#june summer prompt challenge

[juneofdoom]

June of Doom 2025 💣

By popular vote, here be the 2025 June of Doom prompt list for your doomsday planning!

Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!

Angst, hurt/comfort, and lighter/ funnier forms of whump are also welcome! Torture takes many forms. :)

Rules/ FAQ!

Tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

You can combine this challenge with other challenges!

You can start/ finish this challenge whenever the heck you want!

You can mix and match prompts from different days!

I'll post reminders and such the closer we get!

[Text List]

[AO3 Collection] - "JUNEOFDOOM2025"

And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!

Previous Dooms: 2023 || 2024

[tlmtwelve]

@summer-of-bad-batch Week 1 (main & alt prompts): "You're here. You're safe." / Late Night Beach Walks

Banner by @probadbatch

[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[insanitysilver]

Multifandom Fanfic Event Calendar

An attempt at aggregating the events I’ve seen. Not affiliated with any event organizers. Key: ☼ Writing - ♥ Reading. (Updated: 2/4/25)

JANUARY

All Month :

♥ - FaFiCoWriMo / Fanfic Comment Writing Month ( @faficowrimo ) Challenge: Comment on every fic you read during the month of January ☼ - Whumpuary ( @whumpuary ) Daily whump-themed writing prompts

Last Two Weeks of January :

☼ / ♥ - Genuary ( @genuary-fic-event ) Authors / readers share favored Gen fics on social media & add them to the annual Genuary AO3 collection

FEBRUARY

All Month :

☼ - February Ficlet Challenge ( @februaryficletchallenge) Write a 200+ word ficlet based of the daily surprise prompt. Comes with a yearly ao3 collection. ☼ / ♥ -  Femslash February Event celebrating femslash pairings. Participate by writing, reading, commenting on, and recommending femslash fics. Applicable works can be added to the open ao3 collection and tagged with #femslash february ☼ / ♥ -  Femslash February Celebrates Black Women Under the Femslash February umbrella, this event celebrates Black History Month and uses the additional '#femslash february celebrates black women' & '#ffcbw' tags. ☼ -  FebuWhump ( @febuwhump ) A month of creating whump works guided by a daily prompt list. ☼ - Feveruary ( @feveruary ) A month of sickfic-based writing prompts. ☼ - Kinkuary ( @kinkuary ) A month of kink-based creative writing prompts.

February 10th - 14th :

☼ - FicWIP's "Hey, Sweetheart" Challenge - ( @ficwip ) Challenge: Use the pet name "sweetheart" in fic or art.

February 15th :

☼ / ♥ -  International Fanworks Day / IFD Celebrates fanwork and has a new general theme every year. Hosted by the OTW, they usually run a week of events to celebrate which (can) include: essay calls, surveys, drabble challenges, games & trivia, along with the annual feedback fest post which solicits 10 fic recs based of the prompt of the year. Applicable works can use the ao3 tag.

MARCH

All Month :

☼ - FicWIP's Level Up Challenge - ( @ficwip ) Running through all of February & March, this challenge asks you to pick an aspect of your chosen creative craft you'd like to improve on and see that goal through. ☼ - Multiamory March ( @polyamships ) Create daily polyam-themed work with an optional prompt list and submit to the ao3 collection.

APRIL

All Month :

☼ - Angstpril ( @chaos-company ) Daily angst-themed writing prompts.

MAY

All Month :

☼ - Do-May-Stic ( @domaystic ) Daily domestic-themed writing prompts. Includes a yearly ao3 collection. ☼ - MerMay A month of mermaid-themed creative prompts. While perhaps more widely used by visual artists, AO3 has thriving yearly tags for the event. ☼ - Whumpay ( @whumpay ) Daily whump-themed writing prompts

JUNE

All Month :

☼ / ♥ - Gen Work June ( @genworkjune ) Authors / readers share favored Gen fics on social media & add them to the AO3 collection. Writing prompts also available. ♥ - Fanfic Summer Reading Program (Northern Hemisphere) ( @ao3commentoftheday ) A summer-long challenge to encourage people to read and interact with a variety of fics. Mostly self-guided, but comes with a number of attractive achievement badges.

JULY

All Month :

☼ - Fluffuly ( @fluffuly2024) Daily fluff-themed writing prompts

AUGUST

All Month :

☼ -AU-gust / Alternate Universe August ( @augustwritingchallenge ) Daily AU-themed writing prompts. Comes with yearly ao3 collection. ☼ - Fic WIP 5k - ( @ficwip5k ) Challenge: Write a complete AU for any fandom in 5,000 words or less. ☼ - Writer's Month ( @writersmonth ) Daily fiction writing prompts. Offers personalized badges at the end and has a yearly ao3 collection.

August 21st :

♥ - Fanfiction Author Appreciation Day A day to celebrate your favorite fic authors, customarily by commenting on their work, sending a nice message to their ask box, and/or mentioning them in a rec post with the '#Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day' & '#FFWAD' tags.

SEPTEMBER

All Month :

☼ - Sapphic September ( @sapphic-september ) Daily sapphic prompts with a yearly ao3 collection. ☼ - Sicktember ( @sicktember ) Daily sickfic prompts with a yearly ao3 collection. ☼ - Tropetember ( @tropetember ) Daily prompts based off popular fanfic tropes (5+1, one bed, etc.) with a yearly ao3 collection.

1st Week :

☼ - Trick or Treat Exchange (Begins) Annual fic/fanart exchange for hosted on ao3. Prep/sign-ups begin in September, and fics are revealed on Oct. 31st to the annual ao3 collection.

2nd Week:

☼ - Yuletide Secret Santa (Begins)( @yuletidetreasure ) Annual fic exchange for rare/obscure fandoms hosted on ao3. Prep/sign-ups begin in fall, and fics are revealed on Dec. 25th.

September 15th :

♥ - Comment Day ( @comment-day ) Pick 1+ fics and leave a detailed, personalized comment.

OCTOBER

All Month :

☼ [BLANK]-ober Daily Writing Challenges In the spirit of inktober, a drawing challenge that encourages artists to draw start and finish a small drawing daily, often guided by prompts, many creative-writing-centric events have sprung up. Some are more self-directed than others. ☼ - Fictober ( @fictober-event ) - general fiction writing prompts ☼ - Flufftober ( @flufftober ) - fluff-based prompts ☼ - Kinktober - kink-based prompts ☼ - OC-tober - Make art about your OCs daily ☼ - OTP-tober - Make art about your OTP daily ☼ - Whumptober ( @whumptober ) - whump-based prompts

Final Week of October :

♥ - Just Leave a Comment Fest ( @justleaveacommentfest ) Challenge: leave as many comments as possible. Each day comes with an optional reading theme. Mini-events are often run throughout the year. ☼ / ♥ - FicWIP's Ship Week - ( @ficwip ) Multifandom week of celebrating shipping. Includes a week of writing prompts and a support bingo board for non-writers.

