#birthday prompts!

[slippinmickeys]

happy birthday! drabble prompt in re: the amazon scientist/archaeologist au for you if you want: scully finding out she's won the nobel prize

(I just love that fic so much, no pressure!)

Quick and dirty, no beta.

Above the canopy of the jungle, the sky was the same liquidy pink as a bottle of rosé. The heat was easing with the setting of the sun, but Mulder still mopped the sweat off his brow with an already soiled handkerchief. 

Byers met him at the trailhead with a bottle of water that was opaque with condensation. 

“Hey,” Mulder said, accepting it gratefully. “I miss anything while I was at the site?” 

Byers shook his head and fell in step beside him as they entered the perimeter of the camp. 

“Not really,” he said. “Frohike had some luck unscrambling the data on the last sweep, but it didn’t show anything.” 

“I’d like to take a look anyway,” Mulder said.

“I figured,” Byers replied. “We’ve got it loaded on the ThinkPad.” 

The calls of the night animals were beginning, a gradual swell of sound. Mulder bade Byers farewell, ducking under the flap to his tent for a quick towel bath and a change of clothes.

He was surprised to find Scully inside, leaning over the small table they had shoved into the corner of the tent. 

“Hey,” he said, feeling a smile blossom on his face with the greeting. “I thought you and Miguel wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Weren’t you overnighting in section three?”

Scully answered him but continued whatever she was doing at the table. “The locals reported a jaguar sighting there three nights ago. Decided to play it safe.”

Drawn to her by some unknowable force, Mulder sidled up to her and pressed into her from behind. She straightened and he bent to sniff her neck, mumbling into the warm skin there. “Good. I like when you play it safe.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, reaching up to wrap an arm around his neck from behind. The soft animal of her body pressed into his and he felt a flare of wanting. 

He was about to take things further when there was a call from outside the tent. 

“Mulder?” came Langly’s voice. 

With regret, Mulder took a step back from Scully and affirmed his presence. The canvas flap came up a moment later letting in the last of the day’s dim light. Langly’s eyes flitted between the two of them. 

“We’ve got a sat call,” he said, with some gravity. 

The camp had a satellite phone in case of emergencies. They rarely used it, and never – not once in the three years of the project – had they ever gotten an incoming call on it. 

Mulder was about to step forward when Langly licked his lips. 

“It’s for Dr. Scully,” he said. 

Mulder immediately met his lover’s eyes and she rushed out of the tent to the area of the mess where the sat phone lived. He was right on her heels. She was probably thinking the same thing he was: something had happened to her mother. To another family member. Someone was likely dead. 

She tore into the mess almost at a run and grabbed the chunky phone out of Frohike’s hands, who took a step back and swung his eyes to Mulder, mouthing something Mulder couldn’t make out. 

Mulder ignored him, his gaze intent on Scully who mumbled something into the receiver, swallowing thickly. 

Mulder could hear talking on the other end of the phone, but couldn’t make out what was being said. Scully’s forehead crinkled into a confused chevron and then she grabbed the table that housed a majority of the computer equipment, suddenly swaying on her feet. 

“Get her a chair!” Mulder shouted, but Langly, who’d come in behind them, was already pushing a camp chair up to Scully, who lowered herself into it shakily. 

“Okay,” she finally said. “Thank you.” And her hand holding the receiver dropped into her lap, the greenish light on its small screen flicking off. 

Mulder stepped forward and lowered himself until he was kneeling in front of her. 

“Scully?” he said. She had a dissociated look about her that scared him. He put his warm hand on her knee. “Honey?” he said. 

At this, she finally looked up. 

“I–” she started, still dazed. “I just won the Nobel Prize.”

[creativepromptsforwriting]

subtle acts of love

giving them food without them asking for it

randomly bringing them flowers

holding a door open for them

pulling out their chair for them

guiding them with a gentle hand on the small of their back

making them lunch to take to work with them

fixing their clothes or hair

giving them a massage

talking casually about a shared future

showing them their appreciation for them

waiting at home to say hello when they come in

paying complete attention to them

giving them a casual, but thoughtful compliment

writing them a love letter and hiding it for them to find

showing them something that reminded them of their partner

humming a song to calm them down

giving them a quick kiss whenever they pass each other at home

casual grabbing their hand and swinging it back and forth

remembering something they told them

[novelbear]

"so i celebrate you, all about you"- birthday prompts

a prompt list by @novelbear 🎂

"i heard it was someone's birthday!"

waking up to breakfast in bed

trying to make them a birthday cake from scratch

decorating the house while they're still asleep

"what do you mean you don't want to celebrate?"

spending the first birthday together as a couple

^ therefore they're trying to make it as special as possible

taking a bit of the frosting from the cake and putting it on their nose

^ or spelling their name with it on the birthday person's forehead (i had a friend actually do this to me one year ??)

trying to find the silliest card to gift them

"did you seriously do all of this?" "of course i did!"

not letting them do a single thing that might stress them out that day (no work, no chores, no stressful phone calls, nothing)

getting them a little tiara or ribbon to wear throughout the entire day

organizing a little project or video for them with their friends and family

"happy birthday, my dearest."

setting off confetti poppers at random times of the day, finding their little yelps of surprise adorable

a birthday bear hug at the beginning of the day

staying up until midnight to make sure they're the first one to wish them a happy birthday

"what do you want to do today? name anything, i'm down."

having a number of surprises gifted to them throughout the day that coordinates to their age (turning 21? 21 little gifts and surprises <3)

"god, you're old." "shut up!"

[magicpiano]

DCXDP corpse AU (where Danny leaves behind a body every time he transforms.) Danny finds out about Tim not having a spleen and is like, "you can have one of mine if you want."

[urfriendlywriter]

birthday prompts for loversss !

