I've been itchin for some good old fashioned steddie hurt/comfort, maybe steve with migraines? I know its been written a lot, but its always so soft and loving
Okay so this took FOREVER but muse deserted me like. Two days after I asked for these prompts. I’m terrible 😂 but I finally feel like I have something, so hopefully this suffices!
Courtesy of my dad putting a meat thermometer in the car on a 110°F/43°C day:
155.5°F, y’all. 68°C. That’s hot, no matter where you’re from. I’m not from Indiana, so I’m gonna go a little easy on Steve and say it’s barely breaching triple digits where he’s at, but if anyone’s from Indiana and wants to correct me, then by all means, please do!
It’s the heat that finally gets him.
Steve can deal with rain, with snow, with wind, hell, he can deal with interdimensional creatures.
But the heat is what finally takes him out.
His ears are ringing, his head is pounding, his stomach is churning.
The kids are out in the backyard, screaming.
He’d been out there with them, supervising, playing, settling fights. Being the babysitter. But he’d overdone it, and now he’s stuck inside. Can’t move from where he’d collapsed into a kitchen chair.
He’s got a cold Coke can by his elbow that he snagged from the fridge. Contemplates grabbing it and holding it up to his forehead, but everything feels like too much work right now, and he shuts his eyes against the tears that want to come.
The back door opens just as Dustin begins screaming about something else, and Steve can’t hold in the whimper, or the way he curls in on himself.
“Shit,” someone whispers, and Steve hears their footsteps approaching. “Steve?”
It’s Eddie. He’s whispering. Steve’s never been more grateful. He manages half a nod, to show he’s listening.
“Can I touch you?”
Another half-nod, and he grimaces at his head and stomach yelling at him.
“Okay, hey, shh, it’s okay, don’t move. I’m just gonna grab your hand, okay?” He does, grabbing the hand Steve hadn’t realized was tugging at his hair. He holds Steve’s hand with one of his and with the other, rakes his fingers through Steve’s hair.
Steve leans over a little, closer to Eddie, letting out a breath of relief. “Squeeze my hand once for yes, twice for no, okay?”
Steve squeezes once, and Eddie lifts their joined hands to his mouth, kisses the back of Steve’s. “Okay. Headache?” A squeeze. “More?” Another squeeze. “Stomach?” Squeeze. “More?” Squeeze. Pause. “Can you point to it?” He points to his ear with their combined hands, and Eddie hums. “Ringing?” Squeeze. “Dizzy?”
No squeeze. He’s not sure. “Okay, that’s alright. D’you want the coke?” Two squeezes. “Okay. If I get you some water, d’you think you can drink some of it?”
A hesitant squeeze. He can try, sure, but he’s not sure it won’t come right back up. Eddie squeezes his hand, gently places it on the table, and kisses his forehead before moving away, getting a bottle of water from the fridge by the sound of it. He comes back quickly, lays a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder and rubs it down his back for a second.
Steve sighs, bowing his head, and Eddie chuckles softly, placing the water down in favor of getting both hands on Steve’s shoulders. He squeezes and kneads his thumbs in, on either side of his spine, down to the middle of his back and up to the base of his skull.
He continues with the massage for a few minutes, until Steve’s practically melting onto the table, then drags one hand down his arm to his hand, taking it again so Steve can squeeze. “Did you take anything for your headache?”
A pause, because he’s berating himself for not thinking of that when it would’ve been the most effective, then two squeezes. Because Eddie’s perfect, he says, “That’s alright, Stevie, I know it’s hard. Let me get you something for your head. You want something for your stomach, too?” Steve could cry with how in love he is. He squeezes twice and hopes Eddie doesn’t notice the tear making its way down his cheek.
Eddie’s lips intercept it about halfway down. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, carding a hand through Steve’s hair again. “I know. You’re doing so well, Stevie, I’m so proud of you. The kids are okay, and I’m here to help for as long as you want me to, alright?”
One last squeeze before Eddie pulls away. Forever, he means, and the lips on his temple make him think Eddie understands.
He’s back in a few seconds with two pills. He hands them to Steve, but they’re small and he thinks he might drop them, might spill the water, so he presses them back into Eddie’s hand.
