#this was supposed to be a prompt/concept but then i got a bit carried away 😅

[perpetuallypottytraining]

a little going out to a movie theater for the first time in headspace, and them and their CG are caught offguard by how excitable and hyper they are to be in a "brand new place!" they're constantly looking around, excited by every little thing. they have to get popcorn and a soda, bc that's what all their storybooks and cartoon characters do when they're in movie theaters!

when they get to their seats, the previews are still playing, which gives the little plenty of time to get their wiggles out before the movie starts! however, with not much else to do while they wait, the little can't help but to start on their soda and popcorn, no concern at all for the amount they're consuming

by the time the movie does start, they've made a sizable dent in their salty popcorn, which of course led to them drinking plenty of their refreshing drink

their wiggling slows at the production company logos, finally sitting still as the movie is truly underway

until... all that soda sits heavily in their abdomen, taking almost no time at all to reach their bladder

this is their first little movie tho, and they don't want to miss anything!!

so, they stay seated, continuing to sip their soda and munch on their popcorn with less enthusiasm than when they started

it doesn't take long for their wiggling to start up again, but instead of being because of excess energy, it's now because they're attempting to shift any pressure off their bladder, which is slowly beginning to ache

this wiggling isn't very subtle. but, their CG is also trying to enjoy the movie - so when the wiggles start up again, especially if they're big enough that some popcorn may be spilling as the little adjusts and adjusts the way they sit, the CG, eyes on the screen, leans over and whispers to the little that "big kids can sit still through a movie - you're a big kid, aren't you?"

the little immediately stops their wiggling, blush hidden in the dark. they are a big kid, they are. they're potty trained and everything, big kid pants on - they're not a baby who needs diapers

except diapers sound pretty good right now

or, bare minimum, the pull-ups kept in their closet, for when they wake up with wet sheets or they're going on a long car ride or or....

or how their CG asked before they left if they wanted to wear one "just in case," but the little had shook their head innocently and said, "I'm a big kid!"

now aware that they can't just wiggle freely, the little reaches below their bag of popcorn and holds onto themself, hoping that they can last until the end of the movie

their legs still shift, but not enough to be distracting

uncomfortable, the little wishes they were at home - how they could pause the movie and go potty without missing anything

this isn't like home though, there's no pause button!!

they risk a glance at their caregiver, disappointed to see that they're fully engaged in the movie

the little doesn't want them to miss any of the movie either

they think about getting up and heading to the bathrooms, but they shrink in on themselves when they remember how far away they are, how'd they'll have to walk down the stairs, then walk down the hallway, then go use a stall all by themselves, wipe all by themselves, and flush all by themsleves, then wash their hands, then dry them, then come back to this exact theater

what if they get lost? what if they forget a step? what if the toilet flush is really really scary? what if someone tries talking to them?

no, no - they're simply too little to go to the bathroom all by themselves. they need their caregiver with them

but they'll be so disappointed to miss the movie :(

as the minutes drag on, their bladder aches and aches, all that soda the little kept sipping having to go somewhere

a whimper escapes from the little, and their caregiver's head snaps over to them

as they take in the sight of their hunched over little, one hand disappearing underneath their popcorn, legs twisted together, the caregiver hesitating grabs the soda from the cup holder and gives it a little shake

ice clinks against one another and the caregiver can feel that more than half has already disappeared

immediately standing to their feet, caregiver grabs the popcorn bag with one hand and their little's arm with the other, hauling them up

the little stumbles, but finds some relief that they no longer need to make a decision as their CG leads them out of the theater

a gasp is let out as all the movement causes the little's bladder to find some relief itself, big kid undies immediately getting wet

the caregiver doesn't slow down their pace, dragging, then pushing their little into the family bathroom, careful to lock the door properly behind them

when they turn around, they watch as their little is hunched over the drain in the ground, a pattering noise audible as the little is unable to hold it even for a few more seconds, the grown-up potty only a few steps away

as the caregiver leads the little out of the movie theater and into the parking lot, the little instructed to hold their bag of popcorn in front of them to hide the worst of the damage while they stand closely behind them, they make a promise/assurance to their little:

they'll catch the movie when it comes to home video

[scribbledghost]

Congrats on the 3k followers, you deserve them all and even more!! For the celebration, I'd like to request Simon + number 34. After the drabble in neighbor!AU where reader meets Ghost for the first time and it ended up being a false alarm, I'm curious to see how Simon would react to reader being put in an actual dangerous situation.

Note: (The original post in question) Thank you so much friend!! I still really love that drabble, thank you for requesting this so I can explore the concept a little more! (I know these are supposed to only be 500 words, but I got a little carried away with this one oops) 3K Follower Prompt List 34. Character In Peril

It’s several months after your initial run-in with Ghost on Simon’s military base when your house gets broken into in the middle of the night.

True to form, Simon hadn’t said much about the incident on-base other than a quick apology later that evening for having to meet Ghost in such a manner.

“Would you really have killed anyone who came through the door?” you asked softly after he apologized.

The only response he gave at the time was a kiss to your forehead and a quiet “would’ve done whatever I needed to to keep you safe, love”.

His words ring in your head once more as you drop to your knees on the direct order of the masked figure in front of you in your living room. You’ve tried to reason with him, tried to tell him to just take what he wants and leave, but you quickly realize he isn’t there purely to steal property.

He’s there to terrorize.

You aren’t quite sure how long the intruder spends kneeling in front of you and whispering vulgar threats, but your heart drops when you look up and see another figure by the front door.

However, your dread quickly turns to hope when the new man lifts a finger to his lips in a “shush” motion, drawing your gaze to his face. Or rather, what you can see of his face.

It’s Simon. You’d know those eyes anywhere. 

Actually, no. It’s not Simon. Not exactly.

Judging by the tightly-wound body language, pistol in his hand, and skull balaclava, it’s Ghost.

How he’d known you were in trouble, you're not sure. You suppose that doesn’t matter now. 

You try to not draw the man’s attention to the sudden presence behind him, and Ghost approaches whisper-quiet as he stalks through the room.

As soon as the man stands, everything seems to happen at once.

You saw Ghost on the military base. Heard his authoritative tone and witnessed his lightning-quick assessment of the situation, even though it had turned out to be a false alarm. But you didn’t see any of his combat skills.

It’s almost like he’s making up for it now.

He grabs the man by the back of the shirt, yanking him backwards and off his balance. A sharp “get down” from Ghost has you flopping forward onto the floor without a second thought, burying your face into the carpet as the sounds of struggle meet your ears. 

The rest is a blur. You can hear punches being thrown and curses ground from between teeth. Sharp gunshots coupled with pained cries and fading gurgles signal the end of the fight, but you still keep your head down. It isn’t until you feel a gentle hand on the back of your head that you flinch.

“Shh, it’s alright love,” Ghost’s deep voice calls. “‘S just me. It’s alright, he can’t hurt you.”

Your relief is palpable, but when you move to get up, a firm hand rests itself between your shoulder blades.

“No, no,” he says. “Can’t have ya gettin’ up on your own, sweetheart. Made a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. I’m gonna help you up and get you back into your bedroom, then I’m gonna make a quick call. I’ll let you know when it’s alright for you to come back out, okay?”

The adrenaline buzzing in your ears makes it difficult to do anything else but nod.

Ghost - or is he Simon again? You can’t tell, and it stirs a strange feeling in your stomach - helps you up, sliding a hand over your eyes before you have the chance to look up from the floor. He guides you to your bedroom, closes the door, and you hear heavier footsteps fade away, followed by muffled, one-sided conversation. You strain to hear what you can, but the details are vague.

“Price? Need a favor. I know it’s late. Need a cleanup. Someone broke in. No, not my house. Yeah… yeah. Next door. ‘S why I called. Need this done quickly and quietly. Yes sir. I’ll keep an eye out.”

The minutes tick by until you hear a vehicle pull up, followed by multiple quiet voices. You can’t make out what anyone is really saying, not between the overlapping talk and sounds of work being done, but there seems to be three voices in addition to Ghost's. After some time, you hear footsteps approach your door, followed by two quick knocks.

“Almost done, sweetheart,” Ghost says, then he retreats back to the living room. 

A little while later, the rest of the crowd leaves, and once again you hear another knock at your door. 

“Still with me, love? You can come out now. All clear.”

You hesitate, not sure how to approach the situation. Slowly, you open the door.

“...Ghost?”

“No, lovie. It’s just me. ‘S just Simon.”

Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his barrel chest. 

You don’t ask him why he smells like bleach.

[soulscollection]

'𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐲' 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.

prompts designed around the concept of a character having a difficult day and another character arriving to help/support/care for them! i made these prompts on @soulprompts. DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST NOR REPOST IT OR CLAIM AS YOUR OWN.

DIALOGUE PROMPTS.

" you look like you could use a hug. "

" please tell me you didn't cancel your plans for me... "

" don't be silly, you're much more important than some tinder date! "

" where's your jacket? i'd like to show you something, and it'll involve a bit of walking. "

" you know i'm always here for you, don't you? no matter what. "

" hey, now... i'm only ever a phone call away. "

" come on. let's get you to bed. "

" i'm listening. "

" hey, do you have any spare pajamas? i'm going to sleep on your couch tonight; that way you just need to shout if you need me. "

" what are your nightmares about? they may not be so bad if you talk about them. "

" another nightmare? "

" hey now, no more apologizing. i'm glad you called me; i meant it when i said any time, any place. "

" you know you're never a nuisance nor a burden. not to me. "

" i'm helping you, and that's final. i'm not taking no for an answer. now. where's your kitchen? i'm making us some comfort food. "

" maybe you think it's your job to look after everyone else. but it's not supposed to be like that. it works both ways. and now it's my turn to look after you. okay? "

" hey, now. you've been helping me ever since we met. it's about time i started repaying the favor. "

“ i’m so proud of you. i know it’s hard to get past these rough days, but... i still want you to know that i’m proud of you. “

“ you know, i reckon our bond is definitely strong enough to endure whatever it is that you need to get off your chest. “

“ it’s alright, now... i got you. “

“ you don’t need to worry about scaring me off. i’m not going anywhere. you can try as hard as you want, but there’s nothing you can say that’s going to make me like you any less. “

“ you know, i make the best hot chocolate in the world. seriously, i’ve asked absolutely everyone on the planet. everyone except you... what do you say? wanna make it a global fact? “

“ let’s go smash some stuff until you’re ready to talk, okay? “

ACTION PROMPTS.

[ TEA ]: sender prepares a mug of hot tea for the receiver.

[ BLANKET ]: having found the receiver either sleeping or just lying on the couch, sender gently takes a blanket and drapes it over them.

[ BATH ]: sender runs a hot bath for the receiver after a particularly challenging day.

[ DINNER ]: having learned that the receiver has had a difficult time lately, sender arrives at their door with their favorite dinner and drinks.

[ COOK ]: in an effort to boost the receiver's spirits, sender arrives with all the ingredients needed to make the receiver's favorite comfort food, with the well-intended intentions of cooking it for them.

[ FORT ]: sender builds a blanket fort for the receiver following a long and difficult day.

[ HUM ]: sender hums gently under their breath to soothe and comfort a distressed receiver.

[ WIPE ]: after the receiver has stopped crying, sender tenderly leans forward, cups their face in their hands, and wipes their tears away.

[ JOURNEY ]: noticing the receiver has had a particularly rough day, sender invites them to accompany them on a walk or drive to get out of the house.

[ HAIR ]: as the receiver leans against them/lies in bed, sender begins to run their hand through their hair to soothe them until they relax or fall asleep.

[ CARRY ]: sender lifts a (nearly) sleeping receiver and carries them into their bed, tucking them in in the process.

[ GUIDE ]: sender physically guides an exhausted receiver into their bedroom, following weeks of very little sleep and very high amounts of stress.

[ BESIDE ]: receiver wakens from their first genuinely restful sleep in weeks, to find the sender asleep next to them, having been holding the receiver throughout the night to help them fall asleep.

[ BEDSIDE ]: receiver wakens from their first genuinely restful sleep in weeks, to find the sender asleep in an armchair by their bedside, having stayed there for the night in case receiver had a nightmare or needed them in any other way.

[ KISS ]: as a gesture of comfort and affection, sender leans forward to kiss the receiver on the forehead.

[ HAND ]: noticing the receiver is close to tears, or otherwise struggling with an unseen but considerable burden, sender gently takes their hand and holds it in an attempt to comfort and encourage them.

[ RUB ]: sender gently rubs receiver's back in a soothing motion.

[ TV ]: sitting next to the receiver on the sofa, sender joins them in watching their favorite show/movie on the television.

[ HOLD ]: as soon as the receiver opens the door and realizes the sender is there, sender wordlessly opens their arms out, and gives the receiver a warm, sorely needed hug.

[stevebabey]

ahh congratulations on your milestone!!! thank you for all of your works!!! (also this concept is so cool and fun for a follower celebration!!!)❣️❣️

now, i just have to see what all the hype is about over at Lovers’ Lake ❤️‍🔥 88 from prompt 5 “kisses in which ‘i’ll kiss you right now to prove i don’t feel anything for you’‘ but the kiss proves the opposite” with best friend stevie??

thank u honey!!! i sincerely hope you think lover's lake is worth the hype <3 and this concept bro... ur brain is so delicious i literally sent this 2 like 4 ppl when i got it being like BRO so i hope i do it some justice <3 i manipulated the prompt a bit & it got a bit long but bleh <3 enjoy! (2k & fem!reader)

“I’m telling you Steve, there’s something seriously wrong with me!”

The words carry across the flat expanse of Lover’s Lake, your voice echoing over the ebb of the lapping water. Your resounding groan is much less loud, muffled as you bury your face in your hands. You’re curled up, knees drawn to your chest. The wooden slats of the dock dig into the bottom of your thighs.

Beside you, Steve chuckles just a bit at the drama of it all. So you had one bad kiss? It wasn’t the end of the world. Though from your reaction, you certainly seem to think so.

“Nothing is wrong with you,” He assures you, because he means it. He’s sat on your left, both arms resting atop his propped up knees, and he leans over to nudge your shoulder with his.

“So what if it was a bad kiss? I’ve hardly heard great reviews about Jeremy Parton. It doesn’t matter—“

“Ugh, it does matter, Steve.” You interrupt, pulling your face out from hiding.

Steve’s thankful that you don’t look teary-eyed, because he hates seeing you upset, instead only just a bit embarrassed. You’d called him not 20 minutes ago during what was supposed to be a date with Jeremy Parton, a plea for him to come pick you up.

Steve hadn’t been able to discern over the phone why you suddenly needed rescuing, yet came to get you all the same. You hadn’t offered up the details when he showed either, just tried to melt into the leather of his passenger seat, arms crossed.

It went without discussion that you two would wind up down at Lover’s Lake. Together, you and Steve have wracked up hours on hours here, spilling secrets and laughter beneath the moonlight. It looks the same as ever tonight, pale illumination casting delicate shadows across your face.

Steve can see the effort you’ve put in for the date; your lips a little glossy, your eyes somehow wider and sweeter. You’re enchanting beneath the moonlight, Steve thinks fondly. Then desperately tries to rein the thought back in, tries to stuff it back away because he’s here as your best friend — who you called after your date with someone else.

“Why?” Steve brings his focus back to your current predicament. “Why does it matter so much that you had a bad kiss? I’ve had plenty!”

You groan again, slumping over and hooking your chin over your knees. Steve thinks it makes you look adorable.

“It’s different with you, Steve!” You protest. “It’s like, of course, all the girls you go out with are into you but with me the date is— ugh, it’s like who knows if they actually like me?”

“Woah, woah,“ Steve interrupts with a wave of his hands. “You think the kiss was bad because he wasn’t into you?”

Your embarrassment creeps back up, crawling across your features apprehensively. You smile weakly at Steve, knowing he’ll disagree with what you’re about to say.

“Summer O’Brien said that,” You pause and swallow, feeling more foolish by the second for taking her words so seriously now that you have to explain them to Steve. “Some guys go on dates even when they don’t like the girl. And if the kiss is bad...”

You trail off, voice meek as you take in Steve’s furrowed brow. He looks serious, frowning at the planks of the dock as he mulls your words.

“That it means that he doesn’t like you?” He asks sincerely. He is trying hard to understand why one butchered kiss had warranted such a reaction. You nod, pulling your knees in tighter to your chest.

Steve can’t help it, he snorts in disbelief. “That’s complete horseshit. That— that makes no sense! With that logic, if I kissed you it would be a terrible kiss because- because I don’t like you like that!”

Oh, fuck. Steve regrets saying it the moment it’s out of his mouth.

Because it’s not the truth. Even if he hasn’t fully admitted it to himself, deep down, Steve knows there’s a part that’s always considered it. A small piece of his heart that had been cordoned off in case you ever wanted it.

In that moment, Steve is taken aback by how quickly the desire flares up in his chest, warm and longing. He wants you to want it.

Thankfully, you don’t scrutinize his words too hard. Instead, you laugh a bit too bitterly, gaze returning to the mirror surface of the lake ahead. “That’s... not the same thing, Steve.”

You sound dejected, like Steve had missed the point, slumping down a bit further.

“Y’don’t believe me?” He finds himself asking, leaning closer. He plants a hand on the ground beside him, shifts so you’re even closer.

You perk up at his question and swivel your head in his direction. He doesn’t miss how your eyes steal a glance at his lips, how your grip on your arm tightens just a tad.

“If I kiss you — a proper good kiss,” Steve wills his voice not to waver over the coming lie. “Even though I don’t like you in that way, will you accept that Summer O’Brien talks nonsense?”

You’ve gone wide-eyed, silent at the close proximity between you and Steve now. But still he catches the small, nearly imperceptible, nod you give. You clear your throat, straightening up just a bit and accidentally bring you two nearer as you do. You can feel Steve’s breath fan over you face, can count the freckles on his nose when you’re this close.

His hair ruffles under a soft wind and his hazel eyes watch you intently, waiting for a clearer sign that he’s allowed to kiss you. Your heart softens, even more so than when he’d first brought up a kiss between you two.

You nod again, “Yeah. Alright.”

Steve nods as well, as though steeling himself and you find him searching your face — hunting, scouring for something in it. You’re not sure if he finds it.

