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starry-bi-sky · 2 months

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i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc prompt #man i just really need more dpdc stuff where danny and bruce have a good relationship. like man i NEED it. like i need to see these two #bonding together. and not in a cracky 'oh danny is a distant friend/cousin/etc' stuff but like. active participants in each other's lives #or as active as can be in this case. i neeeeed these two getting along and caring about one another #this idea came to me like last night and hasn't left since nd it was driving me up the wall to think about both positively and negatively b #i neeeded someone to hear about this or i was gonna implode #danny is the first son #tried to just get the general gist of the idea down but i definitely thought of the idea that bruce lowkey suspects vlad for having a hand #Vlad allows Danny to sneak off because he thinks Danny is alone. if he knew Bruce was there he'd be piiisssed and would put a stop to it #Sam and Tucker are alive they just got ghosted for a bit by danny bc he was in Major Grief and didn't wanna socialize. He couldn't go to #them because he didn't wanna put them in danger via Vlad.#oh that thing he handed Bruce? Yeah that's his ghost core. I have a headcanon (that isnt always applied) that ghosts can take their cores #out of their bodies at will and painlessly and without issue. and its common practice actually to do so bc they can be a not insignificant #distance away from said core before problems start to act up. and its common for ghosts to leave their physical cores at their lairs for #safekeeping because as long as the physical core is fine: so is the ghost. they can reform if their body gets destroyed. it also acts as a #fast travel sometimes. where they can reform at their core in an instant. its not inspired in the slightest by SU but i do see the overlap #most cores are pretty small for safety sake: its harder to hit if its small. and they're pr resilient too but its better to be safe than #sorry. so yeah. danny essentially gave bruce the physical embodiment of his soul and indirectly said #'if anything happens to me at least i'll be safe with you'#danny doesn't know he's batman btw #starry rambles.#was gonna go into danny becoming a vigilante beside bruce but im sleeeepy so i'll do that in a reblog. he's gonna go by nightingale if #anyone is interested. stereotypical but to be frank it is a *good* name imo. has a good amount of syllables and consonants to it #and the bird theme. and since its part of an ancestral name it has even more backing for it being bird-y without being meta

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drarrily-we-row-along · 8 months

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July 17: Outdoors

(I did, in fact, start writing this in July, only to heartlessly abandon it after writing 4 paragraphs because I was a mess. So... enjoy it now? [insert shrug emoji])

Draco fucking loathed the heat.

He despised the summer, with the hot fucking sun and too few clouds. He hated the way his body felt, too hot, sticky, always wet, his clothes damp where they clung to his skin. It felt like the outdoors was boiling him in his own sweat.

And yes, he was sitting on the edge of the pool, his calves and feet in the cool water. And yes, he had worn his shortest pair of shorts, and his most light-weight button up shirt that he wore unbuttoned down to his naval, and his giant sun hat that shaded his skin and protected him from the sun (in addition to his strongest sun-blocking charms), and his huge sunglasses to keep him from glaring because of the sun (it didn't change his glaring because of his annoyance at the heat). And yes, he'd consumed more than his fair share of ice water and the long islands that his host kept on the table.

But it didn't change the fact that he was sticky, sweaty, hot and currently, more to the point, also fucking aroused.

Because Harry Potter didn't seem to have the same problems that Draco had in the heat. His bronze skin glistened with sweat and tanning oil; beads of water rolling down his pecks and abdomen, collecting in the hair on his chest and stomach when he emerged from the pool. Potter, instead of turning a hideously unattractive shade of red like Draco, only continued to grow more golden in the sun, painfully fucking beautiful. His swim trunks were indecently short, clinging to his muscular thighs and perfectly round arse, and leaving far too much of his skin on display.

It wasn't fair for Draco to have to be this hot and also attracted to someone. Attraction took up way too much space in his brain and body and he simply didn't have the energy for it in this heat.

“Draco, are you even listening to me?” Pansy snapped.

“No,” he replied honestly, as he took another long drink from the straw sticking out of his glass.

He didn’t have to be looking at her to know that she was rolling her eyes at him. “I will never understand your fascination with him.”

“Shut up,” he snapped. “You’re only attracted to women,” he said, then, “and I’m not fascinated with him,” he added as almost an after thought.

Before she could reply, Ginerva was interrupting them, sliding her soaking wet, bikini-clad body in between the two of them.

“Uggh,” he said, sliding away from her, “you’re soaking me.”

She looked over at him, that particular brand of Weasley mischief that Draco did his best to avoid, shining in her eyes.

“Whatever you are thinking, don’t you fucking dare,” he warned her.

But then both of her hands were on him, unceremoniously shoving him into the pool. And it wasn’t that Draco couldn’t swim, but he didn’t swim terribly well, and he hadn’t expected to be shoved into the pool in the first place, so the panic took over.

Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him to the surface in spite of his flailing and choking. “I’ve got you,” the body holding his assured him.

And Draco recognized that voice, frankly, he was fairly certain that he could have simply recognized the body by touch alone; no need to hear or see or smell him. He wanted to tell him to just let him drown, let him slip back under and die because it would be better than living through this embarrassment, but he was still coughing and struggling to get a good breath, so none of the words quite came out right.

Potter carried him through the water and over to the steps. “Come on,” he said softly, guiding Draco out of the pool, “let’s head inside and get you some dry clothes.”

“Oooh!” Ginerva had the nerve to call out and Draco relegated her back down to his least favorite Weasley.

“Fuck off,” Potter called, flipping her a two fingered salute on their way in. "Are you alright?" he asked, all charming concern for Draco's well being.

“I’m fine,” Draco said, in spite of the way his throat was still burning and aching. “I should just go home.”

“Absolutely not,” Potter replied, leading him through the house and back toward what Draco could only assume was his bedroom.

