oooh. fic requests! how about 6 - fight or 19 - allergies for steddie?
Hello! I'm sorry it took so long to get to this one, but I hope it's alright! I went with:
6. Fight - Steddie
cw: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced domestic violence, unhealthy relationship dynamics (not between Eddie and Steve)
-
The most frustrating thing about fighting with Steve is that he doesn’t fight. Not really.
Sure, he’ll poke and he’ll prod and he’ll snip and he’ll snap; he’ll dole out bitchy, passive aggressive comments and roll his eyes and sigh pointedly, but the moment things get heated, the moment an argument gets real, it’s just–
“Fine. Fine,” Steve snaps, tossing his hands up with an exasperated huff. “You’re right, okay? I’m– I’m sorry.”
And at first, Eddie had always felt so vindicated, so flush with the triumph of winning an argument, that it had taken him a while to realize that it felt– wrong. That Steve—so confident, so sure in his opinions, so willing to stand up to people when he has something to defend—would just give in without a fight– it feels wrong.
So Eddie had tried to pay attention – really pay attention. They don’t fight often, but when an argument inevitably does crop up, Eddie always wins. Rather, Steve always lets him. He never raises his voice, never gets in Eddie’s face, never really even makes counterarguments. He cedes to Eddie’s points and then subsides and it’s– it’s infuriating, because Eddie doesn’t understand.
“Don’t do that,” Eddie growls, tugging a frustrated hand through his hair.
“Don’t– what? Don’t apologize?” Steve asks incredulously.
“No!” Eddie bursts out. “Not if you don’t mean it!”
“Excuse me?” Steve draws back, offended. “What the hell do you want me to do to prove I’m sincere? Get on my knees and fucking grovel?”
“That’s not–” Eddie leaves off with a frustrated noise, trying hard to keep his tone level. “I don’t want to win an argument just because you let me. I don’t want you to apologize just because you think it’s what I want to hear.”
“I’m not letting you win,” Steve says quickly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You are, though. You do. Every time. You won’t actually engage, you just say I’m right and then clam up and that’s it,” Eddie says.
Steve levels him with a look of disbelief. “So– what, you want me to yell at you? You want me to tell you that you’re wrong?”
“I want–” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a second to gather his thoughts. “I want you to feel like you’re allowed to argue with me. I don’t want you to just give in and then resent me or something.”
“I don’t resent you, Eddie,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes.
“No?” Eddie pushes. “How many times have we gone to bed after an argument with me perfectly satisfied, thinking I’ve won, while you’re actually still mad at me?”
“That’s– I don’t…” Steve shifts uncomfortably. “If I’m still mad, that’s my problem. I can just get over it.”
“But that’s exactly what I mean!” Eddie insists. “That shit builds up! And besides, what if you’re the one who’s really right? I might actually be wrong, and you should tell me. Or maybe there’s some kind of, like, compromise we can reach, I don’t know! I don’t want you to be afraid to push back – I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Steve says, jaw jutting out stubbornly when Eddie fixes him with a considering look. “I’m not. I’m just– how long before yelling turns into a screaming match? How long before it turns into throwing shit around, or– or shoving each other, or worse?”
“Steve…” Eddie murmurs, the last of his heated frustration draining away, leaving a clammy kind of dismay in its place. “Steve, I would never do any of those things to you.”
“I know,” Steve says, and it sounds like he means it. “I know that. But what if I–”
“No,” Eddie says firmly, because he thinks he understands now – Steve isn’t afraid of him, he’s afraid of himself. Afraid of turning into everything he’d been raised around: the blowout arguments between his parents, his mom’s petty destruction of his dad’s things, his dad’s frustration turned back on Steve, a cycle of violent familial bullshit that Steve is determined to break free from, even if it means saying that he’s wrong every time. Eddie comes forward, grabbing Steve’s hands; he can’t even remember what they’d been arguing about moments before, but he knows he doesn’t care anymore. “You would never do that. I know you, Steve, you are nothing like that.”
Steve looks down at their joined hands, blinking rapidly. “This– you… You’re more important than winning. Than any stupid argument,” he says.
“That’s exactly why we should have stupid arguments,” Eddie says, grinning a little when that gets a choked laugh out of Steve. “I’m serious. Let’s have stupid, petty arguments so they don’t turn into big ones. I swear I’m not going to stay mad if you get on my ass about not doing the dishes.”