October 31st :

☼ - Good Intentions WIP Fest ( @goodintentionswipfest) A day for celebrating/sharing/posting abandoned WIPS by submitting them to the ao3 collection. Let's give the dead a proper send off. ☼ - Trick or Treat Exchange (Revealed) Annual fic/fanart exchange hosted on ao3. Prep/sign-ups begin in September, and fics are revealed on Oct. 31st to the annual ao3 collection.

NOVEMBER

All Month :

☼ - Novella November ( @novella-november ) Challenge: Write 30,000 words. ☼ - Rough Draft Month ( @roughdraftmonth ) Challenge: Bring a creative project to completion alongside of other creatives doing the same. Comes with different levels of word-count goals and a flex goal option.

DECEMBER

All Month :

☼ - Hurtcember ( @hurtcember ) Daily whump-themed writing prompts ♥ - Zero Comment Challenge ( @polizwrites ) Challenge: Comment on one or more works with zero comments. ♥ - Fanfic Summer Reading Program (Southern Hemisphere) ( @ao3commentoftheday ) A summer-long challenge to encourage people to read and interact with a variety of fics. Mostly self-guided, but comes with a number of attractive achievement badges.

December 13th - 25th :

☼ - 12 Days of [Blank] Old fandom tradition of doing daily prompts in the 12 days leading up to Christmas. Some are more self-directed than others. ☼ - 12 Days of Christmas ( @12daysofchristmas ) - 12 days of holiday/winter-themed writing prompts. ☼ - Fluffmas - 12 days of fluff, #fluffmas ☼ - Kinkmas - 12 days of kink, #kinkmas ☼ - Smutmas - 12 days of smut, #smutmas

December 25th :

☼ - Yuletide Secret Santa (Revealed)( @yuletidetreasure ) Annual fic exchange for rare/obscure fandoms hosted on ao3. Prep/sign-ups begin in fall, and fics are revealed on Dec. 25th to the annual ao3 collection.

[glorfyndels]

Tolkien Fandom Event Calendar 2025

There are lots of exciting Tolkien fandom weeks coming up this year, so inspired by @arofili's 2023 calendar, @curiouselleth's brand new Tolkien Fandom Events community as well as @tolkienfandomevents, I decided to create a masterpost for 2025.

This list is not exhaustive, and dates are subject to change by the organisers of these events! Please check the original post for the most up-to-date version.

If you know of any events not included here, please don't hesitate to send me a message or an ask. This calendar was first posted on 13 April 2025, and only events taking place after that date will be featured. Please note that I am not running any of these events myself and that I am not responsible for any prompts/submissions part of these events.

APRIL

1-30: Barduil Month @bi-widower-dads

14-20: Silmarillion Epistolary Week @silmarillionepistolary

MAY

1-31: Mayron, hosted by @polloniumwhy

5-11: Angbang Week @angbangweek

11-17: Gondolin Week @gondolinweek

12-18: Cozy Cuddles Week, hosted by @rivendellwatch

15-21: (TROP) The Underdog Edition, hosted by @the-southlands

26-1 June: Númenor Week @numenorweek

JUNE

26 May-1: Númenor Week @numenorweek

9-15: Celebrimbor Week, hosted by @the-southlands

9-21: Camp Tolkien, hosted by @inklings-challenge

10-17: Tolkien Ekphrasis Week @tolkienekphrasisweek

14-20: Boromir Week @boromir-week

16-22: Tolkien South Asian Week, hosted by @arwenindomiel

16-22: Tolkien Native Language Appreciation Fest @jrrt-native-languages-fest

16-22: Russingon Week @russingon-week

16-30: Spice Week, hosted by @rivendellwatch

JULY

1-10: Samfro Summer @samfrosummer

1-31: Disability Pride, hosted by @filiswingman

4-10: Tyelkormo & Maitimo Week @tyelkoandtimo-week

13-19: Esoteric Tolkien Week @esotolkienweek

19: Mereth Aderthad, hosted by @silmarillionwritersguild

25: LotR Musical Summertime Springle Bing, hosted by @lotrmusical

AUGUST

1-7: Nargothrond Week @nargothrond-week [uncertain]

4-10: Silvergifting Week @silvergiftingweek

8-10: The Feast of Horns @feast-of-horns

11-17: Tolkien Gen Week @tolkiengenweek

25-31: Tolkien OC Week @tolkienocweek

SEPTEMBER

1-9: Ainur Week @ainurweek

1-30: Sapphic September, hosted by @filiswingman

8-14: Sindar Week @sindarweek

22-28: LOTRweek @lotrweek

22-28: Tolkien Of Colour Week @tolkienofcolourweek

OCTOBER

6-12: Tolkien Latin American and Caribbean Week @tolkienlatamandcaribbeanweek

20-26: Celrond Week @celrondweek

26-1 Nov: Tolkien Horror Week @tolkienhorrorweek

NOVEMBER

26 Oct-1: Tolkien Horror Week @tolkienhorrorweek

2-8: Nolofinwëan Week @nolofinweanweek

10-17: Glorthelion Week @glorthelionweek

23-29: Tolkien Siblings Week @tolkiensiblingsweek

DECEMBER

1-7: Tolkien Fairytale & Folklore Week @tolkienfolkloreweek

1-31: Díscember, hosted by @filiswingman

Longer Events:

Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang @tolkienrsb, March-October

Gifts of Starlight Exchange @gifts-of-starlight-exchange, June-October

Scribbles & Drabbles @fall-for-tolkien, June-November

Innumerable Stars @innumerable-stars, August-October

Finwëan Sibling Fest @finweansiblingfest, September-November

SWG challenges @silmarillionwritersguild throughout the year

Teitho Contest @teitho, challenges throughout the year

Stage Adaptations Performance Calendar by @emeraldskulblaka

[fluff-cember]

Fluffcember in July 2025

Alright, the poll was faily clear: A lot of people want to do a summer Fluffcember. Which obviously is also fun! Remember, this idea came about due to people from the Southern Hemisphere noting, that all "december" challenges tend to focus on winter-related topics, while in the Southern Hemisphere it was summer.

So, to be fair, now another somewhat wintery challenge in July, when the Southern Hemisphere people have their own winter.

From December onwards, I will make sure the challenges will be two-sided. Summer-side and Winter-side!

Bonus challenge: Put your characters in the Southern Hemisphere for once. (Okay, this one is probably easier for the Dragon Age fandom xD)

Rules and Lists are underneath the cut!

Rules:

You can participate with fanfics, original writing, poetry, graphics, or art of any sort.