And Draco had imagined Potter taking him back to his bedroom a thousand times but the circumstances had been very different in his imaginings. He'd imagined (fantasized) about Potter being so taken with him that he couldn't resist his charms; Potter calling him beautiful, sexy, unable to keep his hands off him.

Instead, Potter was treating him like a patient. In a decidedly unsexy way. He picked up his wand off the nightstand next to the bed, “I’m just going to cast a spell to clear any residual water from your lungs,” he informed him. The spell rattled through Draco as he moved his wand over his chest in a complicated pattern. “Then I’m going to stick pretty close by for the next couple of hours,” he said as he moved to the closet and started digging through for something for Draco to wear. “Best to monitor you.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

Potter turned to glare at him, “which one of us is the healer and which one of us is the wand maker?” He put his hands on his hips, “I wouldn’t argue with you about how to make a wand-”

“You would,” he interrupted. “You literally have.”

“You can either choose to be monitored by me or I’ll take you to St. Mungo’s myself,” he warned.

“You wouldn’t.”

Potter raised an eyebrow and crossed his stupidly buff arms over his stupidly broad chest, “try me.”

"Potter," he groaned.

"Don't Potter me," he said, apparently taking that for acquiescence and turning back to his closet. "Now, I think these swim shorts," he said, holding out a tiny pair of swim trunks with flamingos on them, "will work because they have a drawstring waist band. And this button up," he said, holding out a pink shirt that matched the flamingos, "will be best because it's lightweight and matches the vibe you're wearing now."

Draco accepted the clothes and carefully didn't point out that he could have just cast a spell to dry the clothes he was already wearing. The temptation to put on Harry's clothes was far too great. "Are you going to stand there and watch me dress, too?" he asked as he started to peel off his wet shirt. "Do I need monitoring so intensely?"

"No," Potter said, turning so quickly that he almost ran into the doorway. "Err," he said, stepping sideways and out of the door. "I'll just wait out here."

Once he stripped out of the wet clothes, he cast a quick spell to dry his body before putting on Harry's clothes. They didn't fit as well as his own did, certainly, Harry's chest and shoulders were far broader and Draco was quite a bit scrawnier than him, but they didn't look half bad. And more to the point, they were Harry's, so they smelled like him and even looking at them sent a thrill through the pit of Draco's stomach.

"Well," he said, stepping out of the room, "I suppose they'll do."

Harry, who'd been leaning against the wall, stumbled over nothing and nearly fell, choking on a cough as he stared wordlessly at Draco.

"What?" he asked self consciously, looking down at himself.

But Potter was trying to straighten himself, shaking his head. "Nothing," he said. Then he repeated himself, "Nothing."

"Right," Draco said, feeling a strange mix of self consciousness and attractiveness. He had the urge to flirt with the other man, just to see what would happen.

Potter turned and made his way toward the door, Draco followed and tried to decide what he could say or do to attract the other man's attention.

On their way back toward the pool, he saw it, the perfect excuse, dragging his feet just a bit, he let his toes catch on a tree root and let his body tip forward. "Oh!" he cried as he fell, "ouch! My ankle."

Potter was there in an instant, hands fluttering around Draco's sides, "what happened?"

"Oh, I tripped over the tree root and twisted my ankle," he said, holding his leg in the air and showing Potter. "It's probably the heat, I'm just feeling a little faint." He draped an arm over his head to demonstrate how faint he was feeling. He should have gone into acting, he thought ruefully, as Potter tittered over him, concern evident in each action.

Warm, competent hands reached for him, one taking gentle hold of his foot the other grasping his leg just above his ankle. "You're having a terrible go of it," he said, looking up at Draco with those guileless green eyes. "You're never going to want to come to one of my parties again."

Potter's magic washed through him, warm and bright, tingling around his ankle and Draco shivered with delightful anticipation.

"It doesn't seem like anything's broken," he said, "why don't we just go in and let you rest on the sofa." Without another word, he lifted him into his arms like Draco weighed nothing at all, and carried him inside once more.

"Thank you," he said, affecting a bit of helplessness in his voice. "I don't know what's the matter with me today."

"Probably the heat," Potter agreed, setting him down on the couch, rearranging the pillows to prop up Draco's leg. "Let me fetch you a glass of water. Are you in pain?" he asked as he moved toward the kitchen, "can I get you a potion for it?"

"Oh," he said, shaking his head, "I think I'll be fine in a few moments. You've been too kind already. I've been far too much trouble as it is," he demurred.

"Nonsense," Potter said, "You're no trouble at all." He carried the glass of water back to him and sat down on the sofa by Draco's hip.

Draco reached for the glass and took a long drink before letting his fingers skim over Potter's knee on the way to setting it on the table. On the way back, he casually brushed the back of his hand over the other man's thigh.

"Draco," Potter murmured.

"Yes, Potter?" he replied innocently before looking up and meeting his gaze.

The green of his eyes was burning bright and hot, and for just a moment, Draco couldn't breathe.

"Are you actually hurt or can I kiss you?" he asked.

In lieu of answering, Draco reached up and wrapped a hand around Potter's neck, pulling him down into a heated kiss.

A kiss that only got hotter and more desperate, escalating so quickly that before he knew what was happening Potter (and really, he thought wildly, he ought to start calling him Harry at this point) was climbing over him. He pressed him down onto the couch, straddling his hips, as his hands cupped Draco's face to angle it just right to deepen the kiss further. He let his hand stray down the muscular expanse of Potter's back toward his arse, fingertips just slipping below the waistband-

"Shit."

They both turned their heads in time to see that Neville and Blaise were standing in the doorway, gaping at the two of them.

"Sorry," Harry said, and Draco turned his head to find that Harry was looking at him with utter mortification.