Slowly, Steve nods. He doesn’t entirely look like he believes Eddie, but that’s fine. It’s always been like this – Steve unwilling (or unable) to believe that someone will love him if he doesn’t make it easy for them. Eddie’s been breaking that down, bit by bit, and this is no different. This is no chore.
“I’ll still love you even when I’m angry. Even when you’re angry,” Eddie promises. “I just love you, full stop.”
Steve nods again, more certain this time as he looks up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “I love you, too,” he says, because he always, always says it back, which suits Eddie just fine.
He figures if they can agree on that much, every other disagreement will be a breeze.
DING DONG IT IS TRICK OR TREAT TIME. I PICK KUROO AND BOKUTO AND DAICHI
Come play Trick or Treat, and I’ll leave you with sweetness and fluff, or darkness and twistiness.
Treat
Autumn had always been Tetsurou’s favourite time of year. It was the time of year when he could steal hoodies from his husbands’ closets. It was the time of year when wearing the scarf Koutarou had knit him was weather appropriate (if Tetsurou had his way, he would wear it year-round). It was the time of year when Daichi started cooking heartier, warmer, more savoury meals.
Autumn meant rum spiced hot apple cider, blankets, cuddles, movie marathons, and general coziness. Autumn meant relishing in the closeness of his chosen soulmates, and their eternal affection and body heat.
But it also meant crunchy leaves, pretty colours, pumpkins, and wreaths.
Daichi always teased Tetsurou for his specific collection. They didn’t have wreaths for any other season or occasion. But Tetsurou knew that he had one for every single day of autumn. He knew this because he’d made them himself.
It had started in university. His therapist had proposed crafting - something to make him work with his hands - as a way to release his anxieties in a healthy way. Tetsurou, with the support of Koutarou and Daichi, had tried everything. He’d tried paper crafts, knitting, crocheting, felting, scrapbooking, quilting, and nearly everything else under the sun.
It wasn’t until he’d been mindlessly scrolling through Pinterest that he had seen his first wreath. It had been a beautiful piece of art - all wires and abstract shapes and angles. Tetsurou had clicked on the pin, and scrolled through a plethora of other examples. He’d fallen into a deep Pinterest rabbit hole, and he’d never been able to dig himself back out.
He’d started small - little crowns, and some flower arrangements. A few centrepieces. He dipped his toes in, tried a few different things, and grew to learn what worked, and what didn’t. He also grew into his skills, and experimented with his own likes and dislikes.
When he’d been confident that he was proud of his creations, he finally attempted wreaths. There had been some trial and error. A few frustrated crying sessions when things weren’t going his way. But in the end, he worked at it, and he got there.
At first, he gifted his wreaths, assessing the likes and tastes of the person receiving the wreath to exacting detail. When that wasn’t enough anymore, he started keeping them. And that was when the collection had begun. That was when Koutarou and Daichi knew that the wreaths were now a permanent fixture in their autumn traditions.
It was exactly the first day of autumn when Tetsurou awoke to two gentle kisses on either cheek. He blinked fully awake, smiling up at his loves.
“Come on, Tetsu!” Koutarou could barely contain himself. “It’s time!” Daichi chuckled lowly from Tetsurou’s other side.
“We lined them up for you. Come choose which one starts us off.” Both men held their hands out to Tetsurou. He smiled wide, affection and devotion filling his chest with warmth.
It was time. Time to choose the perfect wreath to start off their daily tradition of decorating the door with something new, something beautiful, every single day.
Ezzy prompted this, and I couldn’t find the ask, but then I realized she prompted me over discord and not tumblr. So. idk. Here you go.
Kageyama always tied on his left shoe first. It was just the latest in a series of observations that Kenma was making, and he didn’t know how to categorize this one. It didn’t quite belong in cute quirks, and it didn’t quite belong in scary athletic tendencies, but was a mixture of both. Kenma snorted angrily to himself and turned back to his phone.
Watching Kageyama had been an intentional choice at first. It was difficult to see him sometimes, next to the blinding light that was Shouyou, but it had only been a matter of time for Kenma to notice the way he stared. He was watching Kenma, and though Kenma knew it was probably entirely volleyball-motivated, he had decided to watch back.
Kageyama had not noticed, but unfortunately, someone else did.
“Soooooo, what did we learn about him today?” Kuro asked, leaning against the wall above Kenma. Kenma elbowed him in the shin, not taking his eyes off his phone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
“Right. Because you’ve only been staring at Kageyama-kun like a lioness stalking her prey for, what, three days now?” Kuro’s voice got softer. “You should ask him already. They go home tomorrow.”