You do not need to write/create for every day. If you do only want to do every second day that is fine.

Please post your entries on the days or later though - not before.

If you participate with fics: please note that this account will only repost stuff that is written out. No "this is an idea of a fic one could write to this prompt". For prose writing the min length is 100 words (so the lenght of a drabble).

If you want this account to reblog post the entry under #fluffcemberinjuly25 and please also tag this account @fluff-cember.

Please make sure your post also note the fandom that your entry is for!

The fic should be somewhat soft or fluffy. It can however absolutely be fluff in a NSFW way. There is no issue with that.

The one thing I cannot allow because it is a bit iffy in regards to my homecountry's laws: RPS. Anything with real people who were alive in the last 100 years I cannot admit. If they are dead for longe than that it is fine.

There will be a collection for this opened in June.

The List

Day 01: Fire

Day 02: Candy

Day 03: Warm Hugs

Day 04: Charity

Day 05: Snow Angels

Day 06: The Southern Cross

Day 07: Kittens

Day 08: Snowman

Day 09: Scented Candles

Day 10: Long Nights

Day 11: Snowflakes

Day 12: Pillow Fort

Day 13: Glitter

Day 14: Five Course Meal

Day 15: Snow on the Beach

Day 16: Aurora

Day 17: Evergreen

Day 18: Rainy Winter

Day 19: Cozy Blankets

Day 20: Found Family

Day 21: Cabin

Day 22: Sauna visits

Day 23: Tea

Day 24: Cold Feet

Day 25: Ice Crystals

Day 26: Snowed-In

Day 27: Fireworks

Day 28: Family Gathering

Day 29: Gift Giving

Day 30: Hibernation

Day 31: Coming Home

Extra: Candy Cane, Hot Chocolate, Gift Wrapper, Well-Kept Secret, Full Moon

[thursdaysgrrl]

‧₊˚✧ pride month writing challenge ✧˚₊‧

hey gays, in honor of june i thought it would be fun to do a writing challenge! the rules are simple:

combine 3 prompts to write a fic, word count is your choice

has to be wlw

sfw or nsfw, but please remember to properly tag your fics! and also i have nsfw content filtered so i won’t see what you write aww

any fandom !!

for an extra challenge, combine 3 different prompts every week of june

always remember to link this post if you participate; i wanna see what you guys write!

tag anyone you want to join ₍^. .^₎⟆

creds to lgbtqtext

and without further ado, here's the prompts list ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ :

➤ first pride march together ➤ last day of school confessions ➤ jock x cheerleader ➤ working together at an ice cream shop ➤ lemonade stand ➤ lifeguard x reader ➤ inspired by a song that came out in 2025 ➤ broken fan ➤ summer camp ➤ summer school ➤ hates summer x loves summer ➤ short lived summer romance ➤ last summer before one of us moves away, make it count ➤ there's a giant ass spider in my apartment can you please come kill it before it kills me ➤ sorry i crashed my bike into your garden how abt i make it up to you

here's who i'm tagging, make sure to reblog so we can get as much participation as possible!!

@grotesquevi @lalaluna20 @mwahbabe @sycamore55 @fawn-tastic @thisrots @fortunxa @angeluvvs @pricesgirl @w1ll0wray @s4pphicghost @jinxificada @shouyuus

───────────────୨ৎ───────────────

© 2025 thursdaysgrrl hehe i love adding this part

[r3starttt]

SUMMER FOREVER

PAIRING: Abby Anderson x reader

SUMMARY: This aint my first time but baby I hope that it's my last. Want this to last.

CW: Modern AU. Established relationship. Too cliche. first pride together. FLUFF

AN: @grotesquevi tagged me on a pride month writing challenge!!! I chose the 1st pride together + 2025 song (Summer forever - Addison Rae) and hates summer x loves summer prompts. Tried my best, sorry for this being so... ugh. But I need to start writing even if it sucks!!!! otherwise I will quit... again... hahan't. ANYGAYSSSSS enjoy(????

also yes... this is ODDLY specific. I'm healing, let me be.

TAGLIST: @twopeopleequalsfour-blog @greysontheidiot @sapphic-ovaries @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworldd @1-800-fantasy @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @abbys-muscles @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight

You had planned this forever. Always saw it in the movies, always saw it in the shows. Always on social media, people laughing and kissing and hugging and existing with huge smiles and flushed cheeks. All over the world, all over your screen, but never you.

First because you weren't even sure you liked girls, then because you were too afraid to tell others, then because you were afraid of going.

The what ifs ate you alive.

What if someone hurt you or followed you or you were too shy to make friends or have fun or enjoy.

Then, you didn't have someone to go with, and yes you could go alone, but all you wanted was to celebrate love, and you wanted it to be with the right girl, then the right woman.

It always made you smile tho, in between the heat of June, taking a few seconds from school and then job to look at your screen and see pride flags everywhere, to look at your favorite people having the time of their life's with their loved ones, safe.

And then you met her.

Blonde, long hair, freckles everywhere and the prettiest smile you've ever seen.

She wasn't even looking at you when you first noticed her– you didn't even know each other. Just a random girl who caught your attention while you hurried to your next class.

Then you saw her in front of you at the cafeteria, laughing about some guy's joke until he skipped line and made everyone furious. She groaned loudly and yelled his name before turning around.

You didn't know back then but eventually she confessed it to you, she never forgot your face after that. And she hoped and prayed to every god for you to show in her way again.

You didn't.

Not for years.

Yes you looked at each other from afar whenever you met paths again, but never too close, never enough time for any of you to turn around and notice the other staring or for you to ask for each other's Instagram or number or anything.

And years later you saw her again.

A loosen braid and a black shirt. Simple outfit, but you could never forget. The white sweater hanging on her shoulders caught your attention first. Then her pout as she looked down on her phone and typed gently on it.

Baby hairs brushing her cheeks as you opened the door, hurrying once again because you were late to the job interview.

She noticed you.

You didn't.

She didn't tell you back then, not even when dating. It was her father who told you how she had begged everyone in that office to give you a chance.

That's how you got your first job.

The second she saw you putting your apron at 8 am in the middle of summer break, she walked towards you and asked for your number. No excuse, no explanation.

"I'm Abigail. Call me Abby." Was all she said right after.

She always helped you to use the confusing coffee machines, and the weird oven, and was there to help you relax when there were a lot of customers.

You laughed at every bad joke she made, and let your fingers linger on hers for longer than you should've. Then, you started to come a little early and leave a bit too late just to talk with her for longer.

And when summer ended you found yourselves hanging out every single chance that was given.