And that simply wouldn't do. "Blaise," Draco said, staring straight into Harry's eyes, "be a dear and tell everyone that Potter's party is currently an outdoor only event and that he will no longer be available to attend to anyone's needs."

"Except your's apparently," Blaise said, smirk evident in his voice.

Harry buried his face in Draco's neck in a fit of shyness that Draco couldn't help but find adorable.

He smirked over at the other man, "except mine," he agreed. "Oh, and close the door on your way out."

The door clicked shut and Harry held out a hand, sending a wave of magic to lock it. He pulled back to look at Draco, "so what needs do you have that need attending to?" he asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Oh, come back here and I'm sure I can come up with something," he replied as he pulled the other man's body down and flush against his own.

And it proved that once Harry started, it was all too easy to continue giving him more needs to fulfill.

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Read more of my fics, if you'd like.

#drarry #silly #crushes #draco has a crush on harry and it's entirely mutual #wearing each other's clothes #fluff #boys kissing #Ginny is trying to help them get it together #jumping back into those gentle July prompts... in September. bro.#my writing is a hot mess right now #excuse the mess while i get my shit together #coming out of writers block swinging i guess.

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libraryofgage · 10 months

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A combo of 18 and 10? At some point Steve is told by Eddie's band mates that Eddie told them he doesn't actually like Steve. It's been a while but Steve still loves Eddie and wants to pretend for a night that it isn't true.

Okay, so I know you probably meant for this to be more angsty but I'm a fucking marshmallow and had to slip in the happy ending hfdjsk

Either way, I hope there's still enough angst for you!

Also, for reference, I usually call the unnamed freak Asher, so don't be surprised by the name lol

Prompts 18 and 10 from this prompt list:

10. “Let me call you mine, just for tonight.”

18. “Is hating me your only personality trait?”

You'll want to read the tags btw, I promise lol

---

"You know, Eddie doesn't actually like you."

Steve blinks, his pen dragging across the page and striking ink through Will's carefully written campaign story that he'd asked Steve to review. According to him, Steve was neutral, and his lack of D&D knowledge meant he'd be able to tell Will if the story made sense even to a new player.

Unfortunately, any thoughts of Will's campaign are disintegrated by Gareth's seven words. "What?" he asks, trying to blink away the daze as he looks at the rest of Corroded Coffin across the garage. He doesn't usually step foot into their practice space, but he and Eddie had plans to hang out after practice and Jonathan had helpfully dropped him off. Now he was just waiting for Eddie to get back from the bathroom.

"Eddie," Jeff says, "he doesn't like you. He told us."

"He won't fucking shut up about it, actually," Asher says, a grin tugging at his lips, and Steve thinks it looks particularly cruel.

In fact, their words so far have held an undertone of anticipation, like they were waiting for Steve's reaction. As cliche as it sounds, their grins feel like knives stabbing into him. It's not just his heart, it's Steve's entire body, like every inch of his being had only existed on the premise that Eddie Munson liked him at least a little bit. Not even romantically (Steve isn't that deluded), but as a friend.

"He...," Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, trying to keep his voice from breaking. Apparently, he doesn't do well, since Jeff's grin widens and Gareth's eyes light up, and Asher opens his mouth like he's ready to hammer the final nail in Steve's coffin.

Whatever they plan to say next is interrupted by Eddie finally returning and grinning at Steve. "Ready to go, Stevie?" he asks.

Suddenly the grin is mean, the nickname cruelly teasing, and Steve wonders how he went so long deluding himself that Eddie liked him. It hurts even more with his bandmates' words still playing in his head and their grins hidden behind Eddie's back like they're proud of breaking Steve's delusion.

"Uh, yeah, ready," Steve says, forcing his voice to sound normal as he closes Will's campaign notebook and follows Eddie to his van.

By the time they end the night at the Munson trailer, Steve feels frayed at the edges and three seconds from tearing in two. The entire evening, all he could think about was how much Eddie seemed to be covering his own dislike and how it bled through anyway. Every smile was sharp, every casual touch seemed hesitant and quick to end like Eddie couldn't pull away fast enough, and every glance seemed to pierce Steve with dislike and reinforce the shattering of his delusion.

At least the weed Eddie gave him when they got to his room is helping a little. It's filling his lungs with something other than hurt, clouding his mind with something other than doubt. It even stops the questions and stops him from wondering what he could have possibly done to make Eddie play some kind of long-con instead of just saying he didn't like Steve.

"Heeelloooo," Eddie says, waving his hand in front of Steve's face. "Anything going on in there, big boy?"

Steve blinks, his chest tightening as he looks up at Eddie. They're on the bed, with Eddie sitting next to him while Steve reclines against the pillows, his usual position that lets him stare at the ceiling. That mean grin is back, and Steve once again wonders how he ever mistook it for anything else. The words, too. How did he ever mistake those words for playful teasing?

And maybe it's the weed, but Steve can't stop himself from sitting up and asking, "Is hating me your only personality trait when we're together?" It's not even relevant. Steve knows that. He knows that Eddie hasn't done anything overtly hateful, but he can't help asking.

Eddie's grin falters. "Woah, woah, what are you talking about?"

"Why do you even hang out with me if you hate me so much?" Steve asks, steamrolling over whatever Eddie wanted to say by grabbing him by the shoulders. "Why don't you just tell me to fuck off? Why do you hang out with someone you don't even like? Is it funny to you? Do you enjoy tricking me?"

His voice is cracking by the end, and Eddie's eyes are wide, undoubtedly surprised that he's been caught in the act. And this time it's definitely the weed clouding Steve's mind and making him act on impulse because he can't be bothered to think as he grabs the collar of Eddie's jacket and pulls him closer. "You can punch me later, or run me over with your van if you hate me that much. But...but right now, just let me pretend I can call you mine, just for tonight."

