#the only prompt I planned to do from this calendar

[murderofsomeone]

LD'03TOBER Day 30: Mold En Mono

alt vers

[sinofwriting]

Protective - Max Verstappen ( I ❤️ MILFS verse)

Words: 910 Word Prompt: Protective (Part of the I ❤️ MILFS verse) Note(s): Takes place during the Baku 2024 race weekend. Also I hate James Vowles

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse | Sin’s Sept. Blurbs

Logan is a momma’s boy. It’s something he’s known for as long as he can remember. It’s something that has been thrown in his face, a taunt, a tease, as if he’s supposed to be ashamed that he loves his mom. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his mom and that includes ending what was supposed to be a good month of silence from him other than a short interview he did just after the news broke and the quickly deleted statement he put out.

He’s no longer an F1 driver for the 2024 season, but he still is traveling with the calendar. He hadn’t used the hotel room Williams booked for him since Australia, not when Red Bull always gives Max a suite and there’s always a little envelope with Logan’s name on it that holds a key.

He had stayed completely in the hotel during Monza. He loves the amount of support Charles gets, loves how passionate they are, but it’s a lot to be around, to walk around. He also doesn’t need to hear another drunk Italian man shout about wanting desperately to have Charles’ babies.

He had planned to do the same in Baku just because he didn’t feel like exploring Baku. But then a video gets leaked.

And that’s the end of Logan’s silence.

He shows up on Friday by himself. His parents are already in the Red Bull garage, waiting for him, but they know that he’ll be awhile.

He smiles at fans when they cheer and greet him, taking his time to sign stuff and take pictures, ignoring the hungry photographers and reporters that are watching. He squeezes the hands of fans who despite what happened are wearing his number and telling them how much they love him.

He takes a few more photos before finally pulling away from the fans and beginning to walk. It doesn’t take long before someone finally pounces. A microphone being handed to him, that he easily takes and a camera trained on him and oh great, he wants to roll his eyes a bit, Will Buxton.

“Logan, how are you doing?”

Logan smiles, nodding at some of the people he recognizes from other teams as they pass by. “I’m good. Enjoying the weather.”

Will laughs and it’s so fake it grates on Logan’s ears. “And are you here for duties with Williams?”

His eyes are hungry, his whole expression is. He clearly wants to press and dig deep but is trying to be patient.

He shakes his head, “Here to support my dad. I no longer am associated with Williams.” He knows fans had speculated after seeing his name cleared from their website, but the dissociation had only become official just three hours ago.

“Really? Not even development.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Ties have been cut, man.” He laughs.

“And Logan, the video that has been circulating these past twelve hours, have you seen it? What are your thoughts?”

“I have seen it. And it’s disgusting really. James has never been shy about sharing his feelings about me and that’s fine, I was a driver on his team, I was a driver. But there’s no reason to bring up and say things about someone who isn’t a part of the team or any of the teams, but is just part of the driver’s staff and a parent. I could see why if they were disruptive or causing a mess, making a scene, but that isn’t the case.”

Will nods, “I couldn’t agree more, Logan.”

“I also want to say thank you to all the people who have been talking about this and talking about the words he said about my mom. I haven’t yet seen a statement put out, but I hope that what he said isn’t brushed aside.”

“I hope so as well.”

“I still say I should get to punch him.” Max comments after they finish watching Logan’s interviews and Logan can’t help but hum in agreement.

“Max.” Christian sighs, though he looks more amused than anything.

“If he wants to call someone a whore, he should call himself that. He has a wife and baby at home and yet is talking about meeting with Carlos in hotel rooms. And calling Pan a bitch just because she supported Logan? Fuck him.”

“We know, Max.” GP nearly looks bored, but there’s a glint in his eyes that Logan just knows means trouble for the Williams team principal.

A throat clears and everyone looks at his mom. “I think we all need to calm down. Especially you,” she gently pokes Logan’s forehead, before running her fingers through his hair. “The protective thing is nice, but it’s not the first time I’ve been called those things and it won’t be the last. We need to be adults about it.”

Logan frowns at her words. “You’ve been called a whore before?”

Max is frowning as well and something churns in Logan’s gut.

“Yes.” She says simply.

“Momma.”

She shakes her head, “No more interviews, Logan. Not about this at least. You didn’t say anything wrong, but I don’t want people thinking that it’s okay for them to just ask and talk about.”

She then turns to Max and Logan watches as she stares at him. “Do I even bother asking you to not say anything?”

Max shrugs. “You could.”

She sighs. “Just don’t threaten him. The FIA is already looking closely at you.”

“No threats.” He agrees.

[cjlouwho]

Prompt: Tommy's first birthday with Evan and he's turning 40

I'm sorry this took so long I think about things too much!

Buck had asked when Tommy's birthday was when they first started dating, kept it held tight in his memory bank until he could write it in his calendar, and began planning before they'd even gone on more than four dates. His birthday was still months away at that point, but somehow Buck knew he was in it for the long haul.

Over those few months, as their relationship turned more into a partnership, Buck learned that Tommy never really had birthday parties growing up. His mom would buy him a donut that morning and put a candle in it, sing to him quietly in the kitchen while his dad was nursing a hangover in the living room, and then he'd unwrap a comic book that his mom would save up to buy.

Every birthday after seventeen was spent alone, or at work, and he never mentioned it to anyone.

That meant that his 40th birthday had to be perfect. Absolutely perfect from start to finish.

Tommy had told him he didn't expect or even want anything, but Buck had made him promise he'd request the day off.

Tommy rarely said no to anything Buck asked.

Buck made sure Bobby scheduled everyone off for that day as well.

What he didn't expect was that Jee would get sick, and give whatever flu bug she had to Maddie and Chimney.

Or that Denny would break his leg playing soccer and Hen would be spending the night in the hospital.

Or that Christopher would call Eddie and ask him to fly to El Paso and bring him home.

Bobby had to cancel too. A pipe burst in May's apartment and they had to go move her into a new place.

A couple of Tommy's friends had last minute things come up too, leaving Buck to cancel on the remaining few that could make it. It would have been really lame to do all he had planned with only four or five people present.

On the morning of Tommy's birthday, Buck rolled over to see Tommy sleeping soundly beside him. His hair was all ruffled up, mouth hanging slightly open. His chest rose and fell peacefully.

So damn cute, Buck thought.

He'd broken the news to him yesterday afternoon. All the surprises he had planned had to be cancelled on the count of him having the worst luck in the world. Tommy had laughed, his face scrunched in that adorable smile that Buck could never resist. He brought Buck close to him, promised him, “Evan, I don't need anything or anyone but you.”

Still, Buck knew he could make the day just as special without anyone else. He started by quietly slipping out of bed, pulling on his boxers before heading to the kitchen.

When Tommy woke up twenty minutes later, it was to the smell of pancakes and bacon, his favorite breakfast.

“What's all this?” Tommy asked, a smile on his face. His hair was still a mess, he had on basketball shorts that he had tossed off the night before, and a very tight white shirt on that was most definitely Buck's. Buck loved getting to see him like this. Loved that he wasn't always so put together like everyone else thought he was.

“It's birthday breakfast,” Buck answered, bringing a plate of pancakes to the table before walking over to Tommy and wrapping him in his arms. He pressed a kiss to his lips, tasting the minty mouthwash Tommy had just used. “Happy birthday, babe,” he whispered once they parted.

Another kiss, Tommy moaning a little “Mm” into it this time, the way he always did when he felt overwhelmed by Buck's love. “Thank you.”

Reluctantly, he let Buck go so he could go get the bacon. Coffee was already on the table, steam still rising from the cup. Tommy sat down a took a sip.

Just the way he liked it.

“You didn't have to do this for me, Evan,” he said once the bacon was at the table and Buck was seated beside him.

“I wanted to. Now, eat up. Busy day ahead.”

After breakfast they both went to get dressed, but ended up a bit distracted. Usually Buck would be beside himself being thirty minutes behind schedule. Especially when he had spent the entire previous day planning every moment on a clipboard he had found mysteriously hidden behind the couch.

Turns out, Tommy was very excited about his breakfast pancakes and Buck couldn't find it in him to care that they weren't going to be on time.

Once they finally got dressed and out the door, they headed to the zoo. Tommy had mentioned before that he'd never been, and Buck had been determined since that day to make sure he got in a visit.

After the zoo was The Getty. It was a bit of a drive, but that didn't matter. Buck had learned two months into their relationship that Tommy was an incredible artist. He didn't make much time for it, but when he did, he put his all into it. Even when Buck didn't quite understand what Tommy had painted, he loved it. It was beautiful, because it meant something to Tommy, and that's all that mattered.

There was a late lunch after that, at one of their favorite cafe's. They sat outside and enjoyed the breeze while they sipped on lemonade and shared sandwiches.

Last was a hike. Nothing strenuous. It was more of an excuse to walk side by side, holding hands and chatting. Buck loved doing that. Loved that Tommy didn't shy away from affection. Loved how their hands fit together just perfectly, swinging between them with each step.

After that, they headed home for a movie night. Love, Actually was first, with whatever else Tommy wanted after that.

“Evan,” Tommy stopped him as they entered their house.

“Yeah?” Buck asked, turning to him.

Tommy lifted a hand to Buck's face, his thumb stroking his cheek gently. “Today was incredible.”

“You sure? I know it wasn't-”

“Ev. Incredible,” Tommy repeated.

Buck smiled, relief washing over his face. “It was, wasn't it?”

Tommy pulled him in for a kiss, stepping back until Buck was pressed up against the door.

Before it could get too heated, Buck patted his chest and Tommy reluctantly pulled away.

“There's something else for you,” he said, sliding away from Tommy and heading into the kitchen.

“Hun, I don't need anything else. You already did too much.”

“Just one more thing.” Buck got a rectangular, white box out of the fridge. Tommy wasn't sure how he'd hid it, but it was the first he'd seen of it. He walked closer, standing across the counter from Buck as he set the cake box down.

“You got me a cake, too?!” Tommy asked, his voice filled with something Buck could only describe as child-like glee.

“Of course I did.” He lifted the lid to show Tommy a beautifully decorated chocolate and vanilla marble cake, with 'Happy 40th Birthday, Tommy' written on it. “It was too late to cancel and order a smaller one,” he said as Tommy stared down at it in wonder, “so it feeds thirty people, but we can freeze it.”

“It's perfect,” Tommy said softly. He looked up at Buck, eyes wide and wet, “This whole day... perfect."

Evan walked around the counter and pulled Tommy close, resting his head in the crook of Tommy's neck, pressing a kiss there. “I love you, Tommy.”

Tommy ran his hands up and down Buck's back, a happy sigh escaping him. “I love you, Evan.”

*****

They were both very pleasantly surprised one week later when, thinking they were going to Bobby and Athena's for a simple dinner, they opened the door to be greeted with a beautifully decorated house. Tons of balloons and streamers all around. All their friends and family there, shouting surprise as they stood under a huge 'HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TOMMY' sign. A cake was rolled out with forty candles, and written on it was 'Someone call a firefighter!'

Tommy had to fight back the tears in his eyes. In one week he'd gone from never having a birthday cake in his life, to having two.

[cranberrymoons]

let it snow

prompt: only one bed 😱 (@steddieholidaydrabbles) rated: t word count: 1,000 tags: snowed in, pining, first kiss

welcome to Day 12 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

They don’t plan to get snowed in. 

Well– no one ever really plans to get snowed in, technically, it’s sort of in the definition, but… 

Anyway. 

Point is, it’s an accident.

And because it’s an accident, and because it’s unexpected, and because they hadn’t actually planned to spend the night anywhere, they find themselves facing down the single full size bed which is all that’s available at the motel they end up at when they pull off the road after the flurries turn into gusts, which turn into a near-white out.

Steve considers suggesting he sleep on the floor or in the armchair or something? Because that feels like the sort of polite, chivalrous thing he would do if it were a girl, but it’s not a girl, it’s Eddie, and suggesting it feels a little like he’d be calling attention to something he’d really rather they didn’t look at too closely.

Namely, that Steve has a big stupid crush and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

He doesn’t even know if Eddie is an option, really, and it would be stupid to risk what feels like a very fragile friendship as it is. After everything that happened in the spring and the hospital and the months of not being sure what to say around each other and now this, them, caught in a snowstorm halfway through a trip up to Chicago to see one of the bands that Eddie’s always wearing on his shirts.

The wind batters against the window, and the snow swirls outside, and Steve gives Eddie a sideways glance where he’s already sitting on the edge of the bed and bending to untie his boots and kick them into a corner. 

He must feel Steve’s eyes on him, because he looks up and catches him staring, a little smile spreading across his face when he does.

“Are you one of those people who has really specific opinions about which side of the bed you have to sleep on?” Eddie asks. He raises his eyebrows. “Because I hate to break it to you, Harrington, but you’re going to have to pry the left side of the bed from my cold dead hands.”

And that seems to decide it; they’re sharing the bed.