You’re not sure what can be read on your face; if he can see the nervousness that’s got nothing to do with being kissed and all to do with being kissed by him.

It’s almost comical that your miserable kiss with Jeremy has somehow led you here. About to kiss the man who had consumed your thoughts and ruined the last kiss you’d received.

It’s bittersweet that it’s to prove a point — to prove his feelings are not at all the same as yours. There is no desperately pressed down pining from him that you’ve become so accustomed to yourself. You’re foolish to hope for more, you think. Maybe worse is that you’ll take what you can get.

A kiss from your best friend, as a consolation to soothe your heart over the fact that he doesn’t feel the same. Won’t ever feel the same.

Steve moves first.

Where Jeremy’s lips had been rough and dry, Steve’s are soft and sweet. Softer than you’re expecting. Your eyes slide shut instinctively as the plush feel of his bottom lip meets your own, gentle in the way it scrapes across yours.

You can’t help the quiet gasp that catches in your throat but Steve doesn’t kiss you. He hovers, lips catching softly against your own, not quite moving forward. He’s still asking permission. Still giving you time to pull out if you change your mind.

Something thrums in your chest at his care, spreading warm and nervous in all the right ways. In all the ways that had been wrong earlier in the evening. It whips up inside you, some tornado of affection and this time, you’re the one who moves forward.

You capture Steve’s mouth with yours, leaning into him, and Steve’s responding hum may as well be your favourite song the way it echoes in your head.

His hand moves, hesitating for only a moment before he cups your jaw and pulls you in even more. The kiss is breathtaking — the sweet press of his mouth against your own that inspires pure elation between your ribs, warmth that urges you forward until your hand twists into his shirt without thinking.

The kiss breaks. Suddenly, one kiss becomes two, becomes three, because Steve has to drink his fill while he’s allowed. You respond in earnest, stealing kisses just as fervently.

He knows now this is a mistake. Steve isn’t sure how he’s ever supposed to go back to being just your friend now that he’s had a taste of your lips, now that he knows what it’s like to kiss you and hold you and— shit, Steve’s pretty sure he’s red in the face, heart racing so loud you must hear it. He’s given himself away.

“That...” Steve croaks, unsure where he’s going with this. He’s still trying to save his heart after being burnt so many times. He realises his hand is still cupping your face and releases you.

Your face crumples a bit at the motion, pulling back, and Steve can see how you suck in a breath. “So,” You begin, voice quiet. “That was proof of a good kiss even though you don’t like me?”

You’re repeating his own words and yet Steve’s lie sounds so much worse on your lips. He shakes his head, dips in closer, trying to regain that closeness you’d given up.

“Yes. No! I mean,” Steve fumbles for a bit, trying to read your shielded expression desperately.

He can’t tell if the thread of hope, the part of him that sings she likes you too is some false voice leading him to treachery. Steve decides it doesn’t matter; not when you’re looking at him like he’s just hurt you instead of kissed you.

“I lied.” He breathes, a tiny shake of his head. Your head tilts up in an instant, some mixture of expressions crossing your face. Steve continues, the truth rolling off his tongue easy now that he’s broken the floodgate. “I lied. I said I don’t like you like that and that was a lie. I’m sorry if that— shit, I didn’t think the kiss would...”

He trails off, apology and explanation all bundled up and forgotten as Steve tries to comprehend everything that kiss had forced to the surface. Had you felt it too?

“Would what?” You ask timidly. Something splashes quietly in the lake behind you. Steve can see the twilight moon reflected in your eyes. He thinks it might be his new favourite colour.

“Would feel like that.” He whispers, eyes locked on yours. “I didn’t know it could feel like that. I don’t think a kiss has ever—” He breaks off, some disbelieving laugh punching out of him, a gentle smile curling on his mouth. “—Ever made me feel that way.”

Steve’s lost control of the situation entirely. What had started as him comforting his best friend had spiraled to suggesting a kiss to convince you of a lie to this.

The question, the want, comes from deep in his chest, pulled from his very bloodstream.

“Can I do it again?” He asks.

His hand moves to cradle your jaw, just as he had been not a minute ago, and his heart flip-flops at the way you lean into him. It could be on purpose — or by pure instinct. Steve isn’t sure which one he prefers, just that he could get used to the weight, to holding you this way.

He barely manages to murmur out his please? before your lips are upon his again. The force of it pushes him back, surprised for a moment before he catches himself. His other hand sweeps around your middle and he pulls you in tighter. 

“Yes,” you murmur, the words scratching against his lips between the kisses. Your chest heaves, your heart soars, some happy ache in your chest. It’s a wonder you both manage to stop smiling enough to kiss.

“Yes, anytime.” You promise, a little breathless. You mean it. You want him to kiss you now, tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, for as many days as he’ll allow.

Anytime. Steve likes the sound of that. He thinks he’ll start with right now.

[imaginmatrix]

Prompt: Moonlight

I have no clue where the short that this one word prompt inspired came from, but I hope you enjoy

Percy’s mother used to say there was magic in the light of the moon. She said the silver rays could carry any number of impossible things from the stars to the earth; strange beings and mysterious items and concepts like fate and destiny would ride those gossamer bands like a tidal wave to shift the mundane to wondrous.

And then, of course, Percy got older and learned that the moon merely reflected the light of the sun, and was little more than a barren rock doomed to encircle the earth however gravity dictated until the day an asteroid collided a bit too hard and freed it to the lonely emptiness of space. He wasn’t necessarily a practical guy who dismissed fairytales and children’s stories, but he was a cynic, and his mother’s stories lost much of their shine in the wake of losing her.

She used to joke she might choose to become the moon when she died, so she could watch Percy grow and live even after her story was over. But they both assumed they’d have more time before that happened.

These days, the moon was just a rock, the stars just burning balls of gas, and magic was a lie of his childhood.

“Those things kill, you know.”

Percy’s dark brows raised, his face turning to the blonde girl who criticized his life choices before even having the decency to introduce herself. The roof party behind them was abuzz with life; string lights gave a hazy glow to the young adults lounging on sofas and sipping bottles of some sort of craft beer that tasted like shit but all the hipsters pretended was a divine elixir of craftsmanship.

He was on the outskirts, leaning on the stone wall of the roof, puffing smoke from his cig into the dark and staring at city lights.

And now she was too.

He huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head and tugging the cigarette from between his lips, “Pretty sure that’s common knowledge at this point.”

“And yet here you are, turning your lungs to raisins anyway.”

Percy was both annoyed and intrigued, almost impressed at her audacity. He didn’t care much for being scolded; he was an adult. He could make whatever bad decisions he wanted.

But this girl was direct. Plenty of people hated cigarettes, but most would wrinkle their nose and move away, or cough dramatically to make a point without words, or mutter to their friends about the disgusting habit. Not the girl beside him. She walked right up and pointed out the obvious, said what most wouldn’t dare say to a stranger.

Percy could admire that.

“Well?” The girl asked expectantly, as if Percy was supposed to answer a question that was never actually voiced.

“Well what?” He stubbed out the cigarette, leaning away from the girl to toss what was left into the bin nearby.

“Why do you smoke.” She said, as if it were obvious.

Percy shrugged, “I don’t know.”

But he did know.

His mother never smoked a day in her life. Yet cancer made its home in her lungs anyway. So maybe it was to spite the universe for that, or maybe it was to dare it to take him out the same way. Maybe it was just self flagellation for being here when she wasn’t. There was nothing to blame himself for, nothing he could have done to stop her from getting sick, but some sort of guilt gnawed through his chest anyway.

So he dampened that guilt by putting chemicals in his body.

Or maybe he was just an idiot who smoked because he tried it once and got hooked, like every other person who relied on the stuff to get through the day.

“Well you should stop.”

Another incredulous laugh rasped from Percy’s throat, “Never heard that one before.” He finally turned to face the girl properly.

And then something that was neither smoke nor guilt filled his chest.

She was pretty, but Percy had seen pretty before. This was different. This was…

Intense.

There was something in her expression that felt a thousand years old; she was clearly around his age, but her gaze had seen the rise and fall of empires, revolutions, tragedies, and everything that filled the eons between.

But she was just a girl, and Percy was a bad poet, and he swallowed a sudden bitter taste in his mouth as he found words to combat the way she seemed to see right through him.

“Do you usually berate people you’ve just met, or am I special?”

She looked thoughtful, “A bit of both.”

“Yeah?” Percy wished he wasn’t a smoker, just so it would be easier to catch his breath around this girl, “What makes me special, then?”

“You’re in my spot.” She turned back to the city, those eyes shifting from his face and her profile caught the light in a near halo. The sensation of her focus leaving him had Percy desperate to hold it again.

“So you live here?” He leaned beside her, back to the wall so he could better see the slope of her nose and the curve of her lips.

A nod, “It’s my roommate’s party.”

Now an answering brow raise, “I thought it was a housewarming thing?”

“It is.”

“So wouldn’t this technically be your party too?”

Another shrug, but the continued conversation saw that her head turned back to him and Percy felt himself drown in the impossible gravity of her attention once more. “I’m not really a party person.”

“Me neither.” At her pointed look that said ‘but you’re at this one?’ he clarified, “I was dragged along.”

This answer was satisfactory, “You’re Percy then.”

Hearing his name from the lips of a stranger, particularly this stranger, was startling. “Yeah, how’d you know?��

“Because you’re the only person here I don’t recognize, and Charles said you were coming.”

“Right.” A beat. “And you’re…?”

“Annabeth.”

It wasn’t a name Percy had ever heard before, but as soon as she said it, it became one he knew he’d never forget.

Annabeth’s gaze turned out and up again. A silence settled over them.

Percy was frantically searching for something to say, a question, a statement, anything to keep the conversation going, when Annabeth spoke again; “You can’t see the stars.”

It took a moment for his brain to catch up, “…What?”

“Light pollution.” Annabeth nodded to the city, “It hides the stars.”

Percy glanced up, the sky dark and empty while something old and primal tugged at his gut and whispered that it shouldn’t be. “You can see a fair amount in Montauk.”

“I’ve never been.”

“I’ll take you some time.” It slipped out before Percy could consider the fact that inviting a girl he just met to drive outside the city with him to look at stars was weird, but to his relief she smiled.

“I’d like that.” Annabeth fixed him with her gaze once more. And once more it was crushing, and Percy was close enough now to make out the color of her eyes.

Some people might have called them gray, but a word so colorless and boring couldn’t come close to what they were. Silver was the closest, Percy decided. Silver and seeing every little hope, fear, desire, and secret Percy had buried deep down, as if he was laid bare without clothes or even a physical form to hide in.

Percy cleared his throat, “At least you can still see the moon.”

Annabeth didn’t look back to the sky when she said “Not tonight. It’s a new moon.”

Could have fooled Percy, the silver glow of Annabeth’s irises a fine replacement. Even better, as she carried two moons in her eyes, rather than just the one that hung in the sky.

“Ah. Well. Tomorrow then.”

“Mmm.”

Silence again. God. The silence hurt— not a sharp pain, but a dull ache, like the moment between comfort and burning when one held their breath for too long.

And he’d known the girl for less than ten minutes.

But in that time, he had decided to quit smoking, take her to see the stars in Montauk, and let her occupy every corner of his mind for as long as she deigned to stay for.

The numbness that plagued every waking moment for the past 3 years ebbed.

“Do you—“

“I think—“

They spoke at the same time. Annabeth laughed breathlessly, complimenting Percy’s own nervous chuckle.

“You first.” Percy said.

“No, no, you go.”

“I insist.”

Annabeth scrunched up her nose, making freckles Percy hadn’t noticed sharpen. “I think,” she started again, “that I’d like to go inside.”

Percy’s heart sunk, “Oh, uh, yeah, it’s kind of cold.”

Annabeth didn’t move, instead staring at him in a way that had him squirming, thinking there was something he should be doing that he wasn’t.

“…Are we going in, then?”

Percy jolted at the realization that he was invited. “Y-yeah!” He shoved his hands into his pockets, pushing off the wall.

Annabeth rolled her eyes, tucking a curly lock behind her ear as they walked back to the exit. Percy wondered what it would be like to do that, to reach out and brush errant locks from her face.

They stopped at the door to the stairs, and for the first time since they’d met, Annabeth seemed hesitant.

“I don’t… do this often.”

Percy furrowed his brow, “Do what?”

“Invite guys I just met to my bedroom.”

Oh.

His brain short circuited— inside meant inside, bedroom meant bedroom, she’d said inside, she’d meant bedroom, and he…

Holy shit.

Percy licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry and throat working to form a sound, any sound.

“R-right. Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah, me neither— I mean I have, but I don’t usually, it’s not like, a common thing, it’s not a normal weekend occurrence, I don’t go around picking up girls for one night stands and if I did I wouldn’t like, uh, leave it as a one night stand, I mean at least not these days—“ He bit his tongue to make himself shut up, because dear god that was way too much in response to a simple statement.

He’d made poor choices right after his mom died. Percy had never been one for casual: not casual sex, nor casual dating. He wasn’t that guy. He didn’t generally feel attraction unless he knew someone first, gotten to know them, fall in love with them.

But after his only family had died, he grew desperate to feel anything. Even self-loathing.

This… wasn’t that.

Maybe it was the fact that this girl, Annabeth, had no qualms about shaming him for a bad habit. Maybe he was just cold. Maybe it was the loneliness of a party he couldn’t find the strength to be a part of, to try and put on a smile and make friends and drink shitty beer and pretend everything was fine.

Maybe it was the moonlight in Annabeth’s eyes.

Whatever the reason, Percy couldn’t help but want this. Not in the self-destructive way of his past that left him feeling cold and empty. It was something different, it was…

He wasn’t sure.

Annabeth was smiling though, thankfully amused by his rambling rather than weirded out, and she reached a hand to lace their fingers together. “I’ll show you my record collection.” Her eyes drifted up and down Percy’s body in the least subtle way possible. “You look like a guy who likes music.”

Percy’s chuckle was strained, but his shoulders relaxed, “I’ve been known to sometimes enjoy sounds, yeah.”

Annabeth’s laugh made his skin tingle.

Her hand was warm and soft and fit perfectly against his calloused one.

Her eyes shone like the moon his mother loved so much did; they reflected the light in a way that Percy swore defied physics, holding all the things his mother promised moonlight would. Adventure. Magic. Mystery.

A promise of something more.

And as Annabeth blushed and ducked her head when Percy held the door open for her

as she led him down the concrete stairwell to a new apartment and room with lights so warm and comforting, they put those on the roof to shame

as they sat on the floor and looked at records and picked out their favorite songs

as Moon River played on the turntable and Percy met those eyes that held not just the moon, but the stars and sun and planets and entire galaxies

as he reached for her, tucking those blonde curls behind her ear like he’d been itching to, watching her lashes flutter and her breath catch and her cheeks flush with color and her eyes drop to his lips and back up

as they both leaned in

Percy thought that maybe, just maybe

his mom was right about the moon.

[hopeamarsu]

Hi! I was thinking 🤔 can you do a prompt with Kylo Ren/Ben Solo with prompt #5 “Being separated from each other for sometime and realising how much you miss the other’s presence.” Him and the reader are both separate from their own duties/mission or they both got into an argument with one another.

Hi!

Thank you for requesting this and my apologies it's taken me some time to get to it.

I decided to go with Resistance!Ben on this one, there was something in the prompt that spoke about him to me. I hope you enjoy!

Missing you

Resistance!Ben Solo x gn!reader

Rating Teen

Word count 762

Warnings: Ben is Resistance AU, touch of angst, missing someone, mention of war

Summary: The feeling of missing someone is new to him. 

He will never admit it out loud, but sleeping is something Ben hates. Which is probably why he doesn’t sleep a lot in general, but even less when a mission is being carried out. 

He knows a team is on this mission and he knows all of them are good at what they do, battle strategies all thought out and flying skills top notch, but he always hates watching a group of fighters take off on another adventure or battle because he doesn’t know if they’ll return or not. 

All those anxieties though are amplified because it’s now you on this mission and he’s not there to protect you. That knowledge makes sleeping impossible for him. 

It wasn’t like this in the beginning, when you first approached him with a shy smile and shining eyes and when he returned your affections just a shyly, but now, with time having passed and feelings having evolved, Ben now feels the loss of your brightness in his dark life more acutely. It’s a hole in his heart that keeps growing as the days grow long and lonelier in the small base where you both live. It’s taken some time for him to realize what the hole actually was, but when it struck him like a blastershot, it left Ben reeling. 

The feeling of missing someone is new to him. 

He misses your smile, your laughter, your presence in his life that makes the ongoing war a bit more easier to bear. He misses the way you talk with your hands and eyes and animated words and how you still find the time to really listen to him and his ideas in the midst of all the chaos. He misses how you ground him and his racing mind, how you push the nightmares away. 

He misses the time alone with you, when he can be his true self and tell you everything. As much as he misses your words, he misses your silence too, when you are so comfortable with him that words are not needed. He wants to have more of those moments with you, being silent and talking and everything in between. 

In short, Ben Solo misses you. All of you.  

He hopes desperately you return to him soon and once you do, you are unharmed. He couldn’t handle it if you didn’t or if you were hurt. 

His datapad on the desk tells him the mission details but it doesn’t outline any timeframe for it, so like everyone Ben is left in the darkness on your team’s supposed return date. You’ve already been gone for days and the longer time runs, the less likely it is that all in your team will return in one piece.

It’s the price of war that is payed with every attack and every defence. All Resistance fighters know this and accept this, but the ice that surrounds his heart refuses to accept it. Knowing the details of the mission and it’s low success rate actually makes it harder to accept the stakes. He can only hope - a foreign concept for him - but it’s all he has.

Ben takes a final look at the numbers, at the details of the plan before placing the datapad upside down. He can already feel the walls closing in on him in this space and the need to walk it off wins. He ventures outside of the small room he calls his and out in to the open. The lush greenery greets him with the sound of the chirping small insects but otherwise it’s quiet. 

There is a small team in the ops room monitoring the missions, but Ben doesn’t go there. Instead he walks briskly into the woods surrounding their base and when he truly knows he’s alone, he lets out a shaky breath. Closing his eyes, he tips his chin up and let’s the air around him fill his lungs and the chirping make a concert inside his large ears. 

