Thank you everyone for participating in Whumpcember! It would greatly help me if you all filled out these forms for the masterlist and feedback! See you all in a year!
I just wanted to say thank you so much for running this event! Some other these prompts really helped me get through a bad writing slump and I really enjoyed seeing what other people made! Thank you!
Thank you so much! I really appreciate your kind words!
Whumpee laid down gingerly on the hot ground, careful to not jostle their injured leg on the rocks beneath them. Whumpee's assailants were long since gone over the horizon, so they closed their eyes and tried to drift off, even with their leg still throbbing in pain from their attacks.
The entire team are injured, running on fumes, but they cant stop.
Set between the breaking point and the city.
CW: injuries, burns, gunshot wounds, living weapons.
I've never tried a 1st person inner monologue before... it was interesting to do.
Complex 27
On The Run
Sam
The pain’s a constant now, a gnawing, relentless reminder that my body is just barely holding together.
Every step hurts.
My leg burns with every move, the makeshift crutch under my arm barely enough to take the weight off it. Charlie said they’re second and third-degree burns. Lucky to be walking at all. But there’s no choice. No time to rest. We're alive only by the skin of our teeth, and this city—whatever it is—could be our salvation or the next step toward our grave. I have to keep moving. For Alex. For Charlie. For Ash… though God knows what’s happening with him right now.
I don’t know if it’s the fatigue or the fact that we’re still being hunted, but each step feels like more of a struggle. My arm—the one that took the brunt of the explosion—is heavy, the skin charred in places, raw in others. The bandages are soaked through again, and the smell of burnt flesh sticks to me, thick and sour. I don’t even feel it anymore, not really. It’s a numb kind of pain, the kind that’s almost worse because I know it’s there, just barely out of reach.
I shouldn’t be leading us. Not in this state. I feel my body betraying me with every step. Muscles stiff and aching, the dizziness making it harder to focus, but I have to. I can’t afford to drop. Not when Alex is barely holding on. Not when Charlie’s struggling to keep it all together. Not now.
Every time I look at Alex, I see how close we are to losing him. His breathing’s shallow, labored. It’s a reminder that we’re not out of the woods. We’re not safe. I can’t let him die, not while I’m still standing. I won’t let him slip away. He’s the one who kept us going all these years, and now, here he is, barely conscious. Still alive, but for how long? I won’t let him go.
Charlie’s beside him, keeping him upright. She’s holding it together better than I am, but I know her well enough to see the cracks in her armor. I see the worry in her eyes when she looks at me, when she looks at Alex. She’s doing the best she can, but her strength’s as limited as mine. It’s not enough. And she knows it.
Then there’s Ash. Every time I look for him, he’s gone. Slipping out of sight like he’s never really here with us. I can’t keep track of him. That fucking assassin’s supposed to be our safety net, the one who’s indestructible. But if he’s fallen behind… if he’s hurt… I can’t think like this. I have to focus on what’s in front of me.
Focus, Sam.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. The weight of my leg cramps up again as I shift, sending pain shooting up through my bones. Every step’s a fight, muscles screaming at me to stop, to rest, to lie down and pretend none of this is happening. But I can’t. Not now. We’re so close. The city-state is just ahead, like a blurry promise on the horizon. A promise of safety. Of something that feels like it could be real. I need it to be real.
“Keep going,” I murmur to myself, though the words feel weak, like they can’t even reach my ears. My voice is hoarse. Too far away to be of any help. I glance at Alex again, his face pale, damp with sweat. Guilt gnaws at me every time I look at him. I should be carrying him. I should be the one to bear his weight, but I can barely carry myself.
Charlie doesn’t say anything, but I know she sees it. She sees me limping, dragging myself along, and she knows. She’s always known. But she doesn’t call me out on it. She just keeps going, keeps holding Alex up. She’s the one holding it together now, and that thought sends a wave of relief and guilt crashing over me. I should be doing more.