Steve drops his keys on the little table that sits right inside the door and shrugs out of his coat, dropping it over the back of a chair.

“That’s saying something,” he says. “Coming from you.”

Eddie lets out a surprised laugh, bracing his hands on his knees as he gives Steve an appraising look. 

“Dead jokes,” he says, squinting up at Steve. “Nice.”

Steve’s smile spreads slow across his face. “Anyway, I like the other side of the bed,” he says. “The right side.”

“Because you’re always right.”

Steve laughs, takes a step closer then back, fiddles with the cuff of his sweater. A little awkward, a little nervous. Eddie’s watching him with that big, easy smile on his face, and Steve feels something fizzle and go quiet against his heart, warmth blooming out through his chest.

“Yeah,” he says. “Exactly.”

---

They settle down after that, stripping to their boxers and sliding between the sheets to curl toward each other on the bed, icy limbs brushing together until they start to go warm.

He saw Eddie’s scars once before over the summer when he’d taken his shirt off to jump in the pool on a particularly hot day when everyone had been desperate to cool off and had all but pushed each other out of the way to get into the water. 

This feels different, though.

It’s closer, for one, and back in the summer, Steve hadn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact that the way he feels when Eddie smiles at him is him wanting more, wanting to reach out and touch and taste and feel and–

“They got you pretty good, didn’t they?” Eddie asks, lifting his eyes from the patch of scar on Steve’s own stomach. His hand darts out toward Steve’s neck then stops, falls down to rest against the pillow near his own face. “I see this one all the time, but that one–” He takes a breath. “Damn.”

“Yours, too,” Steve says. He reaches out, and Eddie doesn’t give him any kind of a signal to back off, so he closes the distance between them to trace against the edge of one of the scars twisting over his abdomen. “I guess we match.”

His hand settles against the spot, palm covering it, and Eddie’s breath catches. Steve’s eyes lift to his face.

“Sorry,” Eddie says. He smiles, a little unsure. “Ticklish, I guess.”

And this is… ridiculous. 

It’s ridiculous. If Eddie were a girl, Steve would have kissed him weeks ago. Months. And he gets that it’s different, sort of. He at least knows why he’s more nervous than he would be otherwise, but he’s also so sick of waiting. He’s so sick of waiting for Eddie to make a move, because that’s just not what Steve does. 

It’s not who he is.

And so, heart kicking against his ribs, feeling a little shaky and a lot scared, he tilts himself closer, lifting his chin enough that their eyes line up, and–

“Steve?” 

He smiles, searching Eddie’s face. “Do you not want me to?”

Eddie lets out a sharp little breath. “I want you to.”

And that– the nerves disappear in an instant, just like that. He feels himself relax, and he lets his hand tighten on Eddie’s waist, sliding himself closer on the pillows. 

“Good,” he says, soft like a secret. “Then I will.”

Closing the distance between them is so, so easy after that– so easy that Steve can’t help wondering what the hell he’s been waiting for all this time. 

Eddie tastes like peppermint and wintertime and a little like cigarettes, and when he sighs against Steve’s mouth, lips falling open, Steve crowds closer for another taste, and another, and another.

[also on ao3]

[magicaldestinyharmony]

In Life and In Death

male!knight x female!count's daughter!reader part 3

CW: mentions of death, whipping, drugs, human trafficking, gambling, human hunting and murder.

WC: around 2k words

A/N: I have finally finished potion number 3 in this series!

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Your eyes flutter open. Once you glimpse the sight of your all-too-familiar ceiling, you deadpan. What do I have to do to stop this? You sigh and cover your eyes from the onslaught of the sunlight. 

You're so sick and tired of it at this point. Waking up, working and spending so much effort to survive, only to fail and end up dead in the end.

You groan and turn on your side once you remember the date. You're starting to hate this number. No matter what you do, you pick up the calendar to see it there, in its black, bold glory.

Aida should be coming in anytime soon. You sigh when you hear the well-timed knock on your door.

“My lady?” Aida opens the door carefully, scared of waking you up. “Are you up? It's time for breakfast.”

A puff of air escapes you again. “I'm up, Aida.” you invite the maid inside your room.

“Oh, good. Let's get you ready for breakfast.”

“Do I have to, Aida? Can't I just have it in bed?” you plead.

Aida’s brows furrow in confusion, “ Well, I guess you could miss. However, may I ask, is there a particular reason?”

“I'm just tired,” of life, of death. Of everything really.

Aida nods in understanding and leaves to fetch your breakfast.

Aida pins the last decoration in your hair and steps back, “Ta-da! What do you think, my lady?”

You glance at yourself in the mirror, uninterested. You've been through this so many times that the glamour of dressing up has lost its allure.

You hesitantly walk down the stairs, reluctant to see your father. If you didn't already hate him, you downright loathe him now.

Everything plays exactly as you recall. Yet when your eyes meet Lucca's, you're hit with an idea.

Why didn't you think of this before? Instead of taking care of Lucca now and letting him die later. Why not make him indebted to you? Thwart your father's plans so Lucca can keep his life and you can keep yours.

With this new drive fueling you, you approach him, “Hello. Are you alright?”

Lucca watches you in silence. You reach out to him, “Are you alr-”

Lucca smacks your hand away. The sound echoes throughout the entrance hall and you cringe in pain.

The noise turns the count's attention towards you. He smirks at the scene in front of him. You pale under his scrutiny and cold gaze. 

“Well, well, well, I see that you dared to injure a Balcom, boy.” The man takes sick pleasure in watching both children cower before him.

“For injuring my precious daughter's hand, you will receive 15 whips.” a creepy grin creeps onto your father's face.

Little tremors shake your body. Lucca did nothing wrong. He doesn't deserve this. “W-wait! It-it wasn't his fault!”

“I see,” your father nods in consideration. “You have a compassionate heart, daughter of mine.”

Your father pats you, “But,” his voice turns cold, “Compassion gets you nowhere in life. Do you still want to stop his punishment?”

Your father's pats turn into an iron grip on your head. He tilts his head, prompting your response, “N-no. Wh-when wronged, we sh-should give back tenfold what we received. I-its's the Balcom way, right?” the automated response rolls off your tongue while you shake in fear.

Your father smiles, “Good job.” he gives you one final pat and turns to a maid, “Take him to the dungeons and make sure to give him his punishment.”

With that, your father departs, leaving deadly silence in his wake.

◇◇◇

Who knew that standing in front of an office could be so nerve-wracking? After taking another deep breath, you hesitantly knock on your father's office.

The door cracks open to reveal your father’s loyal aide, “My lady? What do you need?”

“Can I see father?” you mutter out.

“Let me ask the count,” the aide turns around, leaving you in front of the door.

He returns shortly and ushers you in. “So, what do you want?” your father asks without looking up.

Gathering your courage, you say, “I want that boy.”

Only then does your father look up, “That boy?”

“Yes. The boy you brought in this morning.”

Your father scratches his chin in thought, “And what will you give me in return?”

You gulp. You expected him to say that. Your father is known for not giving without taking. “I'll give you information about House Devoy. Pivotal information.”

“Oho, and is this information credible?”

You nod. “Very well. When will I receive this information?”

“I will have it ready in two days,” you confirm.

“Alright,” your father's gaze turns into a glare. “But if your information turns out to be wrong, you won't escape punishment.”

“Understood.” you bow and leave.

Once the door to your room closes behind you, you collapse in relief. Let's hope that the information you remember from your past lives is enough to save your neck.

You bring double the amount of bandages and ointment on your nightly trip to the dungeons. With the extra abuse Lucca went through today, courtesy of yours truly, you certainly needed more.

After bribing the guard and gaining access to Lucca's cell, you get to work on treating his wounds.

As soon as Lucca feels the cold, stinging sensation of the ointment, he opens his eyes. You make eye contact. He glares at you. You shake your head, ignoring him and continue working.

Once Lucca's last wound has been patched up, you leave the bread you got him and stand up to leave.

You feel his gaze on you the whole time, trying to size you up. “Why do you care?” you barely hear him whisper.

“You got hurt because of me. Of course, I care.” you firmly say.

Lucca scoffs but makes no further comments. You shrug, used to his apathy. This time you were able to leave without any incidents.

◇◇◇

The next morning, you hand a list of everything you remember about Count Devoy to your father. You pray that the information is good enough to keep you and Lucca alive.

You were informed by your father's aide that processing and proving the intel you gave will take some time. Three days to be precise. But you weren't allowed to have Lucca till after. Bastard. You were sure your father took pleasure in tormenting his kids.

Whatever. It was nothing new. It was well-known that your father was a repulsive man. At least to people with a strong sense of justice.

Your father sickened you. He doesn't hesitate to dabble in the illegal. Unlicensed auction houses, drug selling and human trafficking are just some of the things that your father does.

The problem is that he enjoys doing these things. His hobbies are no less disgusting. He enjoys gambling, the company of many women and hunting.

Not your typical animal hunting. He hunts slaves. Buys them then releases them into a forest on the territory to be hunted.

Yet, somehow, his reputation is still intact. Your father spends lots of money to keep his activities under the rug. In fact, he's so well regarded that if someone speaks up, they'll be immediately ignored and silenced. Voluntarily or forcefully.

You shake your head in loathing. Dwelling further on this will only cause a bad mood.

Instead, you opt to go for a walk in the hope that the wind blowing through your hair will calm your turbulent thoughts.

At dinner, you were surprised to find yourself seated to the right of your father. You can practically feel the hatred rolling off your half-siblings.

According to noble etiquette, during a meal, the household's head sits at the head of the table. Dubbed as the seat of honour.

The next most important person is seated to the right of the seat of honour. Then the third most important to their left, then the fourth on the right and so on.

In a highly competitive family like yours, getting the seat on the right of the head’s seat essentially means the favour of the count. Not a position you necessarily want.

The meal proceeds in suffocating silence. The only sounds are the clinking of plates and spoons echoing in the room.

At the end of the meal, your father makes a comment that you wish he never uttered, “I'm very pleased with you.”

As soon as he leaves, your half-siblings look at you with obvious murderous intent. Bastard. You were convinced that your father thrives on the discord between his children.

As the fifth daughter, your chance at succession is practically non-existent. Sitting at the right of the seat of honour and getting a compliment from the head suggests that you're participating in the fight for succession.

So all in all, your father raised the risk of your death. Not a good thing.

◇◇◇

You were incredibly relieved when your father finally handed Lucca over to you. You hope that avoiding your father from now on will reduce the attention on yourself.

While Aida and the family doctor gave Lucca a checkup, you gave orders to other maids to set up the room beside yours for him.

You make sure the room is immaculate. The last thing you need is Lucca feeling compelled to kill you over an improper room. With instructions in place, you meet up with Aida in front of the infirmary. 

“How is he?” you ask, once you reach her.

“The doctor said he's severely malnourished and suffering from multitudes of wounds.” Your maid dutifully replies.

You grimace, “Is it serious?”

“Some of them are,” Aida says, sullen.

You frown, “Let me see him.”

Aida nods and opens the door to let you in.

You blink your eyes against the sunlight streaming in through the window across the room. Shielding your eyes, you notice that the whole room is made from walnut. The desk and chair to your right are cluttered with paper and books. The left side of the room houses a table and a modest library. The table has what you assume to be a mix of herbal plants and medicine concoctions on it. A small table and seats are tucked at the back of the room. Overall, it has a warm vibe to it.

You turn to the bed sitting in the corner beside the window. Lucca sits on it, white sheets tucked around him, staring out the open window, the white sheer curtains fluttering around him. The wind flows through the window, taking his silver strands for a ride. He looks dwarfed in the bedding, his arms look scrawny and pale against the white of the sheet. His body is littered with bandages. 

Your heart lurches at the sight. While nothing justifies him killing you over and over again, you realize that he was just a kid. Is a kid. He lost his family overnight, endured abuse from the Count and fought demons as the Divine Warrior. It was no wonder how the kid ended up the way he did.

“Are you done staring?” Lucca speaks without turning around.

You answer his question with a question, “How are you feeling?”

Lucca shrugs and you sigh, exasperated at his non-answer.

Pulling up a stool beside the bed, you stare at his small frame again. A child should never have to undergo such hardship.

Another breeze streams through the open glass panes, ruffling your hair and blocking your vision for a moment. Moving your strands away, you notice that Lucca has finally faced you. You grin, loving the feeling of the air in your hair and the fact that he’s finally looking at you.

It feels somehow freeing to feel the flutter of the wind caressing you. You hold Lucca’s gaze, smiling, hoping that he shares (or at least) feels your joy.

When he doesn’t say anything, you turn to face the lush green visible through the window. Lucca doesn’t turn away, keeping his eyes on you. The silence feels liberating. Now, at this moment, you aren’t a murderer and his victim. You are just two children enjoying the wind. So you don’t say anything, content to watch the birds drift from branch to branch while Lucca watches you.