Until she asked you to be her girlfriend. You cried and she panicked and hugged you, repeating how it was fine If you didn't want to. And you only cried more because she was so sweet and the hug felt maybe too nice. And you tilted your head back to look at her and cup at her blushed cheeks before kissing her lips and apologize back. "I do, I want to be your girlfriend." And she smiled with the cutest face you've ever seen. With puppy eyes and flushed cheeks and bright freckles. And you knew she had to be yours forever.

That's why summer had always been special.

This time, Abby dragged you to the prettiest hotel in New York and took you to the prettiest places and kissed you for every single picture. She matched your outfits and held your hand all the time. And made sure to take you to the fanciest most delicious restaurants ever.

And she would laugh at your angry face whenever you got too sticky or too hot. Just to then take out a small fan from her bag and give it to you in silence. "You look so pretty like that."

You frowned even more, looking at her as she held the fan for you. "Like what? sweaty and melting?" your tone a bit less hatred than before as you slid your phone in her bag. And Abby nodded, brushing your hair off your face. "Exactly. I love that frown you make." You unconsciously frowned even more, as if offended. "Yup, that one." And then you laughed, rolling your eyes before interwining your sticky arms together and walking back to the hotel.

You weren't her first, but her second. She had little experience in dating but definitely more than you, and yet she found herself amused at every single thing you did. Like no one had ever held her hand before or kissed her or looked at her.

And it was always the cutest to see.

Your Abby.

The same woman who would be rubbing your back as you cried at the sight of all the people around you. The young and old. The happy, the sad. The ones who came alone and with their friends. The ones who just like you came with their partners to celebrate love on its purest way.

Because you were once too young and scared to let this be. And now you had the woman of your dreams too worried at your quiet happy sobs. "You sure you're okay?" Her hand cupped at your cheek, brushing your cries away. Curved eyebrows and her usual pout.

You nodded, struggling to explain all the love and joy you were feeling. That until you leaned for the sweetest kiss. With loud music in the back and people cheering for you two as if they've known you forever. With the heat warming your bodies a bit too much.

You could only care about her, the sweetness in her lips and the smell of her perfume that somehow lingered in the huge crowd.

"Come on." She murmured against your lips. Holding your face for a forehead kiss instead before holding your hand back and guiding you. "You know." Abby speaks loud but gentle as you start to dance to the music again. And you tilt your head to look at her, nodding. "I hope we can fall in love every summer!"

You laugh at her, at the cheesy inside she has for you and you only. But agree with a silent smile. "I hope too!"

—

"Ugh come here!" You giggle, opening your arms for her to cuddle. And Abby seems surprised if not completely shocked. "But I'm all sweaty–" she then pauses, taking a long sip from the cold water bottle she had saved for when you two came back. Always prepared in advance. "You're all sweaty." Her tone innocent.

"And?" you frowned as if offended. "And? you hate being sticky. I can't believe you're even laying in that bed." Her chin tilted a little to where you were resting. Arms on your stomach and legs laying on the end of the bed, shoes still on. "Just come here. Please?" you insisted once again, widening your arms enough to fit her.

Abby didn't deny you, never. And like she did, she walked into your arms. Knee in between your legs in order for her to not sofocate you. And slowly she allowed her body weight to rest against yours. With her elbows on the sides of your face and her lips trailing kisses everywhere, followed by a silent "I love you." And then: "So much... you know?"

You moved your fingers behind her neck, not caring about anything but her body against yours. And then you held her messy braid, loosening her hair while combing your digits against her tangled blonde. "Oh I know..." You nodded to confirm her question. "I love you more, tho."

Her frown Inmediatelly met you. Eyes meeting yours and flickering gently. "No." She then paused. "That's impossible." And her lips met yours for the millionth time today.

You ended sleeping with the AC hums as your background. Arms around each other with your face nestled against her chest.

And maybe this is what life was always about.

Not pride, but the safety that came with it. With love.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

May I present for your artistic pleasure...the 2025 TES Pinup Challenge! Coming to you August 2025!

My ask box is open for prompt suggestions through Saturday, July 12! The official prompt list will go up Sunday, July 13!

Please like, reblog, and share this post so everyone can see! If this challenge has a good turnout, I may put together other challenges for October and December! Doing that completely depends on participation and feedback, though, so if that's something y'all are interested in, I need y'all to amp this up!

(Challenge and guidelines text below the cut)

TES Pinup Challenge 2025

Happy summer, kwamafetchers! On August 1, the second TES Pinup Challenge will make its way to your dashboards! “A TES Pinup Challenge?” you ask, “What’s that about?” You see, the TES Pinup Challenge was a month-long art challenge that I originally ran back in June 2023. Now, due to popular demand, the challenge is returning this August! The main theme will be drawing our favorite NPCs and OCs in a pinup art style reminiscent of the 1940s and ’50s! Once drawn, we’ll post our work here on Tumblr to share with our friends and fellow fans! 

Everyone participating in the challenge should use the #tes pinup challenge 2025 tag so I can reblog your work here for everyone to enjoy!

Guidelines:

All characters of every race qualify, so long as they are adults! This is a suggestive challenge, so depictions of minors are a big no-no.

This time, rather than limit the “art” side of the challenge to traditional or digital art, I’m opening it to other mediums! If you can write, sculpt, bake, bead, cosplay, etc., a prompt for the pinup challenge, be my guest! Just keep it within the Tumblr community guidelines! Be sexy but sensitive, if you catch my drift. 

No character claiming! If you and your friend both want to do Serana, that is totally fine! The point is to have fun and express ourselves artistically! If that means having five different portraits of Brynjolf from five different people, then we’re all the richer for it! 

For example: The 2023 challenge produced SO MANY Sotha Sil pieces and I am thankful for EVERY ONE of them! 

The month is divided into ten groups of three days (e.g. 1-3, 4-6, 7-9, etc.). Each group has a primary and secondary prompt, so if you don’t like one, you can do the other! Or, if you’re feeling particularly creative, you can combine them or do both! How you fulfill each challenge is entirely up to you.

Because August has 31 days, August 16 will be an open “Freestyle!” day! Want to take a break before tackling the back half of the month? Go for it! Want to come up with your own prompt? I can’t wait to see it! Want to revisit a prompt from the first two weeks? Say more! Point being—do whatever you want that day! 

Participation in the entire event is NOT mandatory! Whether you want to fill every prompt or choose just one, the goal is always to be safe and have fun! 

[monthlywritingchallenges]

This'll be a low-pressure, creativity-first challenge focused on capturing a single, powerful moment.

Instead of writing long fics or following a daily prompt list, this month is all about choosing just one moment to write about.

🌻 Rules

Write one scene, one interaction, one dialog...

No word count minimum or maximum

All genres and fandoms are welcome

Post any time during June

Tag it with @monthlywritingchallenges #justonejune and/or submit it to our AO3 collection

🌻 Need inspiration?