Another pause but Eddie understands a few seconds later and the pills are at his lips, and he’s opening for them, accepting the water that’s next, slowing down when Eddie murmurs. “Careful, slow sips. Just a little for now, you can do more in a minute, just let this settle first.” He pulls the glass away, sets it down on the table, and takes Steve’s hand again. “How about we go upstairs? Maybe take a bath? I think there’s some of that lavender oil still.” Squeeze, pause. Upstairs. Squeeze, pause. Bath. Two squeezes. Lavender.
Eddie seems to understand, thankfully. “Okay, no lavender. Want me to carry you up?”
Not for the first time, and probably not for the last time, Steve internally curses his parents for buying the biggest, grandest house they could. He squeezes once; even if he would prefer to walk, he’s not sure he can right now.
Eddie moves to crouch beside him, pressing another kiss to his temple. “I love you,” he whispers, lips brushing Steve’s temple still. “So much.” He gets his arms around Steve, adjusts a little, and counts down so Steve knows when he’s going to move. Steve loves him an insane amount.
Instead of saying anything, he loops an arm around Eddie’s neck, tucks his head into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and presses a kiss to Eddie’s collarbone.
Eddie gets him upstairs and in bed with minimal jostling. “I’m gonna go grab your water real quick,” he whispers. “D’you want the bath now, or later?” He quickly thrusts a hand back into Steve’s. “One for now, two for later.”
Steve thinks about it, honestly doesn’t know. Holds up a weak-feeling w to his chin. Water.
“Okay. I’m gonna let the gremlins know too, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Logically, Steve knows he will be back in a few minutes. He knows he’s in a sweat-soaked tank top and swimming trunks. But it’s somehow cooler upstairs than down, and his window is closed, and his head is pounding less, enough so that he’s falling asleep by the time Eddie makes it back up.
He startles awake when Eddie places a hand on his forehead, then winces when his movement causes everything to hurt more. “Shit,” Eddie whispers. “Sorry, baby, didn’t think you’d be asleep yet. Can you drink a little bit more water for me? Then we can sleep.
Steve frowns, lifts a clumsy hand to sign. Bath?
“Do you want one right now? Because I’ll go set it up if you do. But I think your body knows what you need right now and is trying to give it to you.”
Steve thinks it over, then agrees, asking for water again. “Yeah, of course, here, lemme just…” he maneuvers behind Steve, props him up some, and lifts the bottle to his lips. “Small sips, baby, it’ll be here later too, m’kay?”
Steve obeys, taking small, slow sips, tilting his head up when he’s finished. Eddie places a kiss on his cheek as he puts the bottle back on the table. “Go to sleep, baby,” he murmurs, laying them down. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Steve frowns, signs one more word. Kids?
“I let them know you’re not feeling well. They’re packing up, Nancy and Jonathan are gonna take everyone home. Robin threatened me with dismemberment if I didn’t tell you to call her when you’re feeling better.” Steve smiles. “Oh, sure, just laugh at a threat to me, what’s gonna happen when-” he splutters when Steve puts his hand over Eddie’s mouth. He grins, kisses his palm, and grabs his wrist, slotting his thumb into the pulse point. “Love you, Stevie.”
With the hand still held aloft, Steve sticks out his thumb, pointer finger, and pinky. I love you. And with that, he drifts off to sleep.
When he wakes up, the little bit of light coming from his window tells him he’s only been out for a few hours. He takes stock of himself: his head still hurts a little, his ears aren’t ringing anymore, and his stomach still feels a little weird, but he thinks he might just be hungry.
He rolls onto his side and comes face-to-face with a sleeping Eddie. As he watches, Eddie’s brows scrunch, he mutters something, and he stretches out, one arm creeping across the sheets towards Steve. His hand pushes against Steve’s chest a few times before he mutters something else and wraps his arm around Steve, pulling him closer.
Steve can’t help it. He grins and kisses Eddie’s forehead, so in love with this dork he’s just about shaking with it.
Eddie’s eyebrows scrunch again and his eyes flicker open. He smiles at Steve. “Hi, baby,” he whispers, sleep-rough. “How’re you feelin’?”
“Better,” Steve whispers back. “Head still hurts a little, but it’s not bad. Mostly I’m hungry.”
Eddie hums, tucking his head under Steve’s and rubbing a hand up and down his back. “What’re you in the mood for?”
Steve hums back. “Feels good. I dunno. Think there’s any burgers left? Might do one of those.”