[finniestoncrane]

Ik this is sorta late depending on time zones and this ask being cheesy as hell but what would the Riddlers do for Valentine's Day with reader? Something cheesy asf? Or not celebrating it at all? I wanna know I'm curious as hell now

Valentine's Date

Riddler Headcanons gosh i rushed so fast to get this done today!! luckily, it was a blessing as work was SLOW! so here are the boys and how they would celebrate valentine's day in my mind because i am down bad for them all and live in a fantasy world where they would all try and do something nice for you 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: suggestive stuff but it's mostly fluff!!

young justice

i can almost guarantee that if you're spending valentine's day with him, it'll be the first one he's had with a partner

so he is pushing the boat out. or... as best as he can... what with the nerves

he wouldn't do something too extravagant, not too fancy or big. that would only increase the number of people he might embarrass himself in front of

he's far more keen on taking you to a quiet, unexpected but comfortable restaurant with quiet music and only a few tables, so he can talk to you and hear you properly

he'd buy you a single rose, hire the violinist to play a song by your table, your favourite tune

no dancing, he's got two left feet, but he will reach across the table and hold your hand, stroking it with his thumb and looking into your eyes

and when he takes you home, he'll walk you to your door and offer you a shy, reserved kiss

whether or not you pull him through the door by his tie and ravage the poor beast is up to you

unburied

he wouldn't actually ask you out for valentine's day

he'd give you a rant about capitalism and how it's a made up holiday and that you should keep your calendar clear anyway just in case he decides to do an ironic date

you'd think his goal was to embarrass you, in fact, because he's showing up to your house with a little remote control and blasting your favourite song out of every speaker system you own

"hey, sh... don't ask how i know your favourite song or how i got control of your devices. just... stop thinking about it. hey. hey! you're thinking about it... don't think about it, sh you're too pretty to think about it. let me think about it, i'm smarter and prettier"

dinner isn't anything too special either. takeout pizza on a rooftop in gotham somewhere. it could be romantic though, and it would be to someone desperately in love with him like you

listening to him talk about light pollution, asking if you want to hear some riddles about constellations, pointing out the various places he's hid from his enemies

it's not traditional by any means, but it is oddly romantic. dinner, music, time alone under the dulled stars. maybe that was his plan all along

gotham

oh we are going WHOLE HOG here for valentine's day!! you know he's an old romantic, a sweet and gentle soul

so don't think for a moment that you'll be seeing any other people that day, your attention will be solely focused on each other

he's sent, uh... someone has sent in some miscellaneous threat to your workplace, so luckily for you(!) you're not required to go in! SO SURPRISE!! he's here to make you breakfast

and then a brief walk down some of the quieter streets, where he might be brave enough to ask if he can hold your hand

once you're at his apartment, you're in for some respectable but tension filled cuddles on his sofa while you watch some classic romance movies

and then he's making a beautiful three course meal for you both! pressed tablecloth on his little dining table, roses in a conical flask, candles in test tubes (is he stealing these from work?)

he'll feed you little bits of food, wiping your face with a napkin, staring into your eyes dreamily

and then the night will end with a perfect and very polite kiss that you'll wish wouldn't end

telltale

he knows how to do romance, he's been around long enough. it's more a question of whether he can be bothered to celebrate

but he'll pull himself together and act the perfect gentleman for you, regardless of how tired he is after a day of committing violent/cyber crime and being oddly agile for a man in receipt of a state pension

(a fact which will come in handy at the end of the evening...)

he'll start off the evening with the traditional gifts. a box of expensive chocolates or candy, perfectly suited to your dietary requirements of course. and a bouquet of flowers. not roses, but your favourites. he knows they'll make you happier

he's not one for being out in public, what with the whole "is he dead" thing, so you'll be dining in BUT to make it special, he has hired a discreet personal chef to provide the food for the evening

slow, quiet jazz playing in the background, just you, him, and the waiters he has hired and has threatened under extreme violence to keep their mouths shut about this particular shift

could it get any more romantic??

arkham

bless his heart but this eddie is forgetting that it's valentine's day until you're handing him a card, grasping it between his dirty fingers, smudging the soft pink colour with grimy fingerprints

then, you'll endure a fifteen minute long lecture about why you should have at least had the sense to warn him in advance, or to remind him, since you know how he can be

and when he's done, he'll be pushing you out of the room, getting rid of you so he can "finish his important work" and only then can you consider "doing something for this silly holiday"

really, he's just looking for an excuse to get you away so he can work on your very last minute present without you seeing

which of course, he'll present to you as though he had been pretending to forget all along

"i made you this, it's a symbol of our relationship"

it's the remnants of a neon question mark bent into place to resemble a heart. and there's hot glue still drying on it. and a screw stuck to it

but it's the thought that counts, and the thought is there! after all he loves you enough to have lied and put aside his important welding or whatever to haphazardly craft the lie

dano

for him, valentine's day is about showing your love for someone. because you can love them every day, but this is an excuse to make a display out of it

so expect a myriad of gifts, food, perfumes, vouchers, jewellery, stuffed animals, flowers, a handmade valentine's card

enough that it makes you guilty (and enough that you wonder if he really has just been saving all his salary instead of spending it on... furniture or therapy)

then, the personalised activities! most of which involve you doing his quiz all about you and your relationship with him, solving several riddles that lead you to a hidden compartment in the wall of his bedroom (weird.) where he's stuffed his poems to you (sweet!) which he will then recite to you, stuttering over the words and blushing the whole time

but it's not enough for him, he wants to shout it from the rooftops, show the world how much he loves you and appreciates you

he's had all this love bottled up for so long with no one deserving to give it to! let's just hope it comes out in a healthy way...

btaa

he's swooping in to your apartment very late at night

"it's only 11pm, it's still valentine's day mi amorrrrr"

look, he's very sorry that he wasn't able to spend the day with you, and that he's incredibly late to the dinner you had planned

but he's a busy little criminal, he has so many things to do AND he had to do it all by himself because he gave miss tuesday the day off so she could go on a date of her own and-

oh see! you've changed your mind now, no longer grumpy, because he was actually doing something kind for someone else

he really is a generous soul, emphasised by the fact that the reason he was late was because he was pulling off a perfect heist in a jewellery store uptown

so... did you save any leftovers for him? or is he going to have to return this beautiful ring/watch/necklace he bought you?

twojar

he's a curveball, like seriously give you whiplash kind of valentine's date

you think it's going to be a very standard evening, after all there you both are in black tie best, sipping expensive champagne, him talking about himself while you try hard not to stare at his tits

but when the meal is finished, he goes to pay in secret and then rushes you out into a car with tinted windows, and it's lucky he can get you so hot and flushed and eager that quickly, since it's not long before you arrive at the next spot

a strip club

which is? i mean not a traditional valentine's day date location, but it could be very hot

and he's booked one of the private rooms for you both, so at least you won't have to hide your blushing cheeks from the rest of the guests

but it becomes very obvious that there isn't a dancer coming to entertain you, and you worry that he expects you to get up there and put on a show, which would be a disaster because you haven't planned anything and-

"happy valentine's day"

ah. of course. why would the world's most self-absorbed man think you would want anything else for valentine's day than a private strip tease from him

and he's annoyingly very right in that assumption

btas

he absolutely does the most! and the most is often cheesy and dorky and therefor a million times more precious

the kind of guy who would buy you a rose for every day he's known you, regardless of how many days he has known you

the kind of guy who gets those little personalised lego figures made of you and him, or gets a plushie of him to give to you so he'll always be near you (and you know he's putting the personalised message in if he gets it from build a bear)

he knows your favourite starter, main and dessert are all from different restaurants, so he's made the reservations at all three with plenty of time for romantic rides in the back of cabs between each stop

it's important he has plenty of time to cover your neck with kisses, and for you to tell him how adorable he is

and then, because he is the cheesiest but in the best way, it's more than likely he'd use valentine's day as an excuse to propose to you, so he's down on one knee under the cloudy gotham night sky to ask you to marry him (and you're obviously not going to say no)

zero year

he doesn't do valentine's day, what a waste of time! he's nice enough to you the rest of the year, why should there be one day where he has to do something extra fo-

oh? oh! oh ok, if it means you have to do something for him too, then he's down for it

yes... that sounds like a wonderful excuse to get up to some mischief... (it's concerning how evil his little face looks when he's supposedly considering activities for the most romantic of holidays...)

although, why bother going out somewhere on a date, it's such a waste of time and effort

he has to keep his energy for more important things, and speaking of... he can think of very few ways to spend an evening that are better than taking you into the bedroom and sharing an exchange of giving for a few solid hours

no need to wear something nice, it's only going to get stripped off

no need to get him a gift, you'll be giving him plenty

and no need to eat something, he'll make sure you don't leave hungry, trust him

[thepromptswhisperer]

Schedule Prompts

“Am I just an appointment to you? Something you can simply tick off your list?”

Know the other’s schedule by heart (- which might lead to a few raised eyebrows and suspicious/teasing looks from other people).

“I barely see you anymore.”

“That wasn’t on my schedule.” “And you weren’t part of my life plan.”

“Could you drive [name] to school/etc. tomorrow/etc.?”

Pencil themself into the other’s schedule.

“My schedule unexpectedly freed up, so I thought… Why not visit my favorite person?”

“Don’t let me keep you. (You clearly have more important things to do than to talk to me. Your partner.)”

“I’m going to mark/put that in my calendar right now, lest I forget.”

“I know today is your free evening/etc. and I wouldn’t ask if… If I didn’t need your help.” 

Since they know their partner/etc. is/should be occupied, they use the free time slot to prepare something for them/do something (they shouldn’t)/etc.

“Wouldn’t you rather spend your time living than planning out your every move?”

“Can it wait? I don't have time right now.”

“I know, I know. I’m a little behind schedule. But…”

“This is not supposed to happen. Not now. I have things to do. Things to take care of.”

Be stressed because they have fallen behind schedule. The other offers them some stress relief.

“We agreed on this weeks ago.” “Well, now, I’m not in the mood for it anymore.”

“Could we reschedule?”

Be stressed and annoyed because something (or someone) disturbed their schedule. 

“Right on schedule. Like always.”

“I don’t want to hope for a gap in your schedule just to be able to see you.”

“We’re going to make the most of it, okay? Quality over quantity.”

Only truly realize how used they got to the other’s presence when their schedules don’t align/intertwine anymore. 

“I’m canceling my plans/appointments. You’re more important.”

The weekly scheduled meeting with the other becomes the highlight of their week.

“I hate having to schedule dates with you.” “I know. Me too. Yet it’s better than not being able to see each other at all.”

[desceros]

me: [looks at calendar, gets a wicked idea, looks into the camera] happy springtime, turtle fam! who's ready to celebrate the season?

...mating season, that is. hehe. [dodges the tomatoes]

so! i had the idea that it would be super fun to have a community-wide event where we all have a prompt and then everyone fills it in their own way.

...i then decided all the prompts i came up with were too good not to use, but also none of them were Good Enough to use exclusively, so i changed my mind and the prompt is now just MATING SEASON. with a few suggestions at the bottom of this post if you're looking for some.

since spring is coming upon us, i hereby invite everyone to join in the vernal festivities... which in turtle parlance, of course, means only one thing: write, draw, whatever your version of "mating season", then join me on march 1 to post it with the tag #TMNTSpringShellebration. we then shall browse the fine selection of our mutual artistic efforts, and basically just have a good time as a community.

here are the prompts i came up with as starters-slash-things-to-include if you're looking for a place to get started. feel free to use these at will, or use them to come up with something of your own:

“Please don’t make me explain this. It’s humiliating as is.”

Oops, Looks Like Mating Season Came A Week Early This Year

“…In all of my mating seasons, this has never happened before.”

“I told you not to come by! It’s mating season!”

Probably should have expected it to be different now that he’s not going through it alone.

Because of Shenanigans, you have to wait. Wait… Wait… ok now.

They’re not the right person for mating season… but they’re the one who’s here, so…

“Show me where it hurts."

so yeah! see you all on march 1 for the, uh, spring shellebration. party popper emoji

questions i imagine will be popping up and i hope will clear up here before my askbox swells beyond capacity under the cut to keep this post from being Way Too Long. also it's really not that serious it's just an excuse to write slash draw for everyone Please Don't Take This Thing Too Seriously It's Not That Serious:

"can i participate?" yes! it's literally just an invitation to do something. nothing fancier than that. no need to be following me or in my friend group or whatever.

"can i write (insert fic idea here)?" yep! so long as it's related to the idea of mating seasons, it flies. reader insert? hell yea. oc? hell yeah. solo turtle and his favorite pillow? go for it.

"can i draw (insert art idea here)?" yep! uh. i know tumblr has the cops watching for sin bin material, but you art people know how to deal with that. and if you don't, uh, ask the other art people. im just a feral cat in a trench coat

"how do i participate?" write/draw/collect songs for/whatever. then, on march 1, post it and tag it #TMNTSpringShellebration. also, for funsies, keep it hush hush what you're working on so we can all be super shocked when the day comes! except, y'know, that you're planning on joining in. totally do that.