(feel free to usee<3 tag mee!! inspired by my b'day haha. plot twist is i am single :))

staying up to wish them at midnight

you bring them a cake, singing hbd, but all their attention is on you.

hugs you, tearing up, breaking down because nobody has done this for them ever

intimate b'day celebrations like it's just you and them and every whisper of hbd and well wishes are so comforting <3

cupcake b'day celebrations!

them hugging u from behind as they watch u make a wish

"what did u wish for?" u ask as a soft murmur and they say, "you. to never let u go."

i celebrated my bestie's b'day and she said to me,

^ "thank u for loving me every year and making me feel like i am being loved by someone,"

^ "knowing that, that someone is you, is what matters." (i won in LIFEE)

"how's my favorite b'day girl/boy doing?" :))

maybe it's their first time having their b'day being celebrated, :(

and all they can do is bury their face into ur neck and cry. the cake abandoned for a moment until they gain composure.

when they write u letters on ur b'day,

or give u thought-out gifts.

wiping cake from the corners of their lips

or alternatively just kissing it away, making them fluster. (uhm.. didn't happen on my bday, who's lyINGG-)

a quiet whisper of happy birthday,

tight hugs and lingering kisses throughout the day, and just feeling loved by the other person. feeling their emotions of gratitude to have u in their life!

telling them or writing to them, "It's your [age] birthday, and so [age] reasons why I love you." (eg: 20th, 19th and so on)

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 235

“Mother, I have made a friend.” 

Now don’t get him wrong, Danny was delighted at the idea of Jordan making a friend, he really was. But the last three attempts had been borderline kidnappings, so he wasn’t entirely sure if he should be. Thankfully it doesn’t seem he’s kidnapped this one. Hopefully. 

Not that he wouldn’t be surprised if Dan managed to kidnap a tiny kryptonian, but the kid- Jon apparently- seemed happy enough to be there. Apparently his grandparents lived in the midwest too, and was happy enough to have someone to talk about it. 

Though um, maybe Danny should have checked to see if his parents knew where he’d gone, because he was not expecting a harried-looking superman to suddenly appear at his window. 

[srapsodia]

omg idk if you're still doing the character interaction drawings or not but if no one else has asked for it yet i'd love to see tsukki and yamaguchi in 46: one bandaging the other—yamaguchi wrapping tsukki's fingers maybe? or even the other way around tbh seriously im in love with every response youve given to each prompt, theyre all so cool and dynamic!! (and just your art in general, the poses aaah!!)

46: one bandaging the other

it's a captain's duty to make sure his teammates are taken care of, of course 🧡

[clairesbeauchamp]

giftober 2024 • day 20: crowded

i never thought that hearing a litany of your near-death experiences would bring me so much peace. or maybe it's just the nearness of you.

[wickcipher]

Happy belated birthday Miku 🎉

[jesuistrestriste]

sage ok walk with me… so imagine virgin art that’s so deep into subspace and is so painfully hard that he’s going “m-mommy, it hurtsssss, what’s wrongggg, what’s going onnnn” like I think I have an innocence kink. Are we fucking with it or no

guhhhh ….. i’m not walking, i’m sprinting with u

corruption kink goin crazy rn ! !

thinking about lulling virgin!art into subspace for the first time. he’s all wide eyes and shy touches and sloppy kisses; letting you tease his aching cock with just a fingertip while he sprawls himself out on your bed next to you.

has he orgasmed tons of times before now?

absolutely !

but as he ever come by someone else’s hands?

well.. no.

and god, it’s a whole new world of sensations. the warmth from just the pad of your digit on the underside of his cockhead is more than enough to ignite an unstoppable flame in his stomach— one that’s completely different from all the ones that were stoked via his own touch..

you’ve been edging him for only twenty minutes (denying him already seven times, if you can believe it), and that’s just about all he can take before he’s gasping and desperately reaching down to cling to your wrist. he’s squeezing so hard you think he might break it for a second..

tears gather at his lash line so fast that he doesn’t even have time to perceive the sting of it all; looking up into your eyes with writhing hips as he feels his release pulse in his balls and threaten to climb up his shaft

“i… s-something’s wrong, i dunno— hurts, hurts- nnghh—! never… never felt like this, please help me,” he’s whimpering to you, completely lost, “dunno what’s haah-happening—“

he’s looking up at you like he’s begging for some sort of salvation, like he’s too scared to find out on his own so he’s hoping you’ll push him in instead of expecting him to willingly dive in head-first. he’s much too out of it now for that.

“please— come, come— can i come? feels weird, i wanna—.. mngh..”

all you’ve gotta do is drag your index fingernail lightly over his slit and he’s gone.

his pelvis immediately bolting up to seek you, a strangled cry of confusion and ecstasy pulled straight from his chest. he’s squirting out everything’s he’s got, the fluid spilling out over his arched tummy as he squeezes his eyes shut and finally lets the tears fall.

“thank you, thank you— sorry, i’m sorry—“

he’s a mess.

[starkeyisthelastname]

hello lily…. i just had a thought…… about dealer!rafe and me on my birthday his girl celebrating her bday 💖💖……. i cannot stop thinking about him

hi baby! 💖 you better get ready because this man is ready to spoil you even more than already he does and take you to pound town 😜.. hope you like it sweet angel and have the best birthday!!! @oceandriveab

The morning of your birthday, you get awoken by his head between your thighs. His tongue deep in your wet hole and nose hitting your clit just right. He would look up at you just as your sleepy eyes met his, a smirk on his handsome face as he pulled back. “Happy birthday mama.” His voice raspy, watching you bite your lower lip as he then dived back down into your ocean of a pussy.

It was when you walked outside, as he was going to take you shopping that you saw your dream car wrapped perfectly in a pink bow. Rafe did most of the driving, but when he was taking care of “business”, you occasionally needed to go somewhere and what better way now with the brand new luxury vehicle that cost him a pretty penny. Not that he worried how much it cost, he paid for it in cash. (Dirty money at that. 😅). You would open the door, the passenger seat holding a giant bouquet of flowers, along with neatly wrapped boxes that read Dior, Chanel, Cartier, Louis Vuitton and stacks of cash wrapped in silky ribbon. You always wondered how much money this man really made, but never questioned it as you enjoyed the princess treatment too much.