He can feel the face Eddie makes. More so, he can hear it in his voice. “You want leftover burgers?”
Steve lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “It’s easy.”
“Stevie. Baby.” Eddie pulls back to press a kiss to his lips. “I asked you what you want, not what would be easy. If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”
Steve thinks about it, then starts laughing. “Honestly? McDonald’s.”
Eddie chuckles too. “Then McDonald’s you shall get,” he swears. “Wanna come with me or stay here?”
Steve’s brows raise in surprise. “I can get it, Eds.”
“I know you can. I’m asking if you want to come with me or if you’d rather stay in bed.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “I’d rather stay in bed with you,” he says, causing Eddie to smile.
“Ah, but we can do that after I get your food. You want your regular?”
“Yes, please. Think I’d rather stay here, if that’s okay. I think the sun might make the headache worse.”
“That’s fine,” Eddie soothes, standing up then bending over to press a kiss to Steve’s temple. “Be back soon.”
“M’kay. Thanks, baby.”
“Anything for my love,” Eddie grins, bowing before he walks to the door.
Steve chuckles and shakes his head at his boyfriend’s dramatics, shifting in bed to get comfy again.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when Eddie walks in, he blinks awake, stretching as he smiles at him. “Hi, baby,” Eddie whispers.
Steve wants to kiss him, so he does, sits up and drags Eddie closer, food all but forgotten. “Hi,” he whispers against Eddie’s lips. “Thank you.”
Eddie hums as he kisses Steve once more then pulls away. “Anything,” he says, and Steve knows he means it.
They eat in relative silence until Steve asks, “how’d the kids react when you told them?”
Eddie smiles. “They were mostly worried for you. I think Dustin was about to bust inside and demand why you didn’t tell him you weren’t feeling well, but then Nancy gave him a look—you know the one—and told him in no uncertain terms that they were going to leave you to rest and could check in on you tomorrow. So expect a call from him.”
“Or twelve,” Steve chuckles. “Speaking of, I should probably call Robin, huh?”
“Probably,” Eddie agrees, then grins. “Or I can think of something else we could do instead.”
Steve pretends to think about it, then leans in. “Robin can wait,” he agrees, matching Eddie’s grin with his own.
who’s that twink redhead next to jon sims? it surely cant be martin blackwood renowned bear and fat man. no no because see, that stranger is all twinked up and cannot be my hunky beloved fat and handsome man Martin Blackwood. how foolish it would be to even entertain that idea. oh. what? that is martin is it? oh.. grand.
Goldenheart question. Who do you think proposes? Ballister or Ambrosius?
Bonus on how they would do it? ✌️🌈
OKAY SO. I thought about this for like five minutes. decided something. and then I changed my mind like five times. and then I was like “hmm. fic time”
I know you just asked for my thoughts but I hope you enjoy this!!
Ballister had a plan.
He loved Ambrosius. Of course he did. He’d loved him when they were classmates at the Institute, loved him when they snuck onto the roof at night to talk, loved him when they became knights, and loved him when the wall came down. He’d loved him for as long as he could remember, so of course he loved him when he looked up from his crossword puzzle and saw Ambrosius dancing in the kitchen, wearing a pair of Ballister’s pajama pants, holding a pancake batter-covered spatula and looking more carefree than he’d looked in months.
He’d marry Ambrosius in a heartbeat. He’d get on a train right then and elope with him if he asked, but he thought his partner deserved something bigger, something romantic, something grand and joyful after all of the stress and responsibility he’d been shouldering since the Director’s demise.
Hence, The Plan.
Nimona had been… mostly helpful. Ballister approached her one afternoon, after Ambrosius had left for work, and sat down across from her. Since the three of them had moved into an apartment together, Nimona had gotten much more comfortable relaxing, which warmed Ballister’s heart.
“What’s up, boss?”
“I want to ask Ambrosius—” he began, and Nimona sat up straight, immediately invested.
“To marry you?” she exclaimed. “Yes. Do it. Why haven’t you done it already.”
Ballister blinked. “I thought you’d be more hesitant about this,” he said slowly. “You used to hate him.”
Nimona waved her hand dismissively. “Ehhh. The past is the past, and all that jazz. Speaking of jazz—”
“No.”
“Ugh, whatever. You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I didn’t need to.”