Every step is harder now. My body feels like it’s going to fall apart. But I keep going. I have to.
The barricades are closer now. Just ahead. Not much—just a makeshift line of defense—but it’s enough. Enough to make me believe, even if it’s just for a moment, that we might actually make it out of this alive. I want to believe it. I need to. But part of me can’t shake the fear that it’ll crumble when we get there, just like everything else.
But still, I can’t stop. Not now.
So, I keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Just a few more steps. We’re almost there.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Life or death, truth or lies, and an impossible choice….
When Amajiki is viciously attacked by an unknown villain, events begin to spiral out that could break the public's trust in heroes permanently. Heroes and students rush to find the ones responsible for the attack and stop the spread of misinformation before it's too late.
Then Todoroki goes missing…
Then Kaminari is attacked by the same villain that attacked Amajiki…
And someone's been watching everything and leaking every move the heroes make to the public. Can Aizawa rescue his students and put a stop to this…or will he be forced to choose between the kids he cares about and the rest of the world?
...
(@whumpcember Day Nineteen: Panic Attack -- Help is on the way…but will it be too late for Kaminari?)
His chest caught when he tried to breathe, and Denki had to blink rapidly as tears began to fill his eyes. “Am I gonna die?” he managed to whisper.
“No.” Aizawa’s voice was steady and firm. He left one hand on Denki’s chest and leaned in to rest the other on top of his head. “They already have medicines to counteract this. You might be sick for a little while, but you’ll make a full recovery.”
“You can’t promise that,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek. His arms and legs wouldn’t move, and every breath was a struggle.
Aizawa leaned in until his head and shoulders were filling Denki’s field of vision. “I can, and I will,” he said. “I promise you, Denki Kaminari: you are not going to die.”
Let's hurt Ash some more and have Paul struggle to be in a caretaker role while simultaneously defending the complex 27 system 🤣
---
The door to Ash’s quarters slid open with a soft hiss, and Paul’s eyes immediately locked onto the familiar sight of his friend sprawled across the cot. Ash was lying flat on his back, one arm resting across his eyes as if trying to block out the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. His body was tense, as though bracing for something, though there was no immediate threat.
“What happened this time?” Paul’s voice was steady, though it carried an edge of frustration that he couldn’t entirely suppress. His gaze moved over Ash’s battered form - dark bruises blooming under his skin, some faint cuts along his jaw, and the unmistakable stiffness in his posture. It was the kind of sight Paul had seen countless times before, but it always stirred something deeper within him. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Ash didn’t move, his breathing slow and shallow. The silence stretched on longer than it should have, the weight of the room pressing down on Paul. Finally, Ash spoke, his voice thin and tired. “I’m fine,” he muttered dismissively, sounding drained. “Just another mission, another complication.”
Paul’s brow furrowed, frustration bubbling under the surface. He took a few steps closer, studying Ash carefully. The bruises on his face were bad, but it was the stiffness in his posture—like he was holding himself together with sheer will—that made something twist in Paul’s gut.
Paul’s brow furrowed as he took a few steps closer, his gaze narrowing on Ash’s still form. “I’ve seen that look before,” he said, his words clipped. “What the hell did you do, Ash?”
Ash exhaled slowly, his arm shifting only enough to rest against his chest, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, distant. “78 pushed me off a fucking roof,” he muttered, as if the words themselves left a bad taste in his mouth.
Paul’s expression immediately darkened. His mind flashed to John—Asset 78. A sadistic, merciless bastard. But even for John, this seemed too brazen, too reckless.
"No he didn’t," Paul said sharply, his voice harder than he intended. "John’s a sadistic bastard, but even he wouldn’t have gotten away with tossing you off a roof. What happened, Ash?"
Ash’s arm finally moved away from his face, but his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Paul watched as the faintest of winces twisted Ash’s features, the kind of subtle pain someone tries to hide but can’t quite manage.
