#february ficlets

[eddiegettingshot]

your prompt for today: pink🩷

When their night out winds down, and they land on Eddie’s doorstep, Buck’s gut begins to prickle with sudden nerves, or maybe anticipation. He really can’t tell the difference. Strange, because he thought he’d been handling being on a first date with his best friend pretty well. After all, it’s a song and dance that’s usually about making a good first impression, and not only did that ship sail years ago, but Buck didn’t even get it right. So dinner just felt like dinner, except for the fact that Eddie kept their feet tucked together beneath the table the whole time.

Granted, there were a few days where Buck kept forgetting anything had changed between them if they weren’t physically together, if Eddie didn’t have a hand on him, like he’d lost all sense of object permanence where Eddie was concerned. What’s startling is that in most ways, nothing has. 

Like this: Eddie turns to him now as he unlocks his front door, brow arched. 

“What, you got somewhere else to be?” he asks.

Buck doesn’t bother asking what Eddie had seen in him, that he’d decided he needed to stake an explicit claim on the rest of Buck’s night (and, with luck, the morning?). It’s not like he’s in the habit of playing things close to the vest, but half the time he doesn’t even need to say a word—not to Eddie. He’d been peeled open long before he knew he had anything to confess.

Easy to imagine: himself, held in the tender cradle of Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s thumbs feeling down his center to find the tenderest spot, pushing deep all at once, prying him apart—through the rind of him, his ribcage, so all his insides, overripe with adoration, come spilling out into Eddie’s palms. That’s how it feels. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“No,” he says, shuffling closer. He’d been hanging back, playing with his car keys in his pocket.  “No, I—I’m coming in.”

“Good.” 

Eddie sounds so openly pleased. Warmth spills through Buck’s spine. He hadn’t considered that he wasn’t alone in this—bracing against some new humming energy, staring too closely at the back of Eddie’s neck—but he watches Eddie’s shoulders soften, right before he lets Buck inside.

Then, once Buck’s on the couch, thinking really intently about how they’re going to occupy it together (it’s been a busy week; they haven’t even seen enough of each other for Buck to have adapted to their new rules of engagement. Can he crawl into Eddie’s lap?), Eddie pauses, says, “Uh, hold on,” and bustles off to the kitchen. 

He returns with a lighter for the candle sitting on the coffee table, which is—new. Buck hadn’t noticed until now. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie light a candle in all the years he’s spent in this house, and now his lip is trapped between his teeth as he does it, avoiding Buck’s eyes all the while.

It hits Buck hard and fast: Eddie is really, really nervous. And trying to be romantic, for Buck. And if he crawled into Eddie’s lap, probably Eddie would laugh, and let him; he’s allowed. And maybe nothing feels different but it’s all changed. That’s what Buck wants, for once. That’s what Eddie wants, judging by his wide dark eyes, flushed cheeks, the flickering candlelight. Sometimes Buck’s slow on the uptake. This time, he might have just been scared. 

“You look nice,” Buck says. 

Kind of bad timing—Eddie’s just in his socks; he’d shed his jacket and the fancy watch Buck’s only seen him break out a couple times; he’d undone the first couple of buttons on his shirt; he must have run his hands through his hair when he was out of sight, since it’s falling halfway down his forehead. Buck should have said something when he picked Eddie up—he’d thought it, then, but he had been so comfortable with Eddie in his passenger seat, he didn’t want to risk making things weird.

Eddie’s laugh is just a soft puff of air. He relaxes. “Thanks,” he says, coming around to sink down beside Buck, turning a knee out so they’re touching, as if by reflex. 

“I like that color on you,” Buck continues. “Always have.”

“Hm,” Eddie says, smiling. He’s in rose pink. He’s also leaning closer, lifting a hand and brushing his fingertips down Buck’s brow, his cheek. His eyes flicker, and suddenly they’re trained on Buck’s mouth. Buck’s stomach swoops boyishly. “It’s a good color.”