“You’re horrible. Anyway, I hated him when all I knew about him was that he cut off your arm. That was before I’d lived with you guys for a year. And it would be pretty hypocritical of me not to be open to changing my opinions about somebody. He makes you happy. You should totally marry him.”
Ballister smiled. “Thank you, Nimona.”
She scoffed affectionately. “Sure, boss.”
And a plan—namely, The Plan, which was the whole point—formed.
Nimona and Ballister flew all over the city looking for parks and possible activities, such as restaurants or shows. Most people had gotten fairly used to the pair of them flying around, Nimona sprouting wings and carrying Ballister above the streets, so they didn’t worry about staying out of sight.
If Ambrosius noticed or thought it was suspicious that Nimona and Ballister constantly went out together and didn’t talk to him about any of it, he didn’t comment. The three of them still had their movie nights and game nights, and Nimona and Ambrosius still had their terrifyingly intense card games (War, Go Fish, Crazy Eights, and several games Ballister had never heard of) that Ballister was forbidden from joining, so altogether not much had changed.
One thing that did change, though, was how often he paused, watched Ambrosius do something completely ordinary, and thought ‘I want to marry this man.’ It happened more and more with each passing day, until Ballister very nearly proposed to him when he walked into the apartment and found Ambrosius standing with his feet on two separate chairs, about three feet apart, holding a collection of colorful paper streamers above his head while Nimona, in the form of a small monkey, perched on the top of his head and put them in place on the wall.
Ballister stared at them for a long moment before he said, very confusedly: “There wasn’t a more efficient way to do this?”
Ambrosius and Nimona turned at the same time, both looking quite delighted despite their precarious position atop the chairs.
“We’re just mixing it up!” they both replied. Ballister looked around. The living room was covered in party decorations and newspaper, and Ballister thought he’d never seen more glitter in his life. He pictured Ambrosius buying a basket full of glitter for whatever party Nimona was planning on throwing, and wouldn’t have been surprised if his heart actually melted.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked.
“I asked Nimona when her birthday was,” Ambrosius explained. “She said she didn’t have one.”
“And if I do, I don’t remember when it is,” Nimona added. Ambrosius threw his hands out to the sides in an emphasizing gesture.
“Which means she’s never had a birthday party,” he continued. “So we decided that today’s her birthday and we’re having a party.”
“Which is just going to be like a normal night except with decorations,” Nimona said. “The glitter was Goldilocks’ idea.”
Ballister raised his eyebrows, and Ambrosius shrugged unabashedly, then turned back to finish putting up the streamers.
Marry me, Ballister thought.
Within the next week, he had everything figured out. He’d looked at the weather for the next few days, planned where they’d go and when, and had even bought a ring, which he’d hidden in his extra pair of running shoes and shoved under the bed. If Ambrosius noticed that Ballister seemed extra nervous or more likely to become agitated if he spent too long in the bedroom by himself, he didn’t comment.
So yes. Ballister had a plan, and it was much more concrete than ‘something something something, we win’. He didn’t have a script, but he had just about everything else. Nothing could possibly get in his way now.
Or so he thought.
One night—there was nothing particularly special about it; they’d had dinner with Nimona, danced and laughed while cleaning the kitchen, and kissed while getting ready for bed—Ballister and Ambrosius were snuggled up together under their blankets. Ballister’s prosthetic arm was hanging from its charger on the wall, so he couldn’t hold Ambrosius as close as he would’ve liked, but the blond knight was lying with his head on Ballister’s shoulder, which gave him room to wrap his left arm around his partner’s back.
Ambrosius moved to tangle his legs with Ballister’s and gave his middle a squeeze, causing Ballister to smile up at the dark ceiling. If he paid attention, he could hear quiet music through the walls from Nimona’s room, and the moon was shining brightly through the window. Ballister carded his fingers through Ambrosius’ hair and breathed deeply.
Ambrosius, after several minutes, pushed himself up onto his elbow so that he could see Ballister’s face. Ballister’s arm slid naturally to rest around his waist, and he wished he had his prosthetic so that he could tap Ambrosius on the nose. Whenever he did so, Ambrosius’ face would scrunch up in the most adorable way possible, and Ballister had no choice but to kiss him.
“Hey,” Ambrosius whispered, as though Ballister hadn’t already been giving him his full attention.