It grounds him, the sounds of the planet. He feels closer to the Force in here, surrounded by nothing but the sounds and he feels something akin to peace settle into his joints.  

The outside and closeness to the Force gives him a reason to fight, to keep fighting this war, so Ben ventures out deeper into the greenery in search of that, pushing all the responsibilities away for just a moment. 

Unbeknownst to Ben, that decision makes him miss his datapad beep with an incoming message on his desk.

On my way home, soldier. I’ve missed you so much.

*

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[polizwrites]

PoliZ's WIP Update - 1 May 2024

Keeping the  2k+ words/week streak going with the  Alpha!Bucky WIPs still getting nearly all my attention!  I touched  4 fics (1 new work & 3 WIPs) for a total of  2751 words.  My total word count for April was 9899 with a YTD count of 37,356 - on track for over 110k words!  

On Ao3, I posted: 

 Chapter One of  Love is a Thing That Can Never Go Wrong - an omegaverse No Powers AU eventual WinterIron fic 

Chapter Eight of A Sugar-Coated Pill  - also an omegaverse No Powers AU WinterIron fic 😁

Chapter Four of A Little Bit Carried Away  - yet another omegaverse No Powers AU WinterIron fic   (yes, I seem to have a theme going at the moment!) 

On Tumblr I posted: 

  An Attractive Concept -  a vaguely steampunk mostly-platonic Stony ficlet. 

I’m juggling  17 😬 active/semi-active WIPs with my current  deadlines being the Post July Break Bingo and Bucky Barnes Connect Four - Alt Jun-iverse which both end in May.  

See  below cut for what I’m working on/planning to work on - arranged more or less by bingos/challenges/etc.  As always, feel free to send me   prompts or plot bunnies as well as asks regarding  any of these projects  or any other WIPs I’ve got out there.   Interaction really helps feed the Muse and keep me motivated!

Alpha Bucky April - [BBE_ABA] - (Ends 30 April) 

@Buckybarnes events   is running another fun event to encourage fanworks featuring Alpha!Bucky - any pairing in terms of characters and/or alignments.  Since I already have a couple of  Alpha!Bucky WIPs, am using this as a good reason to get some work in on them.   There’s also additional challenges that I plan to take on: 

* Breeding Kink/Baby Fever - filled this challenge with Chapter Three of   A Little Bit Carried Away (Tony POV)  The short Chapter 4 interlude (outsider POV) for this fic posted this morning,  and Chapter Five  (Bucky POV) is coming in at  1281 with revelations of their respective fantasies.  I have a smutty/sweet finale planned to wrap the fic up.    

* Nesting - Fit this into Chapter Eight of  A Sugar-Coated Pill - which posted on Monday and came in at 1349 words.  Bucky comforts Tony after the bad news he’s gotten and helps him plan what to do next. It also crossfilled my WIB Couch Cuddles and April BaBB Domestic squares.

* Purring/Affection - This is also fitting into  Chapter Eight of A Sugar-Coated Pill

* Beta Character  -  Filled this with  Chapter One of  Love is a Thing That Can Never Go Wrong, which posted last Friday features beta!Tony (see BBC4 below for details).  Chapter Two of A Little Bit Carried Away also fills this challenge, with beta!Natasha. 

* Double Minimum Req - - Both Chapter Three of A Bit Carried Away  and Chapter One of Love is a Thing That Can Never Go Wrong exceeded the 1500 words required for this challenge  :)  

Post July Break Bingo  [JBB_23p] (Ends May 2024)

Three fills and one WIP on my  2x3 non-fandom-specific card - still working on  potential crossovers.

* B2 - Character’s personality is split into two different beings – I’ve never played with Bucky & the Soldier being two different people, but this seems like the perfect opportunity! Need to see if an BaBB or WIB prompt will work here. 

*  C1 - Touch Starved – another good fit for a Bucky-centric fic. (Steve or Tony or Clint) - again - need to work on crossfills (Warm & Fluffy?) 

Bucky Barnes Connect Four - Alt Jun-iverse [BBC4_R2]  (Ends May 31 2024)

Another fun event from the good folks over at  @buckybarnesevents! You sign up for a single row card of four squares and the challenge is to see if you can combine any/all into a single Bucky-centric AU fanwork - although you can also create fanworks that are based on a single or combo of 2-3 squares if you want.  

The combo of prompts on my first card [Reality Show,  Omegaverse, Talent/Manager, Royalty] sparked an idea:  Alpha!Bucky as a prince in name only who gets talked into joining a reality show that is supposed to match him up with an omega… but there’s a twist!  

Chapter One of Love is a Thing That Can Never Go Wrong  posted late last week and came in at 1940 words. Chapter Two is drafted at  1541 words and Chapter Three is kicking off nicely at 434 words. I’m hoping to get this wrapped up with four chapters total, as it needs to be finished by the end of May.  😬    

As noted above, Chapter One  filled both the  Beta Character and  Double Minimum Requirements ABA challenges.

Steve Rogers Bingo - Round 3 [SRB_R3] (ends  15 Jun 2024)

Fifteen fills, one bingo (finally!)  and no WIPs at the moment  - need to ponder other possible crossovers with my non-fandom cards & BaBB.  

* A4 - Dystopian -  I squished this square a bit to match it with the Flash Fiction Friday prompt  [#FFF248 Watching Birds]  for  The Thing with Feathers - where Steve is making his way through a post-apocalyptic world. It came in at 260 words and will get posted to Ao3 before the event is over.  

* C5 - Exes to Lovers   - hoping for Flash Fiction Friday or other inspiration here. 

* E3 - Steampunk -  Squished this square to combine it with last week’s Flash Fiction Friday prompt [#FFF250 Rushing Train] for An Attractive Concept -  a vaguely steampunk mostly-platonic Stony ficlet where Tony tells Steve about his newest invention.  It came in at 380 words and will get posted to Ao3 before the event is over.  

* E5 - Oversensitivity/Enhanced Senses - paired this up with the  Flash Fiction Friday prompt [#FFF246 Pinprick] for  Amplification. A Steve POV ficlet where he reflects on the effects of Project Rebirth, it came in at 334 words and will post to Ao3 before the event  is over. 

Hawkeyes Bingo [HB_R2] (Ends TBD) 

Working on this  Tumblr event - got a 3x3 card and and am looking forward to creating more  Clint-centric content and trying my hand at a bit of  Kate Bishop fic as well!    

* A3 - Awkward Flirting – this might be a good entry into my first femslash fic with Kate/Yelena?    

C3 - "I've never been so humiliated in my life."  - filled this on Tumblr last Friday with A Shining Example.  Established WinterHawk where a training session goes embarrassingly wrong and  Clint gives Bucky a pep talk.   It crossed over with the Flash Fiction Friday prompt [#FFF243 Glitter and Blues] and will get posted on Ao3 before this event ends.  

Build-A-Bucky Bingo [BaBB_R1] (Ends 1 Sep 2024)

Another fun year-long  event from the folks at  @buckybarnesevents!  Each month there’s a list of prompts and you choose (at least) one  each month for your card!

* November:  Crackfic - DONE  

* December: Wingman  - DONE

* January: Wingfic  - DONE

*January: Polyamory - DONE

* February: Fingering -  DONE

* February: Morning Sex - DONE

* March: Marriage of Convenience  - DONE

* March: Mutual Pining  -  DONE

* March: Bad Coping Mechanisms -  DONE

* March: Wrong Luggage -  DONE  

* March: Rimming  - see   ABA: Beta Character  above 

* April: Roleplay -  see ABA: Breeding Kink above     

*April: Pet Names - see ABA Breeding Kink above

* April: Sleepy Sex -  DONE

* April: Domestic - see ABA Nesting/Purring above 

WinterIron Bingo Round 2  [WIB_R2] {Ends 16 Dec 2024}

Signups are still open for Round Two of this super-fun bingo event! I have nine  fills and two WIPs! 

* Iron Soldier (One Bingo, One Fill) - looking at combining my Column B prompts: Matchmaker, Bucky Riding Tony, Stark Gala, Inside Joke and Threesome.  Still working on a plot - if you have any suggestions/want-to-sees - let me know! 

*I4 - SHIELD HQ - combined this with last week’s Flash Fiction Friday prompt [#FFF245 You Never Cared] and wrote Fathers Don’t Know Best  -  No Power AU with Bucky working as an analyst at SHIELD who stumbles across a late night visitor to the lobby.  It’s coming on at 407 words and will get posted to Ao3 before the event ends.  

* N1 - Hair Pulling Kink -  thanks to a fun prompt from @scottx  - I filled this square with Untangling Their Attraction - where Tony’s offer of assistance leads to mutual kink discovery (not as racy as it might sound).  It’s coming in at 544 words and will post to Ao3 before this event is over. 

* N5 - "I'm here for you."  - Possibly the next chapter of  Lady Natasha’s Consort and Lord Steve’s Companion ?  

* G1 - Goodnight Kiss - Filled this with the WinterIron April Round Robin fic.  Tony and Bucky’s first date - my part came in at 316 words.  

* G4 - Sex Toys - see  ABA Breeding Kink above

* O2 - Couch Cuddles - see  ABA Nesting/Purring above 

* O4 - Hotel Room - filling this with Chapter 8 of My Love is Vengeance which is drafted at 1063 words and will up the rating to Explicit when I post it on Friday.  

Warm and Fluffy   Bingo  [WFB]   (no end date)

Six  fills on my card, courtesy of   @warmandfluffybingocards  - need to try for another crossover or two!

* O4 - Standing Up for a Friend - filled this with Chapter Four of A Bit Carried Away - Pepper POV where she reaches out to a sorority sister to help keep Tony safe.   It came in at 432 words and posted this morning.  

————

On  other creative fronts:  I am working on a Mothman figure for an upcoming convention and  am getting ready to tackle Jack Russell & Elsa Bloodstone from Werewolf by Night  for a commission, along with a Bucky Barnes.  I’ve finished all my  Marvel Trumps Hate  figures, but still need to create posts (and mail one set). 

If  you’re looking for one of a kind gifts for birthdays or other celebrations, check  out Stuffed With Character    over on Facebook for a full list of my designs (now over 150!).   These soft stuffed figures are  mostly Marvel and monsters, but I have some Star Wars, Star Trek, DC   and Disney figures as well. Plus I love to take custom design   requests  for any fandom!

[munku-collar]

last day of demestrap week (officially. demestrap week never ends in my house) and the prompt is ‘forever bonded.’ 

---

Jemima tucked her head in the crook of her mother’s shoulder, leaning over slightly, eyes regarding the little kitten in her arms, born less than an hour ago, with curiosity. 

“She’s so small,” Jem noted, almost with disbelief. She had never seen someone so small before. Until now, Jemima had been the youngest in the tribe, so she’d never known a newborn kitten until now, never known someone smaller than herself. 

Demeter breathed a laugh, exhausted and sore beyond belief, but feeling unbelievably joyful. Jem’s observation was so endearing, and the way her eyes had widened and she gasped a little upon first seeing her sister was even moreso, almost as much as Munk shedding tears when he first held their new kitten. Demeter adjusted Sillabub in her arms a little so Jemima could see her better, really study her. 

She looked so much like Munk, Deme thought, but he had argued almost immediately that she looked more like Demeter. Time would tell, they supposed. 

“You were that small too once,” Demeter said softly, brushing a finger over Sillabub’s tiny nose. She was so precious, and fast asleep, clearly exhausted by the ordeal of being brought into the world. Demeter could sympathize. 

“I can’t believe it,” Jemima replied, laughing shyly, trying to process the idea of that. She grinned at her parents, amazed at such a concept.

“It’s true,” Munkustrap assured her from Demeter’s other side, gaze fondly travelling between Jemima, Demeter, and the precious newest addition to their family. “Tiny Jem-i-mee, you were. You fit in my paws so easily, just like her.” He placed a paw over Demeter’s, cradling their kitten, demonstrating how Sillabub was indeed small enough to fit in his two paws together. 

“You’re not so tiny anymore,” Demeter lamented, turning her head to kiss Jem’s forehead. “And soon she won’t be either.” She sighed a little at the thought. Jemima’s baby days felt so far away, the good and the bad. She couldn’t bear the thought of Sillabub’s disappearing so quickly too.

Munkustrap laughed a little, leaned in closer to nuzzle his mate. She was a bit disheveled, and her voice weak and a little gravelly still, but he found her beautiful nonetheless. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We have plenty of time before then. She was just born,” he reminded her. 

He couldn’t keep the smile off his face really; He was so proud of Demeter, for bringing their kitten into the world, and indeed carrying her all these months. She’d done it with such strength and grace, and allowed him to support her when she needed it, shared her vulnerability with him. And now the fruits of her labor rested in her arms, warm and soft and smelling new. And he was so proud of Jemima too, for being patient with them, and for embracing her little sister without qualm. They were incredible, and he loved them so very much. 

His affection was almost palpable, and Demeter sighed softly, leaning into his touch gratefully when he spoke. 

“Plenty of time,” she agreed, remembering to focus on the here and now, how it felt to finally have Sillabub in her arms, and to have Jemima here with her. She loved her girls. She loved them so much, it was sure to drive her to tears later on, when she felt more coherent. For now she tried to stay focused on the conversation.

“And besides, what does it matter? You’ll always be our Tiny Jem-i-mee,” she said with such tenderness, and it was the truth. No matter how big the girls got, they would always be her little girls.

Jemima beamed at that, snuggled a little closer to her mother, feeling excited and happy and in disbelief of these happenings all at once. It still felt strange, to see a kitten in her mother’s arms, to know she was a big sister. There were so many questions, so many things to wonder about, she didn’t know where to begin for a moment. Her brows tugged down a little, clearly deep in thought. 

“But what will she be called? Sillabub needs a nickname too,” Jemima prodded, having decided to begin with an easy question.

“Oh,” Deme sighed, laughing softly. “I’m too tired to think of one. Don’t know how much energy I have left,” she admitted. She’d stopped trembling ten or so minutes ago, but was a long way away from feeling normal again.

“Mommy needs her rest,” Munkustrap agreed, stroking her forehead gently. He was more than happy to take Sillabub into his own arms soon, to hold her again while Demeter slept. 

He couldn’t imagine how tired she really was, and more importantly, how she had managed all this alone and out on the streets when she had Jemima. It seemed insane to him, after all he’d witnessed today, but she had done it, and now she’d done it again, with him here. He was unbelievably grateful to have found both of them, that they had left him become part of their lives, and to now bring a new life into the world with the queen he loved? It was an unimaginable privilege. 

“We’ll have practically forever to think up the perfect nickname for little Sillabub,” he said, and he could tell Demeter was grateful at getting a chance to rest soon.

“Forever?” Jemima asked, almost hopeful at the idea of being like this, with her family, forever. She loved her parents, so much, and knew that soon enough, she would love her little sister the same. She wanted as much time with them, and her tribe, as the Everlasting Cat would allow.

Munkustrap smiled at her fondly, reached over to pet her ear and tickle her neck as he’d done a thousand times before, feeling nothing but joy and the deepest affection for his three girls. He would cherish them a lifetime. “Forever and a day,” he promised.

[theresawritesstuff]

Guess Who's Coming to Yom Kippur Ch 3 preview

Full chapter available on Ao3

She led him up the street another block, until they reached the safe haven of her building.

"This is me," she told him, pulling him under the awning out of the rain before she stepped out from underneath his jacket, immediately missing the warmth they'd shared huddled together.

Lenny nodded, eyeing the door.

"Then I guess this is when I bid you an easy fast," he said reluctantly.

Midge scoffed out a laugh. "I'm not sending you back out in that. Come upstairs. Dry off."

"I can handle a little rain," he assured her. "It's okay, you've got holiday stuff."

Another rumble of thunder rolled overhead and the rain went from a drizzle to a downpour.

Midge smirked. "How about now?"

Lenny wavered on the step before relenting, "Okay. If you insist."

They made their way through the lobby with a passing greeting to the doorman.

"Evening, Ms. Weissman."

"Evening, Antonio."

Lenny looked around the lobby, taking it in as he started towards the stairs until Midge redirected him towards the elevator. 

"Quite the weather out there, isn't it, Ms. Weissman?" the elevator operator commented as they stepped inside.

"I think I saw an ark being erected on fifth."

Lenny who shook his head, smirking in amusement as Midge smiled at her own joke.

"Got yourself a friendly bunch around here," he commented as they stepped off the elevator and onto her floor.

She shrugged, unlocking the door and letting them inside. "It helps when you keep them stocked in black and whites."

Almost immediately as they entered, Midge stumbled over a pull toy haphazardly abandoned in the threshold.

"You'll have to forgive the mess. My parents' maid is sick and Zelda is never sick. I think it prompted a bit of a panicked exodus."

Scooting the toy out of the way with her shoe, Midge spied a note on the entryway table in a hurried version of her mother's practiced scrawl.

Zelda has fallen ill. 

Took the kids to Queens to help Shirley salvage the break fast. 

Don't wait up. 

Remember not to eat anything.

"Gee thanks, Momma," Midge muttered to herself, kicking her shoes off with a stifled groan.

Those shoes were definitely coming out of the rotation.

To Lenny, she smiled apologetically and said, "I'll get us some towels."

Lenny hovered in the foyer, looking around as she disappeared down the hall.

"So this is how the upper west side lives."

Midge smiled to herself and called back, "It's not always this much of a disaster but yes this is my place. Just don't tell the neighbors. My parents have this whole cover story they insist on perpetuating."

"Sure, sure…" Lenny took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack to dry.

As he did so he found a picture book abandoned beneath the rack.

"That Horton's a real trip, isn't he?" he commented, making conversation as he picked it up.

Midge returned, carrying towels for each of them. "Wouldn't have pegged you as a Suess fan."

Lenny shrugged and set the book on the entryway table. "It's a quick read. Kitty likes it so…"

"Another one of your friends from Hebrew school?" she teased, drying her hair.

"My daughter."

Midge paused mid motion. "You have a daughter?"

"Last I checked she was mine."

"You've never mentioned having a daughter before," she informed him, letting the towel drop to her side. 

"She lives out in California with my mother," he replied as if that explained it.

