#maybe squashies

[walkman-cat]

i actually have to get the portfolio done today if it kills me and i will do it !!

[creepyscritches]

Almost done with a giant squishy queen blanket and I've been ogling an even squishier pattern already lmao....anyway think next one I make might be this crazy double layer weighted pattern 🤔 or maybe I'll save this for someone else???

[azurexsnake]

Wolfwood is one of those characters I want to write for so badly but every time I think I have a thought I can’t put it into words that make any kind of sense at all. Just hysterical crying in a post I end up deleting every time

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat- enter Jason 1/2

MASTERPOST

The air was different with Cass, now. Danny felt a little anxious as he followed her to the study after breakfast. Something about her was serious-determined-protective. 

She always felt protective towards him. That was why he'd followed her in the first place. Some ghosts lied, but they couldn't do it with their aura. He knew what she really felt for him. 

“Sit?” She asked him. She gestured at the big squashy chair. Danny did without complaint. Cass perched behind him and started dragging her fingers through his hair, relaxing him.

Man. She was good at this. Top tier mothering, right here. Danny went limp. 

“I'm worried,” Cass broke the silence. She didn't sound worried. She never really did. Her voice was quiet and serious, but still kind. Her thumbs dug into his scalp. He pushed his head back against it. Bliss. “Barbara made you sad. Because you miss your sister?”

Danny tensed. 

‘I should have figured that Batman would track me down.’

Maybe he had known, if he was honest with himself. It didn't hit him like a shock.

“Tim thinks your name is Fenton,” she added, brutally sensible as always. And yup, that was it. No point in denying it. “Declared dead. In danger?”

He sucked in air through his teeth. He wasn't going to lie to her. 

“Worried,” she repeated. 

He thought about it. He really did. Danny bit his lip. 

She was liminal. That probably meant she'd come really close to death, in at least one sense of the word. Would that mean she was desensitized to it, or extra paranoid?

…It was hard to imagine Cass over or under reacting to a possible danger. She was just so steady. But would she see him as a possible danger if she knew what he was, what he really was? 

He could feel it out before he took a plunge with the whole truth.

Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was invasive. She didn't seem to realize that she was liminal. That meant she definitely didn't realize how much she was communicating to him under her words and gestures. 

But Danny deliberately tuned into her quiet aural communication and tested the waters. “Tim is right, I'm Danny Fenton,” he said. He knew he was too tense. She would definitely feel it. But what could he do about that? He was nervous. “I… Maybe I did die.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. He could feel the crush of grief on her heart. 

But it didn’t wash away the thudding repetition of love-protect-my darling. There was no suspicion, no guilt, no fear. It was just pain for his sake, with no calculation about how to solve a sudden problem. 

God. He wanted so badly for that to have been how his parents reacted. His eyes started to sting.

Danny sniffled. He thought it was safe to tell her. “I died,” he corrected, and he knew he was right when Cass made a little wounded sound and leaned her body into him, aiming to comfort. “Not then, but a couple years ago. I’m different now, and it’s uh… It’s dangerous to be this way.”

“Affects?” Cass asked quietly. She started to pet his hair again. “Mood? Health?”

“...Huh,” he said, because that was a sensible question he hadn’t expected. If he really thought about his mood and emotions before and after the accident: “Yeah, uh, there’s sometimes a mood thing. I might be a little more aggressive than I was before? And I can get kind of intense sometimes.”

He had thought that was basically just a reaction to having a whole bunch of new threats in his life. But would pre-electrocution Danny have been able to actually stand and fight Skulker? He had genuinely been afraid of the jocks. Maybe… Maybe he was different. Sure, Sam and Jazz were up for shooting ghosts with Fenton tech. Would he have been if he was just human? 

…He didn’t really think so.

Oof. Well, that wasn’t exactly great for his sense of self.

Cass shook him lightly. “Health?” she repeated.

Danny forced down that revelation to deal with later. He didn’t like acknowledging that he was kind of a chicken by nature, but historically, there wasn’t much evidence of bravery pre-mortem. “Uh, my heart rate is really slow, body temp is low, so I can’t really afford to go to a doctor for a checkup,” he said. “Uh, sometimes I’ve got none at all and my hair turns white.” He paused there. That was- that was enough, yeah? He was going to be honest with her because she deserved honesty from him. But that didn’t mean he had to explain the whole great beyond and his inhuman status.

“Sounds like Jason,” Cass said, after a long silence.

Danny short-circuited. “Wait, what?” He craned to look at her. “Who?”

Cass darted forward to kiss his forehead. “Little brother,” she said cheerfully. “Want to meet him?”

Uh, yeah. Danny nodded vigorously, wondering what the hell she was on about. “Do you mean he died?” 

“Died,” Cass agreed, getting out her phone and tapping away at it rapidly.

“Not like, heart stopped for a minute on the operating table and he was revived, or what?” Danny pressed.

“Dead in the ground, came back later,” Cass said. “Dead for months. Now, very crabby.”

Danny balked. “What?”

“White hair too,” she said. Then her face did something funny. “I think he dyed it recently,” she said. 

Danny huffed a laugh. “If it’s the same thing as mine, you can’t dye it.” He saw her look over his head for white streaks. He didn’t correct her line of thought.

He hadn’t thought that anything could top the anticipation of meeting Batman. But Danny had to admit the rest of the day was a wash. Apparently Jason couldn’t make it until the evening, about an hour before patrol.

Danny nearly paced a line into the carpet. He had enough energy to do that now, even without ecto. He was getting soooo much food here. A guy couldn’t even stress out for an hour without someone coming by to make sure he had fruit and yogurt or a hot drink.

He didn’t need someone to come and tell him that the much anticipated Jason had shown up. Danny knew it when he went to take a sip of cruelty-free chocolate milk (hand delivered by the most frightening child in the world) and choked on vapor.

Damian gave him a glare and snatched the drink away. “Are you incapable of drinking beverages?” he demanded. His face looked so goddamn cross but he was just worried.

Danny managed a smile. “No, went down the wrong pipe, sorry.”

Damian didn’t seem to even see the fog, so- so that meant that either he was really unobservant or he wasn’t liminal enough to see it the way people did in Amity. That was a small blessing. Danny appreciated it and he took back his drink to have something to hold onto.

That was a whole ass ghost. That was a whole ghost coming onto the property, one that felt big and mad and old. Danny smacked his lips, disconcerted. 

He, uh, didn’t know what to expect from this.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Determined heroes and the villains obsessed with them are my absolute weakness, esp when the hero is absolutely at their mercy. You write protagonist/antagonist so well, thank you for sharing!! Once life stuff settles I want to be a patron again!

"You simply don't give up, do you?"

The hero panted for breath, but still couldn't seem to draw enough air into their heaving chest to reply. They doubled over, bracing one hand against the wall. At least, currently, it looked like a wall. They mustered a glare for the villain.

"You're in my domain, sweetness," the villain said, unbothered. "The only exit you have is the one I give you. You could run five marathons and still not find the way out."

"Then give me an exit!"

"When I get bored, of course."

Abruptly, the wall beneath the hero's hand shimmered and shifted, reality bending nauseatingly to something else. Instead of the endless fancy hotel corridors that the hero had started with, they were suddenly stumbling off-balance into a big squashy armchair. Its softness enveloped the hero on every side, whispering reprieve, a relief for their aching muscles.

They were in an old-fashioned library, filled with dark winding bookcases and honeyed light flowing still and golden through enormous windows. A roaring fireplace sprung to life, filling the room with a welcoming crackle.

"Or would you prefer outside?" The villain raised a hand to snap their fingers, in offer. "Are we feeling more brisk, fresh autumn air or sunny beach vibes?"

"I'd prefer you let me go."

"Well, we both know that, but in the absence of me granting that particular wish, you may wish to play along. Unless you'd prefer I get cross about you trying to run? Maybe create something to actually chase you while you're all tuckered out? All labyrinths have their minotaurs, my dear. Would you like to meet mine?"

No. No, absolutely not.

The hero swallowed. They considered their options for a moment, trying to decide if any particular setting would give them an advantage when reality itself seemed so smittenly under the villain's control.

"...outside would be nice," they said. "What's the best view you've got?"

The villain smiled and snapped their fingers.

The armchair stayed, as did the library shelves, but the walls around them fell flat like an unpacked box and crumbled, transforming into a sweeping bio-luminescent ocean. It was unlike anything the hero had ever seen. It barely seemed like something that could be seen on earth! They glanced up to find an expansive swirl of aurora shading a perfectly clear starry night with bright pinks and greens. The stars, themselves, were nonsense. Nothing like the formations of the world the hero knew.

The hero's breath caught, eyes going wide.

A steaming cup-and-saucer of hot cocoa popped into existence by their left elbow. They could smell the chocolate, sweet as it mixed with the salt of the water around them. A dizzying display of casual power.

"Okay, that's good," the hero allowed. "I'll give you that."

"Only the best for my honoured guest."

The villain sat themselves down opposite, though instead of a squashy armchair they had an elaborate but comfortable looking throne.

"How long does it usually take you to get bored?" the hero asked. "Because, you know, I've learned my lesson."

"Oh?"

"It's ridiculous to try and fight you."

"You're fighting me right now, in your way. Trying to convince a god to give you what you want. Trying your luck."

"You're not a god."

"No, gods are a cute mortal inventions. But I thought the comparison might make sense to you."

The hero's stomach squeezed. Another glance at the sky, at the calm waters of an eternally stretching sea, had them gathering more details. Namely that if this entire universe had an orbit, a centre of gravity, it was the hero's unassuming armchair. Or, worse, the hero themselves.

They turned their attention back to the villain, as if everything around them wasn't in some way the villain.

"Okay," the hero said. "Then surely gods, for want of a better word, have better things to do than sitting with me. Isn't this a bit like having hot chocolate with an ant?"

"But a very charming ant."

"We're more charming outside of captivity. Could do dinner."

"See," the villain cooed. "You just don't give up! This is why I knew I simply had to meet you. And I know you wanted to meet me. You've been trying so hard to find me, out in your little world."

"Is that a no to dinner?"

An elaborate banquet table replaced the library shelves.

"That's not real food," the hero said, with as much surety as they could muster. "You know I can't live on air and fairytales, yeah? If you keep me here forever, or until you get bored, I'll starve."

"Which do you think will happen first?"

"Excuse me?"

"Forever. Or me getting bored of you. Which will come first?"

"Forever, probably, is the vibe I'm currently getting."

The villain laughed, so the hero assumed they'd given the correct answer. It was...it was terrifying. More terrifying was the fact that a small part of the hero wanted to be flattered. They'd never had a universe literally revolve around them before.

The hero took a sip of the cocoa, out of some dangerous, dubious curiosity. It tasted like a childhood memory. Safety as the nights drew in. There was no safety from the abyss they were talking to, though, was there? Not really.

"If this is your domain, then this is...you," the hero said. "Which means if I were to find a way to beat you, it would be here. Seems risky to let me so close."

The villain's smile grew, like they knew something that the hero didn't.

"And you're probably not going to let me die," the hero reasoned, "no matter what I do. Even if you set a minotaur on me, or whatever."

The villain shrugged. "Why kill you when I could stretch your entrails like strawberry laces and hang you up in my study like Christmas lights?"