“Hi,” he said in the same quiet tone, and matched Ambrosius’ answering smile. They bumped their noses together and giggled, and Ambrosius flopped to the side, landing on his own pillow. Ballister freed his arm and laced their fingers together, and Ambrosius brought their joined hands to his lips, then rested them on his chest and stroked Ballister’s hand with his thumb.
“Bal?” he said, tilting his head to the side to look into Ballister’s eyes, which he was quite honestly struggling to keep open.
“Hm?”
“Will you marry me?” Ambrosius asked softly, simply, his gaze full of love, exactly the way Ballister had been fighting the urge to ask him for weeks.
“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed, and got out of bed to grab the ring box from his shoe, forgetting that Ambrosius had no idea what he was doing until he sat up, looking worried.
“Bal?” he said again, this time much more guarded. “I’m sorry, what—”
“I was going to propose to you!” Ballister interrupted, opened the box, and shoved it towards his gobsmacked partner, who stared at it in utter shock before looking back to Ballister’s eyes. “I had a plan! And it wasn’t ‘something something something, we win’!”
Ambrosius’ eyes were shiny. “Was it more like, ‘something something something, marry me?’”
Ballister laughed surprisedly and leaned over to plant a kiss on Ambrosius’ lips. “Yes,” he said. “Well, no. I didn’t have a speech.”
“Hence the something-something-something,” Ambrosius teased. “You know, you never answered my—”
“Yes, good Gloreth, yes, I’ll marry you,” Ballister interrupted again. “Though I think you could’ve inferred that from learning that I was going to ask you the same question.”
Ambrosius laughed tearfully, and Ballister kissed him again.
“I’m not taking your last name, though,” he added moments later. “As funny as it is.”
“Nimona would kill you,” Ambrosius agreed. “So would I, probably. I don’t want to keep my last name either. It made for some good jokes, but other than that—”
“Well, Boldheart is nice, but it wasn’t my birth name. You know the Queen gave it to me at the ceremony because somebody—probably the Director—said that Blackheart sounded too dark for a knight?”
“Right,” Ambrosius mused. “What should we do, then?”
“We could combine our last names,” Ballister suggested. “We could be Ambrosius and Ballister—”
“Goldenheart,” Ambrosius finished, and wrapped his arms around Ballister, shaking with laughter, tears, and joy. “I love it.”
“I love you,” Ballister told him, and there was very little talking for the rest of the night.
When morning came, they headed into the kitchen in their pajamas and found Nimona already up, sitting at the table with her headphones on. She appeared to be drawing—likely another action scene with herself as a large animal with Ballister and/or Ambrosius as her murderous accomplice—and didn’t look up as they entered.
“Morning, Nim,” Ambrosius said as he made his way to the coffee machine.
“Goldilocks.” She acknowledged him with a nod, then raised her eyebrows. “Sleep well?”
Ballister held his crossword puzzle up and hid his face behind it while Ambrosius nearly dropped the coffee pot. They both knew that Nimona was over a thousand years old and there was probably very little she hadn’t seen, and even less she wasn’t aware of, but she was so good at acting like a teenager that it was quite easy to forget. She watched their awkward reactions and snickered, but her eyes widened as her attention zeroed in on something on or beside Ambrosius’ hand.
“So, who snapped first?” she asked pleasantly, a wide grin forming on her face.
“Me,” Ambrosius admitted without turning around. “Wait. Who snapped first? You knew he was planning—”
“You knew he was—” Ballister began too, and they both stopped and stared at each other.
there was an abandoned highrise building i used to see on the way to school every day throughout highschool and it had OYE graffitied all the way at the top and it stood for Open Your Eyes, which really spoke to me idk i was 14. well anyways it was bought out and cleaned up and turned into an apartment building and it doesn't say OYE anymore and something about that makes me really sad.
hey baby *leans against the car door* *misses* *falls to the ground* *the car becomes possessed and turns on* *it backs up and runs me over* *it speeds off* *the cops chase the car* *the car pulls over* *the spirit possessing the car gets out and is arrested* *it goes to court for vehicular manslaughter* *it goes to jail church to be enlightened* *it sees the light and goes to the afterlife* *my spirit becomes enraged the spirit didnt serve a full sentence* *i become a vengeful spirit* *i possess the car* *someone leans against the car door* *the cycle of abuse continues* *life is a cyclical circus and clownery is a victimized state*
areudirty
stormborns
gummygunk
blakekathryn
tangentwithtanner