Before Eddie can respond, before he can tell Steve to fuck off and kick him out of the trailer, Steve kisses him. Their teeth clack together painfully, and Steve is sure his lip has started bleeding, but he doesn't care. He's more focused on keeping his eyes squeezed shut, forcing his brain to delude him into thinking this is a happier kiss, that his eyes aren't stinging and two seconds from making the kiss salty.

They stay in an admittedly uncomfortable position for a few seconds before Eddie grabs Steve's waist and pushes him down against the pillows. Steve's surprised grunt is muffled by Eddie pushing his tongue past his lips, and he only has a brief moment to be relieved that Eddie is playing along when he suddenly pinches Steve's side and breaks the kiss.

Steve winces and opens his eyes, his body tensing when he sees Eddie staring down at him. The only thing he can hear is his own panting and the sirens screaming in his brain that he's truly, irrevocably fucked everything up.

"So," Eddie says, his voice surprisingly soft for someone about to rip Steve's heart out, "where'd you get the idea that I hate you?"

Steve shuts his mouth, biting his tongue as he looks away. That doesn't help much, though, since Eddie's hair has fallen around him in a wavy curtain that obscures his view of anything else. A few moments pass before Steve shifts uncomfortably and replies, "Your friends told me."

Eddie hums softly, holding himself steady with one arm on the pillow by Steve's head while the other tugs on a lock of Steve's hair. And it's only now that Steve realizes he's fucking surrounded, pressed into Eddie's mattress by Eddie's body with Eddie's hair cutting him off from the rest of the room. "And what, exactly, did they say, Stevie?" Eddie asks, his tone sharp and dancing like this entire situation is funny to him.

It's enough to distract Steve, leading his brain to lag behind as he tries desperately to remember what Gareth, Jeff, and Asher said. "You don't actually like me. You told them yourself. You won't shut up about not liking me," Steve finally says.

Something like recognition really sparks in Eddie's eyes, and his grin falls slightly. He looks ready to speak, but then he thinks better of it. His smile comes back, nearly full force, and he says, "They're right. I don't like you."

Oh. Steve acutely feels the breath get stolen out of his lungs, the way they ache as his heart sears with the pain of being ripped from his chest. His eyes are stinging even worse, and his nose feels astringent like he just walked into a bathroom with bleach spilled across the floor.

"I love you."

Steve blinks. "What?"

"I love you."

Yeah, it still doesn't make sense. "...are you sure?"

Eddie bursts out laughing, finally letting all his weight fall onto Steve so he can bury his face in Steve's shoulder. Steve is still blindsided, trying to get his brain and heart to get on the same page.

"Yes, I'm serious," Eddie says, raising his head to look at Steve. "I can guarantee they were fucking with you. If I hadn't come back, those fuckers would've revealed my massive crush on you."

"Massive," Steve mumbles, cursing the weed for inhibiting his ability to think properly.

Eddie's grin gets even wider, his eyes lighting up in a way that tells Steve he's about to roll his eyes at a dumb joke. "Yeah, almost as massive as I am," Eddie says, playfully grinding his hips down on Steve like their jeans aren't in the way.

Steve was right. He does roll his eyes. And it helps him shake some of the daze, allows him to pull himself out of the fog of doubt and spiraling thoughts. "Fuck off," he says, placing a hand on Eddie's face and pushing him away.

"Well, if you insist," Eddie says playfully, exaggerating movements of getting up only for Steve to grab his arm and pull him back. "You're really giving me mixed signals here, sweetheart."

"You really love me?" Steve asks, ignoring Eddie's joke.

"Of course, Stevie. What's not to love?"

And there's such genuine emotion in Eddie's voice that Steve represses the urge to ask if he wants the list in chronological or alphabetical order. "Okay, then you can't be angry when I fucking murder your friends."

Eddie laughs and pushes his head into Steve's neck like a cat, playfully biting his throat. "I'll help you."

"Are we moving too fast by plotting murder for our first date?"

"We went through an Eldritch nightmare together, sweetheart."

Steve concedes to that point, reaching up and idly running his fingers through Eddie's hair. They occasionally snag on a few tangles, and Steve resists the urge to get a hairbrush. "Right," he says, a smile tugging at his lips, "then we should plan a romantic murder date."

And Steve feels Eddie's smile on his skin, tries to commit the sensation to memory, and feels immeasurable relief at the fact that it won't be the last time Eddie smiles against him like this.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie angst #steddie fluff #steve harrington #eddie munson #corroded coffim #listen they try their best and they do not fucking succeed #it was meant to be a joke that got steddie together but eddie ruined it by coming back to soon according to them #they don't get murdered by eddie gets revenge by being even more annoying about steve #and steve holds it against them for the rest of their fucking lives like “hey remember that time you convinced me eddie hated my guts :) ”#my writing #prompt list

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vox-ex · 9 months

Text

Give me your hand

SCBB 2023

Kara just wants to protect Lena, but when has it ever been that simple. Over the course of one night, Lena and Kara let fear and ghosts unravel as they learn how to hold onto each other again.

Read it here or on AO3

_____

I had the unexpected chance to write something else for this year's @supercorpbb and I am so excited for you all to see the art that was the reason I was expected to say yes to the opportunity! Please go take a look and send some love to @guessimreallyhere

_____

Lena sighs, rolling onto her back as she listens to the raindrops ping off the windows before they made their way to the pavement below, the monotonous rhythm making the city feel heavy and frantic despite the late hour and stillness of the streets. Her fingers trace the path of the fading bruises and angry red lines of shallow cuts that stood in stark contrast to her pale skin—every mark on her body, a testament to the cruel irony of the unforgiving laws of motion.

It had been an almost tragedy in three acts.

The burst of heat that came first, the explosion that came after, but like always — never quite the fall.

Only Kara.

Her body in front of her.

Her cape spread around her.