"when do i post it?" march 1. whenever on that day. waves hands around in a vague gesture at time zones not mattering. seriously don't take this so seriously it's just me wanting to create cool shit with my friends with a little more structure to it

"does it have to be horny?" i mean. it's an event about mating season. so by definition it's going to be at least a little horny. but however you interpret it is cool. even if it's just. idk. leo sitting sweatily in a chair looking longingly at a glass of water bc he's thirstier than usual. be smart about things, people. i'm not your dad.

"which tmnt verse is this for?" whichever one you want it to be for!! rise! bayverse! 2007! your fan iteration! your friend's fan iteration! your mortal enemy's fan iteration! yes!

"will you be reblogging everything?" absolutely not, but this isn't an event About Me. i am incidental to the thing. it's about Us. coming together as a community. for horny turtles. puts my hands on your shoulders. do it for you. for your friends. for the community.

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Bucktommy prompt: Buck finds out Tommy D&D (and is a pretty big nerd overall)

Hope you like it!

"Hey Ev, I know we were planning on date night on Friday, but is there any way we can raincheck it?" Tommy asked.

Buck was a little surprised. "Of course. Is everything okay? I checked our calendars and Friday was open for both of us. Did you pick up a shift or something?"

"No, nothing like that," Tommy replied. "There's this monthly first responder thing that I try to go to, and I've missed the past few months."

"Oh yeah? What kind of first responder thing? Another sport? Poker?" Buck asked, curious.

"Uh, not quite," Tommy said, blushing slightly. He mumbled, "It's Dungeons and Dragons."

"Wait? You play Dungeons and Dragons?" Buck said grinning at Tommy like he was the cutest thing in the world.

"Uh, yeah," Tommy replied, looking a bit sheepish. "It was sort of my escape as a kid. I would come up with these elaborate quests, and it was just so much better than being the awkward closeted gay kid. That and comic books were kind of all I had," Tommy admitted, his voice softening as he shared this piece of his past.

Buck's expression shifted from amusement to understanding, his eyes filled with warmth. "Tommy, that's... that's really cool. I had no idea you were into that stuff."

Tommy shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, well, it's not exactly something I advertise. But it's still a big part of who I am, you know?"

"I get it," Buck said, reaching out to squeeze Tommy's hand. "Thanks for sharing that with me. So, tell me more about this first responder D&D group. How did that even start?"

Tommy chuckled, seeming more at ease now. "Well, I've only been a part of it since I started at Harbor. I guess when I started there, I came out not only as gay but also as a giant nerd," he laughed.

Buck joined in the laughter, his eyes twinkling with affection. "I love that. It's like you got to be your whole self all at once."

"Yeah, it felt pretty good," Tommy admitted. "The guys at Harbor were surprisingly cool about both things. Turns out, there were a few other closet D&D fans at the station."

Tommy's expression grew more serious for a moment. "It's definitely not something I would've admitted at the 118 with Captain Gerrard in charge. And after my dad's reaction when he found out... well, let's just say it wasn't great, to say the least. I learned pretty quickly to keep that part of myself hidden too."

Buck's face softened with understanding. "I'm sorry you had to hide that part of yourself for so long. But I'm glad you found a place where you can be open about it now."

Tommy nodded, a small smile returning to his face. "Me too. It's nice to finally feel like I can be my whole self, you know?"

"I do know," Buck said, squeezing Tommy's hand. "And for what it's worth, I think your nerdy side is pretty cute."

Tommy's face lit up at Buck's words. "Thanks, baby," he said, a warm smile spreading across his face. "And maybe someday I can help you learn about it. Maybe even help you create a character," he added, his eyes twinkling with excitement at the prospect.

Buck grinned, clearly charmed by Tommy's enthusiasm. "You know what? I'd like that. And you've already met my inner nerd – the one who loves to watch documentaries and info dump about random facts."

Tommy chuckled, nodding in agreement. "That's true. And I love you for it, by the way. Your excitement when you're sharing some obscure fact is one of my favorite things about you."

Buck's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. "Well, then maybe it's time I embraced my nerdiness fully. Who knows? Maybe I'll discover a hidden talent for D&D."

"Oh, I have no doubt," Tommy said, pulling Buck into a hug. "With your imagination and your love for details, you'll probably end up being the dungeon master before you know it."

Buck smiled brightly and somehow found himself falling even more in love with this man who could be both a brave firefighter pilot and an enthusiastic D&D player. It was just another reminder of the many layers that made up Tommy Kinard, and Buck was grateful for the chance to discover each and every one of them.

[febuwhump]

febuwhump 2024 survey results

has it been six months since febuwhump? yes. yes it has. nevertheless, here's the cold hard data (analysis) of the survey from febuwhump 2024: feb five.

firstly, this year was our most popular yet! with 1417 works in the official collection across 329 fandoms, we made (and shared) 103 fics more than 2023, and 770 more than my first year running febuwhump in 2021! this isnt even including all the art and fics posted to tumblr, or wasn't shared during the event, which would put our total so much higher!

the prompt list had 4000+ notes and i received 115 responses to the survey.

there were 62 people in the hall of fame, up from 51 in 2023.

the blog hit 2,683 followers, up from 1,946 at the end of the 2023 event.

across two independant check, based on the average word count of 2,000 words per fic in the 2024 collection, and aware of the multi-chapter fics (some of which were finished after the event), it is estimated that 2.8 million words were written for febuwhump 2024. which is just. fucking insane.

now, onto the survey results!

firstly: in what way did you participate in Febuwhump this year?

with extra write-ins not pictured, fanfiction was the overwhelming winner with 92 responses (82.6%), followed by original fiction (22.6%) and artwork (11.3%). interesting to me personally is the 4 responses who wrote poetry and the not-pictured 1 response who created web-weaving! which is very cool and i would like to see it.

fandoms

according to the survey:

the most popular fandoms written for were the star wars universe and legend of zelda universe (8/115 responses)

21 responses included original fiction

the majority of responses also referenced more than one fandom, meaning less people stuck to a single fandom or topic the entire time.

according to the collection:

21 anime/manga fandoms were represented

51 books/literature fandoms were represented, 12 being specific star wars subseries

24 RPF fandoms were represented, including bands and minecraft servers

the most popular fandoms written about in the collection were:

star wars (all media types) - 253 works

star wars: the bad batch - 80 works

torchwood - 66 works

original work - 56 works

my hero academia - 54 works

why and how

next, there were a lot of really lovely responses about why participants took part in febuwhump, a few favourite and repeated responses being that it seemed fun, they'd done it before and so wanted to do it again, and they liked to write about their favourite characters suffering. also, multiple people have been doing it for three of the four years i've been running it (of five total), and several were encouraged by friends!

the majority of participants discovered febuwhump through tumblr, the admin's tumblr, ao3 fics and discord servers. a handful said there's apparently a google doc floating around that houses a whump event calendar. i would be interested in seeing that if anyone's got it.

did you participate in Febuwhump 2020, 21, 22 or 23?

the majorty of respondants were new comers to febuwhump at 66.1% "no" to 33.9% "yes". the majority of comparisons to previous years referenced a noticably bigger community, more interaction on the blog, and the admin being more "confident" (oh, you guys), however several noted that the prompts felt more repetitive or samey this year than they did previously.

are you a Febuwhump completionist or participant?

a fairly even split, 51.3% of participants didn't finish compared to the 48.7% who did. however, only 88.1% of those completionists submitted to the hall of fame.

for those who didn't complete, the most common amount of prompts completed was 2 (13.6%), 3 (11.9%) and 12 or 6 (6.8%).

the most common place to share prompt fills was tumblr (74.8%), ao3 (72.2%), or choosing not to share at all (7%). several write-in responses said that they were planning to share in the future but hadn't yet. and while 76.4% of people submitted to the ao3 collection, those who didn't claimed it to be because the fics weren't ready to be shared on time, they weren't following the rules so didn't add to the collection, an inability to find the collection on ao3 (i swear i'm working on it) or shyness/fear.

what went well/even better if:

the only actual criticsm of the event received was that the blog was posting in a "spam"-like way, to the point that the participant almost unfollowed (and another suggested a reblog tag so it could be ignored easier if people didn't want to see the works throughout the month).

several comments asked for a later deadline for submission to the collection/hall of fame, which is going under advisement, but the current position is that by doing so, it makes the event a different event. there are no stakes to actually create once a day if, at the end of it, you actually get 2 weeks of extra time.

another couple mentioned there being too many dialogue prompts and vague prompts. this will be considered during the next voting period and prompt collation - potentially, if i allowed less dialogue prompts into the final 100 vote, less would make it through to the official 28, however the voting itself is out of my hands (unless voter fraud occurs once again).

the main suggestion for improvement (8 times out of 44 suggestions) was for an additional mod to help with reblogging more. (which imo flies in the face of the "spamming" from earlier, but there is surely a middle ground). this is likely to not happen, because i like running the event alone, despite the major burnout i receive every single year without fail. but thanks for your concern lol.

on discord:

31.3% of participants were in the discord server (which, this year, ignored the first year's 100 user cap and had 172 total users).

43.6% of people who didn't join the server did so because they hadn't heard of it, while the majority didn't join because they were either shy (the minorty) or don't use/like discord (the vast majority). i don't know if tumblr still does groupchats and if that would be a viable alternative, or if there is another forum/chat location that would work better (or to have in tandem), but i am open to suggestions.

of the people who were in the channel, most (33.3%) used it "rarely", followed by "most days" (25%) and "for half the month" (22.2%)

febuwhump 2025

the majority of responses wanted next year's colour scheme to either be red or green, but shout out to everyone who wanted orange, the person who said "children's hospital" and the other person who gave me this specific hex code: #4BEC13

which is vile, but also another vote for green.

finally, here are my favourite suggestions for febuwhump 2025's colloquial name. previously, we have endured febuwhump 2: electric boogaloo, febuwhump 3: tokyo drift, fourbuwhump and feb five.

febuwhump 6 suggestions:

fe6uwhump (which, i'll be honest, is a real contender)

"I don't know"

febuwhump 666

febuwhump: revenge of the sixth

"I don't know, sorry"

"febuwhump sex and make all the prompts kinky"

"??? i have been thinking about this for 10 mins"

febuwhump 6(9)

feBEEwhump

"i am bad at this"

"could not care less"

febuwhump feb five 2: electric boogaloo

apparently, i accidently made this a mandatory question and that made some of you mad :(

and that's the wrap up survey, six months late! any questions/queries/want to see some of that cold hard data? send me an ask. i'll actually respond to it i swear! (probably!)

[randomshyperson]

Third time lucky - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: Some misunderstandings are just the result of poor communication. Or the one where Wanda has a crush and can't find the right time to confess. | Writing Challenge.

Warnings: Fluff and brief mild angst (unrequited love impressions), mutual pining, friends to lovers, some mentions of drinking, college au. | Words: 3.064k

A/N-> I've been having busy days, and apparently, I start dozens of series and never finish a single one. I saw some videos of Prompts challenges on Tik Tok and this one was finished. I do miss Emo!Wanda a lot, and I’ve been trying to work with something for her, but no luck so far. Anyways, good reading to you all!

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

Buried in the safety of her blankets, Wanda tries to understand how the whole perfect three-month planning went wrong all at once in a 30-second conversation.

This was all Steve's fault.

If he had waited just one more day to end his long-standing relationship with Bucky, he would have avoided affecting his entire group of friends, and Wanda wouldn't have had to drive 40 minutes to the other side of town to drag Barnes' drunk and pissed ass back to the University, and she wouldn't have had the conversation with you.

It was such an unfair situation. She had a plan. Go to the movies together, to the market, have dinner and then, ring. Well, confession first.

"I know we've been friends for a while, but I've secretly been in love since we bumped into each other on the way out of the stadium that day, and spending time with you has only escalated that. Do you wanna be more than friends?" 

She hoped that all this time you were secretly in love as well and she would be the happiest person in the world.

But Steve Rogers broke up with his boyfriend who got too drunk to drive back to his place, and when Wanda safely handed him over to you, all you could tell her was that you were glad you two would never go through anything like this in your entirely platonic friendship.

A bucket of cold water, honestly.

So now Wanda just wanted to lie down and be protected under the covers, with no risk of being hurt again.

Her twin had other plans.

"Wanda, why aren't you ready? Natasha is already downstairs with the car." That's what Pietro questioned as he entered the bedroom of their shared apartment, a grimace stamped at the scene of his sister under the covers in the dark bedroom. 

All the brunette did was groan, which made him sigh. The next minute, the curtains were pulled open and Wanda had to hide from the light with a pillow.

"Go away." She grumbled, but the twin just threw himself sitting up in bed.

" Don't tell me Miss Calendar forgot that we were going to celebrate Yelena's birthday today?" ironized her brother, smirking at Wanda's attempt to get away from his fingers that began to torment her with tickles.

Wanda only grunted again. "How did that not get canceled?" She managed to retort, busy deflecting the tickles to see Pietro shrugging.