He would then take you shopping, letting you have a pamper day before a beautiful private dinner on the waters of the Outer Banks. He needed you blissfully happy and tummy full before we gave you a brutal birthday fuck.

You may have been drunk off expensive liquor, but you felt every thick and long inch of your man’s cock as he slid it in your soaked little hole. He made sure your knees were bent back, giving you that deep shit all while talking dirty to his birthday girl.

“Shit… that’s it my pretty fuckin birthday princess. Got that pussy soaked for daddy, huh?” Rafe drawled out, tone low and cocky as he watched his massive pipe stretch your fluttering hole out.

“Daddy…” You whined, your pretty eyes rolling back as he hit your sweet spot over and over. He was already about to give you your first orgasm of the night and you knew there were many more to come. “I.. slow down..” You gasped, the feeling almost too much as you reached out how to tap his toned stomach. It wasn’t that you wanted him to stop, but you were about to explode and embarrassed how quickly it was coming on.

“Move your hand and take this fuckin big dick. You know I’m not done with you yet, we are just getting started.” Rafe said between breaths, your plea following on deaf ears as he continued the hard thrusts to your sloppy cunt. “Giving my girl the birthday dick she deserves, yeah?”

He was about to give you round after round, making your birthday end with your pussy sore and the sheets soaked. A new car in the driveway, diamonds, designer bags, fed expensive food, and getting a dick one dreamed of having.

[finemealprompt]

DP x DC Prompt #30

Dick had seen how excited Damian was for his upcoming birthday party. Damian put on a front that he didn't really care that much, this it was childish to celebrate one's birthday party on such a grand scale. But Damian had also insisted on being involved in the process. Which decorations were allowed, what music to play, the food, the entertainment, all of it.

Damian pretended to not care about it, but it was clear as day to Dick that he did.

The day arrived, and at first no one showed up on time. They didn't even have the usual, "Oh sorry for being 1 hour early, but wanted to make sure I got here on time!" guests that they often did. Damian was clearly disappointed, but patient. Especially when Dick forced everyone to distract Damian and start some of the birthday celebration.

But then an hour passed. Then another. And soon it was pretty clear that no one Damian had invited from his school were going to appear. Damian pretended it didn't bother him, brushed it off as, "Hey, no big deal."

Yet, Dick saw the tears in his eyes.

So, while Bruce did his best to distract his son, rage in the way he held himself, Dick excused himself. Sneaking away from prying ears, Dick called the first number he could think of.

"Hey Boy Wonder, what can-"

"Danny, I need you to come by the Manor. No one showed up to Damian's party, and he's upset. There's plenty of food."

The line was silent.

"How many people can I bring?"

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Birthday Bash 🎉

With my birthday coming up on Nov 16, I will give you a gift!

For 16 days (from Nov 1-Nov 16) there will be daily brand new posts.

Each post is already uploaded on Ko-fi for my members and you can find a list of all the posts you can expect there as well.

Which post are you most excited about?

Gifts in form of a coffee would be extremly appreciated if you're able to (you absolutely don't have to), same goes for sweet messages here on my birthday. 💕

I hope that you'll have a lot of fun with these posts 😊

- Jana

[hitlikehammers]

the light behind your eyes (steddie timeloop; pre-bat attack🦇)

feat. Eddie falling hard and fast when Steve's had innumerable loops to have already fallen ✨🖤✨

“Not that I am not, hmmmm,” and he can barely bite back a moan; “not that’s I’m not fucking ecstatic, Harrington,” Eddie mouths against the lips on his, and he means it, too, he is in fucking heaven right now because not only is the hottest guy Eddie’s ever seen in real life and probably also in, like, magazines and stuff too: that guy is kissing him, touching him, running hands up under his shit and teasing his waistband, rutting a little against his thigh but…he’s doing it almost like it’s routine, like it’s not quite desperate, or not just desperate, expect for the touch of it and so no, Eddie doesn’t have to understand it at all for him to not be fucking complaining in the slightest—

Save that pointing out that he isn’t complaining stops Harrington’s hands on his body cold, freezes the lips pressed against him mid-suck and then they pull back, and Eddie’s panting so hard it burns, and he wants to whine, he’s only just learned the taste of this man but he wants more, it’s like he’s addicted already but then kinda like he always has been, like the deepest cells of him, the mitochondria from the textbooks he didn’t fucking read: it’s like it all knows the shape of this body, the flavor, and—

And that’s fucking ridiculous, but when Harrington pulls away?

Eddie kinda feels like the world’s ending.

And it is ending, in a way. Interdimensional madmen serial killers and all that, but.

This is different.

“Steve.”

Eddie frowns and can’t help but reach, frame that face even as Harrington tries to shy away but still leans into the touch, and Eddie doesn’t understand; not least how Harrington sounds so fucking shattered around his own goddamn name—

“Can you,” and Harrington’s breathing heaves, shudders: the kind that lives between sobs but his cheeks are dry under Eddie’s palms and that almost feels all the more heartbreaking:

“I know it feels like you barely know me but,” and Harrington blinks so fast, then he’s scrunching his eyes so tight and that, that might be why his cheeks are dry and oh: this is it. He thought before but:

This is the heartbreaking thing.

“Could you call me Steve? Please?”

And god, good fucking god but he asks it so small. It’s pleading and kinda edged in something desperate but here, from this titan of a man Eddie’s seen anew just these past days, this warrior barbarian his sheepies sand the praises of, this paladin out of the shadows come to save them all: he’s so small.

Eddie’s hands don’t move from his face, just draw him closer, upward on instinct until their brows touch, until Eddie can breathe in every shaky exhale that spills forth.

“Steve,” and maybe Eddie doesn’t quite understand the why, here, but he sure as shit savors the shape of that name on his tongue anyway, fucking sue him; “not that every single fucking version of my gay little fantasies aren’t dancing like they’re at queer fucking prom,” and he pauses, because he expects Steve to snort, maybe, expects to lighten the moment so charged, and not just with the kind of tension that tightens Eddie’s jeans—and Steve does make a sound for Eddie’s stupid little not-quite-joke, but it’s not a chuckle.