Midge blinked incredulously at him. "We just spent a whole bottle of wine talking about your time in California."

Lenny avoided her gaze as he focused in on the cuff of his sleeve. "Yeah, well, I thought we were having a nice time. Didn't want to ruin the evening."

"By talking to me about the fact you have a kid? What, did you think I'd run away screaming at the concept of parenthood? You do know I have two, right?"

Lenny let out a sigh, looking at her tiredly. "What do you want me to say, Midge? I'm not in the habit of talking about these kinds of things. We're not supposed to."

She scoffed. "We're not supposed to talk about our personal lives?"

Lenny ran a hand over his hair, looking like he was resisting the urge to start pacing. "We're comedians. We sling dick jokes for a living, we don't talk about our kids."

Reconsidering his statement, he waved a hand at her person halfheartedly. "Well, maybe you do but it works for you. People don't want to hear me do a set on parent teacher conferences."

"I would, that sounds hilarious."

"You know what I mean," Lenny grumbled.

Midge folded her arms, lost for words.

He sighed, shoulders drooping. "You're mad."

"I'm not mad," Midge insisted indignantly, going back to drying her hair.

Lenny gave her a look, not having it. "Don't do that. I've clearly upset you."

Midge exhaled. "In my experience, friends talk to each other about their lives. Confide in each other. Share personal anecdotes. We are friends, aren't we?" 

"Midge come on, that's not fair."

"Aren't we?" she demanded, the hurt she felt seeping into her voice.

"Hey. Hey of course we are," he said gently, taking her by the shoulders. "I happen to have grown very fond of you, so yes. Yes, I'd like to think so."

"So talk to me about this kind of stuff. Any of it. All of it," she pleaded. "If something is going on in your life, I want to hear about it. It doesn't have to all be Carnegie Halls."

Lenny let out a breath, studying her face.

"This is a very touchy subject for me and I am currently very damp," he replied softly.

She handed him a towel.

"Thank you," he murmured, accepting it.

Considering her as he dried his hair he said, "Okay, fine. Because you've already limbered me up with a lot of wine on not a lot of food and because you have a track record of being exceedingly kind to me–Again thank you. This is very soft."

Midge felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth as he admired the towel.

"You can ask me whatever you want. Just…let me get dry first."

Midge nodded, conceding a truce. "Alright fine. Give me your shirt."

"What?" Lenny blinked at her not quite sure he'd heard her right.

"Your shirt," she repeated. "Your back is soaked. I'll put it in the dryer for you. And take off your shoes."

"Please don't put my shoes in your dryer. I don't have as many as you do. I can't risk them shrinking," he told her as he began unbuttoning.

"Your shoes are going by the radiator."

"That's a better plan," he admitted.

He stripped off his shirt and toed off his shoes, handing them both to her formally.

"As requested," he replied, slinging his towel over his shoulder.

His surprisingly fit shoulder…

Midge pushed the thought—and the sudden flush she felt—aside, taking his things. "Feel free to make yourself at home. I'll be right back."

She retreated to stuff his shirt in the dryer, exhaling while she was alone.

Oh boy…

(Full chapter available on Ao3)

[soulprompts]

'𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐲' 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.

prompts designed around the concept of a character having a difficult day and another character arriving to help/support/care for them!

DIALOGUE PROMPTS.

" you look like you could use a hug. "

" please tell me you didn't cancel your plans for me... "

" don't be silly, you're much more important than some tinder date! "

" where's your jacket? i'd like to show you something, and it'll involve a bit of walking. "

" you know i'm always here for you, don't you? no matter what. "

" hey, now... i'm only ever a phone call away. "

" come on. let's get you to bed. "

" i'm listening. "

" hey, do you have any spare pajamas? i'm going to sleep on your couch tonight; that way you just need to shout if you need me. "

" what are your nightmares about? they may not be so bad if you talk about them. "

" another nightmare? "

" hey now, no more apologizing. i'm glad you called me; i meant it when i said any time, any place. "

" you know you're never a nuisance nor a burden. not to me. "

" i'm helping you, and that's final. i'm not taking no for an answer. now. where's your kitchen? i'm making us some comfort food. "

" maybe you think it's your job to look after everyone else. but it's not supposed to be like that. it works both ways. and now it's my turn to look after you. okay? "

" hey, now. you've been helping me ever since we met. it's about time i started repaying the favor. "

“ i’m so proud of you. i know it’s hard to get past these rough days, but... i still want you to know that i’m proud of you. “

“ you know, i reckon our bond is definitely strong enough to endure whatever it is that you need to get off your chest. “

“ it’s alright, now... i got you. “

“ you don’t need to worry about scaring me off. i’m not going anywhere. you can try as hard as you want, but there’s nothing you can say that’s going to make me like you any less. “

“ you know, i make the best hot chocolate in the world. seriously, i’ve asked absolutely everyone on the planet. everyone except you... what do you say? wanna make it a global fact? “

“ let’s go smash some stuff until you’re ready to talk, okay? “

ACTION PROMPTS.

[ TEA ]: sender prepares a mug of hot tea for the receiver.

[ BLANKET ]: having found the receiver either sleeping or just lying on the couch, sender gently takes a blanket and drapes it over them.

[ BATH ]: sender runs a hot bath for the receiver after a particularly challenging day.

[ DINNER ]: having learned that the receiver has had a difficult time lately, sender arrives at their door with their favorite dinner and drinks.

[ COOK ]: in an effort to boost the receiver's spirits, sender arrives with all the ingredients needed to make the receiver's favorite comfort food, with the well-intended intentions of cooking it for them.

[ FORT ]: sender builds a blanket fort for the receiver following a long and difficult day.

[ HUM ]: sender hums gently under their breath to soothe and comfort a distressed receiver.

[ WIPE ]: after the receiver has stopped crying, sender tenderly leans forward, cups their face in their hands, and wipes their tears away.

[ JOURNEY ]: noticing the receiver has had a particularly rough day, sender invites them to accompany them on a walk or drive to get out of the house.

[ HAIR ]: as the receiver leans against them/lies in bed, sender begins to run their hand through their hair to soothe them until they relax or fall asleep.

[ CARRY ]: sender lifts a (nearly) sleeping receiver and carries them into their bed, tucking them in in the process.

[ GUIDE ]: sender physically guides an exhausted receiver into their bedroom, following weeks of very little sleep and very high amounts of stress.

[ BESIDE ]: receiver wakens from their first genuinely restful sleep in weeks, to find the sender asleep next to them, having been holding the receiver throughout the night to help them fall asleep.

[ BEDSIDE ]: receiver wakens from their first genuinely restful sleep in weeks, to find the sender asleep in an armchair by their bedside, having stayed there for the night in case receiver had a nightmare or needed them in any other way.

[ KISS ]: as a gesture of comfort and affection, sender leans forward to kiss the receiver on the forehead.

[ HAND ]: noticing the receiver is close to tears, or otherwise struggling with an unseen but considerable burden, sender gently takes their hand and holds it in an attempt to comfort and encourage them.

[ RUB ]: sender gently rubs receiver's back in a soothing motion.

[ TV ]: sitting next to the receiver on the sofa, sender joins them in watching their favorite show/movie on the television.

[ HOLD ]: as soon as the receiver opens the door and realizes the sender is there, sender wordlessly opens their arms out, and gives the receiver a warm, sorely needed hug.

[laurenairay]

can i request #10 with nathan mackinnon! love your writing so much lauren!

10 – “You weren’t there.” – Nathan MacKinnon

905 words.

Thank you anon! And thank you for choosing Nate Mac for this prompt – it’s turned out way angstier than I had initially intended, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

*

“I don’t want you to leave.”

You flinched at the sound of Nate’s quiet voice from the doorway, but you didn’t turn round to look at him, continuing to pack more clothing into the last space in your duffel bag.

“This is all I can carry at the moment. I’ll be back for the rest with my brother’s truck,” you said shortly, zipping the bag up tight.

“Baby, please, let’s just talk about this,” Nate pleaded.

A flash of anger ran through you, and Nate swallowed heavily at whatever the resulting look was on your face.

“What’s there to talk about Nate? I’ve talked and talked and talked round in circles for weeks now, and I’m done! You don’t listen, you don’t care, so why should I keep trying?”

“I do listen! I’m listening now!” Nate insisted, hunching his shoulder.

“No you don’t! And no you’re not!” you snapped back, “Because if you did and if you were, you’d know the main reason I’m leaving!”

“Well…I…”

“YOU. WEREN’T. THERE.”

Nate’s lips parted in shock at your shouting, but as he inhaled to respond, you shook your head fiercely, fists clenching.

“You weren’t there, Nate! You weren’t there physically, mentally or emotionally for me for the past five years, let alone this last week! How long am I supposed to just sit here and take this, huh? How long am I supposed to pretend that you care about me as much as I care about you!” you said angrily.

“That’s not fair. You knew what the hockey schedule meant when we first got together,” Nate mumbled.

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head, making Nate wince.

"Oh, yeah, right, let’s do this shall we?”

“Baby, no, I…”

“No, no, let’s do this. You want to do this, so we’re doing this,” you scowled, “Blaming the hockey schedule, right? So none of your teammates plan ahead, and leave or send their wives and girlfriends a birthday card or flowers or even acknowledge that they remember the date?”

Nate’s cheeks heated in shame and he cringed in on himself slightly at the mistake he’d made only this week. But you weren’t finished. Not even close. Now you’d started, it was like the floodgates had opened, and you couldn’t stop the words coming even if you tried.

“And none of your teammates would call their other halves while they’re on the road, no? Sure, maybe not every night, but maybe a couple of times? No? They don’t do that?”

“I-”

You’d lost count of the number of roadtrips Nate had gone on with radio silence, no response to any text or call, dismissive of your upset over it whenever he got home.

“And none of your teammates would respond to texts and calls from parents and the hospital when their partners were taken to the emergency room?” you interrupted angrily.

“I was away!” he pleaded.

“I fell on the icy street and hit my head, Nate! I was scared and alone and you wouldn’t even answer the hospital when they called and left multiple messages!” you shot back, tears hot in your eyes.

Nate ducked his head, palms digging into his eyes in frustration, knowing there was no good answer to this. Because there wasn’t – time and time again he’d ignored you, and yes you knew that hockey came first, but fuck, you had hoped that being with him for the past 5 years meant you at least came second. Especially when you were scared and hurt.

But it was never going to happen, not with him. So you had to get out, while you still had some dignity, while you still had a scrap of hope in getting over him. As devastating as the concept was.

“Do you have anything to say?” you asked, voice cracking.

Nate opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, before he swallowed heavily, tears in his eyes and the saddest look you’d ever seen in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You just snorted, rolling your eyes. Brilliant. “It’s a bit late for that,”

“I mean it! I’m sorry. I should never have treated you like I have, like you don’t matter to me because you do. So much,”

Even as little as a week ago, this would have meant the world to you. These emotional honest words would’ve given you that hope to hold on a little longer. But not now, not today. You’d been in a relationship with this man for five years after all – Nate was not a man of words, he was a man of action. So while his words were pretty…he’d done nothing to back them up. Not in the past, and not now. You couldn’t do this any more.

“I can’t let you stomp on my heart any more Nate. I just…I can’t do this,”

“Baby please, don’t do this,” Nate whispered, stepping towards you.

But you held a hand up in front of yourself, stopping him in his tracks, and it took all your strength to remain firm at the devastation in his face.

“Unless you somehow magically prove that you’re going to start giving a shit about me, Nathan, then you can lose my number. I’m done being the only one who puts in any effort in this relationship,”

“I can’t lose you,”

You looked up at him, tears stinging at your eyes and shook your head. “You lost me a long time ago,”

[lavenderwhore444]

If you want to use interactive fics, it's easy and makes reading fics SO much better. First, you download the Google Chrome extension. You'll see it in the top right corner of your screen. Next, you enter your name in the first box. If you want to change something other than y/n, please click on the text that says “want to change something other than y/n?” here, you can change any word you want to a different word. When I talk about your quirk I will use y/q.

InteractiveFics

Master List

🌸 I JUST REALIZED IVE BEEN SLACKING ON WARNINGS Y’ALL I AM SO SORRY 🌸

🌸 Warnings: Shiggy being a man-child (what else is new), briefly mentions smut and suggestive themes at the end. Angst if you squint. You're preggo, obvi. Milky titties for Shiggy 😌 🌸

🌸 you guys know the tik tok audio that goes “ga ga I got your milikes. Since you want to act like a fuckin baby, ” 🌸

🌸 Weeellllll... Oh lord, ya know what I'm thinking. 🌸

🌸 This turned out as fluff, so if y’all were looking for a kinky one, go request it 🙄 🌸

🌸 Why was writing this as fluff weirder than smut like y’all know he falls asleep sucking on your boobies because of the head cannons I've written. When I'm feeling more ✨inspired,✨ I’ll write a super fluffy one, especially if I can find and a good prompt/scenario. 🌸

🌸 Sooo I've written a little abt mommy milkers in head cannons, but it's time to stop beating around the bush. 🌸

Music my loves:

Pregnancy wasn't easy, and Shigaraki certainly wasn't helping. He would whine and complain more than you did. Sometimes you wondered why you got pregnant when you already had the equivalent of a small bratty toddler—a man child scientifically labeled as a wild tomura shigaraki.

Shigaraki would whine for you to cook or clean or fix his game. He barely acknowledged that you were pregnant until it came to sex.

“No, it'll hurt the baby, ”

It was awful. Your hormones were off the charts, and you just needed an orgasm—just one. Shigaraki wouldn't even eat you out, and there's no way you were getting past that pregnancy belly to masturbate.

The sexual frustration and frustration, in general, were building up. It was so bad that you wanted to cry. If Shigaraki was this distant while you were pregnant, how would he be as a dad? You were starting to doubt him.

The last straw came when you woke up alone with a splitting headache. You walked into the kitchen to take some Tylenol.

“Hey, babe, can you go to the store later?” Shigaraki asked.

“Tomura, I'm pregnant, ” you said, pointing to your stomach.

“How does that stop you from going to the store?” he said.

“You're acting like such a fucking child right now, ” you complained.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We're out of milk, by the way, ” he pointed out.

You were so done with him. You were carrying his child, and he wanted you to go out in the cold on an icy road for some fucking milk.

“You know what. If you're gonna act like a fucking baby, Shigaraki, you can drink like one too, ” you said, pulling your shirt over your head, “if you want milk that badly, come fucking get it, ”

He was about to hit back at you until he looked up and saw you topless.

“Well? What are you waiting for? If you wanted milk badly enough to make your pregnant wife drive out in the cold down an icy freeway for it, surely this won't be a problem,” you said.

He stood up from where he was crouched, eyeing you carefully. Your arms were crossed as you tapped your foot impatiently.

“Any day now, Shig, ” you said.

He walked over to you, still unsure if you were serious. He was standing right in front of you, looking at your chest and back up to your eyes, still confused and a little shocked.

You huffed in annoyance before guiding his head to your chest. He was face to face with your tits, staring at them.

This had started as a joke, but now you just wanted him to touch you. He never held you or cuddled you, and you couldn't remember the last time you'd been kissed.

“Well?” you sighed, “do you want milk or not?”

He nodded slowly, leaning in.

“But doesn't the baby need some too?” he asked.

“Babe, I make more, ” you said.

He nodded, impressed but confused by the concept of his wife being able to just make milk. He sucked softly, pleasantly surprised when milk actually came out. He was never sending you to the store again. He wrapped his arms around your waist, still in an awkward crouching position.

“Can we go sit on the couch?” he mumbled into your chest.

“Sure. Let me take a Tylenol first, ” you said.

He was waiting patiently for you on the couch, looking hopeful. You sat down next to him, laying down a bit so he could lay on your chest. He left little kisses on your chest before beginning to suck again.

He looked so peaceful, eyes half-closed with a slight smile on his face. He pulled away.

“I've been a bad husband, ” he whispered, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, y/n, ”

He rubbed your stomach, sighing softly.

“I'm just worried I'm gonna be a bad dad. I'm happy. I'm so excited to start a family with you, but at the same time, I don't want to think about it. Instead of dealing with it, I've missed so much. The doctor's appointments, the baby kicking for the first time, ” his voice began to break.

“I didn't take care of you the way I was supposed to. I already fucked up at taking care of the kid. And I fucked up at taking care of you, ” you could tell he was on the verge of tears.

He sniffled, so you guided his head back to your chest, scratching his head as he sucked. He shut his eyes, and a few stray tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I'll do better y/n. I'm gonna take care of you and this kid, ” he promised, “it's us against the whole fucking world. We're gonna win this fucking war before you give birth, so our kid doesn't have to grow up in this godforsaken world, ”

He nuzzled into your chest again, rubbing your stomach.

“I love you, yn, ” he mumbled into your chest.

“I love you too. Even though you've been an asshole for months, ” you smiled, ruffling shigaraki’s hair.

“Sorry again, ” he said.

“It's okay, babe. You can make it up to me, ” you smirked.

To be continued? You guys can decide. I can turn this smutty if y'all want.

[veraynes-blog]

After reading your TenSimm human AU prompt, do you think you’d write a full sized fic about it? It’s such an interesting concept and your writing is so good I know you’d do it justice!

Aaw, thank you! 😊 Well, I'm definitely concentrating on finishing TLV at the moment, so for now I won't promise anything beyond that. But it is an AU I've thought about before, so you can have some further elaboration if you like:

Harold Saxon is the current Minister of Communications, but is running for PM. (He does not run a clean campaign. There’s a ruin of wrecked careers in his wake, although you wouldn’t know it for the veneer of friendly charm he wears like a second suit. At least he’s popular with the people, if not any of his own colleagues.) 

A big part of his campaign is the promise to reform education funding. He wants to flog that horse one more time before general election, hence the on-air interview he’s agreed to with some ragtag group of whining teachers. There’s certainly no way that can backfire spectacularly. 

Donna Noble is his long-suffering PA. (She started as a temp in his office, and it was only ever supposed to be filing and coffee runs. In no way did she intend to sign on to be the unofficial babysitter of a sociopath politician just because she was the only one too stubborn to flinch every time he walked into a room.) 