"Wouldn't that kill me?"

"Not here. Not if I don't want it to. It would hurt, though."

"Most people stomp ants. Especially the biting kind."

"Do you want me to kill you?"

"No. I'm just trying to understand what this...is."

"I believe humans call it 'seduction.'"

The hero nearly choked on the cocoa. They carefully set their drink aside, noting the little clink it made despite themselves. Real. Disturbingly real.

"Seduction is trapping me in your domain?" the hero asked.

"Many of the great love stories start with forced proximity."

"Less start with Stockholm Syndrome."

"And less still involve the two of us," the villain said cheerily. "But isn't the novelty exciting? You like what I can do. You said it was good."

"I meant that it was impressive."

"I am. As are you. A perfect fit."

"Are ants impressive?"

"You made the ant comparison, not me."

The hero studied them.

"Drink your cocoa," the villain said, rolling their eyes, oh so indulgent. "I'll let you go eventually. Unharmed."

"When you get bored."

"Before you starve to death. That would be far too mundane an end to our game."

That was...something. Even if it seemed too easy. Even if it seemed like no promise whatsoever that the villain wouldn't end up drawing them into their domain again. In the real world, surely, the hero could win. They could fight cultists. But that still left this. Them.

"Do you promise? That you'll let me go?"

"Promises," the villain mused. "That's almost as cute an invocation as gods. Very well." They leaned in, eyes bright, smile turning to a grin revealing dozens upon dozens of sharp teeth. "I promise."

Surrounded by sea and stars on every side, with no conceivable way to run, the hero could only hope they meant it.

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

Can you please write a fic for the prompt “late night chats”?

The sound of Ron’s footsteps treading up the stairs to the dormitory slowly fades, and they’re finally alone in the Common Room. 

Ginny makes a show of checking to make sure the coast is clear, and then she burrows happily into Harry’s side, snuggling deeper into the squashy sofa by the fire. His arm snakes around her waist to pull her in closer. They should probably go to bed, too, but it seems wasteful not to eke out every moment she can, to wring this weekend completely dry of moments with him. 

“Thought he’d never leave,” Ginny says with a sly grin. “I was ready to sit on your lap just so he’d get the hint.”

“Were you?” Harry says with interest. Then, he turns his head toward the stairs, and calls, “Ron?” as though to summon him back. 

Ginny snorts and pokes him in the side, and he turns that devastating smirk back at her - flashing green eyes, crooked lips, the hint of a dimple - the one that’s had her slowly losing her mind for months. 

She still can’t quite believe she’s allowed to kiss the smirk off his lips, now. She does, just to prove it’s real. 

Every moment alone they’ve stolen has taken on this oxymoronic tone: bodily tangible, like she can reach out and grasp their growing tangle of feelings as easily as a Quaffle, but wholly surreal, like they’re some elaborate daydream snatched from her subconscious. Both, and neither. 

She pulls back and smiles at him, and he does too, something wry creeping into their expressions, something that seems to say, we’re nauseating but I can’t help it. 

He’s made her so quickly greedy for more, the git. It’s been two days of kissing and banter and touches, overwhelming and not enough. 

“Tell me something,” she says, suddenly, “that you haven’t told anyone before.”

His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, and Ginny’s plunged immediately into the vulnerability of her question, the implication of it. I want to be closer, she’s asking, do you? But, she’s not in Gryffindor for nothing, and so she holds his gaze and withstands his onslaught of silence. 

“Hm,” he says, looking thoughtful. “About what?”

“Anything,” she shrugs. “Whatever.”

Harry furrows his brow, stares ahead into the middle distance, and Ginny holds her breath, waiting to find out whether he’ll hand her a key or if she’ll have to keep knocking, knowing already she’s succumbed to knocking at his door until her knuckles bruise. 

“I dunno if my dad was a good person,” Harry says without preamble. 

Ginny doesn’t know what she’d expected him to tell her, but it hadn’t been that. “What makes you say that?”

He stares at his knees and explains about the Occlumency lessons with Snape. The memory he was never supposed to see. His father, every bit the bully Snape had always claimed. 

“--that’s why I wanted to talk to Sirius, last year,” Harry admits. “When you helped distract Umbridge. Stupid, I know–”

“It’s not stupid,” Ginny says fiercely. She feels the weight of it, what he’s told her. Wondering about someone who isn’t around to ask. Grieving someone and the idea of them at once. “What did Sirius say?”

“He said he grew out of it,” Harry says, though his tone says loud and clear that this explanation hadn’t been satisfactory to him. “But, I dunno. Means he was still a git before, doesn't it?”

“Maybe,” Ginny agrees. “Or maybe that was his worst moment.”

“Pretty shit moment.”

“Yeah,” Ginny admits, leaning her head on her hand, propped up on the back of the sofa so that she’s turned to face him. “Pretty shit. But I’d hate it if my future children only got to see me… oh, I dunno. Hex Zacharias Smith. Or slip that itching powder into Romilda Vane’s pumpkin juice.”

Harry shoots her a look. “When did you do that?”

“She tried to give you a love potion and got my brother poisoned, Harry.”

Harry snorts. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Well, that’s what I mean. We’ve all had shit moments that’d look terrible without proper context. My future children wouldn’t have any idea what Romilda had done to get on my bad side, would they?”

“I suppose,” Harry says, though he still sounds unconvinced. “But I don’t reckon there’s any context that’d make him look much better. I’m not saying Snape was a saint, I’m sure he gave as good as he got. But it… my dad was humiliating him. On purpose.”

“Mm,” Ginny hums slowly, mulling it over. “Do you reckon Sirius was right? That he did grow out of it?”

Harry swipes a hand through his messy hair. “He must’ve. My mum married him. Sirius and Lupin said he was better. But, I dunno. Maybe he did. I’ll never know, anyway.”

Ginny reckons that’s the real problem - the never knowing. Forgiveness is a difficult thing to offer when the person isn’t around to ask for or receive it. 

“I wish,” she says wistfully, “you’d got to see more. People can’t be all bad, I don’t think. I’m sure Sirius and Lupin have hundreds of memories that you would’ve liked him in. Makes it easier not to like him in that one.”

Harry’s lips part, and then he nods. “Yeah. Me too.”

She’s still thinking about it when Harry shocks her. “What about you, then?”

“Hmm?” she asks, confused. 

Harry jerks his head at her and nudges her knee with his own. “Your turn. Something you’ve never said to anyone.”

Ginny meets his eye, the warmth billowing through her chest like a cloud of candyfloss. He wants to know her, too. The thought - I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone - threatens to spill from her lips, but she holds her tongue, wanting to offer him something of equal weight. 

“I use the bathroom on the second floor whenever I can,” she says, knowing he’ll understand which one she means. “Just to prove I’m not bothered by it. Only, it does bother me. Maybe that’s why I keep using it.”

He looks stricken. “Do you still think about it a lot? The Chamber?”

Ginny shrugs, perhaps a bit more nonchalant than she actually feels. “A bit. Still get nightmares sometimes, but not as often as I used to.”

“Yeah,” he says, and she’s struck for a moment by the fact that they might be haunted by the same ghost. “Me, too.”

She shoots him a commiserating look, and continues. “But it’s not about… about Riddle, really. I mean, it is. But it’s more about… me.”

“What do you mean?” His stare is so piercing, like he’s trying to see straight through to her soul. She imagines he can. 

“I dunno. It was awful, obviously, what happened. But when I think back on it, what actually bothers me…” she chews on her words, trying to articulate the vague shame that always clings to these memories, “is that I was so stupid.”

“What?” Harry says sharply. “You were eleven. That diary… it’s… you weren’t stupid.” His words are so firm that it steals her breath. “That was a powerful bit of Dark Magic, you couldn’t have done anything.”

“No, I know that. Logically, I know that. But, I dunno. I wrote so many pathetic things in that diary.” She tries to laugh, but it comes out a bit scratchy. “I was so lonely, after Ron left for school. So desperate to go off to Hogwarts and have mad adventures and play Quidditch and… meet you.” She stares down at her hands, the embarrassment threatening to overwhelm her. “I just hate that he knows all that, that I was this pathetic, desperate little girl–”

“He doesn’t,” Harry says. “The version of him you wrote to is gone. The real one doesn’t know any of it.”

“Oh,” she replies, coming up short. “How do you…? Well, never mind, you haven’t got to answer that, I suppose–”

“It’s not that I don’t want to–”

“No, I know,” Ginny says quickly, unable to bear some platitude, not from him, “Really, you haven’t–”

“Whatever you wrote in that diary died with it,” Harry says firmly. “I promise.”

Ginny nods, and lets the words sink in. Ever since Riddle had come back, she’d wondered whether pathetic little Ginny Weasley was somewhere in the back of his mind. Weak. Stupid. An easy target, close to Harry. The relief that she might just be anyone – no one, even – to this version of Riddle, is palpable. 

“Thanks,” Ginny breathes. “That makes me feel a bit… better.”

“You weren’t pathetic,” Harry says, like the thought is so absurd he’d never considered she might feel that way. “It’s quite impressive you managed to resist it for so long, actually.”

Everything that had happened with that diary has been so tinted with shame, with weakness, that Harry might consider her brave for it… it feels so antithetical to everything she’d ever thought, she nearly laughs. 

“Right,” Ginny says, deflecting away with a joke. “I’m sure all those roosters thought I was very impressive.”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t laugh. “That wasn’t you. It was him.”

Easy to say, harder to feel. “The Department of Mysteries wasn’t you, either.”

Harry stares at her, and she holds his gaze unwaveringly. She can see she’s made her point, can read in the pull of his brow that Harry understands exactly the weight of a guilt so heavy that words can’t lighten it. Just as plainly, though, she can see that he hates that she’s carrying it at all. 

Fair enough, really. She hates that he is, too. 

She breaks eye contact and nestles back into his side. She lifts up his hand with hers, plays absently with his fingers. “Why haven’t you ever told Ron and Hermione about your dad?”

He considers for a long moment, letting her play with his hand and pulling her in closer with the other. “Dunno, really. Just felt… defensive, I suppose. Like whatever they’d said, it would’ve bothered me.”

“I get that.” She winces. “Did I upset you?”

“No,” Harry says quickly. “It’s not like that, with you.”

The words melt in her heart like honey, covering everything in sweet, sticky warmth. She ceases her mindless fiddling with his fingers and looks up at him, knowing her face must be an open book, knowing it must be apparent that he’s got her whole honey-coated heart in his hands. “It’s not like that with you, either.”

He stares back at her, deep into her eyes, and for the first time it occurs to her to check her own palm for his.

He leans down and kisses her deeply, and she pulls herself up and snakes her arms around his neck. This thing has always been irritatingly there, for Ginny - the way she can read exactly what he’s thinking without even trying, the way she trusts him absolutely, the way he makes her heart skitter like she’s in a free fall. 

It’d never honestly occurred to her how powerful it would be to have it reciprocated. To have him understand what she’s saying so completely, to have him offer her something vulnerable just because she asked, to feel his heart hammering against her own. 

It’s been two bloody days, and yet she’s slipped past the point of no return with him already. Perhaps she’d started there. 

She pulls back from the kiss, feeling breathless. Harry looks a bit winded, himself. 

“We should probably go to bed,” he mutters, eyes still locked with hers. 