It’s a moan—but not the good kind. The kind that means pain.

And it’s almost worrisome, how when Eddie pulls Steve closer, he doesn’t fight it one bit; leans in almost…not even greedy. Almost fucking anguished.

“But this is just because it’s the end of the world, right?” Eddie makes himself ask, because too many things don’t add up, not least how Steve doesn’t even try to pull away, barely moves at all save just to breathe, and just to press closer into the crook of Eddie’s neck to do it.

“It’s just because I’m a wanted man whether it’s the cops, or the feds, or that fucker with the clock and the music,” Eddie rambles; doesn’t move his hand where it’s slipped to the side of Steve’s neck like an intimacy, though, doesn’t even consider shifting a fucking centimeter away from the heavy pulse of life surging under his palm. “Like, I mean, whether it’s 20-to-life or an electric chair or the bats—“

It’s the way the chest against him shudders that trips him up; not least to realize how close they are, that they’ve gotten, that Steve’s heartbeat’s something he can tease out without effort at all there, too, and…

Eddie glances up a little further to see Steve staring at the ceiling of the trailer, eyes glistening, the effort not to fucking cry evident as anything and, just, like…

What the fuck?

“Steve?” Eddie hedges a little, gentles his voice further because even though he doesn’t let a single tear fall, just seeing this man so close to it, while staying so close to Eddie, it’s, he just…

He can’t even try to lighten the moment, can’t even push didn’t realize I was that bad of a kisser, fuck past his lips.

“Give me a minute,” Steve doesn’t even rasp, just says even but so so quiet, and again, just so so small. It’s…

It’s not even heartbreaking anymore. Eddie’s whole chest just fucking hurts.

“You okay?” Eddie ventures after what has to be more than a literal minute; when Steve stops staring at the ceiling but screws his eyes close tight again to pull creases at their corners, between his brows; and Eddie whispers the question when he even dares to speak at all because something in this moment feels…fragile. Sacred in some way, even if he can’t name how or why. He waits, and Steve doesn’t move, barely breathes for the longest time so much it starts to kindle real fear in Eddie’s chest, so it’s only once Steve half-gasps and gets back to his lungs working like Eddie wants them to, once that holds for a while and Eddie understands that the closest to an answer that he’s going to get—he lets Steve breathe, and lets the feeling of it calm Eddie down, too, before he does the stupidest, most selfish fucking thing and asks, again:

“What is this, though?”

The way Steve sucks in his breath at the words cuts Eddie sharp; he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have let this lie and just…enjoyed a little bit of impossibility at the end of the world that wasn’t a bad thing.

He thinks maybe that’s what pushed him over, though, and made his tongue move, to shape the question at all: it’s so fucking far from a bad thing that it’s…it makes too much lightness in Eddie that he’s never felt before. Even in the absolute shit of this entire situation, Eddie’s basically nonexistent future on the horizon if he manages somehow to make it out of the next 48 hours alive: this is something that makes him feel like he could hope.

Hope even for the most absolutely absurd fucking things.

And hope like that has to make anyone fucking selfish.

“This?” Steve glances indicatively between them, with a quirked brow that he pulls off perfectly but it can’t land like it should, not for Eddie who’s just watched this gorgeous human swallow the stages of grief whole where he’s…he’s pulled back, Eddie realizes, Eddie can’t feel him chest-to-chest anymore and the idea of it’s a crushing thing, but it’s got nothing on the reality—either way, though, he’s hovering over Eddie now, still close, likely has been for a while and…and shit: his arms hadn’t even given out.

What the fuck kind of…superhuman stuff is this man made of?

“Thought it was obvious,” Steve chuckles, and that part, that sound rings hollow: Eddie’s had enough of a latent-forever crush on this boy for enough years to maybe have never heard this kind of chuckle but, it’s off. Eddie knows it’s not…what it should be.

Steve laughing is some kind of sunshine, nearly always, like a rule. Eddie knows that much.

“Must have lost my charm,” Steve grimaces while he looks down, down, hides from...Eddie doesn’t know what from, exactly. Save that whatever it is, he wants to hide a little, too.

But hiding, now, means that he’ll turn from Steve. And Eddie…Eddie wants to hide from the nameless horrible thing that’s swelling up in the space around them.

But Eddie doesn’t want to miss a second of Steve. He’s kind of afraid of the very concept of it, missing any…part of Steve. He knows they’re on borrowed time. He’s also not entirely sure this isn’t all of fever dream, maybe he got scraped by one of the nasty-ass rusted nails in the boathouse and all of this is just tetanus or some shit. Maybe it’s the X-Men-knockoff wizard fucking with Eddie’s head by giving him the unthinkable sort of thing he’s always wanted.

Whatever it is: Eddie cannot miss a second of it.

“This, yeah,” Eddie reaches to brush Steve’s chest where his heart’s still pounding, even when it’s not presses flush to Eddie’s anymore, even when they’e stopped kissing too many minutes ago for an excuse; “you more that live up to the hype, big boy,” Eddie chuckles a little, tries to make it warm, fucking grateful; “exceed it even,” Eddie adds, can’t help but splay his fingers and stroke up and down a little over the street of Steve’s shirt.

“But,” because Eddie’s selfish. Because touching Steve slow like this, even as he’s so stiff and his pulse is so fucking scared: take out the frantic pace of what it means to feel him, and Eddie…the hope’s all the stronger, now. The wanting.

The selfishness.

“This,” and Eddie lets his hand move to the notch in Steve throat, like his body knew he’s feel the pulse there as much as the shiver, and the hard swallow after he asks, one more time:

“What is this.”

And Eddie forces his gaze from Steve’s skin to Steve’s face, where his eyes are blown and his color’s off, too pale even in the dark.

Where he’s fucking beautiful, even as he steels himself and takes a deep breath, less like a diver to the depths and more like a man facing an executioner. Jesus.