“Maybe I pissed him off,” Ash finally muttered, his voice thick with something Paul couldn’t place. “Doesn’t take much for him to take it too far.” His weight shifted slightly, and he grimaced, a sharp inhale escaping him as he shifted again, clearly trying to mask the pain. "Not that I was in the best state before," he added bitterly.
Something had definitely happened, he could see the evidence - bruises, cuts, tye subtle winces. But Ash was an asset, a living weapon. If he got hurt in the process, it was just part of the game, right?
He tried to ignore the tightening in his chest. "Let me see," Paul said, his voice lower now, the authority more firm. He needed to know the extent of the damage - not just for Ash’s sake, but for his own. If Ash wasn’t functioning, it reflected badly on them both. At least that’s what he told himself.
Ash hesitated, the moment stretching long between them. His eyes flicked to Paul’s face, unreadable. Then, with a soft curse under his breath, he slowly pushed himself up. The movement looked agonising, Ash’s breath caught in his chest, as if every inch of him was protesting the motion. But Paul didn’t move to help him - he knew better. Ash wouldn’t take it. Not unless he had to.
Ash’s gaze dropped to the edge of his shirt, and after a long, shaky breath, he lifted it just enough to reveal his ribs and side. A mottled patterns of purple and black, swollen and angry. Some marks were fresh, others older. The worst of them were along his ribs and side, where something heavy had clearly slammed into him. The sight of it made Paul’s chest tighten, but he quickly masked his reaction.
“Kerr know?” Paul asked quietly, as he moved to sit on the edge of the cot and inspected the damage to his friends torso, though the question felt almost pointless. He already knew the answer.
Ash shook his head slightly, not looking at Paul. “Do you really think Kerr would care?” his voice was thick, like he was trying to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. “He’d just laugh. Might even throw me into A Block for being ‘weak.’” His body flinched as Paul’s hand brushed against his side, making him inhale sharply, though he did his best to conceal it.
Paul’s jaw clenched. He wanted to argue, wanted to say something—anything—that would make Ash feel like there was a chance of this being acknowledged, even by Kerr. But he couldn’t. The words felt hollow. He knew better. The Facility didn’t care about their well-being unless it interfered with their role.
“You should report it,” Paul said, the suggestion coming out more like an afterthought than anything else. He knew how pointless it was. Reporting it would only make Ash a bigger target. It would make things worse.
Ash let out a low, bitter laugh, his head sinking back onto the cot. “Report it? That’s a joke, Paul. Nothing would change. Kerr wouldn’t care, and neither would anyone else. The only time they care is when I’m no longer 'functional.'”
Paul fell silent, his gaze tracing the bruises, his mind in turmoil. Ash was right, but it still hurt to hear it out loud. The game, the system, it was all just about efficiency and obedience. If Ash couldn’t do his job, they’d throw him away. It was a bitter truth, and Paul hated that it was the reality they both lived in.
Maybe he should report it? John had killed assets before—at least, that was the rumor. If John was escalating his violence, targeting Ash… surely the handlers would want to know? But... would that be seen as Ash being unable to fight his own battles? The Facility didn’t want weak assets. Assets weren’t supposed to care about each other. Weren't meant to firm friendships. It was a liability, a risk.
The room fell quiet, the silence stretching until it felt suffocating. Paul’s chest tightened again, anger and helplessness mixing in a bitter knot. Ash had been hurt. Badly. Again. And neither of them could do a damn thing about it.
Finally, Paul spoke, his voice quieter, but firm. “You’re not just a fucking tool, Ash. I don’t care what the Facility thinks.”
Ash’s eyes flicked to him, a spark of something there—a flicker of gratitude or something more complicated—but then it was gone, replaced by that familiar weariness. He turned his gaze back to the ceiling. “Then you’re an idiot,” he muttered, "But... thanks. For what it's worth neither are you."
Paul didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The words wouldn’t fix anything. Nothing would. He knew that. They were trapped in the game, just like everyone else. The only thing left to do was play it and survive.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Life or death, truth or lies, and an impossible choice….