They should, probably. 

And they will. Eventually.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Nest Pic

Inspired by this little bit of omegaverse meta from forever ago.

steddie, omegaverse, modern au, courtship in the digital age

An omega’s nest is a sacred space; private, meant only to share with close pack members, with pups, with a mate. It’s a place to relax and feel safe. A refuge.

Steve’s nest is no different, plush and filled with scent tokens, some so old they smell only of him, of sweet orange and spice. Not many people have seen it: Tommy, after he first presented, back when it was mostly made of nesting supplies his mother picked up at Pottery Barn; Nancy, when they were dating, but she mostly made excuses to avoid being in his nest; Dustin a couple times, when the pup was too overwhelmed, and going home came with too much baggage around his parents’ messy divorce; and Robin. Of course, Robin! For Steve, some days it was almost like having an alpha his nest smelled so much like her. She’ll stroke his hair and hold him close, let him snuggle into her shoulder to block out the light when his migraines flare, and he feels whole.

Eddie’s never seen Steve’s nest, even with Steve offering up his massive kitchen table to Hellfire for close to a year. Even with how close they’ve grown looking out for the same group of pups. Even with Steve routinely spending a Saturday night on the squashy couch at Eddie’s, sharing a joint, his legs sprawled across the alpha’s lap. Even with how cuddly Steve gets when he’s high or tired, how much he clings to Eddie at every chance.

Even now that Eddie has officially given Steve a scent token for his nest.

But they’re still just friends. Close friends. Pack. But *just* friends.

At least, that’s what Eddie thinks until he gets a picture message from Steve close to midnight. No text, just a mess of blankets and pillows, the scrap of the torn up Dio shirt he used to make the patch on the back of his battle vest given pride of place. Warmth fills his belly, and Eddie stares at the photo until his phone goes to sleep, screen turning black.

He hurries to wake it, staring again for a few seconds, then typing a quick, “Can’t sleep?”

“Nope, went for coffee witg Robs way 2 late today. Feel wired” Steve sends back, followed quickly by a second text: “And my heat is due soon”

Eddie reads the words over and over, not sure how to respond, only for another picture to come through, one of Steve, too close up and cutting off most of his face, in his nest, one of Eddie’s hoodies around his shoulders—which Eddie doesn’t remember giving to him, Steve must have swiped it from his den when he was over. He looks cozy, and the pic shows off his neck, the long line of it, the soft swell of his mating gland disappearing into his shirt collar. Somehow, Steve is completely covered up, but it feels like the most salacious image Eddie has saved on his phone (of course he already saved it!). A nest pic is serious. An opening salvo to more.

But Eddie doesn’t trust himself, and he sends a simple, “Steve?” back, even as he feels himself chub up in his sweatpants.

Another pic, showing more of Steve, more of his nest, along with, “You should be here, Eddie”

Maybe he’s lost his mind, but Eddie types back, “15 mins, sweetheart,” as he struggles to find his shoes and his jacket and his keys. By the time he pulls into the Harringtons’ driveway, Eddie has 8 new texts all from Steve. He doesn’t bother looking at them, though.

Steve is waiting for him at the door, Eddie’s sweatshirt still wrapped around his shoulders. “Hey,” Eddie says as he approaches.

“Hey, yourself.”

“I figured we should actually talk in person, because this feels… fast.” Eddie bites his lip, stopping just short of invading Steve’s space.

“Is it, though?” Steve asks with a soft smile. “Robin always says I’m too obvious about my feelings.”

Eddie chuckles; Steve is very physical in his affections. “I need some words, Stevie.”

“I already invited you up to my nest, but I’ll say anything for you, Eddie.” Steve closes the distance between them, and leans in for a tentative first kiss.

Eddie kisses back, pleasant sparks filling his belly as he puts his hands on Steve’s hips. “Say you mean it,” he whispers when their lips finally part.

“I do. God, Eddie, you’ve gotta know that I’m yours. Your omega.” He put his hands over Eddie’s, holding himself in place and leaning their foreheads together. “Now I want my alpha with me in my nest.”

“Lead the way, Puppy.”

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

Don't mind me, just thinking about a character recovering from an illness or injury. The danger has passed, but they're still weak and exhaustion follows them like a heavy cloud. Comfort food is brought regularly. Soft clothes. Blankets. Fuzzy socks.

Particularly, the image of them sleeping on a squashy looking couch. Maybe they kicked off the blankets. Golden sunlight bathes them in warmth, and it's heavenly. Their hair is fluffed and messy.

And their companion stops themselves in the threshold of the door, not wanting to disturb this rare moment of bliss. They're carrying a tray of warm food, and the steam catches in the sun's rays just right.

They smile. Lunch can wait.

[thatrandomwriter]

Be Right Back

Ghostface Stu Macher x Reader

Warnings: Threat of violence, underage drinking, kissing

Summary: Ghostface follows reader into the basement at Stu’s house party, but reader has an idea about who might be behind the mask

“I don’t know what you did, Sidney, but on behalf of the entire student body we all say thank you!” Stu had swooped in to walk with Sidney, Tatum and I, presenting us with flowers. He winked at me, and I rolled my eyes. He clutched his chest as if this was the most heartless action I could’ve taken. I laughed.

“Drop it, Stu,” Tatum said as Sidney looked down at the ground, but Stu was not put off.

He slid between me and Sidney, slinging an arm around each of our shoulders, “Ya know I say, impromptu party tonight, my house, celebrate this little siesta. What do you say?” I could smell his fresh cologne, feel his warmth next to me.

“Are you serious?” Sidney asked, unconvinced.

“Sounds like fun - might be good to take your mind off things?” I said.

“That’s exactly right,” Stu piggybacked off my reasoning, flashing me a grin. I felt my face heat up slightly, “If Tatum doesn’t invite the entire world, we’ll be fine. Intimate gathering, intimate friends,”

“What do you say, Sid? I mean, pathos could have it’s perks,” If Tatum was on board too, there was no way Sidney was saying no.

“You’ll be totally protected. Yo, I am so buff. I got you covered, girl,” Stu made a show of removing his arms from around us to flex them exaggeratedly.

“With Stu as your bodyguard, no-one is getting anywhere near you,” I said, and Sidney smiled.

“Come on, Sid. For me? It could be fun,” Tatum appealed.

“Okay, whatever,” Sidney caved in.

“Yeah? Cool, you guys bring food, alright?” Stu said, leaving to walk in another direction. I turned to wave goodbye, catching him doing a triumphant air guitar.

“Save that energy for the party,” I called back to him.

“I’ll be at the top of my game, don’t you worry,”

*

I was a few hours and a few drinks into the party. Stu had disappeared a little while ago, and embarrassingly, I was disappointed that he wasn’t around to hang out with anymore. Instead, I was sandwiched between Sidney and Tatum, sunk deep into the squashy sofa, someone’s legs across mine.

“I’m getting some more drinks - anyone want anything?” I asked, feeling more claustrophobic than thirsty. I was met with a general consensus that just about everybody needed another beer “I’ll grab whatever I can carry,”

Tatum removed her arm from my shoulders, and I struggled up from the sofa.

“Thank you!” Tatum grinned up at me.

“Be right back,”

I was still getting used to the size of Stu’s house, managing to open two wrong doors before I came across the basement - dark and steep stepped. I fumbled for the light switch, hand patting down the wall, until finally I felt it and flipped it on, lights flickering into being.

The fridge was impressively stocked - full of as much beer as could be crammed into it, bottles and cans stacked haphazardly, threatening to fall to the floor if I made one wrong move. I wiggled a few free, grabbing bottles by the necks in an attempt to fit more in my hands. It would be a miracle if I made it back to the party without dropping any of them, but one trip down into the spooky basement was enough for me, especially with a killer around; I would not be making a second trip if anyone ended up without a drink.

I reversed with the beers, shutting the fridge with my foot and nearly toppling over, stumbling backwards until I hit a wall. No, not a wall - a person, soft and warm.

“Sorry, guess I’m more tipsy than I thought,” I laughed, turning to see who I had fallen into. A white mask, mouth open in an exaggerated scream stared down at me. A ghostface mask. “Shit, you scared me,” Was this just a tone-deaf joke? Perhaps someone had meant to catch Sidney down here to really freak her out. Or maybe this was the real deal - I fought the urge to laugh. This could not be how I died, fetching beer at a trashy highschool party.

“I’m just gonna-“ I moved to walk around him and back up to the party, but he side-stepped, making me walk into him again. Something about him seemed familiar - his height, the way he stood, his smell … I realised then exactly who it was. I had smelled Stu’s cologne when he had put his arm around me earlier, and I could smell it again, now.

“Stu?” I let out my laugh, relieved. He had a tendency to take jokes too far, this was just an instance of his somewhat unsympathetic sense of humour.

Stu shook his head, mask turning from side to side.

“Come on, I know it’s you. Let’s go have a drink,”

Metal gleamed as Stu revealed a knife from inside one of his long sleeves.

“That’s not funny, Stu,” Was this part of his joke? Would he really take it this far, or was I somehow mistaken about the identity of whoever it was behind the mask?

The person tilted their head to one side, as if he were analysing what I was saying. For a moment, we were at a silent impasse. Then, Ghostface lunged for me with the knife. Beer slid from my arms, shattering on the basement floor, and I made no effort to hold onto it as I ducked. I shoved at the body in front of me to put some distance between us. I was trapped between him and the shut garage door - all I could do was try to evade his attacks. Part of me was still convinced that it was Stu, another knew that surely he was not capable of murder. He stabbed at me again, and this time I gripped onto his arm, but the knife was aimed for my chest. I was weaker than he was, and despite all of my efforts, the knife was still closing in on me. I knew in that moment that I was not going to win this fight, so instead, I turned my attention to the mask. I managed to push his arm to the side, stepping away from it so that he stumbled forward. Before he could recover, I grabbed onto the mask, yanking it away from his head.

“Stu?” The reveal floored me. I had been expecting this, I had known it was him, but still I was shocked. Stu regained his footing, taking advantage of my shock to shove me backwards and into a wall, a real one this time, knife at my throat. I was breathing heavily, from a combination of fighting him, fear, and, ridiculously, what felt like nervousness twitching in my chest at our proximity.

“How’d you know it was me, huh?” He pushed the knife further into my skin for a second, punctuating the question.

If it was anyone else, I probably would not have figured it out, “I just … recognised you,”

“You did? Well, I have to say, I’m very flattered - what are you, a stalker?” Stu was teasing me, laughing at me, with a knife to my neck. He stepped forward, even closer to me than before, almost touching me. I could still feel my chest rising and falling heavily.

“You’re flattered?” Part of me thought that maybe playing into this attraction could keep me alive, even just long enough for someone to notice that I had been gone too long from the party. Another part was shamefully intrigued as to where this was leading.

“Of course I am - don’t you think I’ve noticed you too?” he leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Who would’ve thought a knife was the way to get your attention?”