But his gaze is still so tender, like whatever hurt he comes to know for what he’s about to do is acceptable, so long as it doesn’t touch Eddie, doesn’t spill over. Like he’s…shielding Eddie from something worse than everything that’s already come, somehow, and that’s fucking terrifying in and of itself but—

But Steve—Steve who he barely knows but feels like he knows somewhere deep in his chest that feels knew and known somehow before these moments, like it was made only for the feelings and the certainties he holds in regard to Steve, Steve, Steve, like maybe that space inside of him was only made on some cosmic level not just for the person who made him feel this way against all odds, but maybe made only and specifically just for Steve—but Steve protecting Eddie, and hurting all the more for taking the hit?

It’s unacceptable. It’s sour in Eddie’s veins.

“If I fuck it up again, it won’t matter, I guess,” Steve seems to speak to himself, mutters low even for the soft quiet they’re holding between them. He doesn’t even know if he’s seeing Eddie for how far away he looks, sounds, like he’s reasoning with the universe.

That tips the sour feeling straight into full on sick.

But before Eddie can say anything, do anything, Steve’s sitting up, drawing back: Eddie can’t help the way he whimpers in the back of his throat for the loss; if the loss feels like more than just the closeness, the promise of it—if it feels like the moments to come are poised to change the world.

“Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?” Steve asks, implores. Eddie’s powerless against it.

His throat’s already too dry to do anything but nod.

Steve looks, nearly studies him, wide-eyed and needy and…Eddie just wants to hold him.

He just wants to hold him, and keep him.

“‘Kay,” Steve exhales heavy, shaky, like his heartbeat’s knocking around his lungs so there’s no possible world where he could have breathed out steady, where no one could, no matter how strong.

“I’m in love with you.”

Eddie—for wholly other reasons he suspects—gets his own dose of his lungs getting knocked around for how his heart trips and stumbles around those wholly fucking impossible and insane and desperately wanted words echo through his head, his ribs.

“And it might not make and fuckin’ sense to you, but,” and Steve’s breath hitches as he reaches, as he pauses like he’s not sure he’s allowed; “Eds,” and that’s not a thing he’s called so often, and certainly not in that tone, gutted but so steeped in…he said it and it’s true, because that name, hisname on Steve’s lips is fucking saturated in love and how, sure, but the fact of its undeniable enough that the semantics, the mechanics of it: irrelevant.

Would have mattered in the face of something lesser, but.

This isn’t that other-lesser thing.

So Eddie grabs those questioning hands and brings them to his cheeks where they’d been looking to land, to frame his face: to let them both feelthis, however it came to be, whatever else it holds inside.

He looks Steve in the eyes as he holds Steve’s hands to frame his own face like he’s something dear: because it is love. Unmistakably. Steve isn’t lying, or exaggerating.

And Eddie’s halfway fucking there with him, just to look at it.

Save for the way it also looks devastated. Also looks…in the kind of pain that doesn’t end, but somehow doesn’t fade. The scab you rip off to start the process over and over, to hurt all over again.

“I’ve been trying to save you so many times,” and Steve’s voice hitches some more around it, and it should probably cause more question, those words; should definitely cause more questions for Eddie himself, given how he accepts it so fast—the fairly clear implication.

“I’ve held your body in my hands so many times,” and Steve sounds broken for it in ways that even he, Edward Munson, who has seen what he’s seen these past few days, didn’t know a body, or a soul, could withstand and survive.

Also: okay. Okay.

More than an implication, before. Yep. Okay. But—

“Times?” Eddie finds himself croaking because…he’d jumped straight to saving his life but, but: times?

How many fucking times has Steve scratched the scar off and started again? How hard, how deep is the scar tissue?

“I’ve broken your ribs trying to convince this,” and Steve’s hand’s sliding down from one side of Eddie’s face to settle over Eddie’s still fumbling heart, hand stretched wide like it wants to hold the thing whole and true and safe: “to come back, back to me—”

And Steve’s voice cleaves down the center then, just flat out fucking gives out. And Eddie…

Eddie’s an impulsive person. Eddie’s not what you’d call…circumspect, doesn’t pull his punches once he feel inclined to run, to or from or alongside anything in his life.

And even he has never felt so strongly about anything than then thing that spills form him in absolute earnest, with the whole of his mess of a chest and the entire weight of his wild frantic heart:

“Sweetheart,” Eddie takes the one hand that’s not holding Steve’s to his face anymore and reaches, strokes his thumb so gently over Steve bottom lip, and yeah he takes in the way Steve’s eyes widen for it, the way he shifts from shattered to shocked in a second: but it’s all peripheral.

But the whole of Eddie is invested in the one thing he needs to know. More than he needs air to fucking breathe:

“How can I stay with you?”

And he watches Steve’s jaw drop as he moves his hand from those lips to cover Steve’s own hand one more time, still on toppings chest and he doesn’t think twice before damn near close-on begging:

“What do I need to do?”

Steve stills. Blinks.

“What?”

“I might not have had the pleasure just yet,” Eddie tries to sort the words out as he goes because his heart hurts so hard but at the same time it’s so full: “but I’m looking at you,” and he is, he’s looking at Steve and seeing so much, so many things, things that are there and things that could be there in the foreseeable future and things that Eddie can fantasize and dream of being his whole-ass future and just, just, just—

“You love me?”

Steve nods, lips still parted. No hesitation. Not a question.

Jesus.

And Eddie’s heart’s still racing, faster now, even but for…

Not just for fear, or shock, or lust, or…any of it.

Not for anything so simple as all that, now.

“And I die?” Eddie chides himself when Steve flinches ever so slightly, tries to find a gentler way to pitch the words when he speaks again because the point itself is thorny, he can’t make it soft:

“I’ve,” Eddie licks his lips; “I’ve died a lot of times?”

And he waits, and Steve’s blinks a lot of time really fucking fast, but then, again: he nods.