Her weight pressed against her.

One body in motion meeting another not.

And how many times must Kara have caught her in the same way?

Held her in the same way?

But the universe does not concern itself with those kinds of odds.

And so the fall did come, after all, just in a different way.

Lena could still feel the ghost of her arms around her. She winces as she recalls the sound of her ribs cracking under the impact of them. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the anguished look on Kara's face when she realized what had happened — the frantic look in her eyes, the trembling in her hands, the breathless apologies that slipped out over and over and over through lungs that couldn't hold enough air to keep up.

She turns and glances at the clock— 11:50pm — she wonders how it was possible it could be the same day still, time feeling as fragmented as the rest of her. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she feels the ache of her body and the deeper pain of something else. She pulls a coat over the sweater that hung loose from her shoulders, the smell of sun-drenched wool and worn leather mixing with the heady scent of rain and asphalt as she stepped outside.

----

Kara's knees buckled as she landed heavily, the floor creaking beneath her, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She pressed her shaking hands hard enough against her ears until she could almost forget the sound of Lena's body hitting hers.

Too hard.

Too fast.

She had been too slow.

Too uncontrolled.

And she should have stayed.

But didn't.

Couldn't.

So she left.

Ran. Flew.

She flew so fast the city underneath had blurred, luminous smears streaking across her vision like stars disappearing until they became indistinguishable from every other bit of sky and stars and empty expanse of space she ever found herself in. Maybe she's disappearing again too. Maybe she never came back. Maybe she shouldn't have come back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered over and over and over. "I'm sorry," her broken voice matching the hurried but steady rhythm of Lena's distant heart, promising her at least one more chance.

But how many times had she saved the world, only to fail again and again at protecting one single person in it, the same single person in it?

How many more chances could there be?

The cape on her shoulders felt heavy and cumbersome.

The sigil on her chest pressed in against her lungs.

It felt hard to breathe with them on.

Hard to stay standing.

She tore and pulled at them both until they lay in a pile on the floor.

What good had they done anyway?

She sank down beside them.

What good had she been anyway?

----

Lena pulls the key to Kara's apartment from the patterned groove it had worn into her pocket; the edges softened a little by its use over the past weeks.

But unlike the quiet that used to greet her, that only ever felt empty, this quiet was overwhelming, like it had a weight to it.

Pieces of Kara's suit littered the floor, rain pooling under the heavy fabric.

"Kara?" Lena whispered as she moved into the room.

"Don't!" Kara's choked sob broke the imprint of stillness.

Lena could barely see her pressed against the shadows.

"Don't," Kara said again, almost a plea, quieter, softer, but no less desperate. Her shoulders trembled, the hands knotted in her hair and around her knees, trying to hold herself together. She looked as if she had been put away in pieces, too.

Slowly, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting Lena's for the briefest of moments before she looked away, tears glistening on her cheeks. "I can't," her voice raw with pain. "I hurt you — I always hurt you."

Lena kneels down next to her, her hands and her heart, aching to prove her wrong.

"I think we've both done our share of hurting each other."

"I just want to protect you, but instead, every time, every single time, I just..." Kara murmurs, her breath hitching in her chest as she fights to keep the panic at bay.

"You did protect me," Lena cuts her off gently. The words you 'you always have' left for another time, another conversation.

"These hands," she said, reaching towards her slowly.

Kara's gaze flitts between Lena's eyes and her hands.

"They're not going to hurt me," Lena assures her. "Trust me," her fingers brush against Kara's arm, the contact fleeting but grounded with intention, "trust that I know what I can bear."

"You shouldn't have to bear it." Kara looks away, her hand twitching, open and close, open and close.

"Kara," Lena reaches for her hand,"...can I just..." fingers brushing against trembling skin.

Kara closes her eyes, and gently, Lena draws both their hands up, fingers laced together.

She had become familiar with Kara's touch. With its strength. With its warmth. Its gentleness. Its tenderness. It is a wonder that her hands alone never gave her away. But it has been a long time since they have been close in that way, have let themselves be close in that way, were allowed to be close in that way.

She had missed it — missed her.

Had ached to see if was still as she remembered it.

It is.

She remembers it again in the gentleness of fingertips that lift her chin, tilting her jaw to ease away the purple and blue edges blooming under her skin. Feels it again in the warmth of her palms as they press just under the hem of her shirt and across the skin they find there.

"Even after everything I've done?" Kara asks, her voice cracking under the weight of guilt and doubt, and every other ghost lay bare. "Even after all the pain I've caused?"

"Hey, look at me," Lena urges gently, her fingers curling around Kara's wrists to draw her gaze upward, pulling Kara's focus back to her.

"It's not your decision. I choose to bear it because I choose you. Just like you bear everything for me...choose me." Lena replies firmly, her gaze never wavering from Kara's tear-streaked face.

"Okay," she whispers, the word fragile. "Together."

"Always," Lena vows.

----

Slowly, Kara's hands become her own again.

When they do, she reaches up once more.

Gently, she brushes a strand from Lena's face, tucking it behind her ear. Her finger lingering, tracing one more time the line of Lena's jaw. They stay a little longer this time, and she can feel the way Lena turns into the touch, the way she lets her head fall just a little into her hand. She thinks maybe it says something about the irrationality of the universe that one of the heaviest things she has ever carried would fit so perfectly into her palm.

"You're cold," she murmurs, more fact than question, feeling for the first time the small shivers and flecks of rain on Lena's skin.

Lena nods, the movement barely perceptible, and something unspoken passes between them – a quiet understanding, a shared vulnerability.

And with a gentle determination, Kara does the thing she wished she had hours ago. She takes care of her. She leans in just a little first, reaches out slowly, gives Lena time to pull away or maybe herself to, but neither of them do. Kara slips her arms around her then, one threading itself under her knees and the other around her back, and as she stands Lena curls towards the warmth of her chest.