When he pulled back, I couldn’t help but glance down at his lips, how close they were to mine. As soon as my eyes were back on his, I knew that he had noticed. My face grew hot, but something shifted in his expression, becoming less playful and more serious as he surged forwards to kiss me. I tilted my head up towards him, my eyes shutting as his lips moved against mine, fast and hungry and full of desperation. I was pressed between him and the wall, the coldness behind me a stark contrast to the warmth in front. One of his hands found my neck, replacing the knife, thumb grazing my throat in a gentle caress meant to remind me that I was still entirely at his mercy. The feeling made me groan slightly. His teeth nipped roughly at my lower lip, hard enough to sting. I parted my lips for him, and he delighted in sliding his tongue into my mouth, leaving me somehow even more breathless than before.

His hands were on my hips, “Jump up,” Stu broke away from me only for a second, as I jumped up to wrap my legs around his waist. He used the wall to hold me up, one hand snaking back up to my neck, the other resting on my hip, fingers grazing the skin just beneath my top. He used the hand on my neck to pull my head to the side, kissing down my jaw until he reached skin soft enough to leave a hickey. Stu bit at my neck, sucking soft skin between his teeth, making me wince slightly which only encouraged him. When he was finally satisfied, he looked up at me, grinning, “You’re my masterpiece,”

The doorknob jiggled, before a knock on the door made him turn away. “You alright in there? I came to see if you needed help carrying the drinks,” Sidney’s voice sounded down into to basement.

I looked to Stu. Now would be the time for me to scream for help, “All good, I think the door locks when you shut it too hard sometimes,” I said. She would never make it through the locked door in time to save me, I told myself. But Stu was kissing my neck, nuzzling into me, and I knew the real reason.

“If you say so,” Sidney said.

“Yep, I’ll be up in a minute,” I struggled to keep my voice steady, but my reply seemed to satisfy Sidney, as there was no other sound from upstairs.

“How do you know you’ll be back?” Stu asked, finally removing himself from my neck to look into my eyes.

“I don’t, but I thought you’d want me to get rid of her,”

A smile widened across his face at my compliance, and his thumb caressed my throat once again, “Aren’t you clever?”

“Will I be back?” I asked; he was carefully evading answering his own question.

“I haven’t quite decided yet,” his hand had strayed to the knife which had been resting on top of a chest freezer, “But I’m sure you can figure out a way to make keeping you alive worth my trouble,”

[monstersandmaw]

What do you think a house or building designed by and for accommodating nagas be like? I imagine stairs would be kind of pointless? And what would their version of couches or sofas look?

My first thought was something like a helter skelter XD.

Sorry, to be more serious, I'd imagine that if it's a multi-storey building, it'd have ramps but also if the nagas are based on tree-climbing snakes, then maybe columns with grippy textures to access different levels easily. Otherwise, all on one level.

Also underfloor heating (think Roman hypocaust systems if it's a fantasy world, or just... underfloor heating if it's modern) for maintaining a good temperature for them. Or heat lamps/sauna room. Areas to allow them to shed more comfortably?

Lots of squashy soft furnishings (beanbags and padded beds (kind of like dogbeds but not degrading lol), rather than wooden dining chairs etc.)

Feel free to add more ideas in the notes, folks!

It's 11.20pm now and I've been nuked by 5 hours on my motorbike today, and also daylight saving happening XD

[magical-reid]

Dancing on the Edge

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none?

Word count: 1.1K

She wasn’t like the other Slytherins. A pureblood through and through, she had the poise and privilege her housemates prided themselves on, but she also had an independence of spirit that set her apart. Unlike her peers, she counted Gryffindors Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger among her closest friends.

Of course, that hadn’t stopped Fred and George Weasley from making her the subject of countless pranks during her first five years at Hogwarts. It was Fred in particular who seemed to delight in getting under her skin, though Y/N often found herself biting back laughter instead of indignation. There was something about Fred’s roguish grin and the twinkle in his eye that made her heart skip just a little too quickly for her liking.

Now in her sixth year, Y/N was determined to avoid trouble. However, trouble had a way of finding her—especially when it involved the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

The Gryffindor common room was alight with celebration. After a grueling Quidditch match, Gryffindor had been crowned the school champions, and no one was more jubilant than the Weasley twins. Fred and George stood on a makeshift podium near the fireplace, leading the room in a raucous cheer.

Y/N, who had slipped into the party at Ginny’s insistence, found herself perched awkwardly on the armrest of a squashy chair. She clapped along half-heartedly as the team passed around the Quidditch Cup. She hadn’t planned on staying long—she wasn’t even sure she belonged there—but Ginny had handed her a Butterbeer the moment she walked in, and then another, and another.

“Loosen up, Y/N!” Ginny laughed, tugging her into the throng of dancing students.

The butterbeer was stronger than she expected. Or maybe it was the Firewhiskey someone had slipped into the drinks. Whatever it was, her usual composure was unraveling, and before long, she was swept up in the energy of the party.

Fred had been watching her from across the room.

He wasn’t sure when he’d started noticing her in a way that wasn’t entirely platonic, but it had been gnawing at him for months. Maybe it was the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder when she was annoyed with him. Or the way she could outwit him in their sparring matches of sarcasm.

But tonight, she wasn’t the sharp-tongued Slytherin who kept him on his toes. She was… carefree. Radiant. She danced with abandon, her green eyes sparkling under the flickering firelight.

“She’s having a good time,” George said, appearing at his side.

Fred rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the insight, mate.”

Somewhere along the way, she ended up on a table. She wasn’t sure how it happened, and frankly, she didn’t care. All she knew was that the music was infectious, the cheering of the crowd was thrilling, and the world felt weightless and exhilarating.

“Y/N, get down from there!” Hermione hissed from the sidelines, but Y/N only laughed and twirled.

Fred froze as he saw her climb onto the table. His pulse quickened as she started to sway to the music, her movements wild and uncoordinated.

“Oh no,” he muttered.

The chandelier above the table rattled as she reached up to mimic a dramatic dance pose, her fingers grazing the crystals.

“Y/N, watch out!” Ginny called, but it was too late. She lost her balance, her head hitting the chandelier before she tumbled off the table.

Fred reacted instinctively. He dashed forward, catching her in his arms just as she fell.

The room erupted in laughter and applause, but Fred’s heart was pounding. He looked down at Y/N, who was giggling uncontrollably.

“You’ve had enough for one night,” Fred said firmly, but his voice was gentler than he intended.

“Oh, George,” she slurred, blinking up at him. “You’re so cute. Don’t tell Fred I said that, though. He’d never let me live it down.”

Fred’s stomach flipped. She thought he was George.

“Right,” he said, trying to mask his disappointment. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

Fred carried her up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory, navigating the curious looks of his housemates. He set Y/N down gently on his bed, draping a blanket over her.

She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed. “You’re such a good friend, George,” she murmured, her words slurring. “But don’t tell Fred. He’s mean to me. Even though he’s really handsome. And funny.”

Fred felt his face heat up. Was she serious? Did she actually think he was George?

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I won’t tell Fred.”

She smiled contentedly, her eyes fluttering closed.

Fred watched her for a moment, his emotions a tangled mess. He brushed a strand of brown hair from her face before turning to leave.

The morning sunlight streamed through the dormitory windows, pulling Y/N from a restless sleep. Her head throbbed, and her memories of the night before were hazy at best.

She sat up slowly, wincing as the events of the party began to trickle back into her mind.

“Oh no,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

Her head snapped up. Fred was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Fred?” she said, her voice rising an octave.

“The one and only,” he said, pushing off the frame and walking toward her.

Y/N’s heart sank. If Fred was here, then…

“Oh Merlin,” she muttered. “I thought you were George.”

Fred chuckled. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

Her cheeks burned. “What did I—what did you—?”

“Well, you called me cute,” Fred said, grinning. “And apparently, I’m handsome and funny. Though you didn’t want Fred—me—to know that. Bit of a mixed message, don’t you think?”

She groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. “Please tell me this is a nightmare.”

Fred gently tugged the blanket away, his expression softening. “It’s not a nightmare, love. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty great too.”

She froze, her eyes searching his face. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

Fred shook his head. “No tricks. No pranks. I mean it.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Well, in that case… maybe last night wasn’t a total disaster.”

Fred grinned. “That’s the spirit. Though, for the record, you might want to avoid dancing on tables in the future.”

“Noted,” Y/N said, laughing despite herself.

As Fred sat down beside her, she felt a warmth settle in her chest. Maybe Gryffindors and Slytherins weren’t so different after all.

[hayanwulf]

Painful Flowers

Tony stared down at the scene in abject horror.

Flowers and petals pooled the entire floor of the room. The large four-poster bed had literally turned into a flower bed, comprising of flora unlike anything on Earth. Their shapes and colors were otherworldly, some colors unrecognizable even, each one of them possessing an unfathomable beauty.

And amidst it, covered in thorny vines and soft flowers, lay the cold, motionless body of Stephen Strange.

Tony had never hated flowers more in his life than he did right at that moment.

He slowly stepped in, his gut twisting into knots, senses repelled by the sweet, floral scent in the air, trying to ignore the way the petals felt squashy under his boots.

This had to be a nightmare. This had to be. Maybe if he punched himself now, he’d find himself back in his workshop, neck lying on his desk in an appalling angle that would pain him for the rest of the day; back in a world where, with just a quick call, the wizard would instantly show up at his workshop, walking out of a sparking portal with a haughty remark on his lips, his cloak fluttering on non-existent wind.

It was exactly a week ago that he had done just that.

Exactly a week ago when he had seemed fine. Or the week before that, during Tony and Pepper’s wedding. Or the week before that, when they had met up for their usual lunch date.

He had been completely fine.

There had been no outward signs. No coughing or concerning shortage of breath. No indications of a sad or downhearted mood. No traces of anything being wrong. No, he had simply been his usual self. Snarky, throwing playful banters around with Tony that they both found easy to engage in, sharp as a pencil with his comebacks, a trace of content satisfaction always wrapped around his aura whenever he was around Tony.

He could still recall the brightened expression in the sorcerer’s face when they had met last week, that small, genuine smile he had given Tony, his eyes sparkling with a special kind of attention which they didn’t seem to hold for many people in this world.

“Are you happy?” He had asked Tony, at the end of the day. “With you marriage?”

“Couldn’t imagine being happier,” Tony had replied, letting all of his contentment pour into his words.

“I’m happy for you, Tony.”

They hadn’t met after that day. Tony had sent a couple of texts, especially one about their missed lunch date on Wednesday, and had never gotten a reply. But that hadn’t raised any concerns or suspicions. Why would it have? They were superheroes, their lives were busy and unpredictable.

And now, a week later, Stephen lay lifelessly in his own bed, succumbed to Hanahaki.

Unpredicted in the most unpredictable way.

Tony dared to look down at the man’s face.

There was some scabbed blood at a corner of his lips, red-bathed flowers lying next to his head and on his neck from where he had obviously coughed them out of his lungs. Even in his frozen state, his eyebrows were a little tense, scrunched-up as though in pain.

It was very slow and very painful, Tony realized.

The thought made something squeeze painfully tight in his chest.

A blue butterfly sat on his nose, its wings opening and closing slowly. Tony had no way of knowing if it was supposed to be one of his magic butterflies, or if it had simply found its way in through some crack on the windows, allured by the fragrant flowers.

Sickening flowers.

There was a disturbing-looking thin, green vine coming out of the side of his eye. Thorns dotted the length of the vine, needle-thin and menacing.

He had wept thorny vines, not normal tears.

And it looked excruciating.