And Eddie’s heart hurts harder at the confirmation, and Steve’s clear bid not to shed a single fucking year—his heart hurts harder, but poundsharder for bigger reasons because fuck, fuck—

“And you’ve loved me enough to somehow bend time and space to try and undo it, to try and stop it?”

And if Steve’s got the trick to that magic, it stills the moment, stops time around them both as Eddie sees the words as they sink in for Steve, as they register and shift the shade of his gaze ever so slightly, brighter and deeper and magnetic and Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t need him to nod. Just looking him, just feeling everything that gaze is giving, solely for him, is all the answer he needs.

“So how do I get even the chance to stick around enough to deserve it?” Eddie asks, because he needs to know so that he can make sure he does it to the letter, and then fifty million times over to be sure. “To get to feel it full on,” because for as much as he’s already feeling, he can’t only imagine what it would be to feel it for an hour, a day, a week, a…a lifetime. He can only image.

And he fucking wants.

“What do I have to do to be able to feel this for more than a couple minutes,” and Steve’s eyes shift again, because he hears what Eddie’s saying, not hiding so much as trying to cram in: he feels this already, and at the same time knows it’s sample sized when what he craves, what he needs is something too big to measure; “to feel this, and return it twenty-fold and for the long haul,” and Steve’s still staring, still kinda gaping, so Eddie forces himself to pause, to ask even if everything points to a singular answer—he forces himself to wait and make super fucking sure:

“If you’ll have me?”

Steve blinks, frowns, then asks, voice hoarse:

“You believe me?” and he says it so slow, disbelieving himself. “Like, you get what I’m saying, and you, you,” he flounders, looks cast adrift and closer to tears now than he’s been yet and Eddie…

Eddie can’t let that just be.

“Of course I do.”

And maybe it’s not of course exactly, in the sense that Eddie doesn’t have questions, like a fuckton of questions but: he doesn’t have doubt, not in Steve. Somehow of all that he doesn’t know and that makes no sense, he does know that Steve is where his faith—if he was ever going to have any in anything—is meant to sit, whatever that means, whatever that demands accepting.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eddie says with so much of himself he never knew was actually inside him to speak, to beg such truth. He didn’t know.

“So please, please tell me,” he fucking please it; “what do I do?”

Because he knows now. The breadth of what can, could, does, will live in his chest. And once he knows it?

He’s gonna fight like hell to have the whole of it. For always.

“To get to have this,” Eddie reaches, can’t help but brush some of Steve’s hair behind his ear and just…consider him. Marvel a little at the fact that the world is changing, Eddie can feel it, and it’s because this man loves him.

Him.

“This thing I’ve never even considered getting to know,” Eddie strokes Steve’s jaw and asks the only question left:

“What do I have to do to have the chance fall in love with you?”

Because Eddie doesn’t care if he has to lob off a fucking arm. He’ll do it. He’ll learn to play his guitar with his goddamn feet before he lets this chance go.

“Don’t be a hero.”

Eddie’s face must do something at the sorta sudden kind of outburst from Steve, because Steve ducks his head down a little and smiles almost apologetic, and still so fucking sad.

“I tell you not to be cute about it, and not to try to be a hero, but you are, you do, every time,” Steve tells him, explains, and that part at least tracks: he’s a contrarian to his detriment but…he doesn’t want to believe he’d do it when the stakes are this high. Not without a good reason and he can’t…imagine a good enough reason to leave this man so broken, and still fighting nonetheless.

He can’t imagine any reason in the whole fucking world good enough for that.

“Then I won’t,” Eddie says, because: well. It’s an easy fix in general, but like, he’s no fucking hero, so then it’s even easier.

“You will,” Steve smiles the saddest goddamn smile Eddie’s ever seen in his whole entire life., I too of the string of sad smiles he’s been treated to so far. “You always do,” and the resignation in stage a tone is only outweighed by the…pride, almost, for what he’s declaring against all odds to be true.

“Just, just,” Steve seems to debate with himself for a second, maybe whether he wants to fight the weight of established precedent one more time, wants to scratch off that scab in a whole knew way, because it felt like Steve was watching this play out different when Eddie believed him, and asked to work with him to make the wrongs right instead of aiding the process of his own ruin, and what looked like Steve’s own process of self-immolation in slow motion, over and again. Eddie gets why he pauses.

But it’s not even long enough to be called hesitation, really, before he’s diving in and giving Eddie the playbook, with no guarantee or even a whole lot of hope based on existing evidence to trust.

Eddie feels the magnitude of the living in a whole new way, on a whole new level, for that, as Steve speaks:

“When you do, when you’re a hero again because you always are, I need you to run when you’re done. We will be okay, I know what I’m dealing with now, I know how,” Steve says with. Steel creeping into his tone and Eddie wants more than anything to know what he’s planning to deal with, how Steve plans to stay safe because now Eddie’s heart’s tied up on the opposite end of the equation and he…he can’t survive and have it only flip the tables, have there still be a loss because Eddie’s not made of what Steve’s made of, and sure he’s only had a taste of this, but he…

He won’t survive losing it. Even just the taste.

“Don’t buy us more time,” Steve cuts back into Eddie’s headspace, the more important voice; the most important; “you do more than enough, I need you to trust me and I know you don’t have a reason to—“

“I trust you.”

And that’s unequivocal. Eddie trusts Steve. The end.

“How will I know when I’m done?” Because if Steve’s willing to go through this for him, he’s going to fucking take notes to make sure he does his part in turns, makes sure this is the last fucking time.

“Play the puppet master song,” which Steve doesn’t know, no way he’d fucking know on his own and Eddie didn’t doubt, but, like…

Jesus.

It takes a fucking second, just digesting what it means to be right for no doubting. It’s heady. Terrifying.

But also like stars in his stomach. He feels reborn in the simple reality of believing in this person who loves him this hard.

“Block the vents, don’t ignore the vents. When Dustin goes up the rope, you follow. Pull it up after you and block it off, hold them off in case any stragglers stick around,” Steve tells him, doesn’t sound skeptical, exactly, but just…maybe wary. Rightly so, given the…previous rounds of things. “We’ll need you to throw it back to us when we’re done.”