Just one bed

One summer day

A single one kiss

One last try

This song from their youth

Just one look

One morning together

A missed call

Just one secret

One year later

Just one piece of cake

A shared goal

Let's write 🌻

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesongfics.

Lonesome is a State of Mind

June Prompt: Summer Songs | Song: Drunk on a Plane by Dierks Bentley (Bonus: Lonesome is a State of Mind by Djo lyrics for the Djo June challenge) | Word Count: 2500 | Rating: T | CW: Bare Feet in Public, Recreational Alcohol Use | Tags: Modern AU, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Little Angst, Lotta Silly Fluff, Meet Cute, Steve Had to Kiss Some Frogs to Get His Happy Ending, Robin Unfortunately Had to Bear Witness

Also on ao3.

It's stifling in the apartment, the summer air heavy and thick, even as the sun is just rising. It's making every movement seem ten times harder. Even through the closed windows, Steve can hear everything going on down below, the sounds of the city, the street, busy with activity. 

His future is not what he thought, and here he is again, having thought something wrong. He should be used to that by now, but he's not. He's afraid he'll never be. He's too optimistic that things will work out. You'd think he'd learn his lesson by now. He's not a kid anymore. No, he's twenty-nine and misaligned.

Going from two to one has been harder than he thought it would be these past six months. From a house full of sounds of life, to this. Stifling silence. 

She was the one. Wasn't she? He's not even sure now. 

Five years this time. Five. 

Two before that. What's he doing wrong? He wanted to commit, but it turns out two years wasn't enough time for someone to know if they wanted to do the same. Fine. With the next relationship he was more cautious, more patient. Went slow. Didn't rush.

Made sure they were really in love. 

But five years wasn't long enough either, turns out. And now he has two engagement rings hanging around his neck like albatrosses and two non-refundable tickets for a honeymoon that was supposed to start today, just with no wife.

She's at his house, with his dog, but he lives somewhere else, somewhere separate.

What the fuck is so wrong with him that things just fall apart as soon as he tries to offer someone his love?

Nancy didn't want it in high school, either. Now he's convinced he's more than bullshit. There's a pattern, and he's the common denominator.

He jumps when the buzzer for the downstairs door sounds. Robin. He presses the button to unlock the front door for her, and works on schooling his face so she doesn't see how close to a nervous breakdown he really is today.

He was supposed to get married yesterday. He didn't. 

"I never liked her anyway," Robin says, "She's an asshole. You're not gonna try to get back with her, right? I can say that?"

"You can say that," Steve answers. He knows it's not true. He wouldn't have made it five years with anybody that Robin didn't like. And he especially wouldn't have planned to marry them. Robin's just taking his side, unconditionally. Best friend privileges. He appreciates it.

"Glad to hear it. Flight leaves in two hours," she states, picking up his sunglasses, tossing them at him, "Wayfarers on, Harrington. Grab your bags. We're going to the beach. That all-inclusive resort is calling my name."

Steve groans. He doesn't want to go to the beach. 

"Steve! Now!" Robin demands, and he knows better than to argue. And it'd be stupid to waste these tickets, this whole vacation. He went through the trouble switching the ticket to Robin's name, after all.

He puts on his neon green swim trunks, and a bright pink tank top. Slides on a pair of flip flops. It's gaudy. Loud and in your face. Maybe if he embarrasses her now, she won't make him go.

Robin says nothing.

He stands there staring at her.

"Bags?" she asks.

He shrugs. Maybe he'll travel light for once. See what that's like.

She just pushes past him, into his bedroom, and stuffs random clothes of his into his suitcase. While she's busy doing that, he makes himself a travel mug of orange juice. And vodka. That's the important part. 

Piling into the waiting cab downstairs, he sucks on the whirly straw, and off they go. 

One honeymoon, two platonic soulmates.

Finally at cruising altitude, Robin is staring at him.

"What?"

"What are you wearing?" Robin asks, finger snagging the chain around his neck, pulling. 

"My bad luck charms, duh," he says, twisting off the top of another little bottle of Jack. Pouring it into his thimble of Coke. "It wards off—"

"—women, men, humankind in general?"

"Sure," he says, thumbing at the two diamond rings hanging from the gold chain. 

"You're being a dramatic dingus."

"Cheers, have a drink with me," he says, tapping his plastic cup against hers.

"It's ten in the morning," she says, still judging him for conning the flight attendant out of more liquor. He's already rocking a nice buzz, and he'd like to keep building on it, thank you very much.

"You can't drink all day if you don't start in the morning," he retorts, stretching out in his seat, putting his bare foot up on the armrest of the aisle seat guy in the row in front of him.

"Steve," Robin hisses, pressing on his knee, trying to get him to put his foot down. Then she leans towards the row in front of theirs, "I'm so sorry, he's not usually this feral."

She can't budge him, despite her best efforts. He refuses to move. That is, until the guy whose seat he's encroaching on runs his fingers up the sole of Steve's foot. That's enough to make Steve jerk his leg back reflectively, ticklish, unable to stop himself. He hears the pleased laughter floating back to their row, and Steve leans forward, poking his head around the seat.

"Foot fetish, huh?" 

"You're the one that offered it up to me," the guy says.

Steve laughs, the liquor making him brazen, "I mean, I'm not into that. But if you are, I'd be happy to open negotiations."

"Well, isn't that a thought," the guy laughs, and Steve can't tell if he's flirting with him, or just making fun. Maybe a little of both. It honestly doesn't really matter. Steve doesn't mind either option.

It's already made his morning better. 

Steve leans his shoulder into the back of the guy's seat, jostling him. "My fiancée dumped me. This was my honeymoon."

The guy turns and nods towards Robin, "Her? Was it because you're trying to get strange men to touch your feet?"

"Ew," Robin says, "No. I'm Robin. The embarrassed best friend. That's Steve. Again, I'm sorry. He isn't putting his best foot forward. He decided to start early this morning."

Steve laughs, and so does the guy. It's a great laugh. Steve wants to hear more of it, wants more of his attention.

"I'm Eddie," the guy says, "and your foot forward seemed fine to me. But if you've got a better one, let me have it."

Steve, not about to back down from a challenge, wedges his left foot between the seats. 

The guy next to Eddie whips his head around, "If your nasty foot so much as grazes me, I swear to god I'll shove drumsticks up both your asses."

"That's a very specific promise," Steve says, pointing his foot towards Eddie the best he can. "At least buy me a drink first."

The guy huffs, annoyed.

"Steve Harrington, leave these men alone. You're gonna get us kicked off this flight. Banned from this airline. Banned from all future air travel forever, maybe. We'll be on the no-fly list. We might get left in Cancun."