Holy shit, Buck thinks, head full of jasmine and honey and smoke and the cologne Eddie’s wearing, something unfamiliar with an exotic spiced note. They kissed before—they’ve been kissing all week—except this time Buck starts whimpering before their lips meet, and Eddie swallows whatever strangled noise he makes with a grin. Buck lurches in, fisting urgent hands into the front of Eddie’s shirt. 

“Eddie,” he pants after a while. It’s hard-won, because Eddie is demanding, and he bites. “Eddie, are you sure?” 

Now that they’ve done it, like, really crossed the line, gotten a taste—he’s gotta know if this is what Eddie was looking for, when he told Buck he loved him. Not just the sex, which they’re definitely about to have—all of it. Buck shoves his knuckles against Eddie’s chest to feel his heart gallop, hard but steady like it grew Thoroughbred legs. 

Eddie’s cupping his face in both hands while they kiss. He pulls away, not far, and surveys Buck the way he would a patient: like he’s trying to puzzle out what’s going on beneath Buck’s skin, in all the places he can’t quite reach.

“Buck,” he says, gently. “Of course.” 

He pushes his thumb between Buck’s teeth. Satisfied, Buck drags him back in.

[paigemathews]

For the February ficlets:

patty and paige

Pairing: Patty Halliwell & Paige Matthews

It was only Sam's arm around her, and her fear for her other daughters, that kept Patty on her feet. Exhausted and heartbroken, she cradled her baby in her arms as he orbed them to the church.

She vaguely registered the nun's shock and that Sam was saying something, but all Patty could do was watch her little girl. Patty was a Warren witch, with all that entailed. She's fought demons since she was a teenager, faced monsters that would send any other person running with nothing but her own grit and determination. She'd had innocents, friends, die in her arms as she was moments too late from saving an innocent. She'd seen more gruesome scenes than even the most hardened detective.

But nothing had come closest to shattering her than this. When she first fell pregnant, felt the little life flicker in her womb, she knew the risks that it came attached with. Many witches did not live long lives, and their craft posed an undeniable risk. But this was not a risk that she'd ever considered.

Her daughter wouldn't grow up the youngest of four. Her daughter wouldn't grow up with her mother's potions and cookies. Her daughter wouldn't grow up with her spells and lullabies. Her daughter wouldn't know that magic was real, that muses inspired and leprechauns granted luck and cupids helped you find love. Her daughter wouldn't know the power that she possessed, the was rooted in her blood for centuries. Her daughter wouldn't know that she was a Warren, and Patty's heart ached.

"Patty," Sam gently brought her back into the present, and she swallowed hard.

The nun's eyes were awed and bright, and Patty couldn't bear to meet them. Looking down at her little girl, she found her voice enough to request, "Make sure that her name starts with a P."

She couldn't grant her daughter her power or her ancestors or her magic, but maybe one day, her baby could find her way back to them. Maybe one day, she'd be able to see her again. Maybe one day, she'd be able to hold her again.

~

Patty didn't expect the summoning until she was standing in the mortal plane again. It had been... a rough few days, to say the least. Prue alternated between quiet despair about her life being cut short and angry desperation to return to her sisters, and while Patty resonated with her daughter's feelings, she'd had more than twenty years to come to terms with the impossibility of it. Combined with Prue suddenly finding out that Penny and Patty had hidden that they had a younger sister, her daughter couldn't seem to decide if she was no longer speaking to them or shouting at them. The only person able to calm her temper since her death was Andy, who Patty had been dismayed to see arrive so soon a few years earlier.

"There was someone here we thought you should meet."

She wasn't sure if Phoebe was talking to her or the woman standing in front of her. She was beautiful: dark hair and dark eyes with an expression that Patty had seen before. Time and death couldn't hide her identity from Patty.

"Paige."

Looking stunned, Paige - her daughter, her baby girl - asked, "Mom?"

Patty couldn't have stopped herself if she'd tried as she stepped out of the summoning circle. Wrapping her homes around her daughter, she barely contained the tears of joy. For the first time in a lifetime, her daughter was in her arms again.

"Welcome home."

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Open When...

