid and ruin everything and-”
“You won’t.” Buck took Eddie’s hand and set it back on his shoulder. “Eddie, I just… look, I guess I’m just asking if you’re dancing with me because your son wanted you to dance with me, or if you’re dancing with me because you want to, and I don’t want to end up saying something stupid and embarrassing myself because I just…”
“Like what?” Eddie asked quietly. “What would you say that would make you embarrass yourself?”
Buck stared at the pattern on Eddie’s tie. “You first.”
“Buck.”
Buck closed his eyes wearily. “What was it Chris said?” He murmured. “You have to dance with who you love.”
Eddie’s breath caught in his throat.
“If you’re only dancing with me to make your son happy that’s fine with me.” Buck opened his eyes and held Eddie’s gaze with a steadiness that made Eddie’s chest hurt. “But I think it’s more than that to me and I… I should’ve told you weeks ago. But now you know. If you don’t want me to mention it ever again then I’ll respect that and we can go back to work on Monday and it’ll be exactly the same and it won’t make a difference but I-”
Eddie kissed him.
Buck’s words were still frozen on his tongue as Eddie pulled away. He blinked once, twice, pressing his lips together in disbelief.
“It’s not just for him,” Eddie said softly.
“Oh. I…” Buck gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. “Oh.”
Eddie started as a hand clapped him on the back. Now beside them, Chimney rolled his eyes.
“Thanks guys. Now I owe Hen twenty dollars.”
Buck furrowed his brow. “You were betting on if we’d…”
“Not ‘if’, Buckaroo,” Chim scoffed. “When. Bobby was sure it’d be last month. If you’d waited three more weeks I’d have had it.” He went to leave, then turned back as an afterthought. “I’m happy for you, though. Glad you finally got there. We were waiting for you to work it out.”
Buck watched Chimney head back to the table to dig his wallet out of his jacket. “Well,” he said slowly, “that’s on him. Hen always wins bets. He should know that by now.”
Eddie laughed. “I kinda feel like Chris earned that twenty dollars, though.”
“Yeah, I guess he did.” Buck grinned. “So are they your thing now?”
“Is what my thing now?”
“Parties,” Buck said. “You said you didn’t like them. You change your mind?”
Eddie gave a crooked smile as he pretended to think it over. Then, at last, he nodded. “Yeah. I think I have.”
Another year, another flufftober. Since last time I had such a blast and everyone wrote such nice fics, I decided to repeat the experience! Hope you guys enjoy it this time around too :>
So what is flufftober?
Well, you’ve probably heard of inktober, whumptober and the likes. It’s something similar: a challenge to write fluff every day in october.
How does it work?
All you have to do is write your fics and post it either here or at ao3. If you tag it as #flufftober or #flufftober2019 we’ll find you. Starting on the 1st of October, you can post any prompts at any day. Don’t worry if you’re late, there is no such thing :)
I’M STILL NOT CAUGHT UP, BUT I’M WORKING ON IT. SO HERE HAVE SOME ADORABLE MALEC FLUFF AND CUTENESS AFTER A LONG DAY. CAUSE THOSE BOYS DESERVE IT.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
For the hundredth time since he had come up with the idea, Alec debated if it was a good one. But Magnus had said that he was exhausted and he wanted a night in, and whenever Alec was this tired he always appreciated when Magnus took care of stuff so he didn’t need to.
He glanced at the clock and placed an order for Indian from their favorite restaurant and headed to the bathroom. Alec took a quick picture of where everything was situated so he could put it back before he started to pull the bottles down. He set aside the few that he knew he’d be using tonight, but the rest went into a corner cabinet while he pulled out the rest of what he’d need to have the bathroom ready.
Magnus had never asked for something like this, but he did seem to like doing it for him, so maybe he wouldn’t mind too much having it done in return. Alec finished setting up what he needed and grinned when he heard the doorbell ring, which meant their food had arrived.
~!~
Magnus relaxed the instant he stepped into the apartment. One sniff told him that Alec had already ordered dinner and he sagged in relief at not having to think or even summon anything. He wanted nothing more than to curl up with his perfectly perfect boyfriend, maybe make out on the couch a little bit, and then pass out.