The grumpy guy in the middle turns around, looking at Robin, "This is at least fifty percent Eddie's fault at this point. He feeds on chaos, makes things worse, and encouraging what's happening right now is a dream come true for him. Trust me."

"It's true," Eddie pipes up, "I'm a freak. Being interesting will always beat conformity. Put your feet on people if you want. Be real. Be weird. Be real weird."

Steve grins, looking at Robin, "See?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. 

Steve retracts his foot, and Eddie turns in his seat, looking right in Steve's eyes, "Stay weird, Steve Harrington."

Then, he hands Steve two additional mini bottles of liquor, and Steve grins, relaxing back into his seat.

Steve tries to mind his own business. It works for a while.

"What are you headed to Cancun for?" Steve asks, peeking at Eddie from between the seats.

"Bachelor party," Eddie says, looking back at him.

Steve sticks out his bottom lip, "Yours?"

Eddie laughs, shaking his head, nodding towards his seatmate, "No. Mr. Drumsticks Uptheass, here."

Steve grabs the back of the guy's seat and shakes him, "Don't do it, man. She'll break your heart. Put a ring on it and suddenly she can't stomach the thought of spending her whole life with you. Trust me. It's happened to me. Twice." 

"Shut up, you don't know me or my life. I can see why nobody would want to marry you," middle-seat snaps. 

"Gareth," Eddie warns.

Steve shoves the back of Gareth's seat, launching himself back into own. Arms crossed, pouting. 

He's a fucking catch. 

What kind of name is Gareth, anyway? 

"He didn't mean that," Robin says, leaning forward, trying to smooth this over, "I'm sure your wife-to-be is lovely and would never call off your wedding." 

Gareth just glares over his shoulder, then leans forward, looking across the aisle, eyes laser focused on the man sitting there, minding his own business. "Goods. Goodie. Hey. Switch seats with me."

The guy across the aisle ignores him. 

"Goodie!" 

What kind of name is Goodie?

"I don't know you, any of you," the alleged Goodie says, pulling his hoodie strings, cinching it down over his face. Ending the conversation. 

"Jesus Christ," Gareth Uptheass says, forcing himself out of his seat, climbing over Eddie's knees, and out into the aisle.

Then, he looms over Steve. Well, he tries. He's not very tall. "Get up. We're trading seats. If you want to flirt with Eddie so fucking bad, you can do it without involving me. I'm sitting next to her now." 

Steve looks at Robin, "Oh, she's a lesbian." 

"Great, and she's wearing shoes. The exact kind of woman I'm interested in right now. Get. Up." 

"I need to put on my shoes," Steve says. 

"Really? Why start now?" 

Steve gets up, and squeezes into the middle seat next to Eddie. There's another guy in the window seat.

"I'm Steve," Steve says, since they haven't been introduced. 

"So I've heard," he answers, "I'm Jeff. Keep your hands and feet to yourself and we'll be good."

"Jeff's a normal name," Steve declares. He's glad someone else has a normal name around here.

"Thanks," Jeff says.

They talk and talk until Eddie gets up to go to the bathroom. Steve waits a respectable minute and a half to follow. 

Tapping on the locked door, he gets no answer.

Knocking again, "Eddie."

The door across the hall opens, "Over here."

Whoops. Wrong bathroom. Steve slides into the cramped lavatory with Eddie, trying to balance himself on the flimsy sink, hoping like fuck it will hold him. 

Steve wraps his legs around Eddie's waist, pressing himself up against Eddie.

"Do you really have a foot fetish?" Steve asks.

Eddie laughs, "Not in the slightest."

"Good, that's good," Steve answers, playing with the hairs at the nape of Eddie's neck. "You gonna give me a little in-flight entertainment?" 

Eddie cups his cheek. It's tender, and nobody's touched Steve like this in a while. He leans into it.

"How about we just make it off this plane without being put in handcuffs?" Eddie suggests.

Steve huffs, but will allow it. 

"What if I want you to put me in handcuffs?" 

Eddie laughs, "Then, sweetheart, like you said earlier: I'd be happy to open negotiations."

Back in their seats, Steve falls asleep on Eddie's shoulder.

Then, they land and go their separate ways. 

The next morning, Steve regrets everything from the day before. His head is pounding, like elves are trying to chisel his skull in two. He's mortified. He got drunk, took off his shoes, and followed a stranger to the plane bathroom.

Robin's never gonna let him live this down, not even with the goodwill of it being his sad non-honeymoon. She won't feel sorry for him forever.

The mimosa isn't working as hair of the dog that bit him, nor is the greasy breakfast, and he closes his eyes behind his sunglasses. 

He hears Robin pull out her chair, and groans. 

"I'm dying. Put me out of my misery." 

He hears a deep chuckle, familiar now, and feels his cheeks flush. Eddie. Of all the resorts, Eddie from the plane is here? It's absurd. 

Steve's eyes snap open. It's too bright.

"You're staying here?" Steve asks. He's so fucking embarrassed. What are the odds of that?

Eddie shakes his head, smiling wide.

"Nope. But Gareth asked Robin where you guys were staying. He knows me well enough to know I'd want that information. He's a good best friend, even if he was a little testy yesterday."

"Uh, I think he had a reason. I was being, well, unreasonable. Sorry about the feet. And the bathroom. And everything else."

"No reason to apologize. I'm here, aren't I?" Eddie asks with a smile. 

He is. Steve smiles. Eddie found him. Eddie went out of his way to come see him again.

Nobody goes out of their way for him, except Robin, and she definitely doesn't count.

"So, you wanna spend the day with me, Steve Harrington?"

Steve does, and he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head, and leans forward. Lips barely brushing Eddie's, "Oh yeah. I'm ready to open negotiations."

Later

It's loud, and Steve's getting shoved around in the pit. He doesn't mind. He could stand backstage, but he wants to be right here, front and center. Eddie can see him all night this way.

Corroded Coffin is doing their thing, and Steve's along for the ride. They aren't super famous, not a bit mainstream, but they fill ballrooms and small venues, the crowds stoked to see them. 

Steve's thrilled to see them, thrilled to see Eddie, always. Third time was the charm. Steve finally met his match. Finally got a yes before the question had even left his throat. Eddie married him as fast as he could. Steve knows it's because Eddie didn't want Steve to stress that another engagement might fizzle out.

Steve was all in, and so was Eddie.

Eddie flips his hair off his shoulders, running his fingers under the neck of his t-shirt, fishing out a chain. Two diamond engagement rings clink together as they flop onto his chest. Steve leans against the barricade, grinning.

Steve considered them bad juju. Albatrosses. But Eddie started wearing them around his own neck. A talisman, he says. Good luck. 

A point being made, Steve's sure.