When Amajiki is viciously attacked by an unknown villain, events begin to spiral out that could break the public's trust in heroes permanently. Heroes and students rush to find the ones responsible for the attack and stop the spread of misinformation before it's too late.
Then Todoroki goes missing…
Then Kaminari is attacked by the same villain that attacked Amajiki…
And someone's been watching everything and leaking every move the heroes make to the public. Can Aizawa rescue his students and put a stop to this…or will he be forced to choose between the kids he cares about and the rest of the world?
...
(@whumpcember Day Twenty, Alt 5: "You're Allowed to Fall Apart" -- With Dabi's identity revealed, Todoroki fights to keep himself together while Bakugou tries to get them both to safety.)
Bright orange fabric struck Shouto in the face. He pulled it away, eyes going wide as he stared at the bright orange hoodie. “It’s a hoodie.”
“The hood’ll cover your hair. Patchface might still be looking for ya.”
He frowned, staring at the broad shoulders and long hem. “It’s too big for me.”
After weeks of enduring the persistent pain of a burn left untreated, Eskel finally seeks help—an act that feels foreign and almost wrong to him. Shani's gentle care and unwavering kindness leave him confused and unmoored.
Day 22: Alt 3: Fire
Whumpcember 2024
The entire team are injured, running on fumes, but they cant stop.
Set between the breaking point and the city.
CW: injuries, burns, gunshot wounds, living weapons.
I've never tried a 1st person inner monologue before... it was interesting to do.
Complex 27
On The Run
Sam
The pain’s a constant now, a gnawing, relentless reminder that my body is just barely holding together.
Every step hurts.
My leg burns with every move, the makeshift crutch under my arm barely enough to take the weight off it. Charlie said they’re second and third-degree burns. Lucky to be walking at all. But there’s no choice. No time to rest. We're alive only by the skin of our teeth, and this city—whatever it is—could be our salvation or the next step toward our grave. I have to keep moving. For Alex. For Charlie. For Ash… though God knows what’s happening with him right now.
I don’t know if it’s the fatigue or the fact that we’re still being hunted, but each step feels like more of a struggle. My arm—the one that took the brunt of the explosion—is heavy, the skin charred in places, raw in others. The bandages are soaked through again, and the smell of burnt flesh sticks to me, thick and sour. I don’t even feel it anymore, not really. It’s a numb kind of pain, the kind that’s almost worse because I know it’s there, just barely out of reach.
I shouldn’t be leading us. Not in this state. I feel my body betraying me with every step. Muscles stiff and aching, the dizziness making it harder to focus, but I have to. I can’t afford to drop. Not when Alex is barely holding on. Not when Charlie’s struggling to keep it all together. Not now.
Every time I look at Alex, I see how close we are to losing him. His breathing’s shallow, labored. It’s a reminder that we’re not out of the woods. We’re not safe. I can’t let him die, not while I’m still standing. I won’t let him slip away. He’s the one who kept us going all these years, and now, here he is, barely conscious. Still alive, but for how long? I won’t let him go.
Charlie’s beside him, keeping him upright. She’s holding it together better than I am, but I know her well enough to see the cracks in her armor. I see the worry in her eyes when she looks at me, when she looks at Alex. She’s doing the best she can, but her strength’s as limited as mine. It’s not enough. And she knows it.
Then there’s Ash. Every time I look for him, he’s gone. Slipping out of sight like he’s never really here with us. I can’t keep track of him. That fucking assassin’s supposed to be our safety net, the one who’s indestructible. But if he’s fallen behind… if he’s hurt… I can’t think like this. I have to focus on what’s in front of me.
Focus, Sam.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. The weight of my leg cramps up again as I shift, sending pain shooting up through my bones. Every step’s a fight, muscles screaming at me to stop, to rest, to lie down and pretend none of this is happening. But I can’t. Not now. We’re so close. The city-state is just ahead, like a blurry promise on the horizon. A promise of safety. Of something that feels like it could be real. I need it to be real.