FEBRUARY FICLETS #1

A/N: Happy February, everyone! (Yes, it' true, January is finally over!) For me, has historically been a month of writing slumps and creative blocks. In an effort to try to fight that this year, I am choosing a few prompts from this list and writing something short for them. I have no idea how many I’ll get to, but for now here’s a little Ezra to get things started. This is part of the Angelfish universe.

Prompt: love letter

Warnings: brief mention of accident and injury

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Long distance relationships are always tough, especially when the distance spans different planetary systems. But you still find a way to be there for Ezra without ever leaving your post on Lau.

The relentless hum and buzz of life at Bahkroma base was silenced as Ezra reached his bunk and slid the door shut.

What a day. He sighed, bringing his right hand up to the back of his neck. The smallest tilt of his head released an audible pop of tension that he felt beneath his fingers. What a Kevva-fucked day.

Though the potential for danger on the Green Moon was always high, most dig shifts went smoothly. Trek out to the site, fill the day’s aurelac quota, secure the gems and trek back to base. The terrain was rough, the chemicals used to coax the gems from the fleshy roots was caustic, and without a filter the air would kill a person in just a handful of cycles. But when protocol was followed and equipment maintained - as it always was when Ezra was leading an expedition - the job could be done with relative safety.

Of course, there were still plenty of ways that a dig could go awry.

That day, it happened to be an expired vial of chem left behind by some drifter whose body had long since been consumed by the mossy forest floor. Flesh decays, and the Green is always hungry for carrion. But inorganic material remains for far longer - roto scalpels and extraction forceps left to rust, containers of phaser becoming covered by growth, laying in wait like landmines to be struck open by a drill head or pickaxe. Unlike some of the substances used in filtration and cleaning that lost potency over time, phaser solution only became more volatile. More dangerous.

Which was why Frontier Mining Company had invested in top of the line scanning equipment that checked the ground for evidence of abandoned dig sites before crews were cleared to begin.

The scans came up clean, though. Ezra stepped away from the door and crossed the small space that somehow felt smaller since you’d left for your posting on Big Blue. Choosing what had always been your side, he sat on the edge of the bed and gripped the mattress. They were clean. We were cleared, and then-

He screwed his eyes shut against the memory of what happened next - the distinct sound of metal finding glass, the hiss and bubble of the leaked fluid reacting to the water in the plantlife it spilled onto, the stillness in the half second before the explosion, and the anguished screams that came through the comms in his helmet.

In the end, it could have been worse. No one was killed. Everyone had been knocked to the ground, a few people had been banged up a bit. But Danelo, one of the crewmen Ezra had known for as long as he’d known you, had been the unlucky bastard whose ax had hit the vial. He lost a hand to the blast. Ezra had responded quickly, grabbing a field kit and loading the foam gun to cream up the wound as best as he could until the team was able to get the injured man back to base for proper medical treatment, and that had likely saved him from the worst of the infection.

It was still a grizzly sight. He opened his eyes and they landed on the photo he kept tacked up on the wall - one of you in his arms on the covered porch of your floating apartment out on the Skiffs, the shockingly blue water shimmering in the sunlight and your smile directed at him and not the camera. The picture instantly helped to put him at ease if only just a little. I’m glad you weren’t here for that, Angelfish.

He was glad, even though his missing you ran deeper than the ocean you were stationed beneath, that you were no longer at risk of falling prey to any of the Green Moon’s hidden perils. Glad that what happened to Danelo would never happen to you. Glad that your day to day operations on The Dive were far more stable than the wild nature of Aurelac mining. Even though he ached to hold you, especially on days when just a tiny shift in circumstance could have made it impossible for him to hold you ever again, Ezra was beyond relieved that your days on the Green were through. And that my own up here are numbered.

But days like that - and several others - were exactly what you had prepared for the last time you were both on leave together. Because you think of everything, don’t you?