“Alexander,” Magnus called, kicking off his shoes, then waving them into his closet.
Alec hurried out of the bathroom and smiled at the sight of Magnus, striding towards him, immediately wrapping him up in a hug. “Hey,” he whispered into Magnus’ hair, squeezing him tight.
Magnus let himself melt into Alec’s hug, sighing happily as he sagged, his eyes fluttering shut. “Still want my welcome home kiss,” he mumbled into Alec’s shoulder, wishing he could stay right where he was until he dozed off for the evening.
Alec pulled back just enough and kissed Magnus, soft and gentle. “You never have to ask for those,” he whispered, kissing Magnus’ forehead next. “Now, I have a small surprise for you, because I know you’ve had the day from hell.”
Magnus blinked and stared up at Alec. “I can already smell dinner, Alexander, I’m afraid Indian did give it away.”
“Not just dinner,” Alec said, glancing towards the bathroom, giving Magnus another squeeze before letting him go. He reached out and took Magnus’ hand, tugging him towards the en suite. He opened the door and stepped back to let Magnus walk in.
Magnus’ breath caught and he turned to Alexander. “What’s all this? Did I forget an anniversary?”
Alec shook his head, stealing another soft kiss. “No. But you always take care of me like this whenever I’m exhausted, so I thought, I’d try doing it for you.”
Magnus stared at his Shadowhunter and felt his heart squeeze hard in his chest. He looked back to the bathroom, and the area around their tub that was covered in candles, casting shadows against the wall, the bath, complete with bubble bath and scents he favored, already drawn for him, and dinner waiting in the corner.
“Let me guess,” Alec said, his voice teasing as he reached out and carefully undid the buttons on Magnus’ jacket, lifting it off his shoulders. “I continue to surprise you?”
Magnus chuckled. “Something like that.”
Alec hummed and carefully removed Magnus’ more ornate necklaces, laying them out carefully on the sink, leaving the arrowhead with a brief kiss to it. Next came the buttons on the shirt.
“You do know I can undress myself,” Magnus teased, even as Alec’s fingers dropped to his belt and suspenders, removing them easily, laying them with his jacket.
“I always love when you do this for me,” Alec admitted, his voice soft. He brushed his fingers over Magnus’ chest, easing the shirt off his shoulders, turning to kiss Magnus on the cheek. “It makes me feel cherished.” He eyed the tight pants Magnus was wearing and managed a smile. “Depending on how tight those are, I might need a bit of help.”
Magnus laughed and waved them away in a shower of sparks, ignoring the indignant look from Alec. He wrapped his arms around his shadowhunter, pulling him in for a kiss. “I feel more than cherished, love.”
Alec rolled his eyes and shifted, picking Magnus up in a bridal carry, watching his eyes go wide and abruptly golden.
“Alexander!”
Alec grinned, bringing Magnus over to the bath, carefully putting him into the steaming hot water and bubbles. “Yes?”
Magnus huffed and sank happily into the water, sighing in relief as he felt the aches and pains of the day starting to melt away.
“That’s what I thought,” Alec said, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ hair. “Now relax for a few minutes. I’m going to go get us each a glass of wine before we enjoy dinner.”
Magnus closed his eyes and leaned back against the rim of the tub, breathing out slowly. What was the word Alexander had used for how he felt when he did this? Cherished. Well, Alec had certainly accomplished that. He let himself doze, the feel of home, and Alexander more than enough to wash the long day from his shoulders.
It was the sharp intake of breath that woke him up and Magnus blinked a few times, turning towards the entrance to the bathroom. Alexander was holding two glasses of wine and Magnus smiled at him, pushing himself a little more upright in the tub.
“By the angel, you’re beautiful,” Alec whispered, stepping into the bathroom. Like this, the light of the candles playing over his skin, water slowly pouring down his neck and chest, and his eyes golden, Magnus had never looked more gorgeous.