She’s never been particularly impressed by the whole ‘Iago with a Blackberry’ vibe he has going on, and isn’t shy about giving him shit for it. What’s he going to do? Blackmail her? She’s never done anything important enough to bother hiding. Fire her? Fine, she’s a professional temp, she’ll have something else by Tuesday. Bribe her? He’s already paying her more than she’s ever made - and way more than Neris is on, which is the most important thing. 

John Smith is a high school Science teacher. (He’s actually massively overqualified for the job. The original plan was to be a professor - he has a doctorate and everything! - but there was a bit of academic quibbling over his thesis on theoretical time-travel, since apparently his so-called peers don’t have a visionary bone in their bodies. Anyway. Turns out teenagers are far more receptive to the wonders of scientific innovation. If you catch them on a good day.) 

Clara Oswald is the English teacher at the same school, and his best friend. (Although they’d had a rocky start, initially. She’d been sceptical of his excessive qualifications and the arrogance he didn’t bother to hide, and he hadn’t liked her standoffishness. Neither of them know quite when the bickering and cheap shots turned into solidarity, but it’s a sharp-edged friendship that works for them.) 

When Minister Saxon descends on the school, intent on filming an ego-stroking interview with a selection of teachers, they’re both reluctantly pulled in to the whole affair. (It does not go as well as Minister Saxon had hoped.)

I like to imagine chaotic-irreverent-teacher-John-Smith and corrupt-manipulative-politician-Harold Saxon take a pretty instant dislike to each other, and also, quite inconveniently, fancy each other rotten. 

Maybe more than you banked on with this ask, sorry! 😅 I got a little carried away.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever sit down and write a full story for it, so if anyone else wants to play in that sandbox please feel more than free, I’d love to hear any ideas for it. 

[firehousewithaview]

It’s Just A Day (But It’s Your Day)

It’s taken so so so long, but I’ve finally finished the prompt that @justsmilestuffhappens sent in so very long ago. Like, it was before season 5 even started airing, that’s how long I have been slamming my head against it. But I finally got it to an acceptable enough stopping place. I’m so sorry this took so long and I really appreciate the prompt. Hope you don’t mind I got a bit carried away.

The prompt was:  Eddie planning buck's birthday maybe? But not sure if canon s5 or not because Maddie might be M.I.A. for a bit Would he go all out as buck's 30 or something more simple just him Christopher buck and or the other immediate firefam

It’s posted to AO3 here 

it’s posted with a second chapter where I put in the totally self-indulgent Eddie & Maddie scene I wrote that didn’t really fit the story but I liked enough to keep anyways.

Eddie never quite understood the big deal with birthdays until he became a father.

Until then, he was ambivalent to the whole concept, taking each one as it went past and celebrating other’s when he was invited. His opinion on them took a full about turn when he realized he was missing the celebration of his son being on this earth a full year while he was in a desert half a world away.

Since coming home, or at least to LA, Eddie has made a concentrated effort to celebrate his loved one’s birthdays, much to Pepa and Abuela’s frustration. Pepa still hasn’t forgiven him for his attempt at a nice dinner his first year in LA, though now she brings it up with a teasing look in her eye instead of looking vaguely nauseated over the memory.

Which might be why he feels blindsided when Christopher tells him, in no uncertain terms, that they are having Buck’s birthday sleepover at their house at the end of the week.

A thousand responses form then float away as he stares at his son. He’s standing at the edge of the couch with his arms crossed and a no nonsense expression, and Eddie gets the uncomfortable thought that he learned this particular pose and face from him.

“We are?” He’s pretty sure they hadn’t made plans, is very sure he would remember a birthday party he is supposed to host for his best friend while there’s still a virus out there, but at the same time, the frown on Christopher’s face is set in a way it rarely is.

The look he gets for that is definitely something Christopher picked up from him. “Yes.” He stresses as if this should be obvious. “I asked if we could have a sleepover on Friday and he said I have to ask you.” He must see that Eddie is about to say something because he rushes on. “And Friday is his birthday and when I asked him what he was doing, h-he said he didn’t know.” He huffs a bit and sticks out his bottom lip. “He doesn’t know, dad! On his birthday!”

Finally catching up, Eddie feels his mouth start to pull down because he actually hadn’t realized Buck’s birthday was so close.

And then hits keep coming because Christopher, seeing his face, seems to think a no is on the horizon, so he starts babbling faster. “And- And- We never celebrated Buck’s birthday together before!” He seems genuinely distressed by this, hands starting to flutter. “Last year I was still with Abuela and before that he was still gone where we couldn’t call him, and before that I didn’t know his birthday, and we only knew him that long, but he should still get to have a good birthday here with us because we love him and you need to make people you love feel special so they know we’re happy they were born!”

By the end of his rant, Christopher has his hands flying through the air in a way that screams Buck so much, Eddie has to clear his throat a little to beat back his emotions. He really lucked out with this kid. “Hey, bud, take a breath.” Eddie soothes, reaching out in a placating gesture. “Yeah, we can have Buck here for a birthday sleepover.” Which is a bit surreal to say because Buck has stayed over a lot in the last few months, especially after the shooting and during Eddie’s healing, but in all that time, it wasn’t necessarily a sleepover, more of a convenience or reassurance reason.

Christopher lights up. “Awesome!” He bounces a bit and windmills his way into a hug when he almost over balances. “It’s going to be so fun!” His back patting from the hug becomes insistent slapping as he pulls away. “We need to tell him now!”

Seeing the time, Eddie smothers a laugh. “It’s time to get ready for bed, but we can see if he can do a video call to tell him and say goodnight.” Squinting, Christopher peers at him for a few beats longer, as if gauging how likely he is to get away with insisting on now, before letting out a big sigh and leaning his head back. “Fine.” He relents, turning to head back to his room.

Eddie stretches for his phone on the coffee table, noting he already has an unread message from Buck.

do you think a goose electrocuted on a powerline is cooked enough to eat

With the instincts of a father of a 10 year old, Eddie is hitting ‘call’ before he really thinks it through.

“Please tell me this is one of your hypotheticals.” He starts in as soon as he hears the line connect.

Buck lets out a laugh on the other end. “Hi, Eddie. Good to hear from you too, Eddie.” He mocks. “No, Eddie, I’m not actually eating electrocuted goose.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, falling back against the couch and craning his neck to see where Chis is and if he actually went to start his night time routine. “We both know I’m over half of your impulse control, Buckley, and I have a healthy paranoia over the times I’m not there.”

Buck laughs. “I’ll have you know my impulse control works just fine when you aren’t here.”

“Really now.”

“Yeah,” Buck says brightly, “It’s not my fault the little voice in my head is starting to sound like you when you’re using your ‘very disappointed dad’ voice.”

That rips a laugh from Eddie too. “Yeah, well, you’ll be happy to know that one finally came back to bite my ass.”

“What?” Buck’s confused voice has Eddie picturing the exact face he is making, including his head cocked to the side a little. He stopped denying he finds it cute ages ago and now just lets the fond smile slip onto his face as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, Chris pulled out all the stops today.”

Across the line, Buck sounds a bit awed. “Now I’m kind of wishing I’d seen it.” He still has laughter in his voice. “What did you do to him, Eds?”

Eddie lets out a squawk of indignation. “I didn’t do anything!” He huffs. “He was just very insistent about this birthday sleepover on Friday and thought I was going to say no, I guess.”

“He has a birthday party on Friday?” Buck asks, laughter finally gone.

Eddie rolls his eyes again. “Like you don’t know that.”

“No?” The confusion is back again. “He asked to have a sleepover on Friday when I was leaving yesterday, but I’m sure we can move it.”

Now Eddie’s confused. “What? Why would we move it?”

“So Chris can go to the birthday sleepover?”

The pieces finally click. “Buck.” Eddie sighs, exasperated. “That is the birthday sleepover.”

Well. The pieces click together for him. “Chris’s birthday was three months ago?”

The genuine confusion, that Eddie knows well enough to hear concern starting to creep into, in his voice sends a wave of fondness rippling through him. “Yeah,” He leads patiently, “which means the person we know who has a birthday on Friday is…?”

There’s a few beats of silence before Buck says, “Oh shit, it’s my birthday.”

That’s not the reaction Eddie was going for. “Did you just forget your own birthday?” He demands. The determination on his son’s face makes more sense now.

“Forget is a strong word.” Buck says sheepishly. “I guess I just didn’t think about it.”

Which is fair, but also a bit frustrating. Buck has the whole station’s birthdays memorized, down to Alan the grouchy maintenance man, and insists on acknowledging them. For his last birthday, Eddie came home to a family dinner with Pepa, Abuela, Christopher, and Buck arranged in his backyard so they could socially distance but still be together. And they combined forces for Christopher’s last birthday, trying to make it as special as they could while still being safe, which meant a cabin out near Sequoia National Forest, a telescope, and a big book of California native wildlife that Christopher was over the moon to use. And the first year had included Disney World because, as Buck put it, “It’s his first birthday in Cali!”.

So Eddie can understand being busy, but at the same time, what the hell. “Then I guess it’s a good thing Christopher has your back.” He teases, going for light but landing closer to sharp. “So you have plans for Friday now.”

There’s something almost reluctant about Buck’s voice when he says “Yeah, it’s a plan.”

It’s weird, but not weird enough to call him out on, so Eddie just heaves himself off the couch as he says, “Chris wants to talk to you too.”

All weirdness has gone from his voice when Buck demands, “Then switch me over and pass me to my favorite Diaz.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie walks into his son’s room and forgets any weirdness at all.

~`~

Eddie thinks nothing of it when he mentions Buck’s birthday sleepover at work, but clearly that was a mistake.

It’s one of those ‘death by a thousand cuts’ kind of days, where people are being stupid just to be stupid but they all happen to be doing it today. The calls aren’t hard, necessarily, but they are tedious. They’re fresh off a minimal injury car wreck where a driver was arrested after going after the person he hit and all Eddie can think of is getting himself another cup of coffee. It looks like Chim had the same idea while Hen and Bobby are scrounging for food. Buck is on the couch with his headphones already back in, determined to finish the documentary he started earlier. Chim had been jokingly lamenting how none of them know how to make normal friends anymore and turned to Eddie to back him up.

And now the silence in the kitchen is deafening because Eddie said, “My best friend is choosing to celebrate his 30th with a sleepover with my son, so I really can’t help with this whole normal friendship thing.”

There’s still movement outside the loft but all the people in his immediate vicinity are statues, which is beginning to freak Eddie out, so he takes a sip of his coffee and says, “What? It’s not that weird.”

Finally Hen seems to break herself out of it, a massive smile taking over her face. “I can’t believe you, Eddie!” She’s close to a cheer, but keeps her voice down with a quick eye flick towards Buck. “How’d you manage that?”

“Manage what?” Eddie asks, confusion thick in his voice.

Chim goes back to pouring his coffee. “Get Buck to see you on his birthday.” He shakes his head, leaning back against the counter and keeping a steady eye on the couch. “He’s been militant since he started about having it off and usually no one can reach him.”

Eddie feels his face crumple even further into confusion. “Really?” He muses around another sip of coffee. “That’s weird, Christopher just asked him and Buck agreed.” No need to mention it seems like Buck forgot about his own impending birthday.

Understanding alights all three faces near simultaneously, even Bobby who has yet to enter the conversation officially. Eddie doesn’t need to be psychic to know they’re all thinking about Buck doing anything for Christopher.

Just as Eddie opens his mouth to see if anyone else knows why, the alarm sounds.

He can just ask them later.

~`~

Later never comes because the rest of the shift is rough.

A house fire takes them nearly 5 hours to finally put out, and they only had fifteen minutes at the station before a car wreck involving a motorcycle called them out again until the sun had set.

No one is in the mood to talk after that one, everyone pulling themselves back together in their own ways. Chim and Hen have both taken off to call their families while Bobby is standing in the kitchen and contemplating the contents of the fridge.

And Buck is on the couch staring blankly at his phone, hair curling where he hadn’t bothered slicking it back after his shower.

Eddie had been the one to all but throw him into the showers.

One of the car occupants had still been bleeding a little as Buck had reached in to help her, and flecks had gotten on his face above his face mask. He hadn’t reacted besides a small flinch, but Eddie found himself unable to look at his face yet unwilling to stray further than arms length away. He’s also trying not to think about the pinched look Bobby had gotten when he saw Buck’s face afterwards, mostly because there are too many things he could be thinking about to count and that’s not conducive to being functional for the rest of the night.

Pausing, Eddie gives himself a few beats to really appreciate that they’re here, back at work with his family right next to him, lets that begin to chip away at the tangled web of steel wool that had curled around his throat earlier.

Then he throws himself onto the couch next to Buck, close enough that his thighs are aligned all the way up and his arm is on top of the other’s.

“So it’s about 8:45,” Eddie starts, already wiggling around to get his phone out of his pocket because he had been distracted as he sat down and now has to basically prop himself into Buck as he digs in his pockets. “I think we can catch Chris before he’s asleep.”

Buck huffs out an amused sound. “Was just thinking that.” He holds out an airpod into Eddie’s peripheral vision. “Here, I can call on mine.”

Finally getting his phone free, Eddie turns to face his friend. “We are not doing that again.” He deadpans. “I learned my lesson. You keep your phone to Google things on and I will keep my peace of mind.”

“Eds,” Buck sighs, all longsuffering, like Eddie is being absurd. “Are you still on that?”

“You left up pictures of maggots on my phone!”

“Well Chris asked what kind was in her cheek!”

“You’re the one who forgot to close it.” He presses the video call next to Carla’s name. “Too late.”

There’s a series of grumbles from Buck, but nothing concrete enough to respond to. At least he hopes so because Eddie definitely got distracted by a warm arm suddenly wrapping around his waist and his back being covered in warmth.

His distraction doesn’t last very long because Carla answers after 3 rings. “Just in time if you’re calling for Christopher.” She laughs. “We were just getting ready to start reading.”

Buck props his chin over Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie feels his brain short out a bit, so he misses most of what is actually said. He comes back just in time for Carla to pass the phone to Christopher. “Hi dad!” He says from where he’s obviously tucked in bed. “Hi Buck!”

Eddie doesn’t need to see it happen to know Buck’s face just melted. He also didn’t need to know his body does pretty much the same physically as it does visually, but thanks to his perch almost in Buck’s lap with the other man nearly wrapped around him, now he does. “What’d you get up to today, superman?”

Chris starts detailing all the separate parts of his day, taking time to update Buck on how the seating drama at school is shaping up, and Eddie lets himself bask in the little bubble of comfort made by being so close to Buck and the excited voice of his kid.

He hates that he has to be the voice of reason sometimes, which means he’s caught off guard when Buck is the one to say, “Alright, bud, it’s time for bed if you want to get any reading in.”

“Aww, really Buck?”

“Really, Christopher.” Buck chuckles.

Eddie finally finds his voice to jump in. “Buck’s right, kiddo.”

Though he pouts a bit, Christopher relents fairly quickly. They say their goodbyes, with plenty of ‘I love you’s to go around, and the screen goes back to the call screen with a final ‘be safe’ from Carla. He isn’t really paying attention to the world around him as he locks his phone, which means the arm that comes off the back of the couch to around his waist is a surprise, the tight hug he’s being pulled into even more so.

“Thank you.”

Buck’s voice is muffled where he’s jammed his face against the back of Eddie’s shoulder, but he catches it all the same. There are so many responses that go through Eddie’s mind at that. Jokes to try to add some levity to the moment, playful scoffs that would give him some emotional deniability. But all of them feel like cop-outs, like he’d be spitting in the face of Buck’s sincere gratitude.

So instead he leans back into the hug a bit, curling his arms around the arms around him. “Anytime.”

~`~

Eddie forgets about asking about Buck’s birthday weirdness. To be fair, he doesn’t forget about the birthday itself, which he’s taking as a win.

It’s not that he isn’t beyond curious, more that he’s a father and a firefighter and got very busy across the few days between the end of that shift and Friday morning.

It’s as he’s packing Christopher into the car to get him to school that he remembers.

Or, that he’s reminded. “Did you get Buck a present, dad?”

Shit.

Eddie adjusts the rearview mirror a bit. “Not yet, I’m going today.” He was going to run errands today, so it isn’t a lie. “Any ideas on what he’d like?”

Which wasn’t his best plan because Christopher spends the whole ride to school outlining all the gifts he thinks Buck would like. By the time they pull into the school, he’s telling Eddie that Buck might like an ant farm(“They build their own homes and we get to see it from the outside!”), which is actually probably true, but also means that Christopher would be the co-owner and Eddie is not about to enable that.

Probably.

He’s helping Christopher down from his seat when he hears his phone ping. Figuring it’s Buck hashing out plans for later, Eddie ignores it until the teaching aide and his son make it inside. A horn from behind him startles him enough for him to automatically start driving, but not before he sees the text isn’t from Buck.

It’s from Maddie.

A cold knot forms in his chest, but he tries to force it down. Just because the only times Maddie has texted in the past are for Buck-injury related reasons doesn’t mean she can’t text him about other things too. But the little voice in the back of his head reminds him that Maddie hasn’t willingly reached out to anyone in weeks, something he’s been hearing Buck worry over at least once every two days.

Another ping sends his pulse up and Eddie finds himself pulling into the closest parking lot, cursing when he realizes it’s a Starbucks and he immediately gets caught in the line.

Another ping sends him reaching for his phone even though he’s in the drive-thru line. Usually he refuses to touch his phone if he’s behind the wheel, the scenes of too many wrecks flashing before his eyes when he tries, but he’s starting to see the worst case scenario behind his eyes anyways. Besides, he’s basically parked right now, the line hasn’t moved since he pulled in.

Is Evan really spending tonight with you??

Howie told me he promised Christopher, but I need to check for myslef

I know we don’t really talk but I’ll leave you alone after this

Oh. Well that’s worlds better than anything Eddie could have hoped for. Also worrying and endearing in equal measure. Endearing because it turns out Maddie spirals about her brother in the same way he does for her.

Worrying because, well, Buck’s whole weirdness with his birthday seems to extend to Maddie as well, who is usually the exception for Buck.

Driving. Call?

It isn’t a lie, per say, but for some reason it feels like one.

His phone lights up, still connected to the hands free screen, and Eddie accepts.