Reaching up to the shelf that was built into the wall above the bed, Ezra pulled down a string-wrapped bundle of letters. There were fifteen in total, each of them meant for different occasions. You’d sealed each letter with a drop of wax and labeled them with their intended purposes. Open when you score a big pull. Open when your stand is halfway through. Open when it’s your birthday. Some of them were still sealed, awaiting the right time as per your instructions. Others were already opened, their pages folded and refolded along creases made by your hands so he could read and reread them as needed. Open when you can’t sleep. Open when you need a laugh. He thumbed through the semi-wrinkled paper, fingers finding the one he was looking for and pulling it from the stack.

Open when it’s been a hard day.

That one was still crisp and unopened. Slipping the shoes from his feet, Ezra swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the wall, and then he slipped his finger between the edges and tore them apart. So far, every single one of your letters had perfectly matched whatever reason he’d had for opening them. Each one was a reminder of exactly what he needed to hear, as though you were right there. And each one only proved what he’d known for years - that you loved him just as much as he loved you. Let’s see what you’ve got to say this time.

Like always, as he read he could hear the words in your voice, as close and clear as though you were there tucked against his chest.

Oh, my Ezra,

A hard day, prospector? I’m sorry, love. These are the days that I wish I was with you the most. Even if just to put my arms around you to give you a few minutes of relief. You make all my worst days more bearable and the fact that I'm so far away on one of yours is something that I would change in a heartbeat if I could. But since I can’t, this will have to do.

Do you remember that day on H4, back at the training facility, when you asked me to partner up with you for the Vezna excursion? I’m sure you do. It was our first experience on a fire planet and we were both nervous about it. What I never told you, though, was that earlier that day I was very seriously considering leaving the Frontier program altogether. I’d blown my Sector Six practice exam that morning and even though the field assessment was still a week away, I could already hear the gossip. I knew most of the other trainees didn’t want me there, didn’t think I could hack it. None of them were eager to be put on a crew with me, and I was really starting to doubt myself. Doubt my dreams. It was my hardest day of the 582 that we spent there.

But then you came along and you had that smile on your face and you said “Angelfish, there’s no one I’d rather walk through the flames with.” And even though you didn’t know it, that was exactly what I needed to hear. That you saw me as someone who was strong enough to do hard things, even things that made you nervous, too. You saw me as someone to depend on, even when I couldn’t see it for myself.

Ezra, I don’t know what happened today to make you open this letter in particular. But I do know that what you said to me that day? I feel the same. There is no one in this or any universe that I would rather walk through flames with, because I know that you can. I know that whatever struggles the day brought you won’t keep you down, because you’re stronger than anything that might try to stop you.

And do you remember what happened after the Vezna excursion? After we got back to H4 and passed Sector Six? Those ten days we spent in The Ephrate during semester break? I do. And I know you do, too.

I love you, Ezra. You’ll get through this hard time, and we’ll be together again soon. So soon.

He read your letter three times that night, running his fingers over the indentations made by your pen, tracing the lines and curves of the letters where you signed your name. You always ended each letter the same way - Your Angelfish - and each time he read those two words they filled him with a warmth he’d only ever felt when you were there beside him. You were his, and he was more yours than his own.

Flattening the letter over the center of his chest, Ezra turned his head to glance at the photo again. “You always know what to say, Angelfish.”

The reassurance that you believed in him - believed that he was capable of doing what was necessary to get through the hard days, whatever they bring - was the reason he was able to fall asleep that night.

But your mention of that long ago trip to The Ephrate? That was the reason for the things he dreamed about. And he couldn’t wait to be back on the Skiffs with you to tell you and show you that yes, he absolutely remembered those ten days.

.

.

.

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[wormdebut]

This interaction has been in my head for a while.

——

Steve Harrington was pissed. Livid, even.

All he had wanted was an adult beverage after a long ass day at work, which he certainly got. The whiskey sours were fucking great actually. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was the model of a bartender.

This guy was—Shit.

Tall as hell, and lean, but his arms boasted enough corded muscle that Steve couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of him looked like.

Damn, horny brain.

This guy had a riot of curls stacked on his head in a bun, which had been another nail in the proverbial horny coffin. He had chocolate brown eyes and fucking plush lips that boasted a lip ring. A lip ring.