Eddie feels his face screw up a little because he wasn’t paying the most attention but he really thinks, like:

“Aren’t there closer gates—“

“I’ll need to,” Steve swallows hard, the bob in his throat almost painful to watch because Eddie can almost imagine the weight of it, the way the same motion’s been repeated so many times and yet he’s still at it, he’s still trying—

For Eddie. Jesus fuck.

“I’ll need to see.”

And if the hard-swallow wasn’t heartbreaking—again, every time Eddie thinks he’s been gutted entirely Steve goes and ups the fucking ante, good god, and he keeps doing this? He continues to say yes to this, these feelings, this, this…this, because if, for, for…

But regardless how you slice it: the way Steve’s voice cracks, on just those four words?

Holy fucking Christ—this has to be what’ll kill Eddie harder, deeper down than anything Steve’s trying to save him from.

“I won’t fail you this time, Steve.”

And Eddie means it, even if the words themselves spill from him automatic: they’re there to spill at all because Eddie means it, because Eddie’s heart’s never felt swollen like this before and he wants to give whatever it’s all fat and tender with to this man he barely knows but…maybe he knows more important things about him than he knows about most people in his life. Nearly all people in his life.

And that’s fucking has to count for something. For more than something.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, like he wants to argue some point but Eddie isn’t gonna have that, not now.

Not ever again, if he has anything to fucking say about it.

“No,” Eddie cuts him off and this time, this time, it’s Eddie who reaches and cradles Steve’s face, holds him like he’s precious, as much as he can because this man is precious beyond reason, but human hands are only capable of so much care: he gives what he can.

He knows it’s not enough, and hopes his heart in his words will make up the difference.

“No, this,” and he runs the pads of his thumbs beneath Steve’s eyes, because as gorgeous as they are, as he is: those eyes used to be bright. They were bright…before. When did they change, when did Steve from now like Eddie become Steve who’s tried to start Eddie’s heart with his own hands, and couldn’t?

Doesn’t matter.

Steve’s eyes aren’t supposed to be hollow behind the color; there’s only supposed to be the sunshine.

Not the endless dark.

“I’ve been taking it away, haven’t I?” Eddie breathes out in a level of horror at the realization that’s settling in the more he looks at Steve, and reads the toll he’s been paying, for Eddie. “I hate that, I hate that I—“

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, and the only shine in his eyes is tears and it’s wrong, it’s just wrong.

“It gets taken away because yours isn’t there anymore,” Steve reaches back, now, and holds Eddie’s face in his broad hands: “the light in you,” and his voice cracks and he blinks and one tear.

One tear falls.

Eddie’s sternum splits in two.

“I want to know what it is to fall in love with you,” Eddie says in a rush, demands on the whole fucking cosmos: “the whole way, because I think I’m already halfway there,” and it’s true, it’s true because he’d give his life for Steve already so he understands, of Steve’s in longer and deeper, why he’s fighting despite the hurt, but, but…

No more.

“And I want to earn it,” Eddie tells him. “I want you to fall for me not just because of, because of life and death stuff, or tied up in losing,” Eddie tries to fit the avalanche of feelings in him to words, prays it’s enough:

“I want it to be a,” he chokes, shakes his head and bites his tongue: “a good thing,” because he wants to be a good thing for this man. He wants to be only a good thing, as best he knows how.

“You are a good thing,” Steve counters, and fierce with it; “you’re the best thing.”

Eddie’s not strong enough to hold himself to just one tear when the floodgates break.

“I run when Henderson runs,” he breathes shakily. It’s a vow more than anything he knows how to give.

“You don’t run,” Steve tells him, so soothing, still so protective of Eddie, always protective of Eddie; “you’re so fucking brave, and you save our asses,” and he brings their foreheads to lean against each other as Eddie’s inhales trembles: “you’re just gonna fall back this time, so you don’t break my heart, too, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie would agree to anything, at this point; this is easy. This he can do, no problem.

This he will do, no question.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself whispering, because…because he has to.

He is so fucking sorry.

“You’re…” Steve starts, uncomprehending as Eddie just shakes his head, almost like a compulsion.

“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you so many times,” Eddie hissed through clenched teeth, tries not to descend into blubbering, tries to maintain something like, if not composure, the capacity to be heard and known when he promises with his whole heart:

“I won’t do it again, I swear.”

And Steve watches him, eyes red rimmed and still brimming but carefully, assessing.

Eddie can help, though. He can put him a little bit at ease, or damn well fucking try.

“I already feel something,” and he brings Steve’s hand to his chest again, reminds them both his heart’s still beating in this world, in this time. “And I’m too selfish Steve.”

Steve cocks his head in question; Eddie wants to watch this man’s quirks, learn the minutiae of his every expression.

Forever.

“I need the whole shebang.”

Steve smiles, watery and still strained but less sad, and that’s something.

It’s all they have time for, because he can hear everybody coming back with supplies, remembers they’d been prepping for war.

It’s all the have time for—for now.

“I’m holding you to that,” Steve says, a little watery, a little shaky, a little unconvinced but wholly filled with love, still, and all together isn’t only serves to harden Eddie’s resolve that much more.

“You flake on me again?” Steve flips his fingers backward against Eddie’s shoulder in a poor excuse for a smack: “I’m gonna tie you to the driver’s seat next time, and leave Nance with Dustin.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Eddie answers, dead serious; “except for one thing.”

There’s something molten, a glint that isn’t tears when Steve lifts a brow in askance; when Eddie leans in and kisses Steve hard, deep, quick because they have to but it doesn’t have to be anything else because he leaves his heart and soul in the exchange, willingly and willfully and all fucking in.

“There’s gonna be a next time for that. I swear to god,” Eddie murmurs against Steve slips when he pulls back; “we’re gonna have so many next times.”

And when the door to the RV bursts open and everyone else spills in, Steve’s lips are a little swollen if you’re looking.

And Steve’s eyes still have that light.