Magnus chuckled and held out an arm to Alexander, wanting him closer. “Thank you, my darling. Shall we have some dinner?”
Alec shook himself and nodded, immediately approaching again. “Of course, of course, you’re probably starving.”
“For more than just food, Alexander,” Magnus teased, his fingers curling around the wine glass as he watched Alec blush under the light of the candles. The smile Alec flashed him had him grinning in return, and he sank into the bubbles once again.
Fandom: Shadowhunters - Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Prompt 2: Snow
ao3 link
The world outside their bed is cold. The tip of Alec’s nose is chilled and it’s with a small scowl that he turns towards Magnus. His husband is sleeping still and Alec, though loathe to disturb him, is both cold and lonely.
It seems strange maybe, to be lonely when in bed with someone. Lately however, life and responsibilities have been adding up. Nothing terrible had happened, but Alec still feels the pressure of the world weighing down on him, a little heavier each day. Conversations and teasing from his family that should be easy and fun, with him teasing in return have instead started to hit a little harder and cut a little deeper.
Alec’s learned not to push his own feelings aside but talking with them never does anything. They push him, poke and prodding at him in a misguided attempt to help when what he needs is for them to back off and give him some space.
Magnus is different, he’s always been different.
It’s what draws Alec to him now. Lets him press against Magnus and burrow into his warmth. Magnus stirs against him gently, a soft hum before he settles, closer to him that before but not nearly enough.
Alec moves closer still. His cold nose presses against Magnus’ collarbone and his husband shivers in protest. A sleep heavy arm is thrown across his shoulders pulling him until the space between them is a myth. Strong fingers rub across his back and soothes aches that aren’t just physical.
Tears sting Alec’s eyes and his throat dries up. He feels scratchy and overwhelmed and suddenly everything but the feel of Magnus against him is too much.
He’s not sure how long it feels like that. He doesn’t want to move. That might make it worse and take him away from the safety that is Magnus against him.
It’s not until there’s a grunt from under him and Magnus moves his hand from Alec’s back to grip his hair, gentle but firm that Alec realizes he’s lost time and drifted.
He lets out a quiet whisper of wordless apology and releases the chunk of Magnus’ shoulder that he’d started chewing on. Pressing tiny kisses against the irritated skin in apology.
“Come here love,” is murmured against his hair and then he’s being rolled.
Magnus is a hot, solid mass on top of him. Something in Alec settles then. It calms his mind and the words he’s been struggling to find cease to be needed.
It doesn’t fix everything but it helps.
Alec knows they had plans, but Magnus doesn’t move. Instead, when at some point the tension in Alec has relaxed to some degree, he shifts. Instead of getting off of him, Magnus moves, Keeps their legs tangled together as he turns, pulling Alec into his lap and Alec can hear the familiar snap of fingers. Their soft and luxurious duvet is replaced with something just as soft but it’s heavier and cool. Between the comfort of Magnus’ lap beneath his head and the newly formed blanket on top of him, Alec drifts again.
He doesn’t fall back asleep, not quite.
Instead his world is turned into the feel of Magnus’ fingers in his hair. The gentle tug on a tangled curl, the scratch of nail against his scalp and the murmur of Magnus’ voice as he reads aloud to himself.
It’s afternoon before Alec fully comes back to himself, sated and relaxed and content to stay there. It’s one of their few days off however and as much as he would love to never leave their bed.
It might still take a few hours before he’s ready to leave the house, but he is genuinely excited by the prospect of anything with his husband.
He squeezes Magnus’ thigh, lets him know he’s back and gets fingers tenderly brushing over his cheek in response.
“Izzy texted about meeting up for dinner tonight with her and Simon.”
Alec glares at the insides of his eyelids. Well, he’s excited for almost anything it seems, since that is honestly one of the last things he’d like to do and he shakes his head.
“I’ll tell them we have plans,” is all Magnus says and he feels better for it.
They go out that night and the cold air is a delight. It makes their breath mist into the air and Magnus uses magic so that their hands, intertwined as they are, stay warm. It doesn’t stop Alec from continually crowding close to him. Stealing delicate kisses against his cheeks and nuzzling his neck.