"It's not like Yelena is that close to the boys. Besides this, Steve isn't going, and Bucky is still hung over. And you're holding us up."   To emphasize her brother's statement, the loud horn outside easily recognized from Natasha's Truck could be heard. Pietro chuckled before pulling Wanda's covers off at once, ignoring the other's protest. "Move it, lazy girl. We have to get there soon or Nat won't find a parking spot."

"I don't want to go."

"Wanda, come on, Yelena is your best friend's little sister." Pietro reasons, but seeing his sister's almost tearful expression, he immediately assumes a worried expression. "What happened, Pchelka (little bee)?"

Wanda sniffled low, not meeting his gaze. "I was going to tell Y/N how I feel yesterday."

Her brother's eyes widened. "Oh? And how was it?"

"I didn't get a chance. She said she was glad we were friends, and we don't have to go through the same problems as Bucky and Steve." She tells tearfully, but Pietro makes a confused face.

"Wait, but you told her? How do you feel?"

Wanda chuckles indignantly. "What? Didn't you hear what I just said?" Retorted the girl, wiping her face before she started crying for good. "She said we were friends, how do you expect me to-"

"Wanda, for God's sake." Pietro interrupted her with an impatient sigh, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. He typed a quick excuse to Natasha to get her to stop honking in front of the building and approached his sister. "You and Y/N are friends, of course, she's glad about this strange, yet amazing connection you two share. The same kind I had with Barry, and you know, it would have worked out if I hadn't screwed it up. But the fact is, we only had a chance of right and wrong because I had the balls to admit what I was feeling."

She frowns thoughtfully. "What is your point?"

Pietro smiles. "My point is that you are here, whining about a rejection that only happened in your head."

"But she said-"

"The truth." He interrupts gently. "You two are friends, and she values this friendship, these are facts. It doesn't mean you can't be more than friends, or that the puppy dog eyes she always gives you are platonic."

Wanda giggles shyly, her cheeks warming. "You're making that one up."

"Yeah, I'm the delusional twin." Retorts the other, laughing when Wanda tries to hit him with a pillow. "Put it together, sis. And grow some nerve. Y/N will be there today, you might make her week better."

Wanda sighs. "Or ruin it for good."

Pietro rolls his eyes. "Wanda, go get changed or I'll be the one to tell her why we were late."

"You wouldn't dare!" Wanda retorts, already getting up. Pietro laughs.

"Try me."

The drive to the dam was uneventful after that - although Wanda had had to put up with her twin and her best friend making fun of all her dramatics that morning.  It was somewhat ironic how apparently all her friends knew about her feelings, except the one person she wanted to be aware of it.

The dam was considerably full, but that was common for weekends even on a not-so-hot day, and the absence of tests at Uni certainly helped. Fortunately, Natasha was able to find a place close enough, and within minutes, Wanda was finishing putting beers to ice near the food table that Maria Hill had set up with the rest of her friends who arrived first.

Wanda only went back to the truck to get Yelena's gift and was ready to lock the car and return to the cheap fun when she was wrapped tightly by strong arms that lifted her into the air. She would have screamed in fright if she hadn't recognized the mischievous giggle.

"Look guys, I found a cute deer all alone." The teasing made the rest of the group chuckle as well. Wanda tried to have a little control over the color of her face, but she became very aware that the Wolf Jacket - The University's mascot - was the only thing that cover your swimsuit from her skin. You spun her around by the waist as you set her down again, and the proximity was almost suffocating. 

"Where is everyone?" It was Clint who asked, holding a packet of coal on his shoulders. Beside him, Laura was wearing only the skirt of the cheerleading team that Wanda was also a member of, the black deer stamped on the edge, and a dark bikini covering her torso. 

Wanda mumbled the direction as you took a step back, and could barely notice when the rest of the group left the two of you alone. You leaned against the truck, and Wanda tried to put it together, as Pietro told her to.

"Your face is a little red, Wands. Did you remember to put on sunscreen? I have some in my backpack..." You were so clueless that it would be adorable if it wasn't frustrating. Wanda began to fantasize about the confession and ended up even redder when she noticed you shaking some sunscreen at the height of her face for what seemed like some time. 

"T-thank you." She mumbled embarrassedly, reaching up to pull the item out, but you moved it out of her reach.

"Don't be silly, I'll help you." You said casually, signaling with your free hand for her to turn around, which Wanda did very quickly.

She heard you pressing the cream into her hands, and she had to hold her breath to keep from sighing with each rub of your fingers against her skin. Rubbing and spreading the sunscreen.

"What were you doing here all by yourself?" you start the casual conversation, curious. 

Wanda swallows to disguise the huskiness in her voice. "I forgot Yelena's gift in the car."

"Hm, and what did you get for her?" You asked, finishing the shoulders and pulling your hands away to apply more lotion.

"Some tapes from that store she likes," Wanda grumbles, biting her lips as she feels your hands go down her back. "She hasn't shut up about Don Mclean in the last few months, so I also helped Nat buy some tickets. They're going to the concert next month."

"Oh, that sounds nice." You complimented, somewhat distracted. Wanda hummed in agreement, hoping to the heavens that you didn't notice how shivery she was under your touch. But judging by your silence and proximity, you could probably tell. A moment later, when you were done with her back and Wanda was forced to work with all her mind control not to do anything idiotic when she was face to face with you again, you commented, "You practically ran out yesterday. I was hoping we would watch some movie, maybe even a sitcom."

Wanda smiles shyly, needing to look away because you were going to start rubbing sunscreen on her face now.

"Hm, sorry." She murmurs. "I thought you'd be busy with Bucky."

"He's a grown-up, Wands. Besides, I would hardly sacrifice time with you to babysit hungover Bucky Barnes."

She panicked, you were too close, and looking at her fondly when you said these things. All she could do was giggle nervously.

"You like me this much, huh?"

It was your turn to chuckle a little confusedly, raising an eyebrow. Wanda swallowed dryly because you were applying sunscreen to her cheeks, but instead of pushing your hands away, you wrapped them around her cheeks.

"Yeah, I like you that much." You assured her and Wanda felt her heart jump in her chest. 

Okay, as Pietro encouraged her in the car: Go big or go home. She opened her mouth to finally confess, but you let go of her face. "All set." You announced about the sunscreen, moving to put the item back in your purse and stepping away in record time. Wanda stood frozen in shock, and you looked at her with confusion. "You're not coming?"

She swallowed the humiliation and lack of courage and forced a smile. "Of course." 

But you stepped into her path, and Wanda panted slightly. 

"Aren't you forgetting anything?"

"Hm, am I?" 

You chuckled. "Yelena's birthday present..."

"Shit, yeah, sure." Wanda was a complete mess. She turned around again, grabbed the gift packed in the passenger seat, and met you halfway. 

And you made the color of her face worse when you simply hold her free hand with yours, pulling her closer to whisper: "My invitation still stands, Maximoff. After the party, how about we have a sitcom night?"

With her heart hammering, Wanda takes a chance. "Yes, but only if it's just the two of us." She declares, and you chuckle shortly, eyeing her with some doubt.

"Are you asking me to kick Bucky out of the apartment?"

She sighs. "No, I... God, you're impossible." She grumbled in frustration, feeling her face very warm. She was ready to clarify when someone shouted your name.

It was Natasha, at the entrance to the parking area, hurrying the two of you because you had the matches in your backpack and the barbecue was supposed to start soon.

Wanda sighed tiredly again and walked off ahead of you.

You followed her with confusion a second later.

-&-

“Judging by your face, things didn’t work out with Y/N.”

Yelena's comment didn't make her feel any better, other than it caught her by surprise enough that Wanda nearly knocked all the beer over.

Yelena chuckled, holding the strainer before the item lost its balance completely and ensuring the safety of the drink for the rest of the party.

"How did you...?"

"Natasha tells me everything, naturally." Clarified the blonde as she shrugged. "This, and well, everyone knows."

Wanda sighed, stealing a glance over to the group of people where you were laughing at some comment Maria made.

"Yeah, not everyone." Murmured the upset brunette. Yelena cleared her throat quietly.

"You know, maybe rejection can be a good thing." Started the blonde to which Wanda grimaced. "Now that you know she doesn't feel the same way, at least you can start looking for someone else who does."

With a nervous chuckle, Wanda retorted, "Technically, I didn't say what I felt, so I haven't been rejected yet and-"

But Yelena interrupted her by reaching out and tapping her finger against her forehead, a gesture that made Wanda grumble. "глупый (silly). You didn't even tell her?"

Rubbing her forehead, the brunette grumbled; "Your sister interrupted me, I was about to."

Yelena chuckled incredulously, stealing a glance at the group as well. "You are unbelievable, Maximoff." She commented before a sigh. "You know this is your fault right? None of this would have happened if you had only agreed to go out with her when she asked you the first time, you silly girl."

Wanda grimaced. "Sorry, what?"

But Yelena just shrugged. "Yeah, you know I'm right. If you had just gone along with it, you would have saved yourself all this stress, and you wouldn't have to stand there trying to build up your courage and-" 

"Yelena, what are you talking about?" Wanda interrupted her. "Y/N never asked me out."

It was the other's turn to look at her as if she had fallen and hit her head. "Of course she did! When we met, silly, at Stark's party in freshman year."

Wanda shook her head. "I met Y/N the first time by bumping into her in a hallway-"

"What, no!" Yelena giggled nostalgically. She dropped her glass of beer and started gesturing a little as she counted. "Don't you remember Stark's party, freshman year? I introduced Y/N to the group, and you had just kicked Vision's ass...oh, I think I know why you don't remember. You got drunk as hell and threw up on the guy in the band, the one with the shaved hair. It was Y/N who drove your car back to the dorm, Wanda. You really don't remember her?"

There was a pact to forget about the humiliation from that night, to be honest, but hearing Yelena quote the facts brought it all back with full force. The last fight with Vision, Tony's birthday at Stark Mansion that turned into a riot loud enough for the party to end with the arrival of the police, and a lot of drinking. Enough for Wanda to forget kind eyes and respectful hands keeping her off the sidewalk.

She looked at you again, and remembered your husky laugh, months ago, in her room when her drunk self said she thought you were really pretty.

"Well, I think you're pretty too, Maximoff. So how about, when you sober up, you and I go out on a date?" You asked, ignoring the teasing giggles of the other two - Yelena was helping Natasha back to bed. 

"I'd love to." She replied drunkenly, giggling when you helped her get under the covers. She made some joke about dreams that made you smile, and then she never thought about this night again.

In the present, Yelena was saying something about how technically she never rejected you, but Wanda cut her off with excuse, and simply turned her back on her, rushing off in your direction.

Whatever Maria's joke was, it was unheard by you with Wanda's sudden arrival.

"Hey, is everything ok-"

"Why didn't you ask me out again?" She interrupted you almost in desperation, ignoring the presence of the other people. You stared at her in shock, surprised at the sudden question. Maria cleared her throat, gesturing to the girls, and everyone sneaked out. 

"Sorry, what?"

"After the party." Wanda retorted without losing her attitude. "You asked me out, and I was too drunk to remember this. Why didn't you ask again after?"

Your cheeks turned pink, and you chuckled awkwardly. "I don't know, Wands." You murmur shyly. Wanda's heart leaps at the lovely image in front of her. "You didn't remember me, and when we started hanging out with everyone else and you quickly included me as a friend, I assumed it was your way of saying you weren't interested without hurting me-"

"But I am interested!" She interrupted you a little louder and more desperate than she would have liked. You gasped in surprise, widening your eyes. "God, I'm so interested."

You chuckle shyly, your face rosy. "Oh, really?"

Wanda thought it best to prove the point, and just grabbed your shirt collar, staring into your eyes for a moment and giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. You did the complete opposite, ending the distance by pressing your lips against hers.

Gasping, Wanda pulled away. "Yeah, definitely interested." She murmured affectedly before kissing you again, now for real, feeling your smile into the kiss.

You ended up parting soon after, both of you unable not to laugh in relief and happiness. Wanda could feel her face burning, and she knew the audience but didn't care one bit. She was too happy for that.

"You taste like beer." Your comment while holding her made her look at you curiously. "Please don't have another alcoholic amnesia with me."  You joked with a certain truth, and Wanda chuckled, stealing another intense kiss before pulling away.

"Are you kidding? I'll definitely remember this." She assured you tenderly, and you smiled apologetically. When you went to kiss her again, Wanda placed a finger over your lips. "Besides this, you could sleep over. It will be easy to remember if I wake up next to you..."

You smirked, kissing her cheek, your arms securely around her. "What a naughty girl you turned out to be, Maximoff."

She slid her fingers away to cup your cheek. "Oh darling, you have no idea." And you swallowed dryly at the teasing whisper.

With luck, it wouldn't take them long to cut the cake and end the party. 

[steviewashere]

Hello, since you're taking prompts, I'm here humbly requesting anything with autistic Steve because I adore him and he's relatable af. Steddie, heavy on the comfort? Other than that, whatever you like, I'll love it :)

Wooo!! I wrote this in like three hours because I was on a roll, so I'm excited to share this!