Oh, you didn't want him? Well, good. He's fucking mine.

He's unhinged. 

Steve loves him. 

Loves that he took that flight, loves that he got drunk and rude and weird. Loves that Eddie rolled with it. Loves that of all the people in the world that could have been sitting in front of him, that it was Eddie Munson. 

The one who would wholeheartedly love him back.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics to follow along with the love! 🎵

[juneofdoom]

What up, whump fam?!

June of Doom 2024 Prompts!

We've brought back some old favorites/ popular prompts from last year with a healthy dash of new!

Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!

Two rules this year!

As with last year, tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

[AO3 Collection] - "JUNEOFDOOM2024"

Text list below the cut for easier crossings-off. And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!

“Help me.”                                        | Failed Escape | On the Run | Fetal Position |

“It didn’t have to be this way.”             | Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch |

“Well, well, well…”                            | Hiding | Ambushed | Stalking |

“Does that hurt?”                               | Impalement | Fracture | Punishment |

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”                 | Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration |

“They don’t care about you.”               | Flinch | Broken Promise | Abandoned |

“What happened?”                            | Nightmare | Isolation | Stumbling |

“This is your last chance.”                    | Drowning | Chair | Prisoner Trade |

“I made a mistake.”                            | Accident | Acceptance | Blame |

“Can you hear me?”                           | Fear | Smoke | Phone Call |

“We’re out of time.”                           | Bleeding Out | Collapse | Flatline |

“I can’t stand seeing you like this.”        | Dehydration | Grief | Coma |

“Wait!”                                             | Sacrifice | Adrenaline | Cornered |

“What were you thinking?”                  | Surrender | Human Shield | Outmatched |

“Get me out of here!”                         | Rescue | Chainsaw | Presumed Dead |

“At least it can’t get any worse.”           | Secret | Stranded | Setback |

“You don’t want to do that.”                | Struggle | Blackmail | Desperate Measures |

“I’m fine.”                                         | Self-defense | Allergies | Headache |

“This can’t be happening!”                  | Sobbing | Straitjacket | Dissociation |

“I can handle it.”                                | Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect |

“Let’s play a game. “                           | Stairs | Pressure Points | Trap Door |

“What’s the bad news?”                      | Poison | Bedridden | Cauterization |

“You’re doing great.”                         | Trembling | Gaslighting | Rules |

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”                  | Blankets | Stitches | Bandages |

“I should have listened to you.”           | Guilt | Backseat | Failure |

“Don’t lie to me.”                               | Rage | Choke | Paranoia |

“Or what?”                                       | Defiance | Display | Last Resort |

“Say something.”                               | Numb | Cold Shoulder | Gag |

“I’m so cold.”                                    | Delirium | Fever | Exposure |

“Breathe, damn you!”                         | Shock | Asphyxiation | Emergency Room |

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

“Who did this to you?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not okay.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“You poor thing.”

Attending Your Own Funeral

Broken Glass

Mask

Whip

Obedience

[tlmtwelve]

@summer-of-bad-batch Week 2 prompt: Tattoos

Banner by @probadbatch

[zepskies]

I've never actually done this before...

Reaching follower milestones has never really been my main goal here. I hopped over from Ao3 to the Tumblrverse two years ago to share my stories and see if I could connect more with any potential readers. What I didn't know was how amazing SPN (and adjacent Jackles fandoms) would be over here...

How much fun I would have expressing myself, challenging myself to write new things and grow as a writer, and getting to vibe with my readers and other amazing writers.

I now consider some of those special people my friends, and they continue to make my day better every time we interact — whether it's hyping each other up and fangirling in each other's comments and reblog comments, or talking about everything and nothing in our DMs. That support has gotten me through some rough times in the past two years.

So "celebrating" this milestone of over 5,000 followers is really just me saying THANK YOU to everyone who's supported me by reading, commenting, and reblogging my work, helping me brainstorm, giving me inspiration, or just simply being my friend! 💜

⋆˙⟡ WAYS TO PARTICIPATE:

Because you guys know I'm extra af 😂, there are 3 sections to choose from:

⟡ Ask Me Stuff

⟡ Summer Writing Challenge!

⟡ Mini Fic Requests

Ask Me Stuff:

⟡ Let's revisit these EOY Artist/Writer questions. Ask me any of them!

⟡ Ask me anything you want to know about my storyverses: Break Me Down, Unravel Me, Lost On You, Midnight Espresso, Smoke Eater, The Honorable Choice, Every Second Counts, Take Me Home, or any others!

Summer Writing Challenge:

If you're feelin' frisky and wanna join this summer writing challenge of less than 5,000 words before September 1, here's how to play...

💗 Gif Check: I'll send you a gif depending on the character you choose from the list below. Write a story that matches the vibe or completes the "scene." Just shoot me an ask with the character you want to write about, and request a gif!

🎨 Color Prompt: You choose a character from the list below. I'll choose a color palette for you based on what I think your aesthetic is!

🎙️ Songfic: Give me a character + a decade and/or genre of music, and I'll give you a song to match!

**Guidelines:

Submissions with pairings can be Character x Reader, Character x OC, or Character x Character.

(Please no RPF or Wincest.)

Include tags, notes, warnings if necessary - including if it's 18+

Please use the "Keep Reading" break if it's over 500 words.

Max word count 5,000 (for your sanity lol). Minimum 500 words.

Tag @zepskies (me) somewhere in the post.

Include this tag - #Zepskies 5K - within your first 5 tags.

Send me an ask until July 30! Post your fic by September 1.

I will of course read and reblog with my thoughts on your amazing work! If you get a chance, please try to do the same for others who participate. At the end, I will compile a master rec list of each fic submitted. 💜

Mini Fic Requests:

Uno Reverse! 🔄 For these drabbles (1,000 words or less), I will only answer non-anonymous asks so I can verify if you're over 18. Please make sure your age is listed in your bio! 😉

Check out the "characters I currently write for" down below. My inbox will be open for these types of requests from June 27 - July 4 only!

💗 Gif Check: Pick a character from the list and send me a gif! I'll do my best to write you a drabble that matches the vibe.

🎨 Color Prompt: I've been getting a lot of inspo from color aesthetics and moodboards lately. Pick a character from the list and a color. Any color! I'll do my best to write a drabble with that color scheme in mind.

🎙️ Songfic: Most people who know me know that I get a lot of inspo from music. Pick a character from the list and send me a song you think I'd like! I'll do my best to write a drabble that fits the song.