“Keep going,” I murmur to myself, though the words feel weak, like they can’t even reach my ears. My voice is hoarse. Too far away to be of any help. I glance at Alex again, his face pale, damp with sweat. Guilt gnaws at me every time I look at him. I should be carrying him. I should be the one to bear his weight, but I can barely carry myself.
Charlie doesn’t say anything, but I know she sees it. She sees me limping, dragging myself along, and she knows. She’s always known. But she doesn’t call me out on it. She just keeps going, keeps holding Alex up. She’s the one holding it together now, and that thought sends a wave of relief and guilt crashing over me. I should be doing more.
Every step is harder now. My body feels like it’s going to fall apart. But I keep going. I have to.
The barricades are closer now. Just ahead. Not much—just a makeshift line of defense—but it’s enough. Enough to make me believe, even if it’s just for a moment, that we might actually make it out of this alive. I want to believe it. I need to. But part of me can’t shake the fear that it’ll crumble when we get there, just like everything else.
But still, I can’t stop. Not now.
So, I keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Just a few more steps. We’re almost there.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Life or death, truth or lies, and an impossible choice....
When Amajiki is viciously attacked by an unknown villain, events begin to spiral out that could break the public's trust in heroes permanently. Heroes and students rush to find the ones responsible for the attack and stop the spread of misinformation before it's too late.
Then Todoroki goes missing...
Then Kaminari is attacked by the same villain that attacked Amajiki...
And someone's been watching everything and leaking every move the heroes make to the public. Can Aizawa rescue his students and put a stop to this...or will he be forced to choose between the kids he cares about and the rest of the world?
...
(@whumpcember Day Twenty-One: Bruises -- Bakugou and Todoroki make their way to the hospital as Amajiki prepares to leave.)
“I’ll just get the rest of your paperwork, and you’ll be free to go, Mr. Amajiki,” the nurse announced, tidying away the bandages she’d removed. Tamaki watched her go, letting out a small grunt of surprise when Mirio sat on the bed next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
“Ready to go home?”
He nodded. These past few days had been a nightmare, and he just wanted to be in his own bed again. Safe and quiet and away from the rest of the world.
“Fat Gum said he can give us a ride, but it might take—hey!”
The door to Tamaki’s room swung open and a familiar redheaded figure burst into the room.
“Amajiki!” Kirishima launched himself at Tamaki, who barely had time to react before his arms were full of sobbing teenager. “You’re okay!” he cried, his voice muffled against Tamaki’s shoulder.
“Y-yeah?” He awkwardly patted Kirishima’s back as Mirio snickered next to him. “You, uh, you don’t have to cry. I’m okay.”
“It’s been a long day.” Fat Gum was in the doorway. His usual high spirits seemed subdued, and he offered an exhausted smile to Tamaki. “Good to see you on your feet, kid.”
As Geralt's recovery progresses, his short temper and constant frustration seem to worsen, driving away even those closest to him. Eskel, observing from the sidelines, recognises the signs of sensory overwhelm—a struggle Geralt faced as a child after his additional Witcher Trials.
Day 23: Overwhelmed
Whumpcember 2024
Fandom - Characters: SPN - Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Gabriel
Rating: Explicit
Warnings and Tags: Major character injury, major character death, pie, hallucinations, poison, no happy ending, hurt no comfort, choking, open ending, whump, background Sabriel because I can't help myself,
Summary: Written for the @spnfanficpond November monthly prompt: Pie and expanded for the @whumpcember prompt: Poisoned
Author's Note: I posted this on Tumblr before, and it was just so short I wasn’t gonna cross post it to AO3, but I looked it over and added a bit for whumpcember, so I thought I'd post the updates version here too. I wrote this when I was really struggling to write nice things. While the original is open-ended, this one offers no comfort and no happy ending, everyone dies. For the more open-ended version, check out, my original tumblr post. Happy Reading?