Rating: Teen and UpCW: Meltdown, Overstimulation (Not That Kind), Some Negative Stimming, Mild Internalized AbleismTags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Established Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Cuddling & Snuggling, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Soft Steve Harrington, Soft Eddie Munson

Also on AO3

💕—————💕 His t-shirt was too tight. Had it shrunk in the wash, he initially asked himself. Is this not even mine? But when he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, reflected back at him was the same burgundy colored t-shirt, softly worn and sweat stained, a big graphic stretched across the chest that read: ‘Go Bulls, Go!’. Where this thing came from, he doesn’t remember, but it’s kept him comforted and grounded throughout the years.

Steve had a particular wardrobe. Maybe a bit peculiar to the normal, wandering eye. But to him, his clothes made perfect sense. Every pair of jeans was just a size bigger than he needed them, to give him the extra give. All of his white boxer briefs were made of cotton, because the silky type were always too constricting. His socks had holes and patches on them—worn over and over and over again, folded inside out so that the seams didn���t catch under his toes, but they were the perfect level of softness that he couldn’t find anywhere else. Polos made of cotton. Henleys the same. And his t-shirts, well they were soft, too.

In fact, Steve loves soft things. Loves loose things. Loves expected things.

But now his t-shirt is too tight. The t-shirt he thought of all of the last three days. A t-shirt he thought would look good with his light washed Levi’s—always worn on Thursdays for his day of errands. And looking at the little desktop calendar in his room, it is indeed Thursday. He planned this, but he neither planned nor considered the possibility of a clothing malfunction. His hands go to stretch the hem of the shirt, pluck it away from his body and make the fabric accommodate him. However, at the first tug, the loosely bound hem gives an unmistakable Riiiippp sound.

And…

Great, he thinks, I’ve just ruined one of my favorite shirts.

The t-shirt’s too tight, now ripped, and about to be retired. If only he could find something that works the exact same. Every t-shirt he tries on has some sort of error: too big, too ugly, clashing colors, won’t match the Adidas he picked out last night, stretched on the collar, so on and so forth. It’s Thursday, he thinks, it’s a busy day. Errand day. And now I have nothing to wear. Well, he has something. Not exactly what he planned. But if he doesn’t just put on a damn shirt, he’ll never get through his day, and if he misses out on the free time to take charge of the few errant errands—Steve’ll never get them done or he’ll get them done on a different day, a day where it’s noticeably not Thursday.

He snatches a yellow polo from the back of his closet. Dijon mustard colored. Too scratchy over the downy hairs on his belly. But he doesn’t have the time. Doesn’t have the time to redo his hair—three puffs of hairspray and he’d have to do a fourth, but four doesn’t fit, it’s not right, it’s too different. So he just settles. He’s got a schedule today, and damn the world for already trying to stop him.

Next on his agenda is breakfast.

Which, now that his head is shoved dutifully in the fridge and he’s rummaging around like a dumpster diving raccoon, he remembers that he has to go grocery shopping. Down to three large eggs, a couple bacon strips that didn’t crunch right the last time he ate them, and some cream cheese for bagels he can’t reason eating anymore. But he makes do. Again, settling—always settling, it seems. Because today just can’t go right.

Half-way through the eggs, his brain reminds him that he’s eating eggs. The texture going from wonderfully scrambled, not too soft and not too dry—to awfully rubbery and terribly bland and disgustingly charred. His bacon didn’t crisp right, so he won’t even attempt the few nibbles that lay out on his plate. And the bagel is just…staring up at him like the thousand eyes on every spider of his nightmares. Just the mere thought of cream cheese on his tongue has him wanting to hurl. So he tosses the rest, sets his plate in the sink, and wonders if he’ll even have the time to do the dishes—they aren’t piling by any means, but he didn’t plan this. He wanted cereal this morning. Had thought about the near glass like shards of Cap’n Crunch against the roof of his mouth, drenched in whole fat milk. But, again—You’re an idiot, he’s starting to chastise—he forgot that he needed to do a grocery run today.

Now that his stomach isn’t full and is left completely unsettled. Now that his shirt is scratching him and rough in all the wrong places. Now that more wrongs have been done to him than rights, he can woefully cart himself to the supermarket.

Only to get there and not find a spot. Well, one in the back of the parking lot is barely a spot. The one he hates parking in because he always has to walk two minutes longer than he needs to and sometimes the gravel from the nearby bushes is kicked up and then he steps on it and there’ll be a rock in the sole of his shoe. Like there is today because of course, of all days, there are little jagged gravel rocks for him to step on and feel through the soft, giving out soles of his sneakers. Of course, he thinks—riding over mildly irritated to extremely annoyed within seconds.

The grocery store is hell on earth, if it exists. Lights fluorescent and produce aisle sprinklers going haywire and the coffee grounds too fresh and the chatter of people incessant. Annoying.

He brought a paper slip with him. His chicken scratch identifiable to him. Reading:

Grocery List

Milk White Bread (Wonder, not Kroger) Peanut Butter (Jiff, not Skippy) Laundry Detergent - unscented Cat food (salmon this time, maybe that’ll lure in that stray?) Pasta (Thin spaghetti, penne, and farfalle) Parmesan (Preferably not in the jar, but whatever is cheapest) Potatoes Pop-Tarts? (Eddie’s favorite is brown sugar) Chicken Chicken nuggets

The cart he grabs has a wheel that squeaks the entire time he pushes it. Wonder bread is sold out by the time he gets to the right aisle. They really should say something when they change the layout of the store, he notes bitterly, stuffing a couple loafs of Kroger white bread into his cart. Skippy was the chosen option of the creamy peanut butters, simply because the Jiff wasn’t on sale anymore. On the bright side, salmon wet cat food wasn’t too expensive, even if he could only grab three cans. The Pop-Tarts are forgotten by the time he makes it back to his car. And the first paper bag has a handle that rips off almost immediately. And he forgot to unload the quite substantial amount of baseball supplies he brought to the park the other day—which means the bags are loaded into the backseat and he can only hope and pray that the milk doesn’t topple over and squish the bread or god forbid the laundry detergent somehow gets jostled the wrong way and spills all over his car.

He should’ve made another list of things he needs to remember he’d done. Would’ve been nice, he supposes, if he told his future self that the baseball equipment is still in his trunk. But, alas, here he is playing the same Tears for Fears tape again, listening to the baseballs clink off of each other. Thank god for the Tears for Fears tape, though—it’s the same one he’s listened to nearly every day since he bought it in 1983. At least that’s something to expect. At least it’s something he can rely on after the absolute shitshow he’s had today.

Though, maybe he should’ve expected having to pull over to the shoulder. In a car that chokes and gives up when he’s two-thirds back, half-way through his errands list, and completely done with everything. His hands are tight on the steering wheel. And there’s nothing but silence flowing around him. It’s like drowning, sitting here like this. For once, after everything he’s ever experienced and having so many bad days like this, he doesn’t know what to do.

A part of him, the overwhelmingly obvious part, wants to scream and cry and kick his legs out in front of him. Wants to dig the heels of his feet into the pure asphalt underneath the rubber tires of his stupid, unreliable car. Maybe tear the shirt right off his body and squish himself back to normal. But in the open, bright pool of sunlight, he can do nothing but just sit there. Head against the steering wheel, wet breaths through his nose, and a tightness in his throat that won’t rid even after his fifth swallow. Part of him wants to cry and cry and cry and never stop crying. And it sounds good. Not here, though. Not yet.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there before something knocks on his window. So, he rolls his head over to peer—not at all that gently, with enough force to drive a hard line into his skin. But when he catches sight of the person watching him nearly fall apart, he wants to cry impossibly more.

It’s Eddie. With his big, soft, concerned eyes. Hair tied up into a bun. Coveralls over his body, splattered with oil and other unidentifiable muck. Probably coming back from an early morning shift at the auto shop in town. He can help, maybe. So, Steve cranks down his window. Enough that Eddie can dangle his arms inside and crouch down to get a better looks.

“Stevie,” he softly greets. “You doin’ okay?”

Steve just shrugs. Makes some sort of noncommittal grunt. He works his jaw tight and tense. Mumbles, “Car broke down.”

Eddie hums, acknowledging. He looks over his shoulder briefly, leans to peer into the backseat, and then looks onto Steve again. “I can take a look, if you want, sweetheart.”

“Don’t have enough money to get it fixed right now.”

“Baby,” Eddie sighs. His eyes go half-lidded with aching. He reaches out a tentative hand and gently traces his fingers over Steve’s left shoulder. Inching his way to his neck, where knots are surely forming. “It’s free of charge for you, you know that.”

“I just don’t care about it right now,” Steve lies. He cares a great deal. Cares that this has ruined his day. Has ruined the rest of his plans, but if he admits that, he’s sure he’ll cry. He’s not sure why that’s his first reaction: to cry and break things and flap his hands as if ridding the energy. Not sure why it hurts to look Eddie in the eyes right now. Why everything that’s happened has affected him so negatively. Why he’s so particular about his things to do and how he dresses and what he eats. But he knows he’ll cry if he explains.

“Okay,” Eddie mutters. His fingers are soothing over Steve’s shoulder. Light and airy and so soft, it makes Steve want to melt. “How about I drive you back? Help you unpack your groceries? We can leave this baby right here for now and figure out how to get it back to you later, alright?”

Wordlessly, Steve nods, hauls himself out of the driver’s seat, and helps Eddie unpack the bags into the back of his van. That part of him that wants to destroy flares alive inside of him. And he has to restrain himself from chucking the milk carton against the side of the van. But he gets into the passenger seat, silent and seething and mildly overwhelmed.

He gets angrier, though, as soon as Eddie’s radio blares to life. Heavy, obnoxiously loud drums and guitars and vocals fill the space. Instinctively, Steve’s hands shoot to his ears, covering them completely with his palms, digging his fingernails into the skin around them. Garbled, he makes a noise of great discomfort. Grits his teeth together. Squeezes his eyes shut until little speckles of black float in the corners. And hunches into himself, compact and an easy trick to consolidate himself. It doesn’t work, though. Nothing is working in his favor.

“Turn it off, Eddie,” he distantly hears himself snap, “turn it off!”

All at once, the music stops.

Steve sighs, not quite relieved, but easier. It’s still bright. And Eddie’s van smells a little bit like marijuana. And maybe Steve hasn’t smoked that in a little while because the scent is too intense and he never knows how to explain why the smell alone makes him want to scream, but it does and he knows part of that isn’t normal but he doesn’t know how to be normal and now he’s blown his cover all because of something petulant like music being too loud and now Eddie won’t want to date him because he’s being irritable and annoying and—

“Sweetheart?” Eddie’s distant, raspy, soft voice calls. “Is it a migraine? Do you need some water?”

“No,” Steve answers tersely. “Just take me home, Eddie.” He can’t loosen himself from the tight hold, from the squeeze of his eyelids, from the tension in his fingers. But he’s probably making an ass of himself. Probably pissing Eddie off. “Please,” he tacks on, “please take me home, Eddie.”

Nothing else is said as the van rattles and grumbles, pulling away from where Eddie had been parked. There’s no words. No music. Eddie doesn’t fidget. Steve doesn’t think either of them breathe, really. And not only has he pissed Eddie off, but he’s starting to make himself angry. Why couldn’t I just be normal, Steve internally bemoans. I’m being annoying. And he shouldn’t be helping me. And I should’ve just called a tow truck. And I’m making a big deal out of nothing, just like Mom and Dad used to say.

And if he were in a different mindset, he could probably think about why that statement used to feel so miserable. When his parents would dismiss him. Send him to his room. Where he’d sob into his pillows and toss his books across the room and hide inside his closet because it’s the only place that truly felt safe. The closet, where the world couldn’t reach him, and the lights were all dark and he could hum as much as he wanted. Because nobody could find him. And nobody cared. And then he was warm, safe, the version of himself he felt he needed to be.

Eddie parks gently. He helps bring the groceries inside. And then he just stays. As if Steve didn’t just ruin everything. But he looks at him with those concerned eyes again, fidgeting with his fingers because he wants to reach out, about two seconds away from crawling out of his skin. Meanwhile, Steve’s pacing back and forth, squeezing his hands shut, eyes closed, breathing heavy through his nose.

“Is something wrong, Steve?” Eddie finally breaks.

Steve shakes his head quickly. “Long day,” he gets out.

Humming, Eddie takes a step forward. He tilts his head and attempts to make eye contact, but Steve averts his gaze. “Why don’t we sit down for a bit and take a little breather?”

“This is the wrong shirt,” Steve blurts, scratching at his stomach again. The shirt keeps rubbing up and down whenever he bends, whenever he moves for that matter. It’s starchy and too new. Too much, not enough. “And my hair is a mess.”

“It’s not a mess,” Eddie murmurs, “looks fine to me.”

“No. I messed it up this morning. Because I tried on all my shirts.”