Together, they move through the dimly lit room and Kara sets her on the edge of the bed.

"Let me get you something to wear" she says softly, turning around to pull out a heavy sweatshirt and a pair of soft cotton boxers. Lena winces slightly at the pull on her bruised ribs as she lifts her arms up to take them and Kara's brow creases with concern.

"Do you? C-can I?" she tries to get the words to settle into any one question.

"Just the sweater maybe."

Their hands work together once more, easing the slightly damp sweater over Lena's head.

She's slow and careful still, will always be careful with Lena, the word itself repeating over and over with every brush of a hand against chilled skin, with every trace of fingertips along the small scars she found both old and new.

She didn't realized she had stopped, her thumb running back and forth, back and forth, over one small scar at the base of Lena's collarbone, until the lilt of Lena's voice breaks through.

"Hey. You with me still?"

Kara looks at the scar, but it's not guilt that settles in her stomach, it's something else.

"I won't always be able to protect you."

And this was a different kind of confession altogether. Because even if Kara could protect Lena from her, there was a whole world set against them too.

"No, no you won't."

Lena puts the sweatshirt down in her lap and places her hand over Kara's chest instead.

"But I won't always be able to protect you either."

Kara looks down at the sweatshirt again, notices the faded MIT logo, realizes that she wasn't the one who put it in her drawer, places it instead in her mind among the other peices of Lena she had been finding in her apartment since she'd been back. Little hints of how the world had moved without her in it, the people that came and went. Those that stayed.

She lifts Lena's hand off of her chest. Presses a kiss to her palm before letting it back down.

She turns away to give Lena privacy, feeling a gentle tug on her arm when she was done changing.

"Lay down with me" she asks, but it isn't really a question.

Kara nods all the same, the mattress dipping under their weight, but it settles quickly, as do they. It's odd to feel so still in the aftermath of so much motion.

"I like that your hands are always so warm," Lena said, her voice barely more than a breath. "I missed that."

"Really?" Kara asks, her heart swelling at the admission.

"Really," Lena affirms, her own hand coming up to cover Kara's where it rests against her cheek. "I always noticed it, but then we weren't close anymore and then you were gone. So it's... it's a reminder that you came back, but also that I am close enough to know that about you again."

Kara lets her forehead rest against Lena's, breathing in the comforting scent of her. The rain that still clings lightly to her hair, dampening Kara's shirt, but she doesn't mind. She would ruin every part of herself long before she let go of her again.

"It was always cold there. I don't um, I don't usually feel cold here, but there, it was always cold. And dark. And the darkness could have been okay I think, after everything, it's something that I've learned to carry with me, but the cold just never went away. I still feel it sometimes. When something goes wrong, or when I worry something isn't real, my hands get cold and there's this moment where I'm sure I'm there again."

Lena brings her hand up resting it over Kara's heart as she tucks herself into Kara's side just a little further. Kara releases a shaky breath, focusing on the sensation of Lena's touch. Any cold quickly receding.

"You're here."

"I'm here." She confirms, tightening her hold on Lena, drawing her in, before pulling back just a little, brushing her thumb over her cheek.

"And you're here."

Lena's eyes flutter shut at the contact, hands coming up to grasp loosely at the front of Kara's shirt.

"I am."

And the world, with all its uncertainty and ceaseless motion, seemed to be held back, at least for one night, by that one piece of tangible proof.

----

Kara had laid awake all night, daring the darkness to try and take this from her, too. But it was dawn now, and there was nothing left to fight. Lena was still there. She could still feel where her fingers had passed through the ends of her hair, could still feel where she had left kisses pressed into her skin, could feel the weight of her head laid across her chest and the warmth of her body next to hers.

There had been no ghosts to chase away that morning. There was only Lena. Nothing but Lena. Nothing but Lena's hand as it slid along her ribs, nothing but her hair as it brushed her bare skin, nothing but her breath against her ear. Nothing and everything tethered together. She realizes then she was clinging to Lena, her arm trembling to keep her close. As if to say to gravity and anyone else that they couldn't have her yet. But when Kara looks up at the corners of the room; they were bright in a way that hadn't quite reached the rest of the room yet, like the world too was giving them just a little more time together before the rest of it demanded their attention.

And she would have lied there just like that until it did. If not for the gentle press of a kiss against her cheek.

Kara tilts her head down to look at Lena, who was staring back at her with a soft smile.

"Good morning," Lena whispers, her voice still heavy with sleep.

Kara's eyes trace the morning light spreading across the healing bruises on her skin and in the flecks of gold in her eyes.

"Good morning," Kara replies, her voice barely above a whisper still weary of the world pressing in and still hesitant about her ability to keep it out, to protect Lena from it and her and all the other things that could cause her harm.

"Cold?" Lena asks, running her fingers through Kara's disheveled locks, pushing them out of her face. The question heavy with what it really asked.

"No." Kara shakes her head, cupping Lena's cheek, her thumb running over the delicate skin.

"How about you?"

Lena reaches across and takes Kara's other hand threading their fingers together and holding their joined hands up for Kara to see.

"Never with you"

Kara sits up, pulling Lena gently onto her lap. She runs her hands along the bruises she could see and the ones she couldn't. If she couldn't always protect her then she could at least always be there to take care of her. And for all the times she hadn't before, she lets herself in that moment ask forgiveness. Lets her body and her hands and the gentle press of lips say all the things she should have all along.