“Ask him what.” Kenma said flatly. He knew what Kuro was on about, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of filling his prompts for him.
“Ask him out.”
That earned him another elbow to the shin. “Even if I wanted to,” Kenma said, “which I don’t, I could always just go visit Shouyou. It’s not like they’re leaving the country.”
“Yeah, but if you don’t do it now, you’ll chicken out,” Kuro said. “Just. Something to think about.” And then he was gone, off to bother Akaashi about something or other that Kenma didn’t really care about, as long as they were quiet in their flirting. Kenma turned his eyes back to Kageyama, whom he had kept track of in his progress across the gym. Now he was standing next to his senpai, the other setter on their team, and they were whispering something to each other. Then all at once, those blue eyes turned to Kenma.
A jolt of lightning and fire and ice and terror shot through Kenma’s heart, but he looked back anyway. Kageyama turned red and turned away, making his senpai laugh. Kenma frowned and turned away, putting that reaction next to the shoes in the box of uncategorizable things. There would be time to sort them out later. For now, this observation was enough.
come trick-or-treat in my inbox requesting ficcies and I’ll either treat you to some fluff or humor or trick you with a horribly twisted/sad AU (I’ll use a random generator to pick trick or treat)
send me “trick or treat” and a character(s) or ship in my inbox
TRICK
The small forest on the edge of town is the last place he expects a reunion between old friends, but somehow that’s exactly where Ryuu finds himself. Asahi’s voice echoes oddly around them as he speaks, though Ryuu passes it off as something about how odd the night seems. “What are you doing here? It’s dangerous.”
“It’s okay, I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.” Ryuu has never heard Asahi’s voice so vicious before, a counterpoint to the soft spoken Asahi that Ryuu used to know. It’s frightening, and Ryuu has never, ever been frightened of Asahi before, even when he’s seen him at his most angry.
He’s frightened now.
Asahi’s face splits in a terrifying grin, and his teeth seem to glow in the light of the full moon that streams through the leaves of the trees. Ryuu shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have followed Asahi to a place like this, nothing around them but the whisper of foliage and night dwelling animals moving in the unruly grass. He backs up a step as Asahi takes one toward him, and then a few more, Asahi grinning all the while, like this is nothing more than an amusing game of chicken between two friendly teenagers.
Ryuu only stops when he trips over something, landing hard on his ass in the soft dirt at the base of a tree. He expects it to have been a branch or root, but when he looks all he sees is the pale leg of a slender girl, unmoving on the ground next to him.
Asahi has stopped and kneeled in front of him, and he barely glances at the body that Ryuu tries to scramble away from. “Oh, you’ve found my snack.”
Ryuu’s voice cracks as he speaks, and he’s surprised it works at all. “Snack?”
“Mm. Don’t worry, I’ll clean her up later. Right now I have more pressing matters to attend to.” He crawls forward, heedless of the dirt of the knees of his nice pants, until he has one hand on Ryuu’s chin, tilting his face up. “Like dinner.”
And there’s that grin again, bright in the darkness. Asahi leans forward and nuzzles his nose into Ryuu’s neck, and for a second Ryuu thinks that maybe he was wrong, maybe Asahi just has a really odd way sense of humor. Then there’s a sharp pain in his neck, Asahi’s mouth warm against his skin, and he can’t help the scream that leaves him. He thinks he hears a laugh before his senses shut down completely, and the last image in his head is of those sharp, sharp teeth.
I BELIEVE THIS IS SCIENCE NUMBER 10. If I counted right. Which is not guaranteed. Let's go for Bokuto, Nagisa, and whichever Mikoshiba brother you choose.
Come play Trick or Treat, and I’ll leave you with sweetness and fluff, or darkness and twistiness.
Treat
“If you two do not get your asses off the counters, and stop eating my ingredients, there won’t be any left to make the banana loaf you both love so much.” Momo turned from this mixing bowl, levelled both Koutarou and Nagisa with his best glare. Not that it would work. It never worked with them.
“But Momo-chan!” Nagisa pouted
“Yeah! Momo-chan!” Koutarou followed suit.
“Nope. No. You cannot butter me up, or suck up. Not right now.” Momo tried to scold them. He really did. But even he had to admit he wasn’t great at it.