The park Magnus takes him to is almost empty, a balm to Alec’s worn edges and the park bench the settle on, leaning against each other for comfort more than warmth, looks out across a frosted pond.
“It might snow tonight,” Magnus tells him and Alec brings his hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles instead of speaking. Alec feels better but still off kilter, like a kite caught in a gale and Magnus is his tether, the one slowly winding the thread and bringing him safely back to the ground.
They stay longer than any mundane would think to, admiring the atmosphere and watching as the first flurries of snow gently fall. It’s beautiful and new and Alec breathes easier, steadier now with his thoughts connecting easier than before.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. He knows Magnus wants no thanks but he wants to offer it, to give it just like this wonderful man has given him a sanctuary from life and the world.
“It was just one of those days and I had a lovely time.” Magnus tells him just as softly, “in fact I think we should look into going away for a week. We could both use some time to ourselves. We can ignore our phones and enjoy the changing of the seasons. Anything less than the world once again trying to end and we ignore it.”
“I’d love that,” Alec admits and reaches a hand beyond their bubble of contentment to catch a snowflake on his finger. It’s crisp and cold and melts into a tiny drop on the contact, “us against the world then?”
(Read on AO3)
Flufftober 2019 Day 1: Dancing
“Who would’ve thought I’d be the one teaching you how to dance,” Simon says, smirking as he looks over at Raphael. Simon has his hands on his hips, going through each step as quickly as he can through the introduction so Raphael has a vague idea of what’s about to happen.
“I wouldn’t considering this dancing,” Raphael points out, frowning as more people gather around them on the small reception floor. “Dancing, Simon, is when I tried to teach you how to waltz. This… this is…” Raphael starts, waving his hand dismissively as he struggles to find the right word for what’s happening around them.
“THE TIME WARP!” Clary shouts, her wedding dress bunched up in her hands as she spots Simon and moves to stand next to him.
“I knew you’d get it on the playlist,” Simon practically beams before turning back to Raphael. “Listen, it’s so easy. They literally give you the instructions as it goes along. Just follow my lead.”
“Why can’t I just sit this one out with-” Raphael looks around, spotting Alec standing with his arms crossed off to the side of the room. “-with Alec.” He finishes lamely, both of them knowing that Raphael doesn’t want to go stand with Alec about as much as he doesn’t want to be thrown into the middle of this dance floor unprepared.
Simon knows it, too, and doesn’t even humor the suggestion with a response. “This isn’t about precision or timing or anything like that. Just have fun!”
“It’s just a jump to the left!”
Raphael almost misses the first instruction, but Simon tugs his arm over to the left with him so that he doesn’t get run into by the person on his right.
“And then a step to the right!”
Simon very dramatically moves his right foot out and back in a few times, and Raphael mirrors him with closer, more unsure movements.
“With your hands on your hips, you bring your knees in tight!”
“I look ridiculous,” Raphael says, loud enough to be heard over the music, but Simon only laughs.
“Of course you do. But so does everyone else!” Simon calls back.
“But it’s the pelvic thrust that really drives you insane!”
Raphael reluctantly moves his own hips in a small circle, watching everyone around him thrust wildly into the air and wondering how they can all do this without the slightest shred of embarrassment.
He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because he catches Simon’s eye and Simon is positively beaming at Raphael’s half-a-second-too-late reactions following his lead to jump twice more at the words “Let’s do the time warp again!” before the music slips back into an interlude in the choreography.
“See, you totally got this. And now you’re a seasoned pro for when I definitely put this on our wedding playlist,” Simon says, the words slipping out so casually while he dances in a circle that Raphael is positive he doesn’t realize the implications of his words.
Raphael must have a strange look on his face when Simon spins back around to grab his hands and dance (which is more like energetic bouncing at this point), because Simon quirks an eyebrow at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” Raphael says, smiling. Our wedding playlist, he thinks fondly to himself.
And this time, when the dance starts back up for a second time, Raphael lets himself go with a smile. After all, he needs the practice before his own reception one day.