#sg prompts #supercorp #supergirl #scbb 2023 #supercorp big bang 2023 #scbb things #listen they all just need hugs #and a break from the universe messing with them #back on this thing called angst with a hopeful ending #I love it when artists and writers get together #please go take a look at the artwork #it’s perfect

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spaceratprodigy · 3 months

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*gulp* deacon/iris "please just kiss me" intimacy ask........ NYE party- (i am shot)

@oldworldwidgets — [ intimacy prompts ]

It's in the stars, it's been written in the scars on our hearts

We're not broken, just bent, and we can learn to love again

pose reference

#if u need me I'm gonna be on the floor thinking abt the doomed love of the disaster besties #aud.. aud my love my darling.. this little scene we crafted has been rotating nonstop in my brain for months #it has fundamentally ruined me #but it's so perfect it hurts so good I love seeing the lines blurring I love them not being able to get it right #struggling to communicate through the heartache *chefs kiss*#him.. him being the one to ask..#I am unwell you are always sending me banger prompts my dear AND you always know how to help put my chaotic ramblings in the perfect words #OUGH miss aud oldworldwidgets I love you with my entire heart and soul you are such a ray of sunshine in my life #also I still have the other two intimacy prompts u sent me for them in my back pocket.....#I've had some ideas of how they can spend the night on the roof under the stars together......#more on that later #ANYWAY #ilysm I am blowing you so many kisses rn #finally the people get to know who miss iris really kissed on new years eve on this fine day of *checks watch* valentine's day #(sorry nicky ✌😔 just bestie things u know how it is)#my art #sole survivor #fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #deacon #deacon fallout 4 #deacon fo4 #oc x canon

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pollyna · 10 months

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5 times through the years, Bradley sees Iceman, the navy pilot, and then the rising Admiral and learns almost nothing about him + 1 Bradley not only sees him but also gets to know him and Tom.

#am i back to my bullshit? more than you think.#bradley rooster bradshaw #tom iceman kazansky #implied:#icemav #carole gets a new boyfriend and his name is sam but he's not merlin #bradley rooster bradshaw & tom iceman kazansky #they are estranged for most of bradley's life but then (after the mission) the get to know each other #carole bradshaw lives #mav and ice are together for all the ride they even get married but bradley is too small to remember #prompt

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dumplingsjinson · 2 years

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heyyy, how are u? can u do "when they want to get back together after broke up and spending time away from each other" dialogues please? I'm struggling with this at the end of my story :(

List of getting back together/making up prompts

“I’m not the only one who wants us to have a do-over, right?” “…No, you’re not the only one.”

“I know it’s been a long time, but I just… I miss you. And I was hoping we could start over.”

“I could search far and wide but no one could ever make me feel the way you do. It’s always you, and I think it will always be you.”

“I messed up by breaking up with you, because ever since then, I’ve been missing you everyday.”

“Let’s… Let’s take this nice and easy? Ease back into it?”

“Can we be each other’s again?”

“I miss being us so fucking badly.” “You know what? Same. I want us back.”

“Just… Just give me another chance to love you again, in the way you deserve to be loved. I swear I won’t let you down again this time.”

“I think we’re one of those rare things deserving of a second chance.”

“The thought of you being someone else’s has made me realise how much I can’t let you go like this.”

“I wanna make us work again, if you’re willing.” “God, of course I’m willing.”

“I’ve had a really good think about… Us. And I think we should definitely give this thing another go.”

“You think we’re salvageable?” “We wouldn’t know if we didn’t try.”

“I think the only way for you to get out of my head is for you to be in my arms again.” “That doesn’t make any sense.” “Oh, for God’s— you know what I mean.”

“Let’s both be better this time, yeah?”

#getting back together prompts #making up prompts #writing prompts #dialogue prompts #prompts #otp prompts #angst prompts #request #as you can see i have way too much free time lmfao

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nerdpoe · 3 months

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Damian gets hit with the Fenton Ghost Catcher; the giant dream catcher that splits a ghost from a person.

This happens in front of the new Superman, who proceeds to Lose His Fucking Mind at seeing his younger friend go from lively and talking to cold and still on the ground. Because Jon can't see Damian's ghost.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #phanfic #story prompt #the fentons were at a convention with it #there was a fight where Robin and Superman were working together #and it fell on Robin #now Superman is uh #well #“angry” would be too kind a word #damian meanwhile is flattered and also pissed #flattered because jon really would kill someone for damian #pissed because nothing is working and he can't get back to his body

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remarcely · 1 month

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Non-Human Tim Drake Prompt

The Drakes were unable to bear a child, so they made one.

They used clay from their dig sites, having come across grounds so imbued with magic that it was pouring out of the material in waves, and shapes a child- a little boy. He had Janet's smile, Jacks eyes, and a chunk of ruby, chipped off from an artifact the couple had found years ago, in place of a heart. They'd dried the clay child for thirty days and thirty nights, carefully checking him for cracks and crumbling patches. On the morning of the thirty-first day he opened his eyes and Timothy Drake was ‘born’.

He had once asked what power created him. Tim had heard of the tales of a puppet boy, so loved by his father that a fairy bestowed him with life, and asked his mother if the same fairy had blessed him. Janet had laughed, not taking him seriously, and patted his cheek.

“Oh, my darling, you weren’t made for no reason. You are the heir to the Drake name, a perfect little creation.” She stood from where she’d been crouched and began to leave the room, not bothering to look over her shoulder “Fairies are not real, Timothy, and neither is ‘true love’. There is only us and our requisites. You will placate our plans in a way flesh and blood never could.”

Tim understands the words his mother isn’t saying. Love had nothing to do with it, only necessity for a child to keep something so arbitrary as a name alive.

He wasn’t their son, he was a vessel, and if he wanted to remain a Drake then he’d need to serve his purpose;

Perfection.

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puppetmaster13u · 4 months

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Prompt 171

Danny would like everyone to know it was a complete accident. Look, normally he was really good at not altering the timeline! He was!