Tony hadn’t even known that was something possible in Hanahaki. Probably shouldn’t be. Probably had to do something with magic, the same magic that had resulted in all of these unrecognizable flowers Tony was staring down at, instead of normal, Earthly flowers.

“How..?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Wong sighed softly from somewhere at his right. Tony didn’t care to look as the other sorcerer spoke, his eyes unable to leave the impossibly pale, lifeless man lying in front of him.

“According to the apprentices, he locked himself in a week ago. I was gone to another dimension the entire week. When I came back it was to learn that he hadn’t been seen around the entire time. It took me hours to break the spells he put up to ward his room.” A pause, then a tentative, “He left us sometime last night.”

Tony’s eyes stung as he took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Nothing made sense here. “He visited me a week ago. He was fine.” His words quivered.

“Don’t forget that he.. was, a powerful sorcerer. He’s been hiding his condition for a while.”

Tony snapped his head over to Wong, glaring at him through tears. “Not powerful enough to overcome fucking petal disease?”

He vibrated with anger. Whether that was towards Wong or the unmoving man on the bed or that fucked up disease, he didn’t know.

It didn’t make sense. You didn’t just die from Hanahaki, not in 21st century where you had effective solutions for symptom management and high-tech life support, where you had access to therapy and support communities and what-fucking-not. Very, very rarely did Hanahaki progress into a terminal stage in the modern world, and those were almost always cases where the person’s unrequited love or significant other had passed away, leaving them with no way of having a closure.

Wong’s own gaze was stuck on Stephen, eyes stricken with grief and what seemed like guilt. “Then maybe his love was more powerful than his magic.”

The comment made him recoil, his stomach twisting with a complicated mix of emotions he didn’t understand, his eyes moving back to the bed of flowers.

Stephen had never told him anything. He.. they had been friends. At least.. at least Tony had thought so.

Clearly, Stephen hadn’t shared the sentiment. Because Tony had never been told about this.. this soul-crushing love Stephen had held for someone in this world. He had sat next to Tony through tedious meetings about the Accords, had shared lunch with Tony every Wednesday, had taught Tony the endless wonders of magic, had made him love magic rather than fear it, had listened to Tony rant late at night about his latest inventions..

He had fought alongside Tony on Titan, had stayed with him through pain and hopelessness and victory. He had stood by Tony’s side as the government had welcomed Rogers back to the states and he had never left.

And yet.. yet he’d never trusted Tony enough to confide in him, to tell him that he held someone so close to his heart.

No, instead he had chosen to lock himself up in his room for the final days of his life, withering away as more and more tragically beautiful flowers sprouted out of his misery.

It stung.

It stung so bad, it constricted around Tony’s heart and lungs like a python’s death grip, dug its disgusting blackened claws deep into the crevices of his soul, made it hard to breathe as he attempted to suck in a ragged breath.

Suddenly the pain morphed, and a vengeful kind of anger rose, higher and higher until it was boiling just beneath his skin. He turned his eyes to Wong.

“Who?”

Wong closed his eyes in a pained movement, shaking his head. “It is not my place to tell.”

Between one moment and another, Tony had crossed over to the sorcerer, holding the neck of his tunic in a vicious grip, eyes fiercely glaring down at the other man. “Don’t fucking bullshit me, Wong,” he spat, voice almost a growl from the ferocious anger roaring inside of him. “He’s.. he’s gone and it doesn’t matter anymore whose place it is to tell! Who did he love?”

Wong did not wither under his gaze in the least. “And what will you do, once you learn their name?”

“I will give them a piece of my fucking mind,” he snarled. “I will tell them how despicable a person they are, for not accepting his love.” For rejecting the person who would have given them an endless repertoire of affection, who would have treated them with nothing less than utmost respect, who was possibly, quite literally, capable of plucking the moon and stars out of the sky on their command.

How fucking dare they not even give him a chance?

Tony would not forgive them. He would tell them exactly what they had done, what they had turned down.

To be entirely honest, he was currently in a state of mind where he would probably just uproot their entire life and personally make sure that they would never be able to experience love again.

Wong didn’t need to know that, however.

“And what if they didn’t know?”

Tony’s grip wavered a little. “What?”

“What if Stephen had never confessed his love, as you seem to assume.”

He looked at the sorcerer from one eye to the other, feeling his own eyebrows crease progressively. “He would.”

Wong shook his head. “He didn’t.”

Tony abruptly released the sorcerer, stepping back as frustration boiled in his chest. “He would. Why wouldn’t he? If he loved them so much..” If he loved them enough to reach the terminal stage of Hanahaki, to not seek treatment in time.. surely, that meant that he had confessed his love to them?

Nobody died of Hanahaki. Nobody wanted to die — well, except suicidal people, but they didn’t necessarily go seeking out Hanahaki for that particularly. Nobody would.

Hanahaki was cruel. It was torture, the worst kind of body horror. It slowly turned your insides into flowers, pretty and fragrant and absolutely sardonic with the way it birthed beauty out of your despair, making you feel every bit of agony as you lost parts of yourself bit by bit, quite literally.

So no, there was no way Stephen would’ve wanted that. Surely, he’d have tried to court his love first before giving up so hopelessly, right?

“He had his reasons, Stark,” Wong said, and Tony couldn’t believe this. No. He couldn’t take this anymore.

What fucking reason warranted preferring to die over never getting over, nor confessing his love?

Why?

Why?

He wanted to walk over to Stephen, grab his shoulders by force and shake him, maybe slap him a few until he expelled all the answers. God, he wished he could do that right now.

‘I’m happy for you, Tony.’

He wished he had asked Stephen at that moment, if he was happy.

He wished he could rewind time. Wished he could go back to the previous week and ask exactly that. And then pin the sorcerer down in his workshop, not let him leave, plug him to a life support right then and there and bully him into accepting treatment.

He wished he could just.. talk to him.

About all the damn questions and mysteries swirling in Tony’s mind. About everything that Tony should have talked about, sooner. About why Stephen thought that his love for this person was important enough to give up his life for.

Why.

Why..

Damn it, Stephen.

His legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor, thick, hot tears streaming down his face. His hand touched the floor, and caught the silken texture of petals. He clamped his fist over them until it hurt, feeling the sickening velvet getting crushed in his grip.

The blue butterfly that had been giving Stephen company, fluttered down to Tony and settled on his thigh, almost as though trying to provide him a soothing touch with its weightless wings. One last piece of Stephen, trying to tell him, it’s okay.

It was the only semblance of comfort.

And an absolute joke of a closure.

Because he knew nothing. He had no answers, and now, he would never have the chance to obtain them.

[danrifics]

no theyre right dnp r broken up i mean did u see the squashie video they were looking at each other with pure malice!!! clearly the bitterest of exes

listen not to defend trisha but like reading something off wiki page that says that dnp haven’t said more than it was romantic at some point and then thinking oh maybe they aren’t together now with literally no other context is kinda understandable imo like she doesn’t really know anything more than that and i kinda think it’s a fair assumption on her part.

i keep seeing so many tags and tweets being like how could she not know just look at them etc and it’s like well she’s not actually looking at them too deeply in fact it literally looks like she’s not thought about dnp for a few years so i don’t know why she’d think anything of it really

[glorious-spoon]

The kiss prompt had me feeling too much like a kid in a candy store, and I couldn't pick. I managed to narrow it down to three, hopefully one of them sparks joy?

…as a suggestion.

…after a small rejection.

…because they’re running out of time.

for buddie please 🩶

:D thank you! i went for 'a kiss after a small rejection', hope you enjoy!

-

Buck has been extremely supportive of Eddie's dating woes, in his opinion. He has been a good friend about it, listening sympathetically to the post-game of every date that fizzled out and every connection that failed to manifest. After Marisol, there was Raquel, and then Marta, and María, and Janelle. Then, maybe less shocking than it would have been a couple of years ago, there was Daniel, and Liam, and Álvaro. Eddie told him about the first of those dates with a glint in his eye that dared Buck to comment, so Buck didn't.

But it means that they're currently in this weird holding pattern where Buck knows that Eddie likes men, and—maybe more relevantly—is willing to consider dating a man, and they still haven't actually talked about it.

That's a conversation that should probably happen. Buck just doesn't know how to bring it up without immediately blurting everything out, without begging Eddie to consider him as an option. And if he does that, there's no coming back from it. If he does that, and Eddie says no, he doesn't know what'll happen. The world will end, or he'll die of mortification and disappointment, or something else unspeakably awful will occur. Maddie keeps telling him that he's catastrophizing, and he knows she's probably right, but that doesn't mean he can just make himself stop.

He's working on it.

Right now, Eddie is flopped across Buck's new couch—brown leather, wide and squashy and comfortable. Natalia helped him pick it out, and he feels a little weird about keeping it now, but the truth is that the couch turned out to be a better fit than the relationship. It's big enough for the two of them to sprawl on while they drink their beers and Eddie grumbles about his most recent date.

"I mean, you know, it was fine. Whatever," he says, with a huffy little shrug. Buck loves Eddie in every mood, but there's something especially charming about him when he's being petulant like this. Maybe because it's such a contrast to the calm, in-control face he presents to the rest of the world. Buck's not the only person who gets to have this part of Eddie, but he is a member of a select group.

"So no second date?" he asks, trying not to sound hopeful.

"He said I was 'a nice guy, but he didn't feel a connection'," Eddie says, with sarcastic one-handed finger-quotes. He takes another sullen pull on his beer.

"That's not so bad," Buck offers. Eddie's dates don't usually crash and burn the way Buck's have a tendency to, or did back when he was actually trying to date. People like Eddie. He's polite and kind and thoughtful, and reserved in a way that comes across as mysterious and fascinating instead of aloof. And that's without even getting into the fact that he looks like a fucking model, but most people know that part before they go out with him. Buck has no idea how anybody could go on a date with Eddie and not immediately fall head over heels in love with him, but he is admittedly a little biased.

"Yeah, I know," Eddie sighs. He pushes himself upright and tilts his head back against the couch, cradling his beer between his palms. "I know, it's not like I really wanted a second date either. It's just…"

"Rejection sucks?" Buck offers.

"That too. Mostly I'm just wondering how long I'm going to have to keep doing this before I find somebody I can have a connection with? Like, with Shannon, it was—"

"—bolt of lightning out of the blue?" Buck asks, because that was how it felt for him, with Eddie. That moment outside the ambulance, Eddie's blinding smile and warm handshake and the way something in him cracked wide open then and never really went away.

Eddie huffs. "Kind of. But—we were friends first. We already had that connection. You know? And then one day I looked at her and I felt like—"

He stops abruptly. If Buck wasn't already watching him, he'd probably miss the way Eddie's eyes flick toward him, and then away.

His stomach feels suddenly like he's on a rollercoaster, in giddy freefall.

"Like you were seeing something completely new?" he asks. He folds his hand tight around his beer, but he can feel it trembling.

Eddie takes a deep, visible breath, then nods and leans forward to set his beer down before turning back toward Buck.

"Yeah," he says quietly, and Buck is almost completely sure that they're not just talking about Shannon anymore. Eddie's face is open, his gaze clear, but Buck knows him well enough to detect the faint hint of nerves there.

That's the thing that finally gives him the courage to do what maybe he should have a long time ago.