“All of them?”

Steve nods hastily. “None of them were right. And that doesn’t make sense, I know, but it’s true. And I put three puffs of hairspray in, needed a fourth, but that’s not right either.” He angles his head up at the ceiling, furls and unfurls his hands a few more times before placing them palm down and flat against his chest. Wants to press down. Hard enough to remember, but not enough to bruise. So he does. Gives in. Allows himself this one good thing, the pressure, the hurt, the sizzling ache. “My breakfast was gross.”

“Yeah? What’d you have, baby?” Eddie gently asks.

“Why—“ Steve gasps, struggling. “Why are you fine with this?”

Taken aback, Eddie makes a soft noise. His eyes widen and he furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m being weird. I—You saw me! I was having like a little mini freakout in my car and then I got all mad at you and I was covering my ears and keeping myself tight and now I’m—Fuck, I’m going insane.

“Everything’s wrong. Everything is so wrong. My whole day is fucking wrong. Schedule got ruined. The clothes I planned out days ago didn’t work. My breakfast was bullshit and the grocery store didn’t have the right bread and Skippy is my least favorite peanut butter, but I had to get it because it was on sale and I forgot to get those Pop-Tarts you like even though I wrote them down on my stupid list but I don’t make enough lists because I forgot about the baseball stuff in my car and it shouldn’t have been there and that’s why I had to put the groceries in the backseat and the only good thing was my Tears for Fears album was still in the radio—And…Fuck.” Steve takes a haltingly loud gasping breath. He slams his hands over his chest, finally giving in to that innate urge he’s carried since he was a kid. Squeezes his eyes shut again, not wanting to see whatever hurt or disappointment or realization washes over Eddie’s face.

He continues, “I left the album in my car. The light’s too bright. I can…I can like hear the wiring in the fixtures. Everything. I’m feeling…I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,” Steve babbles. His hands flex into his shirt, the fabric wrong on his skin. Fingernails scratching at it, trying to tear it off. Wants to crouch down onto his knees and hide between the corner cabinets, nestle himself in a dark place, cry until there’s nothing left to give.

The realization hits him all at once, he needs to get away. To the safe space he created. So he forces himself around Eddie, up the stairs, behind his slammed bedroom door. And he crawls the rest of the way into the deep, far side of his closet. On top of old blankets, underneath too small clothes. Rests his head against the wall. And just…sobs. 

His elbows rest upon his knees as he shields his face with his forearms. The sounds of his cries muffled by his own skin. He kicks off his sneakers and digs his feet into the pile of blankets underneath him. Trying to get rid of the itchy, swooping, nauseous ache from inside him. He doesn’t like this part of his bad days. Doesn’t like being alone. To be left with his own mess. But he’s not sure how Eddie will respond, so he figures this is better.

Though, that’s quickly proven wrong when Eddie carefully comes in, announcing himself as the door opens. He stops in front of the closet and crouches down. “Hey, Stevie? Is it alright if I’m in here, baby?”

Steve sniffles. “I…You’re not going to be mean, are you?”

“No, Steve. I promise I’ll be nice. I just…You seem really overwhelmed and I thought maybe I could help you a little bit.” He shuffles forward slightly, opening the closet door from inside. Peeks through the gap. Asks, “How?”

“Could give you a hug? But…I was thinking we could trade shirts first? Mine is pretty soft, kind of loose. I know that’s how you like your t-shirts, baby.” For good measure, he plucks his t-shirt and gestures for Steve’s.

“You’ll look like a dork.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be comfortable. So hand me your shirt and I’ll give you mine.”

Once they’ve exchanged shirts, Steve leaves the closet and sits with Eddie against the side of his bed. Sure, the mattress may be soft and feel nice, but the firm ground under him keeps him anchored. He leans into Eddie’s side, lets him drape an arm over his shoulders, and sighs into the hold. Eddie’s other hand comes up and he traces fingers over Steve’s hairline, featherlight but caring all the same.

“Does this help?” Eddie whispers.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “Sorry about…Well, being weird and getting all intense earlier.”

Eddie shrugs. “It wasn’t like that at all, baby. You had a bad day, nothing worked in your favor. I’m not going to fault you for reacting.”

“I was crying in my closet, Eds. That’s hardly normal.”

“I’d cry, too if I had the day you experienced.” He runs his hand between Steve’s shoulder blades, pressing firmly over the tense knots that formed. “Is there anything I can do? Anything on your list that you need help with?”

Steve nuzzles his face into Eddie’s shoulder, cheek squished against the joint. Muffled, he says, “For now, can you just hold me for a while? Nobody’s ever comforted me like this after…Well, you saw what happened. But later, can you help me vacuum and mop?”

“I’ll hold you forever,” Eddie promises. “And I’ll exterminate all the dust bunnies you could ever think to encounter, nothing could make me happier.”

Something in him finally chips away. He’s not quite loose, yet. Not ready to release all the pent up negative energy he’s seemed to catch throughout his day. But he can believe Eddie, for the moment. He rests his head deeper into Eddie’s shoulder, lets himself fall into whatever song Eddie is humming, reaches out and grips firmly to one of Eddie’s hands. Plays with his rings, the smooth metal like a balm on the fatty part of his thumb. He relishes in how Eddie just lets him. Lets him, despite everything.

He can’t quite look Eddie in the eyes, not yet. Can’t force himself off the ground. Can’t quite get rid of that intense, drowning sensation that burbles in his chest—makes him want to cry and breakdown even further. And maybe he can, realistically. But later, he surmises, later he’ll do that, so long as Eddie continues to not mind.

The warmth of their shared bodies is nice. The softness of Eddie’s t-shirt against his skin. The gentle musk left on the collar from whatever cologne Eddie uses. Something with bergamot, a little bit of citrus, something like bourbon. He closes his eyes softly. There’s not much light flooding into his bedroom, just a stripe of golden sunlight from between his curtains, but that’s fine.

For the first time today, something is fine.

“I like this,” Steve quietly admits. “You being here with me through this, I mean.”

Eddie makes an acknowledging hum. “Whenever you need me, I’m a phone call away, sweetheart. I’ll come dashing over, your knight in shining armor, armed with the softest of t-shirts and the most delicious of snacks just for you, baby.”

Steve chuckles. A sound he thought wouldn’t be possible on a day like this. Despite everything, he smiles softly. “I’d love that,” he whispers, “I love you, Eds. Thank you for making me feel a little bit normal.”

“I love you, too, Stevie,” he responds, easy as that. “And I mean it, baby. I love you, I want to hold you and cherish you. You need anything, any time of day, you call me. Bad days are no joke.”

“Mmm,” Steve gently hums. “Maybe I should add cuddle time to my daily routine?”

“Maybe you should,” Eddie agrees. “I think that would be excellent for both of us.”

“Good,” Steve states quietly. He wraps his own arm around Eddie’s waist, pulls him in tighter, and tucks in close. “This feels right.”

💕——–——💕 Taglist: @hotluncheddie

[lives-in-midgard]

🎄Christmas With The Maximoff Family 🎄

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Summary: After celebrating Easter and Halloween with Wanda and her kids it's time to celebrate the Christmas season.

Word Count: 945

A/N: Hey everyone! Here is another fic with the Maximoff Family. I think I should really make a Masterlist with the fics I wrote for them as a family now. Hope you enjoy! 💗

Divider made by @saradika.

Prompt 19: Family time AU

(prompt from @buckys-wintersoldier)

Masterlist | Fluffcember Masterlist

It was just a few days after Wanda and you took down the Halloween decorations around the house, and when you asked her to help you move the Christmas decorations from the garage into the house. You had the idea to surprise Billy and Tommy with it when they got home later. So, you and Wanda went to the garage right after breakfast. You looked around and immediately found the boxes with Christmas things you put there when you moved in. You were so excited to celebrate your first Christmas with them. You can’t wait to experience all the activities and traditions that lie ahead.

“Wow, detka, you really love Christmas.” Wanda said when she saw how much it was.

“Yeah, I really do.” Wanda laughed and then helped you carry everything into the house. With the help of her magic, you finished very quickly. You looked around for a while and didn’t really know where to start because now you not only have your things, but also Wanda’s Christmas decorations. Wanda decided to put on some music and then the two of you started decorating. While decorating, you would sometimes look at her and smile. If you had to stand on a ladder to hang something up, Wanda could use her magic.

“Let me help you detka.” Wanda said when she saw you. She quickly walked towards you until she was standing next to you. You didn’t know what Wanda was planning until you suddenly flew through the air and landed perfectly in her arms. You looked at her and started blushing and hiding your face in her neck. Wanda started giggling and gently dropped you back to the floor. You both smiled at each other. Then Wanda leaned in, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and kissed you. As you broke the kiss you said.

“But now we have to move on before Agnes comes home with the boys.” Wanda looked at the clock and then nodded.

“Oh yeah, we really have to.” After half an hour you were finished and went into the kitchen with Wanda to start cooking. You were putting the food in the oven and were about to kiss her again when suddenly the door opened, and you heard Billy and Tommy come in. Wanda looked at you a little annoyed.

“They always come at the right moment.” You chuckled and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then took her hand and walked into the living room.

“Wow, that looks so cool.” Billy said and both kids looked around smiling.

“It was your moms’ idea.” Wanda said, looking over at you. You blushed and nodded. It still felt new to be called their mom by Wanda and other people, but you were so happy with them.

“I also wanted to decorate but Ralph said it was too early.”

“Oh, Agnes, don’t listen to him. Do what you want to do!” Wanda advised her. They talked for a while, but you couldn’t hear about what, because Billy and Tommy were now asking you about some Christmas traditions, they would like to do this year.

“Let’s talk to your mama about it later, okay.” You suggested. And that’s exactly what you did later that day. Wanda made a list of all the activities you would like to do.

Time passed and you did many things that you wanted to do. You went ice skating, built a gingerbread house, and watched movies together. When it started snowing, you had a snowball fight and had a really nice time together. You and Wanda made a homemade Advent calendar for Billy and Tommy. They were very excited and happy to open it every day. One day you suggested going to a Christmas market and the boys went there to meet Santa. On a snowy afternoon you wanted to decorate the Christmas tree together. It was such a beautiful and special memory for all of you.

You and Wanda also had some special moments just for the two of you. One time when you were baking cookies together it ended in a fight and the two of you ended up full of all sorts of things. Then you had to take a shower and then snuggled up in bed to watch a movie.

You had such a wonderful Christmas time together and now it was finally Christmas morning. When you woke up, Wanda placed a soft kiss on your forehead. You cuddled for a while and talked about whatever came to mind.

“I love you so much, Wands.” You said after a while.

“I love you too, detka.”

“I can’t wait to see Billy and Tommy’s reaction to their gifts and yours to my gift.”

“Me too and I can’t wait to see what you’ll say to mine.” You stayed in bed for a few more minutes until you heard Billy and Tommy knock on the door.

“Mama, mom!” They shouted and you both chuckled.

“Come in, boys.” Wanda yelled back and the door opened as quickly as possible. They ran to the bed and jumped in.

“Slow down boys.” You said but also had to laugh because they were so excited.

“Can we see what Santa put under the tree?” Billy and Tommy looked between the two of you. You looked over at Wanda and nodded at her.

“Sure, let’s go.” She said, jumped off the bed but waited for you and Wanda to get up and go downstairs with you. As the boys ran to the tree, you took Wanda’s hand and kissed her on the cheek.

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

“Merry Christmas, detka.”

Taglist:

@marvelogic | @eviebuggg | @yelenasdiary | @youralphawolf72 | @severelyuniquereview | @mrs-bucky-barnes-73

[ahyperactivehero]

Please please please a drabble I've been in a constant state of panic. Maybe a fluff fic of Edwin and Charles at an amusement park or carnival? ❤️

sorry this leaned somewhere between fluff and... sad? not really, but there is a touch of it, which i feel like sort of fits with the day everyone has had.

much love to you, @edwinspaynes and thank you for the prompt <3 <3 <3

(i took drabble prompts during election night and am currently getting them out. everyone, please stay safe my loves <3)

Drabble 3

May, 1990

Charles hadn’t realized how much his enjoyment of carnivals or amusement parks depended on the types of foods he could eat until he couldn’t enjoy them.

He’d practically begged Edwin to come with him, but now that he was here, he wasn’t sure what to do. He couldn’t play any of the games– the person manning the booth couldn’t see him. He couldn’t eat any of the food– it would pass right through him and it’s not like he could taste it anyways.

So what was there left to do? He eyed all of the rides nearby, but quickly ruled them out one by one. He might have convinced Edwin to come with him, but he couldn’t picture him on any of the rides.

He sighed and kicked at the dirt. He didn’t even know why he was making a big deal about any of this. It’s not like it really mattered. Not when he was alive and certainly not now that he was dead.

“Do you–” Edwin started and then trailed off. “Is there a ride you would like to go on?” He looked around, his eyes landing on a group of teens walking by and followed them as they passed through them. He did that sometimes, his attention getting caught on something and just running away until something brought it back.