For @klausinamarink, who requested 'The Light Behind Your Eyes—My Chemical Romance' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

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

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[youcalledsworld]

Summonings and Grave Misunderstandings

The Justice League summons Ghost King Danny Phantom to help save the Earth. They are tired, they have numerous allies unconscious or unable to fight they are willing to do anything.

Danny was having some trouble, the entertainment he had for Danielle's birthday party just cancelled because they had a family situation. He didn't blame them for cancelling but now he had to stop a civil war from starting in one of his territories and look for new entertainment and have their backgrounds checked. Thankfully he had two weeks to do it. That was when he felt someone summoning him.

Zatanna knew she was a beautiful woman and she knew any man or woman would love to have her. So it wasn't surprising when the Ghost King asked for her as entertainment for a day after he saved the earth and had his people's doctors heal everyone. He just showed how powerful he was and a portion of his people's technological advancement and power. She couldn't even look into her teammates eyes when she accepted. She knew they would do anything to get her out of this situation but it was her dignity or the lives of the people she loves and that was a no brainer. Sadly, after steeling herself to go with the King then and there he had told her he would send for her in two weeks.

Danny has one problem down now and he swears Clockwork was behind this because it was too coincidental but he's not complaining. He now has entertainment for his little sister's birthday party and the one, entertaining the guest was a superhero magician famous for protecting the innocent and performing magic on stage. Maybe his Fenton luck is turning around.

Two weeks passed and Zatanna, the Justice League and JLD couldn't find anything to break the deal. So, when a portal opened the Fright Knight walked out to greet her, she couldn't even look at her friends as she walked towards the portal. When she came out the other side she noticed ghosts scrambling around putting up what looked like birthday decorations.

I see this ending in one of two ways.

1. Zatanna tells Danny what she and the League thought she was going to do. Danny apologises and tells Zatanna that he can pay her to entertain the party and that the Justice League can come if was comfortable with that.

2. She doesn't bring up the misunderstanding and does the show. It goes so well that Danny pays her a huge amount, that has Zatanna grinning ear to ear and a promise to hire her again. She returns to the League smiling and tells them how much she enjoyed entertaining everyone over there and that she can't wait for Danny to call her again, not noticing their shocked expression.

[winterrrnight]

you are obsessed with your husband’s freckles <3 more on this! <3 a husband!rafe x wife!reader blurb <3 cw: none! just a lot of fluff, intentional use of lower case <3 dedicated to the one and only @chenslucy; happy birthday anna!! 💐 I love love love you and i know I am late, but this is my small token of gratitude of how supportive you've been since the beginning 🦕

part of this little universe <3

the moonlight cascades over the white sheets under which you and your husband are snuggled close to each other. it’s nearing 2 in the morning, and rafe is asleep with his bare back facing you, your arm slinging over his waist and your face nestled against his back as you let his warmth flood over you completely.

you watch his body rise and fall with each relaxing breath he takes in his deep slumber, your own mind at complete peace watching him take his proper rest.

the silver glow casting through the windows of your bedroom dances along rafe’s skin, the small freckles littered all over his shoulders lighting up under the moonlight. you gently run your fingertips over the freckles, letting out a soft sigh as you feel his skin under your own touch. his skin is a complete contrast to his brooding demeanor; it feels so soft and supple beneath your touch that you glide your fingertips effortlessly over his shoulders.

his freckles though, as always, stand out the most to you as you shower them with your gentle touch. you reach out with the fingertip of your index finger and gently tap over each freckle as you quietly count them under your breath, something you do often when you find yourself awake late at night. it helps you fall into a slumber yourself, the activity feeling equivalent to counting sheep. sometimes, you find this small activity distracting you from your stresses and anxieties, your mind busying itself with wanting to know the exact number of freckles littered over his shoulders which over the course of time helps you feel more relaxed over the little things that are bothering you.

your finger trails over to his other shoulder to resume the count, the numbers progressing under your breath as you tap every freckle you can spot under the pale light of the moon.

you reach what you assume is the last freckle and stop the count, letting out a deep exhale as you finish the count. each time you do this certain activity, you turn up with a different number, although the result is always quite close to all the other results you get. some freckles go unnoticed by you, and sometimes you spot new ones that you are sure weren’t there before. but that’s the beauty of it; it’s not a predictable activity, it gives you a new conclusion every single time, and that makes you appreciate the freckles on his body even more.

you lean closer and press your lips gently to the freckles, peppering the softest kisses over the smooth skin. your heart is almost bursting with your deep love for him as you press kisses over kisses, starting to feel his body gently shift in bed.

he slowly starts to turn on his back and you pull back from his shoulder, watching his eyes slowly open and sleepily meet yours.

“hey,” he murmurs, his voice carrying the raspy tinge it always does after he wakes up.

“hey,” you murmur back, resting your head on his chest and he wraps an arm around your shoulders to keep you close.

“can’t sleep?” his soft voice reaches your ears as you shake your head against his chest, feeling him look down at you through his barely open eyes.

you look up at his face, your eyes trailing down his shoulders as you gaze upon the freckles again. your hand reaches up to run your fingers over them just like you were doing just a few moments ago. rafe lets out a deep exhale at your actions, feeling your fingertips circling over his shoulder in the most soothing fashion, his eyelids threatening to droop again.

“it’s okay, sleep,” you whisper as you watch how hard it is getting for him to keep his eyes open. rafe makes a feeble attempt to say something, but his tiredness wins over and he drifts off again, the feeling of your touch lulling him into sleep faster than ever.

you smile softly as you hear his breathing getting even, his heartbeat thumping rhythmically against your ear. you start to gently count the freckles again, tapping your fingertip over each spot just like how you always do. the counting falls perfectly in rhythm with his soothing heartbeat, and before you know it, you feel your own eyelids getting heavier, your entire body relaxing under the feeling of his comforting embrace.

— —

tagging everyone who wanted this specific fic 🥰: @maddsxfall , @zyafics , @destrolid , @drewsephrry , @ihe4rttwd <3 thank you so much for your support! 🌟