“But we’re both so good at it,” Nagisa said, mischievous lilt to his voice. Momo barely resisted rolling his eyes.
“Usually, yes. But not when your ass is on my clean counter.”
“So mean!” Nagisa crossed his arms over his chest and pouted harder. All Momo could do was sigh. This whole charade was so commonplace in their household, it might as well have been scripted.
Momo glanced at Koutarou, saw the shit-eating grin on his face, and realized he’d fallen right into their trap. Not that it mattered. Momo always fell for their antics. Who would have guessed he’d be the level-headed one in this partnership?
Turning back to Nagisa, Momo gave him a steady look and saud, “Do you feel like eating ass right now Nagisa?”
“Well, now that you mention it…” Momo closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Okay, I walked into that one. But no.”
“You’re no fun.” This time, Koutarou was the one pouting with his arms crossed over his chest. Momo could not win with these two, not matter what.
“How about this. You two go be good boys in the living room, and when I’m done in here, you can both eat all the ass, and banana loaf both of your hearts desire. Okay?”
Both Nagisa and Koutarou went a little glassy-eyed and slack-jawed. It was Koutarou who regained his composure - barely - first.
treat or trick or something like that. let's go with HaruNagi
Come play Trick or Treat, and I’ll leave you with sweetness and fluff, or darkness and twistiness.
Treat
“I thought knitting was Makoto’s thing?”
“Scarves, sweaters for his cats, and mittens sure. But I’m doing something different, Haru-chan!”
“What are you knitting, then?”
“Just watch and see!” Nagisa turned back to his project, fingers working the yarn and the needles quickly, confidently. Haru was a little transfixed. And so, he did as he was told. He watched, and he saw.
But Haru didn’t only watch. He sketched, as well. Working slowly, as opposed to Nagisa, but getting what he needed down on paper. He traced a vague outline, knowing it would all come together in the end. But he only had this one chance to capture Nagisa at his most carefree.
Haru may have been known for his artistry, so much so that he made a good living selling his wares to local shops, and setting up small booths are fairs. But when Nagisa had a burst of creativity, he could go for days without stopping.
He never asked Haru for a share in the profits of the things he got Haru to sell for him. But that never stopped Haru from finding some way to treat him, in return.
As Haru kept watching, and kept sketching, he saw the pile of little knitted pumpkins begin to fill the table in front of him. With speed and accuracy that Nagisa was well-known for, he would finish a pumpkin, fill it with stuffing, then knit it closed with the long-tail of his cast-on yarn.
Haru had to admit that the pumpkins were charming, and would sell well at the tea shop near the center of town. But that wasn’t what made Haru happy.
No, it was the contentment that had settled itself deep into his chest. The certainty that this was his life, and, for the first time in a really long time, he was the happiest he could ever be.
trick or treat or tricksy treats with *pokes at names with a stick* TanaDai
Come play Trick or Treat, and I’ll leave you with sweetness and fluff, or darkness and twistiness.
Trick
Daichi had never liked apple picking, or being in the orchard. Not really. Not when he knew what the family secret to producing the apples that they produced. But how could he go against a millenia of tradition?
The orchard was entirely in his name now, and he had no time for crises of conscience. He had apples that needed to go to the Azumane family for their cider. Daichi wondered if Asahi knew the secret to the apples. Surely he wouldn’t use them if he did. Right?
Daichi shook himself out of that train of thought. It wasn’t worth the nightmares.
He reached for the next tree, only to see that the apples weren’t quite as ready as they should have been. Daichi sighed. He’d have to do it again. After he promised that the last time would be the absolute last time. He hated breaking his promises. But he had a legacy to uphold.
Daichi slowly made his way back to the house, scanning the yard for Ryuu. His Ryuu. His Ryuu who had every reason to hate him at this point.
He entered the house, and found Ryuu sitting at the table, his head in his hands. He looked up as he heard Daichi come in.
“You need more, don’t you?”
“Ryuu, I-“
“No. Stop. You need more, don’t you, Daichi?”
“Yes. I need more.” Ryuu sighed.
“Fine. Take it.” Ryuu extended his arm, the one with more marks than Daichi cared to count. Daichi set up the blood bag, and left the room. Ryuu would let him know when he was done.
When Daichi had collected what he needed, he went back to the tree, and began feeding the roots.
The following day, Daichi knew he’d been right. The apples were riper, juicier than he could have ever imagined. It if meant upholding the family legacy, he didn’t even care if the process risked his marriage.