But the dude was definitely not in the right Time, and he had to get his trust which took so long, like damn he thought he had anxiety. Seriously though, kevlar in the 1700s? Yeah that wasn’t right, and Peepaw always complained about the messes that the speedsters caused, so he was trying to prevent a mess by tugging the dude away and helping him out.

Falling in love maybe a little, was not in the plan. But honestly the man had a worse sense of self preservation than he did as a teen and was also straight up adorable, in a wet cat who could kill you sort of way.

So maybe he helped the dude grab a child that was going to be drowned. It wasn’t like anyone else saw them! Even if similar situations might’ve happened a few different times.

Still, no one saw them!

So why is there now a small cult who worships the Shadowed one and Radiant one, aka his companion (who would not give his name save for B, which, fair, probably didn’t want to accidentally wreck the timeline either) and well, him?! At least they worship them as guardians of children, but uh. Should he maybe, perhaps, fix this…?

#dcxdp #dpxdc #prompts #Spirit Halloween #Danny is in fact an Adult in this #He helps CW out with time stuff & getting stuff that fell through natural portals back to the Zone #Does Danny ever mention his affection for Bruce during their travels together? No.#Was it obvious to literally everyone else who was not Bruce? Yes #Danny is inwardly dying while learning about the cult he accidentally made because they decided that the Radiant One & Shadowed One are lov #Tim has a way easier time proving Bruce is in the past when he stumbles across one of the organization’s meetings #The cult-isn’t-exactly-a-cult and more like a minor religion focusing on the protection of children #Bruce is going to have a headache when he gets back to modern day #Hey he at least still has that cloak of shadows that his travelling companion (Call me D then.) gave him to help hide his not time appropri #League: Batman is dead #RR barging in: Batman is alive & in the past & definitely met some sort of higher being or spirit or something #League: Who the fuck are you-

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frankthesnek · 3 months

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Hello can I get soft kiss 7 for Stony?

Okay, okay so all the other kiss prompt fills have been soft and fluffy and cute. This one gave me angst vibes. I hope thats okay 💕

Come Home Again

Rated G

Prompt: sharing a kiss after not seeing eachother for an extended period of time

750 words

The room was dark when Tony opened his eyes, a dull depthless darkness that was a far cry different from the mystical and star spotted blackness he'd been surrounded by in space.

Right… he was back.

Thinking was normally an easy task for Tony, but recalling the events that led him here was difficult and physically taxing. He remembered landing, remembered clinging to Nebula and limping down the ramp, remembered—

“Steve?” The word was horse and croaking as it left his lips. Steve's hands on his arm and shoulder, too tight and almost painful on his depleted worn out body, the solid heat at his side as Steve had helped him inside—that he remembered, but in a too good to be true dreamy way he wasn't sure he should believe.

“Tony?"

The sound of his name was startling, and Tony flinched harshly before sluggishly turning his head to find Steve sitting off to the side of his bed. His face was shadowed, the plains and angles of it illuminated gently by the subtle glow of the nano tech arc. Why did Steve have it?

“I'm sorry for pushing you like that,” Steve's words were hollow, his eyes downcast to the reactor.

Oh.

Tony closed his eyes against the returning memory. Steve’s questions, his own lunatic ramblings as he fell apart. They had ended on fighting so long ago and wound up the same way this time around. The cold of Siberia seemed better than the chemical fresh chill of the medical bay. He had been left alone and cold and broken hearted back then, but at least his spirit had still been intact. It felt like now he'd lost even that.

“It's fine,” Tony mumbled back softly, opening his eyes to find Steve now looking at him. The reactor's light was obscured by Steve's large palm curling around it, the duller lighting making his face look dark and sad.

“It was selfish,” the other man countered. “I shouldn't have—”

“No. No, no, nonono,” the word tumbled out of Tony in a weak and droning mantra, forcing Steve into silence. Tony went quiet too. Breathing and collecting his thoughts, chasing them like scared animals hiding in the fog of his brain. So much had happened, so much had gone wrong. He didn't want this with Steve. Couldn't handle it—not now. Later, later, there would be time for talking and healing and explanations. All the things they had destroyed and that had been lost between them—it wouldn't, couldn't be forgotten but right now, none of it mattered.

“I don't want to argue. I don't want to fight. I'm done fighting. We lost. We lost so much,” the words were fucking bitter—sharp and painful in his too tight dry throat.

“Tony,” Steve stood and moved to the edge of the bed, placing the reactor on the sheets. Its calming blue a bright contrast to the bland white of them.

“I don't care right now about all of our fuck ups—not yours, not mine. Steve, I just wanna come home.” Tony didn't realize the words had brought him to tears until Steve's palm settled over his cheek. Cupping gently like so many times in the past. Tony turned his face into the contact. “I wanna go home,” softer this time, the words spoken into the battle calloused skin of Steve's palm.

“You are home, honey,” Steve said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re home.”

When Steve leaned down over him, the moment felt too long and drawn out. The few seconds it took for Steve's lips to meet his a back breaking straw on top of all the time they had been apart—all the touches they had robbed themselves of.

Tony pressed back simply, not having the energy for more than the firm contact of a couple grounding pecks. Steve lingered, like he always did. His soft mouth brushed tenderly along Tony's jaw, and he felt his stubble catch against the supple softness of the other man's lips.

“You're home now. Get some rest,” Steve whispered into his cheek.

Tony closed his eyes again, barely registering the dip and shift in the bed, already fading back into exhausted sleep. It was only when he heard the steady thump under his ear that he realized Steve had laid down with him; had shifted them so Tony was curled atop him, head pillowed on Steve's powerful chest.

He was home. It was a broken home—cracked picture frames, and unmade beds, and cobweb filled closets—but the foundation was still there. Strong and sturdy, and everything he needed.

#asks #answers #thank you!#angst #getting back together #maybe #post endgame #writing prompt #prompt fic #stony #stevetony #drabble #ficlet #writblr

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