“Hey,” Maddie sounds… tired is the best word for it, but not the kind of tired Eddie is used to hearing from her. He’s seen her going on two days of no sleep, seen her in a hospital bed, but she sounds more tired than either of those times. “I didn’t realize you were driving, I wouldn’t have texted.”

Eddie cringes a bit as he eases his truck forward. He hadn’t meant to make her feel bad. “It’s alright, I was just pulling in to get coffee.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “You want anything? I may as well make this wait actually worth it.”

Maddie lets out what might have once been a laugh but now more closely resembles a sigh. “No, thank you though.”

That right there is a warning sign to Eddie. One of the first real conversations he had with Maddie was about the worst coffee they’d ever had while they waited for the coffee pot at the station to finish. They had both made faces at the other’s story, but agreed even shitty coffee was better than no coffee.

He decides to pick his battles. “So you were asking about my plans with Buck tonight?”

“You guys actually have plans?” She gasps, the first overt sign of emotion she’s shown since this phone call started. “He hasn’t canceled them?”

“Uh, no?” Eddie asks, confused. “Why would he cancel? I’m pretty sure it took a plague to keep him from movie night the last time.” It’s an exaggeration, but a small one. Buck is just as invested in the plans they make as Christopher.

And Eddie, but he isn’t ready to admit the whole story there to anyone, let alone Buck’s sister.

“Oh wow.”

Eddie feels his face scrunch up in confusion. “You’re not the first person to react like that.” He tries not to grumble, but he isn’t sure he’s doing such a good job. “Why is everyone so shocked that Buck has plans on his birthday?”

There is silence on the other end for a moment. Then, “Eddie, Buck doesn’t celebrate his birthday.” She’s a bit choked up. “He hasn’t since I left for college.”

Oh. He lets that sink in for a moment, really contemplating what he knows about the Buckley parents. His palms start to itch the more he thinks about it. There is a part of Eddie that screams to fly to Hershey and fight them, but he beats it back. A cross-country flight would mean he misses tonight.

“So when I said Christopher invited Buck for a birthday sleepover and he accepted…” He trails off. Luckily, Maddie seems to know what he was going for. “You basically announced that your kid had pulled off a miracle, yeah.”

“Huh.”

What does one say to that? ‘He’d do anything for Chris’? ‘Glad we could help’? ‘I’m about ready to lose my mind over how much your brother loves my son and will do literally anything for him, up to and including forgoing personal traditions’? All are true, but the degree of intensity in all those responses is a little much.

So he switches gears. Buck is important in his life, more important than Eddie is willing to admit to anyone but himself, and so he makes the decision to make sure Buck never spends another birthday alone.

Which is not the kind of revelation he intended to have in the drive-thru lane of a Starbucks, but there are worse places.

Like bleeding out in the street.

“Okay.” Eddie takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, then lets it out. “Are there any birthday traditions you started?”

Maddie sniffles over the line. “Yeah, a few.”

The original plan had been errands, but plans change. “Do you have time to tell me about them?”

“I can do you one better.” She’s still sniffling, but Maddie’s voice is stronger and more like herself than she’s been this whole phone call. “If you have some time for a store run, I can talk you through the recipe for the cake I made for him when he was a kid.”

There’s a beat of silence where Eddie begins trying to hype himself up to do his usual round of cooking failures.

“Better yet, if you have some time to drop off some things I need, I can make it.”

Eddie’ll take that sigh of relief to his grave. “Absolutely, I have time.” He hesitates, but still asks, “Mind if I stick around for the process?” He knows for a fact Maddie has been alone with Jee- Yun a lot over the past few weeks while Chimney gets back to work.

There’s a very loaded pause. Then another. And another. Then, “Sure, as long as you’re willing to help with Jee when she cries.”

“Deal.” He promises quickly. Jee-Yun has to be one of the cutest babies ever, second only to Christopher in Eddie’s eyes. “Now what can I get you from Starbucks? You can even see it as payment for taking over your day and saving me from baking humiliation.”

The laugh Maddie lets out is stronger than the last one and stays firmly in Eddie’s biggest accomplishments of the month.

~[***]~

The cake is finished with just enough time to spare for Eddie to run the two most immediate errands before he has to pick up Christopher. The kid is practically vibrating with excitement as Eddie makes sure he’s strapped in properly.

“So what did you get Buck?” He demands before Eddie has even had the chance to shut the driver’s door.

He really did end up with the best kid. “You see the box on the floor there?” Eddie asks, biting down on a swear word because navigating the after school traffic is a level of hell. “Maddie made the cake she used to when they were kids.” He pauses to focus on executing a turn. “And the bag next to you is what we’re going to use to make his other present.”

The rustling of a grocery bag sounds from the back seat. “What is it?”

Eddie finally gets the chance to safely peek at Christopher in his rearview mirror. He’s bent almost into the bag. “I’ll explain more  when we get home, it’s easier to show you.” At his son’s whine, he can’t help a small grin. “Now, tell me about school. Did the seat problem get fixed?”

The resulting dramatic retelling is about as close as his son has ever come to going on a tirade.

~`~

A few hours, a few glue sticks, more stickers than Eddie wants to consider, and a small mishap with scissors that had them both laughing until their stomachs ache later, Buck’s present is ready and the time they arranged for Buck to come over is quickly closing in. Christopher is playing the Switch on the couch, occasionally commenting to Eddie about what’s happening. He places the online order at Buck’s favorite take out because it’s Friday night and that means it’ll take probably an hour to get here.

He’s done well up until now not letting the doubt creep in, but Eddie is only human, so as the clock marches closer to 5, he tries his best not to worry.

According to everyone, Buck hates his birthday, goes out of his way to avoid everyone usually. The only reason he hadn’t this year is for Eddie’s son, which leaves both a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest and a pit in his stomach. Because, on the one hand, Buck could have just rescheduled, called this whole thing off and stuck to his normal routine, but on the other, he really couldn’t because Christopher is so important to him that he would fight anything to keep a smile on his face, even his own discomfort.

As the clock ticks past 5, a whole new worry begins to gnaw at Eddie.

What if Buck just doesn’t show up?

Even if he isn’t known for  his punctuality, Buck is almost pathologically early for the plans he makes with them. When Eddie asked him about it, he had just shrugged and said, “I never want you guys to feel like I don’t want to be here.” then moved on like he hadn’t just given Eddie an emotional sucker punch. So that Buck still isn’t there at almost a quarter past without a call is unsettling to say the least.

Eddie is scrolling through his phone, debating calling, when the front door has something smack against it, drawing the attention of both father and son. Moments later, Buck falls through the doorway, rubbing at his forehead where a faint red mark of recently abused skin is starting.

There’s a moment of comical silence when seems to realize they’re both staring at him from the couch before, “Uhm,” He starts, hand going to the back of his head, sheepish expression playing across his features. “Nobody saw that.”

Christopher loses it first, laughing uproariously before launching himself at Buck with a scream, “Happy Birthday!”

If he weren’t watching for something, Eddie would have missed the flinch. “Thanks buddy!” Buck enthuses back. “What are we doing tonight?”

Christopher finally pulls out of the hug, curls flying as he makes his way over to the couch, on a mission. Eddie takes the chance to step up next to Buck and clasp his shoulder as the other man takes off his shoes and puts his keys and wallet on the table by the door. “Happy birthday.” He says quietly, heart breaking a little at the small flinch that gets. He catches Buck’s eye and holds it. “I’m glad you came.” I’m glad you’re here with us.

From the look that crosses Buck’s face, he hears what Eddie didn’t say. He ducks his head around a small smile. “Nowhere else I want to be.”

The moment ends as Chris barrels into Buck. “It’s Buck Day!” He cheers, smile a mile wide. “That means it’s all about your favorite things!”

Buck’s face is going to be the death of Eddie tonight, he can already tell. There is nothing in that sentence that should make Buck look like he’s going to cry, but here we are. “Do you have Buck’s special hat?” Eddie cuts in just to take the pressure off Buck answering.  

Christopher proudly produces a cheap plastic firefighter helmet from behind his back. It was originally a bright red, but Christopher went at it with his big book of stickers and now has almost no red left. Instead, the front part has ‘30’ written out in Sharpie while the rest of it is covered in stickers that reminded his son of Buck.

Eddie definitely didn’t have anything to do with the golden retriever stickers that surround the 30, really.

Buck takes the hat, beaming. “This is so cool, Chris!” He’s genuinely enthusiastic about it, eyes bouncing from sticker to sticker rapidly. “Did you do all this?”

Nearly delirious with the praise, Chris starts pulling Buck over to the couch. “All the stickers!” He bounces a little as he sits down, crawling almost into Buck’s lap to point out some of the different stickers before the other man is even seated. “Dad wrote the numbers and said we sh-should put the dogs around it.”

Busted, Eddie thinks as Buck’s head snaps around to look at him with an exaggerated incredulous face. “ Did he ?”

“What can I say?” Eddie teases, leaning against the doorway because he knows the second his ass hits the couch is when their food will get here. “We had to properly represent you.”

Buck’s eyes are suspiciously glossy, but he places the hat on his head with reverence. “It’s perfect, guys.” He grins. “I love it.”

With that statement, he digs his fingers into Christopher’s sides, eliciting a series of mingled shrieks of laughter and shouts of betrayal. Christopher, who was already almost in his lap from his excited explanation of the stickers, curls further into Buck on reflex. Both of them are red faced from laughing, crumpled in on each other. A stray slice of sunlight streams through the curtains, high lighting both their curls and the red of their faces. Buck opens his eyes and meets Eddie’s, smile still splitting his face and popping out his dimples.

It isn’t a moment, it really isn’t anything, but Eddie suddenly feels all his doubts about tonight leave him.

Buck’s right where he belongs, and more importantly, where he wants to be.

~`~

Even though Christopher wanted to do something big for Buck’s birthday, Eddie managed to talk him down to a just slightly altered movie night. He had the sneaking suspicion that this would be hard for Buck, even if everything went well.

Now he’s glad he did.

Christopher had demonstrated his mastery on the subject of Buck’s favorite child appropriate movies while they waited for the food, listing movie after movie as possibilities while Buck had tried to present Christopher’s favorite movies as alternatives. It was silly and if Eddie were less aware of what he felt for his best friend, then the night might have ended differently because of the weird things his heart kept doing as he listened to his boys try to outwit the other about their favorite things.

But he does know, so around the sixth round of it, in the middle of a loud exclamation about Buck sobbing over movies where animals die, Eddie had put his foot down and made Buck pick from what he knows his three favorite movies are that Christopher is allowed to watch.

Just as Buck was protesting, the doorbell rang with their food and Eddie left Christopher with the task of extracting an answer.

The loud cheer from Christopher carried to the front door as Eddie accepted the bag.

Now, with the food all gone and Jurassic Park paused on the scene where the can of embryos was buried in mud, Eddie herds them to the table for dessert, Christopher bouncing excitedly in his seat.

From the kitchen he can still hear them as he carefully picks up the cake box. “-thought a dinosaur cake but dad said you would like this one better because it’s special.”

“Oh?” Buck asks, a slight strain to his voice. “Well, I don’t know what can beat a dinosaur cake, but your dad’s pretty smart so I guess we can trust him.”

“Yeah,” the agreement is a bit lacking, “But I did make sure he didn’t make it all by himself.”

“Good plan, bud.” Buck, the traitor, praises. Then, “Wait, is it homemade?”

Eddie makes his grand entrance back into the room before Christopher can answer. “Alright, mijo, are you ready to sing?”

Christopher’s enthusiastic agreement covers up Buck’s slight noise of protest, but Eddie sees the unease he’s trying to hide. There isn’t much Eddie can do about that because everyone knows a birthday in the Diaz house isn’t over until the song has been sung at least once. Even if he wanted to let Buck off without it, Christopher would riot. Still, he casts a look to Buck that promises it’ll be over fast.

Buck flashes him a small but thankful smile before looking down at the cake on the table that Eddie had just unboxed.

Everything about him tenses. “Is this… Maddie’s recipe?” His voice is suddenly thick, not even trying to hide the tears.

Shit.

Both of the Diaz boys freeze, not quite sure what to do. Eddie, as the adult here, takes the plunge. “Yeah, uh…” He swallows. “Apparently Chim mentioned this was happening.” Buck’s eyes snap to Eddie, still filled with tears but none have fallen yet. “She wanted to help.” He doesn’t say all the other things he wants to. Things about everyone wanting to celebrate him but no one wanting to push him about it. Things about Maddie loving him but still wanting to respect his choice about this. Things about how loved Buck is, even if he doesn’t see it.

Buck must see some of it at least because he lets the tears fall even as he says the most heartfelt, “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Eddie says. He means it too. Anytime, anything, he’d do it, if it would give Evan Buckley even a fraction of the elated glee that’s taking over his face.

The moment is broken by the off-key opening of ‘Happy Birthday’ Christopher begins.

Eddie joins in, clasping a hand to Buck’s shoulder.

Oh yeah, Buck is right where he belongs tonight.

~`~

They finish the movie, Buck helping with Christopher’s sugar high by spending some time running around playing dino hunter before they sit down again. Once again Buck nearly gives Eddie palpitations when he runs the usual bedtime arguments off at the pass.

“What do you think about reading that cool dinosaur fact book for you bedtime story tonight?” He asks over the end credit music, lighting up in a way far too genuine to be any sort of fake. “I think we can convince your dad to make the sounds with us if we ask nicely enough.” It’s a pale attempt at a whisper and Eddie knows him well enough to see it’s Buck’s way of giving him time to come up with an excuse not to.

As if Eddie would miss time with his boys tonight, even if it means he has to make the dinosaur noises.

Christopher is obviously torn on the subject, but eventually decides this is the best deal he’s going to get out of them tonight. “Okay.” He agrees. “But it’s at least six pages.”

Buck pretends to put on a thinking face, his eyes going to Eddie for permission before he responds. “You drive a hard bargain, kid.” He pretends to grumble. “But lucky for you, I think six pages sounds like the perfect amount.”

Eddie can't help his fond smile as he nudges Christopher in the side. “Okay, PJs then teeth  then  pages.”

“You’re going to come and read with us, right dad?”

Pretending to think for a moment, Eddie finally nods. “Yeah, I can’t miss the dino facts.”

Satisfied, Christopher wiggles his way off the couch, down the hall to get ready for bed. Which leaves Eddie and Buck alone together for the first time tonight.

They’re quiet for a little bit, the sounds of Christopher brushing his teeth and humming the Jurassic Park theme the only thing to break the silence.

“Thank you.”

Eddie wouldn’t have heard him if it weren’t for the fact that neither of them had moved away from how they usually bracket Christopher on movie night so they’re leaning almost into each other. He rolls his neck so that he can look at Buck, only to find that Buck has done the same. There’s less than half a foot of space between them. Eddie stamps on the urge to close it.

“You’re welcome.” He says instead. Hesitates, then continues, “I meant it, you know.” He pauses to swallow, Buck’s raised eyebrow spurring him on. “Anytime. We always want you here. So many people do. I’m selfish enough to be thankful we’re the ones you chose to be with today.” Eddie doesn’t know how to say it in so many words, but he hopes it was enough to get across how much everyone loves Buck.

Buck opens his mouth to say something, but a summons from Christopher’s room cuts him off. They share a fondly-exasperated look before they both move to stand.

No sooner than he’s fully upright, Eddie is being pulled into a hug. Buck always buries his face into the closest part of whoever he’s hugging and this is no exception, face firmly planted into Eddie’s neck. “There was no choice, Eds.” He murmurs. “There never is when it’s you guys.”

Eddie stands there a few moments even after Buck’s gone to get his emotions in check, getting the goofy smile to leave his face.

Because no matter what else happened tonight, Eddie is sure of one thing.

Buck is never spending his birthday alone again.

[dhwty-writes]

hi! I have a prompt, if you like: what if Geralt hangs up mistletoe to get Jaskier to kiss him? :)

ELLIE, what a galaxy brained concept! It’s so silly and the gay panic is rampant in this one, my friends. The Kaer Morons being a bumbling pack of idiots and Geralt ridiculously pining after Jaskier? Coming right up!

Summary: Geralt is in love with Jaskier. In order to finally get him to admit his feelings, he devises a ten step plan with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir. 

Warnings: NONE, this is tooth-rotting fluff

Read on AO3

There was a conspiracy of the highest order brewing in the Continent involving no less than four witchers, their horses, a goat, and an unsuspecting bard. It is known under many names, including, but not limited to, Operation Home Sweet Home, Gods Save us from your Fucking Pining, and Get Vesemir's Blessing (and Mission Let's Get Geralt Laid, but that was from Lambert and therefore stupid).

They had laid out the Conspiracy in a set of carefully calculated steps last winter with the help of Vesemir's Wise Words and truly copious amounts of alcohol. Once he saw the whole list sober, Geralt had nearly chucked it into the fireplace out of mortification. Good thing Eskel and Lambert had been nearby to wrestle the slip of paper out of his hands.

Only after the creation of at least half a dozen copies was he trusted with it again. He frowned down at the sheet. It was simple, really. A simple ten-step-plan. He could do that.

Step One: Stop fucking staring out of windows and sighing longingly. (Shut up, Lambert.) Get back on the Path and find Jaskier.

Now, at least that was easy enough. Not for the first time since their acquaintance they had agreed upon a meeting place to come find each other as soon as the snows would allow it. Most of the years Geralt would arrive a little late; because even if they chose a spot closer to Kaer Morhen than Oxenfurt, the Killer was usually impassable for a long time.

A few years they had been lucky and could set out relatively early in spring. Geralt hadn't felt lucky at all, sitting in a lonely tavern corner day in, day out, waiting for a familiar bright-coloured bard to fill his life with light again. He had felt terrified, most of all.

So, this year when he set out to the Path, an already crumpled list clutched tightly in his hand, he was even more on edge than normally. He didn't think he could take Step One failing already, and the mortifying possibility of Jaskier lying dead in a ditch. He might just climb up that mountain again and never come back down.

Luckily, Geralt — and Vesemir — were saved from that miserable fate. When Geralt threw open the tavern door in some backwater Kaedwen town, Jaskier was there already. He was peacocking around in his usual manner, enticing his sparse audience with his captivating presence. When his eyes fell on Geralt, though, his three half-drunk spectators were soon forgotten.