"Can you just, uh." He clears his throat, then sets his beer down too. "Tell me if I'm totally misreading this?"

"Yeah, okay," Eddie whispers, but he doesn't pull back. Not when Buck shifts closer on the couch; not when he reaches out to settle a hand on Eddie's cheek, and not when he leans in to press a chaste, careful kiss to Eddie's lips.

It lingers softly for a moment, and then he pulls back and opens his eyes. Eddie blinks a couple of times, then smiles, sudden and bright.

"You're not misreading it," he says, and leans in to kiss Buck again.

(for these kiss prompts)

[ktficworld]

Loving you is not easy, my dear

Pairing: Steve Rogers x desi!reader

Summary: America thinks Steve Rogers can do better and maybe, they are right.

Warning: heavy racism(seriously, I'm not using this word lightly), angst, hurt/comfort, trolling, protective!Steve, reader gets her revenge on the racist bastards 😈

A/n: posting after so long. Already know traction is going to be shit but I'd really appreciate if you reblog this. I'll try to keep it short(I failed💀)

Tags: @sunshine-on-my-mind @slutty-daddy-pedro

This wasn't supposed to happen.

You weren't ready to get dragged through the mud just yet.

You and Steve have been dating for a year. You were a regular software engineer. Wandering around on the internet, to help fellow programmers with their problems. Little did you know, that none other than Tony Stark was there for help under the disguise of 'toiletdistroyer'; frankly, you should have known by this username, but oh well.

So, you caught the billionaires eye and he offered you a job on the spot. And of course, you took it, much to your parents dismay and happiness. With tears filled in your eyes and aachar, parathe stuffed in your tiffin. Of you went to America.

You didn't meet the captain for a good month and honestly, even if you had. You wouldn't have given two fucks about him since you were stressed to the brim with work and moving in.

You slowly met every avenger. Tony was the first, of course. Then it was Bruce Wayne Banner as you worked on the technical part of a bio-tech project he was developing. He was good but was shy and mostly kept to himself. Afterwards followed, Natasha, she was sassy and perfect. You liked talking to her about girl shit and somehow, she took a liking to your weird ass and you befriended black widow.

Next up, was his best friend. Bucky. He caught you wandering outside the stark building because you came too early and so he joined you and the birds chirping. He was cute and funny, but not your type. Thankfully, he wasn't interested and quickly friend zoned him.

Then you met him.

You whistled as you sauntered into the lobby. Clocking out early from your shift and cherry on top, it was Friday. You were going to have a fun weekend. Talking with your parents, watching kdrama and being gleefully single.

Your whistle was disturbed by something squashy yet hard coming underneath your foot. You retreated your foot and glanced down with furrowed brows. It was a brown leather wallet. With a sigh, you bent down and picked up the lost wallet.

You opened the wallet to see the identity of the abandoned wallet's owner and your eyebrows disappeared into you hairline as the stupidly handsome face of the captain appeared in front of you. He must have dropped it in a hurry.

Your eyes darted around as you bit your bottom lip. The sane thing to do would be to go to the reception, hand her the wallet and go your merry way. But he might still be around and also, the receptionist looked too bitchy for you to deal with. So you went for the less sane option, of course.

You took a deep breath and glanced up at the ceiling. "Hey, Friday. Is Captain Rogers still in the compound?"

"Yes, miss. Shona. Captain Rogers is in the parking lot." The robotic voice of Friday said from above.

"Thank you, Friday." You said and deeply sighed. Yes, you could do it. No need to be nervous. What if he's Captain America? You ain't a criminal. With that peep talk, you rushed to the parking lot.

You almost tripped while trying to find Steve in the parking lot but in the end, you found him. He was swinging his leg to climb on his bike when you shouted to get his attention.

"Captain Rogers! Captain Rogers!" The man stopped mid-way, setting his foot back on the ground as he turned around and you almost died at the sight of him. He was wearing blue jeans, white T-shirt and blue jacket, making his sapphire eyes pop as some blonde hair strands falling over his forehead. Oh, girl. Get a grip on yourself!

He was startled by your incessant shouting as he looked at you with his doe yet alert eyes. "Yes, miss. How can I help you?" He asked, ever the gentleman and you internally sighed in relief that he didn't call you ma'am.

You waved his wallet and said. "Your wallet. I think you dropped in the lobby."

His eyes widened as he patted his pockets and a sheepish look appeared on his face. "Ah, I think I really dropped it. Sorry." He said and walked up to you.

You gave him his wallet with a smile and bit your lip when your hands touched. Fuck, were you on your pms?

You peered at him through your lashes as he checked the insides of the wallet and promptly shoved it in his jeans back pocket.

He glanced at you and with a shy smile, said. "Thank you, miss."

"Oh, no problem. You can call me shona." You didn't know what divine energy of confidence came over you as you extended your hand for Steve to shake.

Steve looked at you funnily but shook your hand nonetheless. "That's not your real name, is it?" He asked timidly after the handshake, his touch lingering on your hand as you unwittingly savoured the feeling.

You beamed at him and shook your head. "Nope."

"Then, what is it?"

You told him your name and the smile on his dashing face faded away as he looked down. You could not blame him, most people had the same reaction and that was why you gave your nickname, not actual name.

"I'll probably butcher that." He muttered sadly as he scratched the back of his neck.

You chuckled and waved off his concerns. "It's alright. Most people can't say my name. Only few special people have made it into a special group who can pronounce it outside India." And it was true. Only few people were able to say your name without getting their tongue twisted, including Natasha.

Steve raised an eyebrow. He bent down, close to your face and whispered, in a husky voice. "And what are the requirements?"

You hummed as you pretend to think with your finger on your chin and said, dramatically. "A lot of dedication and practice."

Now it was his turned to be amused as he leaned even closer and asked. "And what will I get if I get into this special club?"

You were caught off guard as you spluttered out. "Um, what do you want?" And you also had kdramas to binge for fuck sake.

"A dinner sounds good." He said with a lopsided grin.

You gave him a thumbs up and said. "Perfect! Now I need to go. I have a weekend to enjoy, bye." You said and rushed out without a second thought or glance at Steve.

When you sat down in the metro was the time when your dumb mind actually processed his words and you froze In your seat. Wait! Did he just ask you on a date?

He did, in fact, ask you on a date.

After he learned to say your name. You two went on a date and you knew you were doomed. Those blue eyes had effectively captured your heart as you slowly fell for him.

And who won't? He was so soft, affectionate, caring, supportive. He was perfect. You didn't know what he saw in you. You were so... Regular.

But whenever you would say this to him. He would look at you all offended and ask why not? You were beautiful, intelligent and his sunshine. And you melted everytime he said that.

You told your parents and you had to make your mother take an oath that she won't say anything about your relationship to any of your relatives as she just couldn't stop giggling. Thankfully, she kept her oath.

You also officially got introduced to the avengers. Bucky and Natasha already knew about it and everyone was happy for you and Steve. Yeah, Tony did throw a tantrum about how he didn't figure out your budding romance and how Rogers whisked you away from under his nose. His words, not yours. And he also earned a slap to the chest by Pepper for that.

You both decided to keep your relationship private. Steve did not want to make a circus of his relationship in the media and you also wanted to lay low. You wanted to take the Katrina Kaif route, one day you're single and the next day, poof! You are married.

But the Cosmos had another plan.

You didn't know who it was, a reporter or a fan. But someone captured you and Steve in a not so platonic way. You were sitting on his bike, one hand occupied with an ice cream and the other, draped over his board shoulder. He was holding you by the waist as you both kissed. Ice cream long forgotten as you both were smiling into the kiss. But someone had posted it on social media and overnight your very private relationship was in front of the entire world to judge ans comment about.

You woke up to a cold bed and your phone exploded with texts and calls, ranging from judgmental relatives to your friends from India and America to the entire avengers team.

You furrowed your brows at the slew of messages and calls and decided to call Steve but instead his phone blared in your shared room, making you sigh. What the fuck was going on?

You scrolled through your contacts and paused when Natasha's name appeared. You hovered over her number hesitantly before calling her. Just after two rings, she answered.

"Hello, Natasha. What is going on and where is Steve?" You asked her in a sleepy voice and scratched your head.

On the other side of the line, Natasha sucked in a sharp breath and replied with unusual franticness. "Shona, somebody leaked a photo of you two and now the world knows that you both are in a relationship. Steve's in the living room, come here quickly and don't open your social media!" Natasha cautioned.

"Wha-" You didn't even get a chance to comprehend her words before she hang up the call. You glance at your phone incredulously. You sat up straight when your brain finally processed the given information. Your relationship was public. Your Katrina Kaif moment was ruined even before it materialised, ugh! So unfair.

And telling you not to open your social medias? It was like telling a child not to eat the candies from the jar. You bit your lip and opened the hellhole called twitter. And the number one trending hastag was:

#CaptainAmericaisdatingwho?

You tapped on the hastag and was instantly greeted by the picture of you and Steve. Your eyes widened as you took in the picture, whoever clicked it had good photography skills as you looked decent in it. You scrolled down and made a decision you would later come to regret, started reading the reactions of the people.

He is dating an Indian? Why? Did he not find any good girl in here? Insane.

If they have a child, what would be their skin color?

She probably put him under a spell or something.

Wait! She works for Stark, meaning this is a work-place relationship. Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

Captain America is taken😭😭😭 why God! Now I need to find someone else to obsess over😭😭😭

Look how she's eating. Like, get some manners girl! 👇

You looked down to the image attached. You were eating rice with your hand and winking at the camera, granted it wasn't the neatest sight but eating food with hands made it taster(yeah, fight me on it!).

That was it, you could not take it anymore. You burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter as you giggled at the comments, doubling down in your bed.

Tears gathered in your eyes as you laughed your ass off on these racists misery. You knew damn well that you would face some form of racism whether you dated Steve or not and it was funny to see them whine like anyone gave a shit.

You scrolled some more laughing at the whiny racist and the memes people made along the way. However, one comment caught your attention as you halted to read it.

Why isn't Steve dating her?

You looked down at the photo and your heart dropped, all your happiness fading away. You stared at the woman's photo for what felt like ages as you observed her porcelain skin, her blonde hair and her perfect figure. She was the epitome of an American woman.

You looked at Sharon's perfect face and could not help but echo the poster's thought. Yeah, why wasn't he dating Sharon? Why was he dating you? A regular girl while he was captain fucking America! He could have anyone he wanted. A model, an actor anyone he wanted and he wanted you? Why?

Much to your detriment, you scroll past it and onto the next comment which said:

So, she's the ugly one in the relationship 🙈🙈🙈

The comment plunged into your soul like a rusted dagger as your breathing becomes a shallow pounding in your ears. You glanced forward, where the full length mirror was sitting and stared at your reflection with critical gaze.

You brought a hand to your face, it was so dull. Your eyes had dark circles and were puffy. Your lips weren't plump enough. Your eyes weren't big enough. Your body wasn't curvy enough. You only had brains. No, you didn't! You weren't special, anyone could do your job with enough practice. You were nothing out of the ordinary.

You were snapped out of your destructive thoughts as your phone was snatched out of your grip. You whipped your eyes to the perpetrator and a very furious Natasha glared back at you.

"What did I tell you about not checking your social media?" Natasha asked, enraged as she waved your phone in her hands.