Some Poison Pie - Re-release
“Sam?” Dean yelled, standing from the fridge and staring at a pie box on the counter. “This yours?”
When no reply came, Dean raised his brows, flicking the box open, wondering when Sam had gotten back and why he hadn't told him about the pie. Dean hadn't remembered anyone bringing it home, but it wasn't uncommon for someone to leave pie for him.
He should have probably been more suspicious of it.
Dean sniffed at it before deciding not to question it, there were only a few slices left and if Sam had brought the imp of an archangel back with him, the older hunter knew there wouldn't be any left by the time he asked. He loaded up his plate and found a fork along with some whipped cream before taking the plate to his Dean Cave, intending to enjoy the slice properly.
He let out a groan of comfort when he sat back in his chair and found an episode of Star Trek to watch. Even after the first few bites nothing seemed amiss with it, it was good -sweet syrupy strawberry with flaky crust and it tasted homemade.
As the episode continued, Dean scraped his fork through the last bit of crumbs and syrup, and his eyes narrowed at how dark it seemed to be within the Bunker. His eyes rolled to lights above him, watching them blink and flicker. He swallowed but found that his throat had closed. A lump lodged in it.
Something was wrong.
Dean felt his heart beat faster, looking to the hallway at the sound of footsteps. The familiar feeling of adrenaline rushed through Dean's veins at the sound of someone else in the Bunker. His hands clenched as he sat forward, empty plate forgotten and sliding from his lap. The clatter of the breaking plate and fallen fork called his attention away from the odd yet familiar noise echoing around his mind and the bunker.
“Sam?” His voice was hoarse, gagged against the lump that had grown wider still within his throat.
Pain, like a knife carving out his intestines, twisted in his stomach, the sound getting louder while a groan left his lips. His hand went to his stomach, clawing into his shirt, as he tried to keep his eyes on the doorway, the sound getting closer. Sweat clung to his skin while pain paled his brow, trying to sit up more and only managing to fall forward onto the floor.
A cough rasped from him before his throat closed and slicked with bile, lips foaming as he gagged. Dean's body curled, numb fingertips stumbling for his phone. His ears strained, body collapsing and curled into his chair, the familiar sound haunting his mind as a dial tone rang distantly. Dean tried to keep his eyes from closing against the pain that seized his body but couldn't fight it as it overtook him and forced his eyes closed.
“Dean? Hey, we're coming home, thing skipped out on us. Don't eat anything, Gabe thinks it's gonna get angry and mess with us, and it really likes putting its venom in food… Dean, can you hear me? Dean!”
Sam tried to drive faster at the silence on the other side of the line. “Dean?!”
Gabriel tried to snap, grace sparking within him but not listening to his command. He gritted his teeth, trying to watch the road as Sam drove faster. However, they both knew they were too far, the monster having too much of a head start on them.
“Sam watch out!”
“We have to get to him.” Sam shook his head, foot pressing down more while his hands white knuckled the steering wheel. He grunted as the car slid to a stop in front of the bunker doors, nearly hitting the concrete barrier.
Gabriel's lips sealed into a thin line, following after the mess of Sam's rushing limbs as the hunter clambered out of the car and into the bunker. He kept his eyes open, keeping up with Sam as the brunette screamed for his brother.
The graceless archangel kept his ears open as Sam became too singularly focused on finding his brother. His head snapped to the side at the screech that echoed through the halls that was nearly drowned out by Sam's grief stricken cry.
“Dean!” Sam collapsed by his brother's fallen form, half lidded eyes hazed with death as an unmoving hand clenched at his throat. “Dean… Gabriel.” Tears thickened his words, wanting to beg the archangel like he had so long ago to bring him back, but choked on his own words.
Gabriel couldn't bring a candy cane to his mouth, let alone a soul from the afterlife, and they both knew that. The archangel's hand rested on Sam's shaking shoulder as he sobbed, cradling his brother's already stiffening body close to him.