The bard gasped and slung his lute onto his back, vaulting off the stage to come rushing over to him. "You're here!" Geralt stood ready, his arms spread wide to catch Jaskier when he flung himself at him in an overenthusiastic hug. "I missed you." Jaskier slung his legs around Geralt's hips and buried his face against his shoulder, clinging to him as if for dear life. 

Geralt held him tight, deeply inhaling the familiar scent, a mix of honey, grapes, and cinnamon. He was used to this by now. He didn't mind. Truth be told, he craved it.

"Hmm," he answered, acutely aware of the stares they were attracting. Geralt decided he didn't care. "I... missed you, too."

"You did?" Jaskier pulled back and beamed at him. Just a week ago he had thought he would kill to see that smile again as soon as possible.

"Hmm," he agreed. Now he knew he knew he would die for it.

Jaskier wriggled in his grasp as a sign he wanted to be put down again. "You certainly know how to sweep a man off his feet, darling," he announced with a cheerful wink. "I don't think you've ever told me you so much as enjoyed my company before, let alone miss it."

"Hmm." Hadn't he? He could've sworn he had.

"None of that, now, let me just grab my bag and we can be on our merry way." Without another word, Jaskier rushed up the stairs in the back of the tavern.

Geralt stood uncomfortably in the door, waiting for him to return and doing his best not to attract too much attention. 'Hurry up, Jaskier,' he thought impatiently.

"Oi!" the bartender shouted. "Yer the witcher? The one of the songs?"

"I am."

The man nodded and threw something at him, humming a very distinct tune. It was a ducat. Geralt pocketed it with a sigh. He hadn't missed that.

He didn't have to wait long before Jaskier came barrelling back down the stairs, a much too large bag Roach would have to carry again in tow. "Well," the bard straightened his crumpled doublet, which, for some reason, now gaped open and showed off the pristine shirt underneath. Geralt tried not to stare, "where are we off to?"

"Toussaint," he answered, holding the tavern door open for him.

"Toussaint!" Jaskier exclaimed excitedly. "I love Toussaint."

"Hmm," Geralt said. 'I know,' Geralt thought, 'that's why we're going.'

With their reunion out of the way, it was time to proceed with the plan:

Step Two: Travel with Jaskier. Be nice to him (no fillingless pies!)! Compliment him! Laugh at his jokes!

That part was significantly more difficult than the first. Not that he lacked compliments for Jaskier, quite on the contrary. They, however, posed not one, but two difficulties.

The first was one of his own making: voicing his thoughts with actual words. In the privacy of his mind he had a myriad of compliments. 'You're beautiful,' passed through his head when he saw Jaskier bathed in the golden light of sunset. 'You smell nice,' after a day at the coast, salt encrusting Jaskier's hair. 'You make me smile', 'You make the loneliness go away', 'You're the best bard I could wish for.' None of them were quite eager to leave his mouth.

When they finally did, it was awkward. They didn't sound at all how he imagined them. "What are you looking at?" Jaskier asked.

"Something on your face," he answered. 'Yeah,' he thought dumbly, 'sunlight.'

Or: "Geralt, are you sniffing me?"

"You smell." He still cursed himself months later for omitting the simple word 'nice'.

After a while he got better at it. He could manage an "I like your voice" without stumbling over it, or a "Your outfit looks nice and smooth." It wasn't an "I love listening to you sing and say my name; you make it sound like something that is worthy of affection" or an "I love that you wear silk as soft as your skin and could spend days caressing it without growing tired of it" yet, but he was getting there.

What came then, once he was able to say a simple nice sentence to his bard, was somehow even worse. Jaskier was clumsy, that was nothing new, but this season it was on a whole different level. Whenever Geralt so much asked him about the song he was working on, the bard stumbled over his own feet; with every smile or laugh he nearly dropped his precious lute.

But nothing beat that time they happened upon a particularly clear and blue lake and Geralt had leaned over to tell Jaskier: "I like it. It reminds me of your eyes. Just as pretty." The poet had nearly plummeted right into it, which would have been very unfortunate indeed, since he hadn't convinced the nymph living in it to migrate yet.

In the end, Jaskier's utter lack of equilibrium sense led to Geralt offering him to ride on Roach. That was much better. Sometimes they rode double, too. He liked those days especially, when he had an excuse to hold his bard close. The days when Jaskier would sigh and lean back into his touch he liked most of them all.

Slowly, they settled into a familiar rhythm. It was awkward at first, but soon they became used to the change of their relationship. And it wasn't as if everything changed. They still bickered and insulted each other, and laughed and told stories. It was just right; Geralt almost didn't notice how summer came to an end.

But it did, and when the first leaves started coasting to the ground it was time for the next step.

Step Three: Ask him where he will spend the next winter.

It was probably the most mortifying thing he had to say to Jaskier yet. They were sat at a campfire one early autumn evening, Geralt trying to look busy cleaning his sword and Jaskier preoccupied with his lute. Once he finally worked up the courage to ask, he stumbled over his words like a school boy; he even blushed, for fuck's sake! It was embarrassing.

Luckily, Jaskier didn't seem to notice, too busy tuning his lute. "Why, in Oxenfurt, of course. Why do you ask, Geralt?" he answered nonchalantly as if Geralt wasn't just leading the most daunting conversation of his entire life.

'Fucking great,' he thought. Now it was time for Step Three.5: Ask Jaskier to come home with you, you fucking idiot.

"Hm," he said.

Jaskier laughed. "Talkative as always I see." He smiled at him brightly and turned back to his lute. "Alright then. Keep your secrets."

"Hmm." This wasn't getting any easier. "Jaskier."

"Yes, dear?"

His heart fluttered with the pet name, so much that Geralt nearly bit his tongue off in the process of trying to voice his question: "Would you like to stay with me?"

The lute gave a dissonant twang that made both of them wince. "Excuse me, what?" Jaskier stammered, his voice much higher than normally.

"Hmm. I just thought..." He frowned. 'Shit.' He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. This had been doomed from the beginning. "Forget it, it's stupid."

"No, no, not at all!" Jaskier scrambled to his feet and hurried over to Geralt's side. "Where would we be staying? I suppose you could come to Oxenfurt with me, but it could get a bit crammed and-"

"Kaer Morhen," Geralt stated simply.

"Kaer Mo- oh!" His eyes lit up. "Why, yes, Geralt, I would love to stay with you."

And that was the end of that. They didn't talk about it anymore the whole evening as Geralt did his damnedest to forget the conversation had ever happened. But when he laid awake in the night, Jaskier huddled close to him — it was getting rather cold, after all — he couldn't stop his mind from whirling, excitement mixing with immobilising terror. Jaskier would come to Kaer Morhen with him. They would stay together the whole winter. And Jaskier would meet his family.

With a sigh he turned over, cautiously throwing an arm over Jaskier's waist and holding him like the precious thing he was. The smile that spread on Geralt's face when his bard snuggled even closer, outshone the morning sun creeping over the horizon.

The following days and weeks, Jaskier was buzzing with the same excited energy that Geralt held within. It cost him every ounce of self-control not to turn Roach around and head for Kaer Morhen right away. But it was still early in the autumn, at least a moon's turn before it was time to go home, so they busied themselves with taking contracts and performing for sub-par audiences.

It was alright. He needed the money, after all, if he wanted to cross off Step Four: Bring Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in its entirety, including the note: Buy him some nice and warm clothes on the way - Vesemir

It was good advice, Geralt knew, as most of Vesemir's advice was. Jaskier might have travelled with a witcher for the better part of his life, but he was still only human. And winters were very cold in the northern Kaedwen mountains.

So, on Geralt's annual stop in Ard Carraigh, he took Jaskier to get him equipped with soft woollen sweaters and stockings, as well as a pair of sturdy boots, ignoring the bard's protests of how 'ugly' they were.

"You'll thank me when you've still got all your toes after this winter," he grumbled as he strapped Jaskier's bag to Roach's saddle.

After that, nothing much exciting followed. There were still a few villages and hamlets along the way to Kaer Morhen but the least of them had so much as a tavern. The ones with a real audience of Jaskier were fewer still.

Geralt couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. Quite the opposite, he loved listening to Jaskier in the privacy of their camp or — if they were lucky — the barn where they could stay the night. He loved knowing that Jaskier sang only for him. And most of all he loved the vibrant smiles he got along the way, and the tiny ones, too, etched on his face even when he curled up against the witcher at night.

During the days, Jaskier finally had to stop riding on Roach; the path was simply getting too dangerous. The way up to Kaer Morhen had never been easy, not even when there had been two dozen witchers and twice as many students living there, but since the attack they hadn't tended to it anymore. The Witcher's Trail was no easy one for humans — and it wasn't meant to be.

Jaskier, to his credit, didn't comment much on it, most of the time too exhausted or admiring to run his mouth about the difficulty of getting to Geralt's home. He was almost a bit worried, anxious even, if Jaskier's reaction to seeing the ancient ruin would just be the same kind of silent admiration.

Evidently, there had been no need. They rounded the last corner and, finally, Kaer Morhen was looming up above them. As soon as his eyes fell on it, Jaskier gasped and ran ahead. He had, apparently, forgotten about his aching limbs he had complained about just that morning. "Is that it?" he asked excitedly. "Geralt, is this it?"

"No, it's another crumbling fortress in the Kaedwen mountains," he deadpanned.

"You're mean," Jaskier accused him and turned back around to the keep. "For months I've dreamt of this moment and what do you do? You mock me, truly a horrible habit, that- oh, gods, Geralt, it's so beautiful!"

"Hmm," he answered, watching Jaskier intently. The childish glee on his face, the snowflakes dancing around him and melting in his hair. "I guess so."

"Can we go inside?"

Another barbed comment was already on the tip of his tongue, but Geralt guessed that he shouldn't ruin the moment. Not if Jaskier was so happy. "We can. Come on."

They were still a good distance away when the gates creaked open and three bulking figures stepped outside. "You're early," he accused Eskel and Lambert once they caught up to them. They weren't supposed to be there. They were messing up Step Five: Meet the family. (Lambert Eskel Lambert Vesemir first.)

"And you're impolite," Vesemir grumbled. "I taught you better, Geralt."

"Hmm," he answered and the silence that followed might've been awkward if not for Jaskier.

Thanks to him there was no silence at all, to be precise. "You must be Vesemir; Geralt told me so much about you. Dare I say, Master Witcher, I am honoured and humbled by the invitation, and am looking forward to my stay. The name's Jaskier and I am at your service," he concluded and bowed with a flourish.

The three witchers gaped at him in surprise and Geralt couldn't help but grin. No overly detailed stories by him could've possibly prepared them for... well, Jaskier. "What," Lambert muttered quietly, "the fuck?"

"Now, that's just rude," Jaskier said as he straightened himself, "don't you think? Geralt, your brother is being rude to me."

It was all he could do not to laugh freely. Instead he shrugged and said: "Told you he's the rude one."

"Oh, you're Lambert!" The bard grinned widely and stretched out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

Lambert huffed in surprise and shook the offered hand. "Tell you what, bard, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

"Offended," Geralt mumbled just as Eskel said: "Flattered."

Jaskier smiled widely and wickedly. "Both."

Lambert opened his mouth, presumably to return a rude comment, but Jaskier's attention was diverted by Eskel, who gave him a thorough once-over and then nodded. "Welcome to Kaer Morhen, bard."

"Thank you, uh, Eskel?" he hazarded a guess.

A smile tugged on the unscarred corner of his mouth. "That's right."

"Dinner's in an hour," Vesemir cut in. "Maybe you could show our guest to his room, Geralt?"

Right. With the meeting out of the way it was time for Step Six: Show him to his room (Make sure it has some nice fur rugs - Vesemir) (Shag him on the rug - Lambert) (Offer to stay with him if he's cold - Eskel). Both of those additions seemed equally daunting to him.

But before he could even think of an excuse as to why he couldn't do that right now, Roach's reins were ripped from his hands and they were being pushed towards the keep.

"Well, they're certainly eager to get rid of you, considering they haven't seen you for a year," Jaskier quipped once they were inside the keep proper.

"That's not- hmm." 'Fuck.' He had almost betrayed himself. "They'll be different after dinner," he promised. "Besides, you know they can hear you."

"So?" He huffed a laugh. "I know they're just like you; all bark and no bite."

He was about to deny that claim but Lambert's offended howl that reached him from the courtyard quickly changed his mind. That definitely was worth the jab at his own ego. "Come on," he urged, smiling, "no need to continue playing the jester for them any further."

"Why, is there any issue with providing entertainment for a living?" Jaskier teased.

"Only if it's at the expense of me."

He sighed dramatically. "That I know, my dear. That I know."

"Jaskier?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to give you a tour of the keep."

"You are? Oh, I wouldn't have noticed." Geralt shot him a dirty look. Jaskier snickered maliciously, the bastard. "Oh, yeah, yep. Shutting up. Go ahead, Sir Witcher, show me your magnificent home."

From anyone else it might've been mockery. It might've been mockery from Jaskier, too, if not for the sound of absolute awe in his voice as he took in their surroundings.

Geralt could hardly blame him. It might've been a long time since he had arrived at Kaer Morhen, but he still remembered how dumbstruck he had been at the sheer immensity of the place that should become since home.

It had lost its mysticism since then, but seeing Jaskier's childlike wonder as he led him through the kitchens and great hall made him remember. He showed him the library, too, as well as the stairs down to the hot springs that he must never, ever confuse with those that led to the laboratories.

He closed with the rooms the various witchers claimed as their own: "That's Lambert's room down the hall, don't go there, he's a prick; Vesemir is a few floors below us, claims he's too old for our squabbles; that's mine, and that one's Eskel's, ask him if you need something and I'm not there, not Lambert, he's an arsehole-"

"Geralt," Jaskier said soothingly and put a hand on his arm, "you're rambling."

"Am I?" he asked confused. "Don't think so."

"There's no need to be nervous, dear. I won't abandon you; you're stuck with me for the winter."

"I'm not nervous," Geralt insisted, his fingers twitching nervously.

"Right," Jaskier took his hand away, evidently not very convinced. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, then."

"Don't be," he mumbled, not quite able to tear his gaze from Jaskier's gentle smile.

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"Do I-" He started fidgeting with his lute strap. "Do I have a room, too? I mean, not that I mind sharing with you, that's not the issue at all- gods, I sound stupid-"

His eyes still trained on Jaskier, he reached behind him and opened the door. "There."

"That's my room?" he asked without turning around to look inside.

"That's yours," Geralt confirmed. He had prepared it last winter already. Just in case.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the poet whirled around and rushed into the sparsely furnished room. He looked very much... out of place. The realisation hit him like a slap in the face; but apparently the visual of Jaskier and his bright purple doublet in the grey empty walls of Kaer Morhen was what it took for him to realise how little they were reconcilable.

For the first time in his life he felt self-conscious for his home. "'S not much," Geralt mumbled.

"It's wonderful." Jaskier beamed, carefully inspecting the bed and the rug, peering out the window and into the chest. "Might get a bit cold, though."

He grumbled something he knew to be unintelligible to humans into his beard.

"What was that, love?"

"You could always stay with me," he spoke up. "Y'know. We've shared before."

"That we have! You might find that before long you will be forced to let me take you up on your generous offer."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and left him to it, in order to complete Step Six.5: No, let him arrive first, you idiot! There would be no 'being forced' of any kind, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that to Jaskier, yet.

Despite their apparent incompatibility Jaskier settled into the routine of Kaer Morhen disturbingly quickly. Though 'settle into' wasn't quite the right choice of words. More like 'tear it down and build it anew, but with lyrics, laughter, and luminosity'.

The evening of their arrival was truly mortifying, the worst mix of embarrassing stories of Geralt's childhood and very inappropriate questions directed at Jaskier. Geralt had spent the whole dinner frozen in shock and awe at the masterful display of the bard's craftsmanship.

After an hour of vicious cross-examination, the three witchers had finally backed off. And as Vesemir had retreated to his rooms, Lambert had brought up the alcohol. It hall had spiralled out of Geralt's control after that.

Within the hour Lambert and Jaskier were japing and jabbing at each other as if they were lifelong friends and not acquaintances since a few hours. It took his bard three days to have Vesemir completely wrapped around his finger, intently listening to his droning lectures about basically everything. And not even a fortnight into their stay, he found Jaskier and Eskel in the library, talking with hushed voices. He quickly retreated but not before he heard Jaskier telling his brother how beautiful he was, scars or no scars, and Eskel sniveled quietly.

A month since their arrival saw them trapped into the castle by the heavy snowfalls. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Vesemir from drilling them mercilessly.

They were an hour into their morning routine when they all perked at the sound of soft footsteps passing through the hall. "Jaskier," Geralt said softly.

The bard was bundled up in several quilts, his face barely visible beneath the mess of his hair and the blankets. Still his face lit up with the brightest smile when he saw them. "Mornin', lads," he croaked, "lookin' good, keep it up." He gave them a tired thumbs-up and shuffled off to the kitchen, where Vesemir would provide him with a hot breakfast with a side of 'most-boring-information-on-this-earth'. It was their own morning routine of sorts, and the three of them knew it wouldn't be long before they were discussing the 'merits of the iambic pentameter in 10th century love poetry' or some shit.

"Fuck," Lambert cursed once they knew Jaskier to be out of earshot, "I really can't blame you, Geralt. Too much time with him and I start gawking like a love-sick idiot, too."

"Hmm," Geralt agreed. Jaskier definitely had that effect.

"Jealous, wolf?" Eskel inquired with a knowing smile.

"No," he answered earnestly. If anything, he loved Jaskier more for it. His family wasn't easy to deal with, he knew. But his bard didn't care. He had so much affection to give, even for witchers. 'Especially for witchers.' He closed his eyes with a happy smile.

"Y'know, there's still a couple of steps left on our list," Eskel informed him casually.

Geralt's eyes snapped open as his heart sped up. 'Fuck.' The plan. "Hmm."

"Just fucking get it over with," Lambert yearned. "Your pining isn't any less obnoxious just because he's here."

"If anything, it's gotten worse," Eskel agreed.