☕️ Characters I currently write for:

(or would like to write for)

⟡ Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester - Supernatural ⟡ Soldier Boy - The Boys ⟡ Mark Meachum - Countdown ⟡ Beau Arlen - Big Sky ⟡ Russell Shaw - Tracker ⟡ Joel Miller - The Last of Us ⟡ Javier Peña - Narcos ⟡ Harry Castillo - The Materialists ⟡ Alec McDowell - Dark Angel ⟡ Jason Teague - Smallville ⟡ Boaz Priestly - 10 Inch Hero ⟡ CJ Braxton - Dawson’s Creek ⟡ Éomer, Aragorn, Haldir, Thranduil - Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit

THANK YOU!! (Part 1)

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @waynes-multiverse @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@wvffles @tofics @kazsrm67 @mostlymarvelgirl

@chevroletdean - Thank you for giving me the idea for the "color" prompts and the guidelines for the writing challenge with your 500 follower celebration!

@winchestergirl2 @lacilou @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @waywardxwords

@twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism @wayward-dreamer @waywardlatina

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@deanwinchesterswitch @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @jollyhunter @moodyquesadilla

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@siampie @spnbabe67 @talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word @redhoodieone

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @kmc1989 @foxyjwls007

[inklings-challenge]

Camp Tolkien: Official Announcement

Welcome to Camp Tolkien!

This writing event is meant to be a little retreat in the middle of summer, giving writers the chance to work on a beloved project in the company of fellow writers.

Writers are invited to bring a project to Camp Tolkien--whether you're brainstorming, outlining, drafting, or editing--and spend the two weeks at camp working on your project. While other Inklings Challenge events are geared toward short stories, Camp Tolkien is meant to give writers a chance to make progress on larger projects. You can work on a short story if you wish, but since we're not aiming to finish the project by the end of the event, this is also a chance to work on whatever project is nearest and dearest to your heart at the moment--a novel, a play, an epic poem, whatever you like.

Camp Tolkien will be in session from June 9, 2025 through June 21, 2025. Every day from Monday through Friday, Camp Tolkien will offer four different summer-camp-themed activities. Each of these activities will be a writing prompt or challenge meant to inspire you in your project and/or add some fun to the writing process. Writers will choose at least one of the four activities to join in, though you can choose to complete multiple activities if you wish.

The prompts will be aimed at different parts of the writing process. Some will be better-suited for drafting, while others will work better for people who are outlining or brainstorming, and some are more about adding some excitement to the writing process itself, no matter which stage you're in. The hope is that everyone attending Camp Tolkien will find at least one activity per day that they can apply to their stage of the writing process.

For example, a day's list of Camp Tolkien Activities might look something like this:

Photography: Find at least five reference pictures that visualize the setting or characters of your project

Friendship Bracelets: Tell us about two characters who are currently friends, or talk about a childhood/former friend of a character

Nature Walk: Go on a walk outside and use something about the experience (a sensory detail, something you saw) as inspiration for your project

Rock Climbing: Set a timer for thirty minutes and try to finish as much of a draft of a scene as you can in that time

After finishing for the day, writers are invited to reblog that day's post, telling us which activity they joined, and either sharing what they wrote or telling us how the process went.

Each Saturday will be a Free Day, where writers can look over all the activities offered from the previous week and choose any activity they wish to use for that day's prompt. This could be a chance to complete an activity from a day you missed, or to complete an extra activity that you never got to.

The final day of camp, June 21, 2025, writers will get the chance to talk about their progress on their project and how the overall camp experience went.

This is a very low-key event, meant to make the writing process fun. People can join in as much or as little as they wish, and there is no sign-up process. Writers are just invited to check the blog each day and join in the fun of Camp Tolkien.

Any questions can be directed to the Inklings Challenge blog via ask box or DM.

And that's Camp Tolkien! Now go forth and create!

[agirlandherquill]

writecamp

welcome one and all to this sunny, summery affair! this post is to hereby invite writers to a not-so-little game commencing June 1st - rules to follow - till the end of Summer, August 31st - i know, this challenge is going to be a LOT and a long one, but i for one absolutely cannot wait!

now you may be asking, what is this game and what are the rules? well, dear writer, the purpose of the game is simple - for writecamp, all you have to do is pick a prompt from a given list and compose something with it, prompts could be a word, a trope, a place, a feeling, anything at all, it all depends on the day (if you took part in writemas, you'll be fairly familiar with how it all works :) ) and as for the rules, well, this author sincerely hopes they are as equally simple to follow: if you accept the challenge, be sure to share your responses, share the game with friends, family, anybody you'd like, and that's it, utilise the prompt from the challenge, share your work, and tag me in your responses!

and now for the important part: how is the game going to work?

each day of summer, starting June 1st, i will post the writecamp daily challenge - containing all sorts or prompts to stir the imagination pot

the game is open to all, and if you join late, no problem! just embrace the writery spirit of summer and play along! (you don't have to complete every day's challenge, but whatever you do, always be proud of yourself!)

bonus part (completely optional, but lovely if you choose to do it) - alongside your challenge entries, make sure to find a blog on writeblr, a writer you admire or one you've only just found, and pay them a compliment! (something so small but so, so important <3)

and since this post is an invitation to everyone out there on writeblr, in order to participate and be notified of the challenge posts when they go live, all you have to do is interact with this post and you're on the tag list!

any questions, let me know, and happy writing!

~ A Girl and Her Quill

~ ~ ~

tag list time! open tag as always too!

@the-ellia-west @willtheweaver @tildeathiwillwrite @drchenquill @365runesofthesystem

@coffin-hopping @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @a-mimsy-borogove @frostedlemonwriter @i-do-anything-but-write

@r-u-living @thatuselesshuman @lead-to-code @sunflowerrosy @theaistired

@phoenixradiant @autism-purgatory @corinneglass @tiredpapergirl @patheticexcuseforawriter

@missmisanthrope @littlestchildofthemoon @morganxduinn @thebrownleathernotebook @rmhashauthor

@lamuradex @fantasy-things-and-such @glasshouses-and-stones @hattonthehatman @humbly-a-doppelganger

@ramwritblr @s-pendragon7 @thelastneuron @heartreactor @ihauntmyhouse

@shiningstars-world @scaewolf @just-emis-blog @joeys-piano @ramitola

@yrndrgn @riveriafalll @lawrencespen1777 @theverumproject @zackprincebooks

@justjariel @orion-lacroix @jupiter---daydreams @vinniehorrible @stars-forever

@thewritingautisticat @whatwewrotepodcast @anaisbebe @appleandsnow @urnumber1star

@chaotictravelerrants @andagii-projects @dragmewithyoutonirvana @a-bi-cat-with-books @fearofahumanplanet

@just-a-domesticated-cryptid @attemptingwriter @kitkins13 @ray-writes-n-shit

@theonewholivesinthemovies @rheas-chaos-motivation @bookwormclover @sunflowerrosy @seastarblue

@aalinaaaaaa