“Nah, mate,” he said with a forced smile he hoped Edwin couldn’t see through. “S’not really that important.”

Edwin furrowed his brows, that very distinct line appearing between them. “But you were excited?” he said, his voice tipping into a question.

“Not really,” Charles lied. “Just thought it might be cool to check out.”

That same confused look stayed on Edwin’s face. “But I–” he cut himself off and fixed his bowtie, which was already very much in place. “Very well.”

He smiled again and bumped his shoulder, completely content to head to the Hall of Mirrors and leave. Edwin, it seemed, had other plans.

“If you did want to ride something, however, need I remind you that any and all rides are open to us,” he said, waving his hands in a way that gestured to the rides around them. “It is not like ghosts need wait.”

“Wouldn’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do,” he said with a shake of his head.

That line only seemed to deepen. “What makes you think that?” he asked. “Besides, aren’t we here because…”

Charles frowned and tilted his head. “Here ‘cause what?” 

Edwin cleared his throat. “Well, it is your birthday, is it not?”

Blood that no longer existed seemed to freeze in him as he stared at Edwin. “What?” he asked, his throat locking up.

Thin, nimble fingers darted up and down Edwin’s coat before settling into fists against each other. Nervous, flighty energy rolled off of him in waves, nearly strong enough to make Charles sick.

“Perhaps I was mistaken,” Edwin said. “I– well, I just thought.”

Charles thought back to the last time he had looked at a calendar. It was hard to keep track of what day it was when you never needed to sleep. Or had any sort of usual schedule. Or real purpose in this afterlife.

Not that he didn’t think hanging out with Edwin was brills, because it was. And he definitely rather be doing absolutely fuck-all with him than moving on, but that didn’t mean some things weren’t hard.

“No,” he said after calculating it in his head. “You were right.” 

This would be the first birthday since his death. The first one that he’d celebrate without a word from his mum or dad. Not that he was exactly keen to hear from his dad, but it was the principle of the thing, wasn’t it?

“So,” Edwin said, looking over to one of the spinning rides. “Do you want to ride?”

“Nah,” he said again. He turned away, already planning his route back to the closest mirror when Edwin piped up.

“What if I did?” he asked.

He nearly tipped over from stopping so fast. Charles turned, looking at Edwin with unchecked disbelief on his face. “You wanna ride?” he asked, unable to stop himself from looking Edwin up and down. Had anyone ever rode an amusement park ride with a bowtie on before?

That strange, calculating look came over Edwin’s face. The same one he got when something had especially sparked his interest. Last week it had been one of Charles’s favorite songs; even though Edwin had claimed to dislike it because it was just ‘noise.’

That hadn’t stopped him from catching Edwin humming it under his breath later that afternoon.

“I must admit I am rather interested in them,” he said, glancing at Charles from the corner of his eye. “It seems as though everyone is enjoying them, but I find myself unable to understand why.”

Ah, so that was it. Edwin always did love a question.

“Bit of fun, innit?” Charles said. “Kinda like riding a horse or a bike or skateboard.”

Edwin nodded. “I do like horses, although I fear I am not sure what a skateboard is.”

Right. Should have guessed that.

“So you really wanna go?” Charles asked. Even he could hear how desperate he was for Edwin to say yes.

Because Edwin would say yes, if Charles asked. That was something he’d found out rather quickly about the boy. No matter what it was, he almost always agreed to try something, even if he was sure he’d hate it. How long he was committed to trying tended to depend on the action.

But Charles didn’t want to have to ask. He knew it wasn’t fair, but he wanted someone who wanted to willingly do what he wanted to do, even if that was as simple as riding the whirling ride in front of them.

“I wouldn’t have said so if I didn’t want to,” Edwin said, and Charles was sure that was the case.

“Right!” Charles said. He clapped his hands together and shuffled Edwin towards the ride. “Let’s go then!”

Thankfully there seemed to be one empty as they approached. Otherwise, Charles shuddered, they might have had to sit in a seat where someone else was sitting. Which was fine, but definitely not the best experience– for ghosts or living people. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to people being able to walk through him.

“So, you hold on right here,” Charles said, pulling the bar down across both of their laps. “And then you lean right or left and it helps spin you faster.”

Edwin��s lip jutted out in thought. “And we want that?” he asked.

“Yeah we want that!” Charles said, feeling more and more pumped. “It’s what makes it fun.”

Edwin nodded, agreeing to try it.

Once the ride started it quickly became obvious that they wouldn’t need to lean. Since there was supposed to be no one inside, the ride moved crazily– around and around until Charles was sure he’d be sick. 

“Ghosts cannot get sick,” Edwin said, as they climbed off the ride. His green tinged face spoke otherwise.

“Anything else you wanna try?” Charles asked, glancing at the other rides.

Edwin did the same. “I picked this one. You pick the next,” he said. 

And Charles didn’t point out that actually Charles had picked that ride. It didn’t seem to be worth mentioning. 

He picked three more rides, each one turning their stomachs more and more until Edwin finally waved off. “I think I need to sit,” he said, all but collapsing onto a bench outside one of the lines. 

Charles nodded and sat next to him. Who knew vertigo could affect ghosts?

“Gotta be like a rule book somewhere to this all, right?” Charles asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Edwin pulled his head up from between his knees to look at him. “Amusement park rides?” he asked.

“Ghost rules, I mean,” he said. “Like, who knew we could get sick?”

“We cannot,” Edwin said, although his head was back between his legs, so who really knew what was true anymore.

“Just saying. Seems like it would be useful,” he said.

Edwin bobbed his head slightly. “Maybe you should write it,” he said.

Charles laughed, far more loud and boisterous than he had intended. “Me? Write a book? Oh that’s rich.”

Edwin looked at him. “I don’t see why not. You’re intelligent, you love to question me when I tell you something about ‘ghosts rules’ as you so call them. I think you’d be perfect for it.”

That was just ridiculous. “If anyone should, it’s you, mate. I’ve seen the way you read, and you’re always writing in that notebook of yours. You’re already halfway to writing the book!”

A small, genuine smile touched Edwin’s lips. It was rare for Charles to see, something that he could usually only coax out of him at the most unexpected moments. He’d love to know how to get more of them, how to be the one to always make him smile, but he’d settle for what he had gotten so far.

“I think I have a different career in mind,” he said. 

This was the first Charles had heard of this. Who had ever heard of a ghost with a career before?

“What is it, mate? Gonna be a full time scarer at a haunted house?” he asked, elbowing him.

That smile again. “No,” he said. “I’m thinking about being a detective.”

Well, Charles thought, that was probably the best idea either one of them had had yet.

[cranberrymoons]

a home for the holidays

prompt: hurt/comfort (@steddieholidaydrabbles) word count: 547 rated: t notes: this is part of the future fic series! but it stands alone and is early enough in the timeline that you don't need any background info for it to make sense out of context 😇

welcome to Day 18 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

It’s two weeks before Christmas when Steve’s parents tell him they’re planning to sell the house by Spring.

“It’s just that it’s losing value year over year,” his mother says one night at dinner. “And we’re only here half the time as it is, and I’m sure you’ll be wanting your own place soon now that you’re seeing someone.”

And Steve can honestly say that he hadn’t even thought about it. 

Most days it feels like enough just to survive, like it’s just one thing after the next: Starcourt and everything that happened there, Eddie and the Upside Down and Max, the overwhelm of his schoolwork now that he and Robin are both taking classes at the community college over in Muncie.

“She wants us to move in together?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows when Steve tells him later that night, curled up tight in Eddie’s bed in the little house he shares with Wayne. 

Steve sniffs. He’s not even really sure why he’s crying, but he's comforted by Eddie’s hand running down over his back anyway.

“That’s what she said.” 

His voice comes out quiet, a little shaky, and Eddie makes a soft shushing sound, thumbing over his jaw to angle his face up into a kiss that’s really more of a wet press of lips, salty with the tears that have tracked down Steve’s cheeks and into his mouth.

“I mean, I know I’m not great at picking up my dirty socks,” Eddie says. He rakes a hand back through Steve’s hair, pushing it out of his face. “But that’s no reason to cry.”

Steve lets out a little laugh, sad and sort of pathetic, and Eddie smiles. 

“I want to move in with you,” he says. “It’s not that.” He rubs a hand over his face, cheeks hot and flushed from crying. “Fuck, sorry.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re allowed to have feelings.”

Steve sniffs again as the buzz in his brain begins to quiet. He takes a shaky breath, then another.

“I don’t like change.” He stares at Eddie’s shoulder. “I just – I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Eddie hums, tugging him closer so he can press a kiss to his forehead, right between his eyes. “You don’t have to explain,” he says. “You grew up in that house. It’ll be weird not having it anymore. I get it.”

“You do?” 

His voice is small, and he reaches out to pet a hand over Eddie’s hip, fingers tracing over the outline of a scar. It’s warm here, and quiet and safe and close. He feels his eyes start to go heavy as Eddie’s hand runs up over his back again, soothing him.

“I do.” Another kiss pressed to his temple, lulling Steve to sleep with the rocking motion of his breath and the soft vibration of his voice. “And we’re going to have a house and a yard and you can finally have a bedroom without that ugly fucking wallpaper.”

Steve’s too tired to argue, just smiles where his face is tucked up close under Eddie’s chin, breathing out a laugh against his skin. He feels Eddie’s lips turn up at the edges where his mouth is pressed close to his ear.

“It’s going to be great,” Eddie says. “You’ll see.”

[also on ao3]

[erisenyo]

“I’m coming, just sit tight!”

for zukka please and thank you! <3

For this prompt game!

“Sokka, come on, we’re going to be late!”

“I just need a minute,” Sokka calls back, unconcerned, like he didn’t just get out of the shower, fuck.

But it’s okay, it’s okay, this is fine. This is still fine. Zuko might have meticulously planned every bit of the day, because Sokka loves nothing more than a thorough and well made schedule, but it’s fine. They can just…not do the walk along the pond that Sokka’s favorite local painted is always painting, and Zuko can scale back the time he’s allotted for lunch and afternoon snack, and—

“Sokka, it’s going to take forty-five minutes just to get there! Hurry up!”

“Which is where, again?” Sokka calls back, sounding fucking breezy.

“Somewhere we need to be in forty minutes,” Zuko grits out, finally giving into the urge to shove off the couch and pace the living room.

“Relax, hot stuff,” Sokka laughs from their bedroom, thank fuck. At least he’s out of the bathroom. “It’s a staycation, isn’t it? What’s the big deal?”

Like the fact that they’re already going to show up late isn’t enough? “If we leave too late the traffic is going to be awful,” Zuko says, aiming for something reasonable and logical and hearing it come out more pleading and whiny. Great.

Sokka snorts. “You only care cause you want to go ninety the while way there.”

What Zuko wants is to get there on time. “I thought you cared about plans,” he accuses.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sokka huffs, audibly rolling his eyes. “Sit tight.”

“I’m sitting,” Zuko growls, “Plenty tight.”

“Yeah you are, babe,” Sokka calls back, smirk obvious just before the fucking hair dryer whirs to life—

“You haven’t even—Sokka! We don’t have time for that!”

“It’ll just take a minute,” Sokka shouts back over the noise, like he’s ever taken less than twenty minutes to dry his hair in his life. “And then I just need to pick out earrings—”

“Oh, are you fucking—there’s no time.”

“—and maybe do some braids—”

“I put it on the shared calendar, your fucking shared calendar—"

“—and touch up my nails—”

“—and now you’re going to be fucking late to your own fucking proposal your nails are fine!”

The hair dryer shuts off, Zuko breathing heavy in the sudden silence, horror slowly creeping into his chest as he plays back his words and—

Sokka swings into the doorway, bare-chested and definitely naked, hair dry and braided and beaded, nails a fresh deep blue and his favorite Hawaiian shirt dangling from his hand. “…Did you just propose to me?”

“…No,” Zuko tries, feeling himself frozen, caught.

“While yelling at me?” Sokka grins, delighted.

“No,” Zuko repeats, more forceful this time, scrambling. “That wasn’t—that isn’t—it’s not—that doesn’t—”

“Nope, that totally counts,” Sokka crows, grin huge and shit eating like this is the best thing to ever happen to him and Zuko is going to die. “It absolutely counts, and I say yes, and I’m going to tell everyone—”

“No, Sokka, come on.”

“—that I made you so mad you proposed to me on the spot—”

“You can’t.”

“—I’m going to put it in our wedding website and in my vows and—”

“Fucking hell, fuck you, you can’t—”

“Sweeter words have never been said,” Sokka says airily, ducking back out of the room to finish getting dressed and if it’s just a matter of pants it really will be only another minute… “It’s what everyone longs to hear from their fiancé!”

Zuko opens his mouth and then closes it again, letting himself slowly smile to himself as he mouths the word back again. Fiancé. He does like the sound of that…

And he’s pretty sure he can still surprise Sokka into silence with the matching armbands.

And the pig roast.