“Sam, it's still here,” the archangel warned, hand gripping tight to Sam, his worry for his partner consuming him.
The brunette was torn, the urge to slaughter the creature that had taken his brother from him was nearly as overwhelming as his desire to never let Dean go.
“I… I don't want to leave him,” he whispered, not looking away from Dean's ashen face and foam covered lips, closing his unseeing eyes. “Gabriel…”
The archangel didn't look at him as Sam cradled Dean's body, not noticing when the brunette started to droop. The celestial only noticed when Sam's heartbeat slowed. His head snapped to him at the slowing sound.
“Sam!” He cried, his hand holding tight to him and falling to his knees. “Sam?!” His hands pulled Sam's face to look into his glazed eyes. “Sam, no, no, no.” His head shook as the sound of slithering filled the air, and foam bubbled past Sam's lips. The archangel desperately tried to summon his grace, needing to heal his dazed and dying partner. “Please, please,” he whispered, begging his grace to obey him.
His grace didn't budge as Sam's jaw hung and his breathing slowed. Gabriel watched as Sam's eyes moved, seeing something that wasn't there as his throat closed. Tears blurred the archangel's eyes, gritting his teeth as he tried to heal the dying man before something wrapped around his throat.
“Never ate an archangel before,” a hoarse voice called from the darkness. “You three will feed me for weeks.”
“I hope you fuckin' choke,” Gabriel hissed, his hand clawing at the tightening slickness that squeezed the rest of his words from him, but his right refused to let go of Sam as the brunette slumped over his brother's body.
@steddieholidaydrabbles day 23 prompt, ‘hot chocolate;’ @steddiemas week 4 prompt, ‘surprise,’ @whumpcember day 23 prompt, ‘overwhelmed.’
WC: 969; Rating: G; CW: None; Tags: fluff, found family, established steddie, mention of health conditions, Eddie lives HEA, soft everyone! Summary: Steve decides to surprise Eddie and Wayne with hot chocolate. He's got no idea of the emotional fireworks he’s going to unleash... (of the good variety!)
💝💝💝💝💝💝
Steve let himself in through the door, precariously balancing three hot-chocolate drinks. He was ridiculously proud that he’d got home with barely a slop. The cream and marshmallows hadn’t sunk totally flat yet.
“Honey!” Eddie rushed at Steve and plastered a wet kiss on his cheek. Steve almost yelped—okay, still no spillages. His coordination skills weren’t totally shot. “Mmmmm, mmmmm,” said Eddie. “That chocolate smells amazing, Babe. You shouldn’t have.”
“Yeah, I should’ve,” mumbled Steve. Eddie took the drinks, so he could slip out of his winter jacket. “I wanted to surprise you by doing something, I dunno, nice for a change? Sorry I was cranky this morning before work.”
“Huh? Didn’t notice.”
Eddie slipped his arm through Steve’s and led him to the kitchen area. Wayne stirred a big pan of bolognese sauce. He greeted Steve with a quiet ‘Hey,’ and a smile that could melt polar ice-caps.
“Hey,” smiled Steve, before plonking the drinks on the table and reverting his attention to Eddie. “What do you mean, ‘didn’t notice?’ You saying I’m always grouchy in the morning?”
“Wouldn’t have my bitchy darling any other way.” Eddie pressed Steve into a chair then headed to help Wayne. “Seriously, though, you were fine.”
Steve inhaled sharply, his chest kinda catching—partially on the delicious odours from Wayne’s cooking, overwhelming even the hot chocolate, though mainly on the emotions surging inside him.
He had been cranky this morning. He’d had a bad headache for days. Eddie and Wayne didn’t deserve to be dragged down by him. Hell, post-Vecna-everything, the ‘powers-that-be’ might have compensated the Munsons with a nice little house, but they couldn’t cure Eddie’s chronic pain and regular panic attacks any more than they could fix Steve’s.
Yet, here Steve was.