You didn't want Natasha to be proven right so you scoffed and replied. "Telling someone not to do something will only make them do it more. Haven't you heard of reverse psychology, agent?" You snarked and Natasha shook her head in displeasure.

"You coming with me?" Natasha asked.

You paused to think and then shook your head. "Let me shower first. I feel dirty and sleepy."

Natasha nodded thoughtfully and said. "Okay, I'll stay here."

You whined in protest but quickly shut up after receiving a steely glare fron the black widow which would make even the toughest villians pee their pants. You showered, taking extra long as you got distracted by your thoughts yet again. And made your way to the living room with Natasha in toe.

And you heard it before you saw it. The annoying voice of one of the most famous conservative journalist as he said that Steve Rogers could do much better, that this relationship wasn't going to last and that he wished it won't last long.

The last part made your stomach churn in uncertainty.

The pattering of footsteps alerted the other avengers of your arrival. Tony and Steve were standing next to each other as they talked in hushed yet aggressive tone.

Tony looked annoyed than ever as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. While, Steve? Steve looked like just one poke and he would snap. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were ablaze as he stood taut.

Both of the man's gaze snapped towards you as Steve's face softened and he rushed towards you, blocking your view to the TV as Tony hastily turned it off.

"You finally done sleeping, sleepy head?" Steve asked affectionately as he caressed you cheek.

You hummed absentmindedly and forced a smile on your face. "Slept like a baby." You said and the air was so thick with tension that it was strangling you more than your own mind as no one dared to talk about the elephant in the room.

Eventually, Steve cleared his throat and said in a whisper. "You already know what happened but don't worry, I'm with you." And pulled you into his embrace. Yes, why are you with me, Steve? What do you like in having to deal with all this drama when you could date any white woman and keep the peace?

You tried to reciprocate his hug but it was a half hearted attempt as you were fixated onto something else.

"Yeah, don't do anything stupid." Sam said when you and Steve parted. His face was empathic and knowing and your heart broke at that. Still, you gave him a half smile.

"Hey! That's my line!" Bucky yelled in offence, making Sam scowl at him.

"You don't own a sentence, Buchanan." Sam countered.

"Don't call me that and I would copyright..." They kept bickering but you tuned them out as the seed of doubt started sprouting in your consciousness.

📷

But it only got worse. The hate just didn't stop and everyone was piling up on you. Indians did come to your defence, questioning the racism and the unrequited hate you were getting.

But some were also interrogating you. Why were you dating captain America? Why were you flying so high? That he may just be using you and would leave you for an American sooner or later. This sentiment was also shared by your relatives.

Your parents were on your side but you could sense that seeing you get attacked was upsetting them. You put up a brave face in front of the world but you were crumbling down from the depths of your being. You were falling down an abyss and no matter how hard you shouted for help, your mind didn't let up its torment.

You didn't tell the avengers or Steve because they was already so stressed out dealing with all this fiasco. He was so distraught that he didn't even notice you withdrawing from him. He didn't notice how you slept on the edge of the bed instead of in his arms. He didn't notice that you avoided mirror like a plague. He didn't notice how you were drowning in your minds stupid tricks.

That was until it boiled over.

It was a quiet evening. You were walking back to the compound after running some errands. Apparently, Indian species were hella expensive and hard to find in there so you shopped for them by yourself. And it was also because you liked these non-eventful and tranquil moments that you had reserved for yourself.

You were absentmindedly trudging forward as the compound just entered your peripheral when a shout jolted you out of your trance like state.

"Go back to your country!"

You whirled around, only to come face-to-face with a regular white man. Seriously, he didn't even look like a Kevin or intimidating, just run of the mil white guy, very easy to blend in the crowd.

You raised your eyebrows and exclaimed. "Excuse me?"

The man tutted and took a step forward, you taking a backward step. "Didn't you hear me? I said, go back to your country."

"This is getting old. Try something new." You said with a bored voice and crossed your arms on your chest.

"Seriously, first you take our jobs then resources and now our hero? Just because you don't have anything in your country, doesn't mean you should come running to us and mooch off of us." He ranted with a grunt.

"Why? You wanna date him?" You eyed him from head to toe. "To my knowledge, Steve is straight and even if he wasn't. I don't think he would date someone like you." You snided.

His jaw ticked as he took a step forward. "You don't deserve him!" He spat.

Yes, you don't deserve him. Your mind supplied as your grip around the shopping bag loosened.

"He deserves better." Yes, he deserved better.

"You are nothing." Yes, you were nothing.

You were so hypnotised by your minds scorching affirmations that you didn't see the approaching threat.

You yelped as your back hit an electric poll, grocery bag falling on the ground. The man lunging forward for an attack but before he could even lift his hand, a punch from his left side shoved him away and he landed on the ground with a pained grunt.

You let out a shuddery breath as you slowly glanced to your left, your whole body trembling with fear. Your eyes landed on Steve standing there, panting heavily as his knuckles were painted crimson, by whose blood? You didn't know. His eyes were ablaze and his face was murderous as he began charging towards the whimpering man on the pavement.

This snapped you from whatever demons were holding you as marched towards him and shrieked. "Steve, stop!"

You stopped in front of him and wrapped youur hands around his. He halted in his steps, his face instantly softening as he unclenched his fists and dropped his offensive stance. He cupped your right cheek and you spluttered out a sob.

You glanced down at his bloody knuckle and coked out. "Steve, let's go."

He glanced behind you at the whining man and then nodded. He tucked you in his embrace while your gaze never left his knuckles. This was all your fault. Because of you, he almost lost control of himself and if he would have done something then you would have also smeared his name. Maybe it was good to end things.

📷

The room was pin-drop silent, only the sniffling of you and Steve and the clinking of the first aid kit being shut closed reverberated through the walls. Steve had started to talk as soon as you left the man writhing on the cold sidewalk but one finger of yours on his lips and he shut up, accepting your silent plea of solace. But you couldn't push back the inevitable any longer.

You lifted up the first aid kit and set it inside one of the cabinets in the bathroom. When you came back, you sat down on the coffee table ahead of Steve and peered at him through your lashes, your heart breaking when your gaze landed at his pretty face. You would miss him.

It was Steve who spoke first. He intertwined his bandaged hand with yours and softly said. "I'm sorry, you are suffering so much because of me and I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you."

Swallowing, you looked down as tears beaded your eyelashes and muttered out. "I think we should break up, Steve. It's not working out." Saying those words was like stabbing yourself in the chest with a scorching knife.

Steve instantly stiffened and his grip on your hand grew tight as he refused to let you go. "Why?" He asked and before you could reply, his bitter laugh made your head snap upwards as he shook his head.

"Why am I asking this? This should be pretty obvious to me," He sniffled as few tears slid down his cheeks. He glanced at you and you had to bite your lip to hold back your own tears as his pained and misty eyes stared into yours. "Is there nothing I could do to change your mind? To make you give me a second chance? Do you not love me anymore?"

The last part was like a slap to your face as you furiously shook your head and yelled. "I love you with all my heart, body, mind and soul. I love you more than anything in this world, more than I could ever articulate."

"Then why are you leaving me?" He asked in a whisper.

And the flood burst gates open as you broke down. "BECAUSE I DON'T DESERVE YOU."

Steve immediately placed you in his lap as sons wrecked through your body. "Why would you say that? You deserve the world, doll."

"No Steve, no! You are Captain America and I'm nothing. You are gorgeous and I'm ugly. You are perfect and I'm not." You cried into his chest, selfishly seeking his warmth.

Steve jutted your chin upwards and gazed down at you with soft offense. "No, honey. I'm not perfect, I betrayed Tony, I have done so many things that I regret. I have cried in your arms multiple times and you have seen me vulnerable." He said through his own tears.

"But you are so pretty. You should be dating a model or an actress, not me."

"Who like me for being Captain America? No way and," He held your face in his palms and continued. "You are the most beautiful, most intelligent, most amazing woman I have ever met. I won't trade you for anyone."

"Then why I doesn't feel like it, Steve? You asked in a defeated whisper. "Why can't I see myself the way you see me?"

"I can help you look at yourself like I look at you. Please just, don't leave me. I can't live without you. We can survive this storm." He murmured softly kissed your sore eyes.

Your lips quivered as you brought your hands to Steve's face. "I want you, Steve. I want you so much but holding you feels like a sin."

"And holding you feels like a dream. A dream I thought I would never have," He said quietly and gently pressed his forehead with yours. "Just give me another chance. Give us another chance."

"Okay." You replied. Your sobs had ended and draped a heavy blanket of fatigue over you in their farewell as you melted into Steve's hold and Steve snuggled in you more. You didn't know when he placed you on your bed or when you fell asleep in his arms. You let yourself fall into his bliss as all the demons left you. Because in this moment , Steve was yours and you were his and that was all that mattered.

📷

You yawned as you got out of your slumber. The bed was cold again as Steve was nowhere to be found. Again.

Maybe he realised you were right and moved instead of kicking you out. You sniffed a little and turned around, so you were facing the front of your room. But your face instantly scrunched up in bewilderment as you took in the sight.

There were polaroid pictures hanging from the ceiling by a white thread, all facing away from you. You scratched your head as you tentatively got out of the bed. How the fuck did someone hang these and you didn't even stir? Was this from hydra?

The last thought made you gulp as you gingerly reached out for the first picture and pulled it close to read the text written on it with a marker.

Do you remember the time when you handled the toughest project alone?

-Tony

"Huh, what?" Now you were even more confused as you flipped the glossy paper and burst out into a fit of laughter.

It was a picture of you handing Tony a golden toilet trophy like you were handing an Oscar with a megavolt grin as he was rolling his eyes but still, he begrudgingly received the award.

You wiped off a tear from your eye and refocused back on his question. You hummed to yourself as you took a trip down the memory lane. It was a very important biotech project and there had come a point where the connection between the software and hardware had broken and no one could figure why because everything was normal and nothing seemed faculty. It turned out to be a software issue as the code had malfunctioned and needed to be rewritten in a more efficient manner.

You led the team who did that and boy were those days exhausting. Overtime, frustration, failure after failure and of course the moral of the team going down. But you managed to keep the team together and pulled through. Providing excellence.

You smiled a little at that memory. You weren't that useless.

Sighing, you stepped forward to the next picture and read the text on it.

Remember when you got hit on and Steve scowled?

-Natasha and Wanda

You turned the photo around, showing you, Wanda and Natasha. You and Wanda were eating a leftover cake while Natasha was drinking wine straight from the bottle.

You remembered that night. You were minding your own business and not touching alcohol since you didn't want to wake up with a pounding headache. when a guy suddenly materialised next to you and ordered a drink for you without even asking and began flirting.

You smoothly pulled yourself out of that situation and gave the drink to Natasha but Steve had witnessed the whole interaction and he looked like he wanted to sucker punch that poor dude. He was teased relentlessly about it for a month.

Now that you thought about it. You were hit on multiple times on multiple occasions. It was a game of sorts between you and Steve. Since your relationship was private, it was amusing to see people ask you or Steve on a date. You always relished in watching girls flirt with Steve because he would always get uncomfortable and nope out of there like his life depended on it. It was fun because no matter how much they flirted with him, you knew that the man was yours.

You chuckled and caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. You weren't that bad looking.