"So?" he snapped. He had put it off, that was true. Had waited for the snow, he told himself, but now the snow was here and-

"So, we'll distract him this afternoon," Eskel interrupted his spiralling thoughts.

"And you pull your head outta your arse and fucking follow through," Lambert added.

"Fine," he ground out. "We do that." Not before he kicked both their arses during their training, though, for being such utter dicks.

Before long, however, the inevitable happened. Morning passed over to noon, and, true to their words, Lambert and Eskel whisked Jaskier away after lunch. They left Geralt behind in the hall with a branch in his hands and nothing left to do but complete Step Seven: Hang up a mistletoe.

"Fuck," he muttered. Nearly one year had passed since they had come up with their conspiracy. One year to gather his courage, one year to come up with a plan, one year to at least think about where to fucking put it. "Fuck," he said again, for good measure.

He looked around. Looked to the rafters. Looked at the mistletoe. "Fuck it," he declared and tucked it away to scale up to the rafters.

He was already up there, dangling from one of the beams when he remembered that he had nothing to secure it with besides the silky ribbon that would never fit around it. He scowled darkly. He sure as hell wouldn't climb down and up again. Without further ado he pulled his dagger from his belt and drove it deep into the wood, pinning the mistletoe by the ribbon.

He climbed down again, making sure that it was visible from the ground. 'Perfect,' he decreed. With the mistletoe in place, it was now time for Step Eight: Have Lambert and Eskel inform Jaskier of the mistletoe and a strategically placed Geralt. 

He spun around to go and alert his brothers, when he heard a cheerful voice behind him: "Geralt! There you are, you mean witcher, I was wondering where you were hiding. You know, it is not nice to leave your, uh- bedmate all alone and freezing in the morning, and- oh." There was a thoughtful pause. "Now would you look at that."

Geralt heaved a long sigh. He dreaded turning around, for he had a very distinct feeling he knew already what he would see. And fuck, he was not ready for that step. For some stupid reason, he still did turned around.

Jaskier stood in the middle of the hall, squinting up at the ceiling. "Are my eyes deceiving me — and they might be, mind you, my eyes are not as good as a witcher's — or is that a mistletoe I spy up there."

He cursed internally. He knew he should've hung it lower. "Hmm," he answered, his heart beating in his throat. Why was his heart beating in his throat? It wasn't supposed to do that. His voice was surprisingly calm when he said: "Seems like it."

"Oh no!" he moaned woefully. "Quick, Geralt, come here and lift the curse!"

"Curse?" he inquired bemusedly as his feet moved without his volition. "What curse, Jaskier?"

The bard gasped. "Don't you know? When someone passes beneath a mistletoe, they are frozen to the spot until the curse is broken."

"Hmm," he stepped under the mistletoe, too. He should've known Jaskier would make up a story around this. It was just a tradition, for fuck's sake, no curse. Although a curse was certainly more romantic, even he had to admit that. "Must be a rare curse if a witcher's never heard of it."

"The rarest," Jaskier insisted and pointed at his cheek. "It may only be broken with a true love's kiss."

In light of what happened next, let it be known that, in Geralt's defence, he was panicking. Quite thoroughly so. Since the Trials his legs hadn't shaken like that anymore.

He had been promised a pep talk by his brothers before having to confront the situation at hand. And yet they were nowhere to be found and Jaskier was here, evidently expecting him to kiss him.

'Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck.' He was not ready; he was not ready; he was not-

"Geralt?" Jaskier ripped him from his thoughts. "Are you waiting till my nose grows icicles, or what?"

Still, he leaned forward, placing one hand on Jaskier's hip and the other on his shoulder, and pecked him on the cheek.

The cheek. That had not been the plan. That had not been the plan at all. And then, of all things, he heard himself ask: "Can you move again?"

Jaskier blinked, looking just as dumbstruck as Geralt felt. "I- I think so?" he stammered and moved to pull away, blushing furiously.

'Fuck, no,' he remembered thinking. And while he wasn't quite in control of his limbs again, what he did next was probably the single most clever thing he had done in his entire life. Gingerly almost, he tightened his grip on Jaskier. His head tilted to the side, an invitation, an escape.

His bard didn't move. Instead, he said: "Doesn't seem like it."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and leaned in closer. "Difficult curse, seems like. Let me try again."

Before he could even think of changing his mind, Jaskier had his arms looped around Geralt's neck and crushed their lips together. He did his best to reciprocate the kiss, which wasn't easy with fear still gripping his heart tightly, but then Jaskier crowded closer, moulding his body against Geralt's and that was all it took for the tension to seep from his bones and go limb.

It was a weird sensation; being wrapped in Jaskier's arms was so familiar, but he was also kissing Jaskier, which was new- 'Great gods, I am kissing Jaskier, I am kissing Jaskier, I am-'

He pulled back with a triumphant grin, evidently startling his bard. "What?" he asked, very confused.

"I am kissing you," he announced, his grin widening even more.

Jaskier frowned. "That you are, but-"

"I am kissing you," he said again and pecked him on the lips. "And I can keep doing it."

"Oh!" The frown eased away, giving way to the softest of smiles. "That you can, my dear."

So, Geralt did. Again. And again. And again, and again, and again. He didn't know how many times he had kissed Jaskier, how many times Jaskier had kissed him, before he pulled back and blurted: "I love you."

Jaskier stared at him in silent awe, before blushing and cupping his cheeks gently. "That you do, my love," he whispered. "And I love you, too." Softly, he pressed their lips together again.

"You do?" Geralt asked disbelievingly.

Jaskier smirked. "I do. For years and years, I have. I thought you knew."

"Fuck," he muttered. Did that mean... 'I didn't have to do any of this.' He could've just- "I'm an idiot."

"Only sometimes," he allowed, giggling sillily. Geralt was compelled to join in. "Besides, you’re my idiot, and I love you for it." He shifted a little, so he could lean his head comfortably onto Geralt's shoulder despite them being nearly the same height. 

"So," Jaskier drawled, curling a strand of Geralt's hair around his finger, "are we just going to keep standing here, or...?"

He scoffed. Of course, they wouldn't. He had a plan, after all. "Fuck." The plan.

Jaskier raised his head. "Is that a curse or an answer?"

"Yes," he answered warily.

It earned him the most beautiful snorting laugh he had ever heard. "What are you cursing at, love?"

"We skipped Step Eight," he admitted, "got right to Step Nine."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Step Nine: Kiss Jaskier." The poet just gawked at him. "I had a list," he explained.

"You had?" Jaskier's eyes lit up and he made grabby hands. "Show me, show me!"

Reluctantly, Geralt handed it over, studying Jaskier's face carefully as he read through it.

"I knew it," Jaskier concluded finally.

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on!" He threw up his hands. "You were acting weird all year round, Geralt! Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but still, weird. It took me about ten minutes to figure out there was some ploy at play." He laughed quietly and waved the paper around. "Though I never would've guessed what was amiss."

"You don't like it."

"On the contrary! It's a wonderful plan," the poet said and pecked him on the lips. "I've got to admit, though, Lambert was right: you should've just fucked me on that rug once we got here."

"Hmmm." Geralt nuzzled against Jaskier's neck, holding him closer when he tried to squirm away from the tickling sensation. "That still an option?"

"Very much so. I believe it has to be one more step before completing your list." He pulled him close and whispered against his lips: "Take me to bed, my love"

And how could Geralt refuse such a request? Especially if it coincided so luckily with Step Ten.

[nanasparadise]

Can you do (aged up of course), Yandere Narancia x reader. [p.s can it include any of these prompts? “ Stop denying our love! Stop denying our future together!! ”, “ Please don’t cry. Show me the smile I love so much! ”, “ You can’t escape my love.”,” You will grow to love me back, I just know it!“] Thx so much <3

“You can’t escape my love”

“You will grow back to love me, I just know it.”

Hiya anon! I hope you enjoy it! <3 

Summary: Your boyfriend doesn’t understand the concept of boundaries and keeps harassing you, until he stands in front of your apartment’s door...

TW: cyber harassment, implied stalking, gaslighting, mentions of a panic attack, toxic relationship, noncon touching, curse words, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Narancia has been aged up, no minor content on my blog!

Word count: 2155

“No escape” Yan! Narancia x gender-neutral reader 

 Bling. Another one of… how many messages again? You have stopped counting a while ago. An exasperated sigh escapes your lips, wondering why you haven’t turned off the volume yet. Why is he so unrelenting? Annoyed, you take your phone in your hand, staring at the twenty-five texts Narancia has left for you. At first, they have started off innocently, asking you about your well-being and your day. But as time has passed, the messages have begun becoming more invasive and have ended up being straight-up creepy. 

“Why aren’t you answering me, did I do something wrong?” 

“Stop being so stubborn, I know you want to be with me, too!” 

“I’m always near you, you’re aware of that, right? You can’t escape my love.”

 An icy shudder travels down your spine while reading the last two sentences. Fear clenches around your heart, making your chest feel heavy, your breaths short and laboured. 

“’’Try out this dating app!’ they said, ‘It will be fun!’ I see where this fun has lead me to”, you think gloomily. Why on earth did you ever sign up to that damned app and had to match with Narancia? You curse yourself, curse your naivety for having expected to encounter there a nice and healthy relationship.

The only thing that has waited for you is an obsessive stalker you can’t get rid of. Of course you didn’t realise Narancia’s disturbing nature at the beginning. No, you thought of him as sweet and energetic, although a bit tiring. Your first dates were pleasant: you went to a fair, sharing candyfloss and laughter between you, to a restaurant, where the Italian nearly choked on his pasta out of excitement, to a spring picnic at the local park, bathing in the gentle sunlight. It all seemed so beautiful to you back then, so innocent. But quickly, things have changed. 

Narancia has become increasingly clingy to you until it started feeling as if he was glued onto your hip. Oh, you want to go grocery shopping? He’ll come with you and help you carry your bags! You’re planning on visiting your family on the weekend? He’ll join you, he has been dying to meet them anyway! 

Setting boundaries with him was extremely challenging. Every time you hinted that you’d rather like to spend some time alone, he nearly threw a fit, taking your words out of context and twisting them around. 

“So you want to toss me away? You don’t think I’m important to you?”, he shouted at you, tears of anger forming in his eyes. Back then, you didn’t notice his gaslighting methods, felt guilty for prioritising yourself. But now, you don’t want to hold yourself back anymore. There isn’t any reason for you to justify yourself, especially not to someone who clearly has no right to intervene in your life like this. Your gaze travels back to your phone. All these messages, these implications, are proof enough of his unhealthy attachment to you. Hell, he even admitted following you! No matter how much you enjoyed your time together, you can’t let Narancia continue with his creepy behaviour.

Quickly, you type a text, telling the Italian that if he goes on invading your privacy, you’ll block him. For a few minutes, sweet silence dominates your living room. 

“Maybe he finally got it”, you muse hopefully. 

Bling. There goes your hope. 

“Are you messing with me? Why would you write that?! Please, stop with these jokes, we can talk about this!” Another sigh comes out of your mouth. 

“No Narancia, we actually can’t. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell the whole time, but it seems you don’t understand. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna block you for now, otherwise I’ll go insane.” 

With these final words, you block his number. Relief washes over you as you realise that the Italian can’t harass you anymore. 

“It‘s kind of sad how things have turned out”, you mumble to yourself. Though you do feel some regret – after all, the two of you had shared many beautiful moments together – you abruptly stop your pondering. “No use to cry over spoiled milk, Y/N. If he keeps treating you like this, it’s best to get away from him.”

Little did you know that Narancia isn’t letting you go that easily. The following days, he kept reaching out to you towards multiple phone numbers. Every time you blocked it, a new one popped up. At this point, you’ve simply stopped using your phone altogether, only relying on the device if it’s inevitable. In those cases, you’re helplessly exposed to the unnerving messages of the young man. The latest one keeps haunting your mind, initiating your anxiety. 

“I’ve been really patient with you, Y/N, but this little game is making me lose my temper. I’ll be seeing you tonight and then we settle things straight. You will grow back to love me, we’ll make up again, I just know it.” 

Nervously, you eye the nearest clock in your flat. 8 p.m. What does Narancia consider ‘tonight’? Will he even come? Are you able to face him right now? 

“Oh god, I need to go”, you whisper desperately, nausea manifesting itself in your stomach. You could crash at your friend’s place, you’re sure they’d understand your situation. Quickly, you gather all your important belongings, ready to flee, as a loud knocking on your front door followed by an all too familiar voice interrupts your escape. 

“Hey Y/N, could you open the door for me, please?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You mutter an incoherent string of curses. Petrified, you just keep staring at the door, not daring move a single muscle in your body. 

“If you don’t open the door yourself, I’ll just break it in, you know?”, Narancia shouts on the other side. The casualness of his tone scares you even more. 

“How can he just be so blasé by his behaviour? Doesn’t he notice how wrong his actions are?” Actually fearing the Italian might damage your property, you accept your defeat and slowly walk up to the front door. Hesitantly, with shaking hands, you unlock it and pull the handle down. Nervousness creeps up on you, making your palms grow sweaty and your heart palpitating erratically. Soon – too soon for your liking – you meet a pair of familiar purple eyes. To your surprise, Narancia smiles upon seeing your face. 

“Hi babe,” he greets you, carefree, “I’m so glad you opened the door for me! You have no clue how much I’ve missed you!” Without even waiting for you to invite him in – which you definitely wouldn’t have done – the young man marches into your flat, invading your privacy even further. Suddenly, two arms wrap around your middle and pull you close to the young man’s chest. Your breathing falters at the abrupt touch. “It’s alright, it’s only me, Y/N”, Narancia tries to comfort you. If only he knew that his presence currently gives you anything but comfort…

A few moments later, you find yourself sitting on your couch next to him. Narancia flashes you a seemingly reassuring grin all while you keep fiddling with the sleeves your shirt. You blankly stare at the floor in front of you. Even though Narancia’s behaviour is conveying sympathy, you couldn’t get rid of the intuitive feeling that this is all but a façade to lull you into a false sense of security. Who knows what he could do to you? Despite his overall sweet and fun nature, the young man doesn’t shy away from using violence if you test his – admittedly little – patience. His numerous messages flash up in your mind again. You’re painfully aware now how he made it clear that you’ve clearly missed your opportunities of being in his good graces. This realisation pushes you nearly over the edge, being on the brink of a panic attack. Would Narancia really hurt you? 

“Look Y/N,” the sound of his voice interrupts your train of thought. A little startled, you immediately straighten your back and glance at his form next to you. The young man’s hand finds its way to yours, stopping your fumbling by securely grasping it. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but what’s wrong? Why did you just ignore me like that?”, Narancia asks you. You don’t miss the hint of annoyance in his voice, indicating his true feelings. Though anxiety still has a hold on you, you try your best to fight against it and tell him the truth. After all, it’s not like you could escape this situation anyway. So you take a deep breath in and out again, before you spill your following words. 

“Well, I know you’re more of a clingy person Narancia, but what you’re doing is unhealthy. You can’t expect me to give you my full attention all the time. And you definitely can’t follow me around! It’s just creepy and wrong. You know that’s considered stalking, right?”

The Italian stares back at you incredulously. You wonder what’s going on in his head right now. 

“You gave me no other choice, Y/N! How am I supposed to see if you’re doing alright if you deny me like this? You really think me worrying about you makes me some deranged criminal?”, Narancia barks angrily back at you. The grip on your hand tightens. Listening to your previous gut feeling, you immediately retrieve your hand from his all while scooting away from him to gain more space between you. The dark-haired man’s jaw visibly clenches at your action, disapproval glistening in his eyes. Of course he would use his gaslighting tactics on you, he always does when things don’t go his way. Cautiously, you think for a while of what to say, not wanting to trigger Narancia’s wrath any further. 

“It’s not the fact you worry about me, it’s the way you choose to show your concern. Narancia, it’s not okay what you’re doing, you’re actually making me feel very uncomfortable, even right now. Plus, you’re blaming me for your behaviour, which is, again, not acceptable”, You carefully reply, hoping to talk some sense into him.

He makes you uncomfortable? Narancia can’t comprehend your words at all. He’d been worrying himself sick the last few days, trying to reach out to you as best as possible while you cruelly kept on ignoring his countless messages. But he is supposed to be the bad guy now? The Italian scoffs intensely at that thought. He can feel the anger gnawing at his guts, ready to be released. 

“You’re being ridiculous, Y/N,” Narancia reprimands you, “can’t I show you anymore that I care? That I love you? Even after you’ve blocked and ignored me? What do you expect me to do now, to just let you go?” 

“Actually, I do,” you peep quietly, “I can’t continue with this madness. If you don’t want to understand and listen to me, then it’s best for you to go. Now.” Your voice grows stronger with every word you utter, finally regaining your confidence. Meanwhile, Narancia’s heart sinks to his stomach at your statement. Do you really want to leave him? 

“No, no no no Y/N, you don’t mean this, right? You wanna stay with me, don’t you?” 

“No, I really don’t think I do, not after you’ve shown me your true colours.” 

With a force you don’t expect, Narancia pulls you suddenly against his chest again. His arms cage you in, leaving no room for you to move at all. 

“This is just a misunderstanding,” the young man keeps repeating like a mantra while tightening his grasp as if you could dissipate into thin air if he didn’t cling onto you, “It’s normal for couples to fight from time to time, it’s fine. We’re fine, right? You wouldn’t abandon me for real, would you?” 

“Narancia, I –“ you try to intervene, but your attempts remain futile as he cuts you off quickly. 

“No, you’re not going to leave me! I’m not letting you. Look, this is but a silly fight, you’re not going to toss away our relationship for that, are you? Just remember all the beautiful moments we shared together, how happy I can make you, if you just let me!” Narancia nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. “I love you, Y/N.” He eagerly plants kisses onto your skin, making you shudder and whimper helplessly. Your eyes grow bigger, your breath quickens as you desperately look for a way to escape this situation, to escape him. 

“I love you more than anything in this world. I’d gladly give up everything if it meant to spend every second with you by my side. No one can love you like this but me. Remember that next time you’re thinking I’m going to let you off the hook”, Narancia whispers in your ear, the underlying threat being crystal clear to you. No, you aren’t going to escape from him any time soon…