In the snuggest kitchen on earth, with his loving boyfriend and his kind uncle smiling down at him like he was sunshine itself. Then Wayne’s gaze alighted on the hot chocolate. He turned off the cooktop, his face turning deadly grave.
“You brought that, son? For us?”
“Uh, yeah?” Steve was suddenly nervous. He swallowed hard, watching Wayne’s Adam’s apple bob as he apparently mirrored him.
Then Wayne pulled out a chair, sat down opposite Steve. His face crumpled, and he burst into tears.
“Shit!” squeaked Steve, glancing up at Eddie, who also looked mildly alarmed. “Did I do something wrong?" On instinct, Steve reached across the table to Wayne, who grabbed Steve’s fingers.
“No, no.” Wayne sniffed. “It’s just… I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s just… t-this year, I thought I lost my sweet boy. I thought I lost everything, and now… h-here we are… all together… I got me two sweet boys to love. Two.”
“Oh,” said Steve, very softly, still kinda panicking for reasons he wasn’t sure of. Fortunately, Eddie had totally got this. He plonked himself at Wayne’s side, threw his arms around him, and joined him in sobbing his heart out.
Wayne had still gotten hold of Steve’s fingers, wringing them to the point of pain. Between hiccupping sobs, Eddie spluttered, “St-Steve… Stevie?” while flailing an arm toward Steve, gesturing wildly that he should join them.
Steve realized he was gawking, snapped his mouth shut. He felt it, he honestly did, his chest burning with love and gratitude. He also felt bad. Harringtons didn’t cry, and years of conditioning left their mark. That said, he’d cried a lot this last year, not all of it solo.
He wasn’t a Harrington anymore. Not really.
He was a Munson, heart and soul. At least, he wanted to be…
“Babe?” Eddie’s arm remained outstretched. Wayne’s pleading, watery eyes upon Steve were pretty much the final straw. Steve’s pent-up feelings surged upward… into a very slight sniffle.
Ding-dong!
Steve genuinely hated that he thought, Saved by the bell!
“I’ll get that.” He dabbed his eyes.
It was Dustin and Claudia, who Wayne often invited to dinner. Steve endured an awkward moment, struggling to explain, as the Hendersons entered the kitchen to find the Munsons a bawling mess. Dustin looked up at Steve, utterly aghast, before Wayne rescued him. “St-Steve bought hot chocolate. What a thoughtful surprise. After everything this year, it was just so… so… darn…”
Claudia was already breaking. Within seconds, she and Dustin joined Wayne and Eddie in a four-way waterworks cuddle, leaving Steve standing, hands on hips, utterly bewildered.
Okay, also grinning his face off through a faint sheen of tears. If the people he cared for were happy, he was. Wasn’t his fault they had a crazy way of showing it.
He really wanted ‘in’ on the hug, though. He felt more and more excluded and squirmy, though everyone entreated him to join them, between sputters and sniffles.
Ding-dong.
Steve dashed to the door.
“Hey,” said Robin. “You were in such a mad rush to get hot chocolate before the diner closed, you forgot your pain meds, Dingus. Shit! Oh my God, who died?”
“Nobody.” Steve pinched his aching brow. “I think they’re happy. It was um… s-something… to do with the… d-dumbass hot… choc…”
Robin didn’t cry much easier than Steve did. Once she set off, though, that was that. They piled into the six-way hug, sobbing till they were all pretty much cried out. Apart from Steve, who kept sniffling forever.
His face burned. He figured he was embarrassed… until he realized he wasn’t, not really.
He felt okay.
Yeah, his head hurt, but he’d gotten it leaned lightly on Eddie’s shoulder, which was scarred but healing. Eddie was alive. They were all here, together, and safe, holding each other tightly, if only for this perfect moment.
He loved them so much, and accepting so much love was really difficult, dammit. He was learning from the best.
They divided the cold hot chocolate into six mugs and laughed the evening away.
🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪💝💝💝💝💝💝
No pressure tags: @wheneverfeasible 💚❤️💚 My fic on ao3
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