You walked up to the next polaroid and snatched it closer.

Remember when you comforted me when everyone was sleeping?

-Bucky

Your eyes filled with tears as you flicked to see yours and Bucky's image, it was clicked during lockdown when everyone stressed a lot about cleaning everything. You were pretending to sing with a cleaner bottle in your hand as a microphone and Bucky was using a broom as his guitar.

With a reminiscent smile and you thought back to that one stormy night when Steve was out on a mission and everyone was sound asleep.

You being the insomniac that you were started trudging towards the kitchen for some late night snack but stopped mid-way when you heard whimpers coming from Bucky's room. You went inside without asking but saw him crying alone in his bed. He was so resistant to your comfort and even yelled at you for intruding on his privacy: but he was right about it. However, he caved in the end and cried his heart out while you held him. Then you both watched anime and ate chips. Sleep was nowhere to be found that night.

You bit your lips as you went to the last and final picture, that was dangling before the door.

Remember why I love you?

-Steve

You burst into tears as the realisation dawned on you that it was he, who did all of this. To make you see yourself through his eyes and everybody's eyes. And no, you didn't remember why he loved you because there were too many moments and reasons to remember all that once.

Warmth bloomed in your chest as you finally looked at the picture and it was just like your relationship. Sweet and simple. With you both in the bed, hair messy and lazy smiles on your faces. It was a morning selfie that you taken sporadically on his phone.

You loved him. You loved him so much and you wanted to be with him till the end of the line. Because even if you were just a regular jane, you loved him and he loved you and that was all that mattered.

In your whirlpool of emotions, you didn't register the the bedroom door clicking open and Steve walking inside. It was when his strong arms enveloped you, did you got out of your reverie and glanced at him, teary eyed.

You hugged him back and wept louder in his chest as he rubbed your head. "I love you. I'm sorry for telling everyone about what you were going through but I thought it would help, please stop crying."

You slapped a hand over his lips and cried out. "Shut up. You lovely little dork. I love you. You did nothing wrong in my eyes."

With hope twinkling in his eyes, he removed your palm and asked. "So, will you give us another chance?"

"Yes! This one incident won't make my problems go away in a snap but I want to be with you and learn to love myself like you love me." You said through a smile and leaned to kiss him when-

"What about the trolls?" Tony's voice made you shriek in surprise as Steve gave him an exasperated look.

"Really, Tony?" Steve said with displeasure.

"Yeah, really asshole?" Natasha said and slapped Tony on the head.

Tony scrunched up his face in indignation and said. "But I need to know. She's not used to the attention and hate. And she can't even deactivate her social media because she is one of our representatives from tech."

This made a bulb go off in your head as you held up your plam and said. "Don't worry, Tony. I'll have it handled. Plus, we didn't really publicly announced our relationship, did we?"

Steve narrowed his eyes at you but you just grinned at him devilishly. Time to troll the trolls.

📷

You softly closed the bathroom door as you stepped outside, your white saree grazing the floor. You looked ahead and your jaw went slack, Steve was his blue powder blue shirt and black pants and his blonde hair practically glowed in the golden light of the evening. He looked so gorgeous that you just couldn't tear your eyes away from him.

But then you realised his intense stare on you and you quickly looked down, heat raising to your cheeks. "Stop, staring, it's creepy."

Steve let out a throaty chuckle and said. "I can say the same thing about you."

You opened your mouth to reply but the Bucky's exasperated voice interjected with a grunt. "You both can do this later. Now, come on before the sunsets and the light is gone." And harshly thrusted his phone in the direction of the door.

You chuckled. "Alright, let's go." Steve held your hand as you both walked outside the compound and into the evening sun. After, finding a place where the background was greenery instead of a concrete jungle. You perched on his Harley. Your hand snaked around his neck as his came down to rest on your butt while he stood in the middle of your legs and both came forward to kiss each other.

Bucky clicked the picture but Steve didn't let you go until the need for oxygen became dire. You smiled bashfully and wiped your mouth as you finally got off his bike and went to the very unimpressed Bucky.

He shoved your phone into your hands and ran away before he had to endure any of your pda any further.

You shrugged it off and looked at the photo. Thankfully, it was good and you gave Steve a thumbs up before posting it with a caption:

I corrupted the golden boy and I'm not sorry 😈

Steve also posted the same picture but his caption was more modest:

My love ❤

And. It. Blew. Up, again.

The haters and racist started whining again. Sane people supported you both and laughed at the haters, going as far as making memes. You were trending again, many famous people also came out of the woodworks and congratulated you both which made you roll your eyes.

You didn't care about the public thought of you. You wanted to troll the haters and you successfully accompanied that.

However, it didn't end there. As your devil incarnate friends decided to add fuel to the fire by posting pictures of you and Steve being all over each other with a complimentary middle finger emoji. And apparently, everybody had one.

Either you two were pervs Or your friends were nosey as fuck. Natasha and Bucky agreed with the former assumption.

Bucky posted you both kissing on a picnic.

Natasha of you sitting in Steve's lap.

Sam posted a photo of your head resting in his lap.

Heck, even Peter posted a photo where Steve was kissing your temple.

There were many more but you that was enough for the day as you switched off your phone and tossed it on the bed side table.

"I just wish, no pray that my parents don't see any of these pictures or I will be having an interesting phone call with them. The relatives are still blasting my phone but I ignored them as always." You rambled to Steve as he slid under the covers.

Steve let out a raspy chuckle and said. "I don't think they haven't seen it yet as we're all over the, well everything."

You groaned and pouted at Steve because he didn't need to always tell the truth but as soon as you locked eyes with him you melted in his oceanic blue gaze. He pulled you into his comforting arms and you happily obliged.

"Steve, now that the whole mess is kinda resolved. What's next?" You asked as you gazed into his sapphire blue eyes.

He hummed and gazed back at you. "What's next? Good question, but I don't think you want to hear the answer to that. Would ruin the fun. " He whispered and leaned down to kiss you before you could question him further.

[veritas-scribblings]

best friend - @jartylusmicrofics - words: 1,047

When James arrives at Regulus’s house, Barty flings the door open and stares at him, suspiciously. There’s a quality to Barty that James always finds unsettling. Maybe it’s the dangerous, slightly unhinged glint in his eyes. Like he’s a little bit unstable. A little bit chaotic. Like there’s almost nothing that Barty would not do.

He looks at James now as though he knows all of James’s secrets, and James really wouldn’t be surprised if this were true. Barty always just seems to know things. Whether he has shaken the information out of someone, whether he follows James around, whether he has a network of spies…or whether he is just that good at deducing things. James isn’t sure, and he honestly wouldn’t put any of them past Barty.

‘Greetings, you absolute fucking cunt of an idiot.’ Barty barricades the door, leans close to James and stares him down, like the proximity will give him some crucial information. ‘Declare your intentions!’

‘Step aside, Crouch,’ James says, rolling his eyes. ‘It’s fucking freezing.’

Barty cackles. ‘You better be on your best behaviour, or I’ll tie your tongue to the eaves and fucking hang you from them.’

This is truth. Barty would do that.

Warily, James creeps around him and into the house. The last thing he needs is to get into an argument with Barty. Regulus doesn’t necessarily mind the arguments and Barty typically relishes them, like baiting James is his twisted little hobby all in the spirit of ‘a good time’.

‘Gentleman calling,’ James says with a playful smile, entering the lounge. It’s warm inside. There’s a fireplace crackling, two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table with an open half-eaten tin of biscuits.

‘Gentleman? You’re no gentleman. Gentlemen wouldn’t just invite themselves over.’ Regulus lays on the squashy couch, his head propped against a cushion, a book hovering over head suspended by a levitating charm. He gives James a small, reassuring smile. The softest of smiles—mostly reserved for James alone—which reminds James that underneath all the thorns and the acid resides an inner hidden Regulus that’s all sensitive and gentle.

Regulus leans up for a kiss. Kissing Regulus still fills James with butterflies, makes him dizzy, giddy. It’s a warm, heady feeling that rises from the pit of his stomach and overwhelms him. Regulus is soft in all the right spots, smooth skin that James loves to run his hands over, smells faintly of vanilla and coconut and lemongrass from the soap and lotion he uses. James cards his fingers through Regulus’s hair and gently coaxes Regulus’s lips to part, and—

Barty drops down onto the couch next to them, jostling Regulus, who makes a disgruntled sound of displeasure. He throws an arm around Regulus and tips his head onto Regulus’s shoulder.

‘Hands and tongue where I can see them.’ Barty’s gaze is hard, that unhinged glint a spark in his eyes. He stares James down like he’s egging him on, and then, without warning, licks Regulus’s neck. ‘Mine, Potter. You ask before you taste.’

It had taken James over a month to get past the impenetrable wall of Evan and Barty, the hardest endeavour of James’s short life. Barty had been utterly relentless. He was always there, over Regulus’s shoulder, staring at James with an expression that implied he’d like nothing more than to flay James alive. By Regulus’s side, ensuring they would not be alone. Making lewd comments. All hands and arms and lips and tongue and teeth, all over Regulus.

And it’s not that James is jealous at all, because James is reasonable like that (though finding out that Regulus and Barty had had ‘a thing’ back in their fifth year had initially not done well for James’s not-jealousy), it’s just that Barty has always been dead-set on not allowing James to plant any sort of roots.

And Regulus has always accepted this as perfectly normal behaviour for one’s friend.

It had started many arguments and many fights in the early days and had very nearly come between them before they were even ‘them’. It occasionally still does, but for the most part these days, they’ve reached a middle ground. James likes to think that he’s more understanding and more accepting now. And that at least now, Barty no longer wants to kill him and James no longer has to worry about going to sleep one night and simply not waking up.

‘Do you mind?’ James snaps.

Barty is very nearly in Regulus’s lap, and due to the close proximity between Regulus and James, very nearly in James’s lap. He curls a lock of Regulus’s hair around his finger and gives fierce, intense smile that’s sharp and daring in the way that Barty is sharp and daring.

‘Barty,’ Regulus says with a sigh. ‘Quit being a dick and play nice.’ He doesn’t push Barty away, just adjusts his arms so he can resume reading around him, leaning slightly into James as he does so.

‘Fine,’ Barty huffs. ‘Hey Potter, I got a new piercing. Wanna see?’ He grabs the collar of his partially unbuttoned shirt and drags it down to reveal a silver barbell through his nipple. ‘It’s still healing, so it’s stills sensitive. Go on. Touch it.’

Ever since they graduated, Barty has been inking and poking holes in his skin. He has a bar through his eyebrow, a long bar through the top of his ear, two little studs just below his lower lip. He has a little cartoon snake tattooed on one wrist, Regulus’s initials on the other (in Regulus’s handwriting, James noted). A rose on the back of one shoulder. And one night—that one night that James swore would only be that one night—James found something written in Latin in the crease where his thigh meets his groin.

James would be lying if he denied almost damned near dying when he saw that one.

‘I also have a new tattoo,’ Barty says. ‘You wanna try to find it?’

‘Barty.’ Regulus lowers his book and elbow’s Barty in the side, though this does absolutely nothing to wipe off the shit-eating grin Barty is wearing.

‘What?’ Barty reaches over, curls another lock of Regulus’s hair around his finger. ‘I’m playing nice. Aren’t I playing nice, James?’