How was Steve supposed to remain sane under these circumstances.

Robin couldn’t come out tonight so Steve was alone and just—watching this hot ass bartender work. God, he was such a creep. But this guy was so—suave, laughing with patrons, acting like he owns the place—it was some type of dive bar, plastered with tour posters and framed photos and musicians. Guitars hung on the walls.

The guy—Eddie—his name tag read, had on ripped black jeans, tattoos covered his arms and neck—Steve wanted to see where else they were hiding—his nails were painted black and he had on a faded Metallica shirt that sat tight across his lithe frame.

God—he probably did own this place. Steve really just stopped at the first place he could find, on his way back into town from a meeting. Congratulations to him for making a great fucking choice.

Steve was being a creep, watching this guy interact with someone, when he turned his attention on Steve himself. Eddie flashed his a smile—Christ, even his teeth were fucking pretty.

“Can I top you off, sweetheart?” Eddie purrs.

God, you can just top me—Steve thinks. He watches as Eddie quirks an eyes brow, before he schools his expression, flashing Steve a simmering smile.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, big boy.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. He said that out loud didn’t he.

[thirdwheelravi]

good morning sibyl … prompt: sleepy buddie 😴🤩

omg yay....this is the one i kinda started last night because i was excited!! also im sorry hima...i broke the rules right off the bat because this is slightly over 1k 😔😔 plz forgive me....

---

It’s late when they make it back. Christopher’s been passed out since they crossed the state line. Eddie’s absolutely exhausted, a little delirious from eleven and a half hours in the car but so, so happy as the little house on Bedford Drive comes into view. He gets Chris awake enough to shuffle inside and get into bed, and then drags their bags inside, leaving them in the front hall. Everything else can wait.

Tomorrow they’re going to head straight to Buck’s in the morning to surprise him—Eddie promised Chris it would be the first thing they did when they got back to LA. He’s already checked with Bobby to make sure he’s not on shift.

He’d been too scared to tell Buck that they were coming home. Terrified that Chris would change his mind, or that his parents would try to stop them, or that something would happen to snatch it all away from him again. It hadn’t feel real, hadn’t felt permanent, until he walked up the front steps.

Now, easing down the familiar creaky hallway and pushing open the bedroom door, Eddie lets out the breath he’s been holding since the day Chris left.

The sight that greets him on the other side of the door steals that breath right back. 

There’s someone lying in his bed. Eddie knows it’s Buck before he can even understand how he knows it’s Buck. As if he could recognize him from just the outline of his sleeping body in the dark.

In the wake of his initial surprise, Eddie is filled with something he can only call peace. He’s home. They’re home. And somehow, it makes sense that Buck should be here, asleep in Eddie’s bed like he belongs there.

Moving quietly, Eddie sheds his pants and exchanges his road-worn henley for a fresh t-shirt. Then he moves to the other side of the bed and climbs in beside Buck. 

“‘’ddie?” comes the sleep-roughened rumble of Buck’s voice. 

“Hey,” Eddie says softly in the dark. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay. ’m glad. You’re here,” he says, or maybe it’s I’m glad you’re here.

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” Eddie says, settling onto the pillow next to him. Under the blankets, Buck moves, rolling toward him, tucking all that bulk against Eddie. Eddie wraps an arm around him, letting himself, in this quiet, unguarded moment, live in the spaces of Buck’s body, in the warm certainty that no matter how far he goes, Buck will always be his home.

He breathes in, letting all the tension of the last few weeks dissipate, and presses his cheek into the hollow of Buck’s throat. Sleep is creeping up on him, waiting to pull him under.

Buck lets out a little hum, almost a moan, and turns his face toward Eddie’s. 

It’s as natural as anything to meet him there, lips nudging together in a kiss that’s sweet and soft until it isn’t. Until Buck grabs the back of Eddie’s head, angling his face to kiss him deeper, until Eddie opens his mouth to greedily drink every sigh and whimper from Buck’s mouth, until he presses Buck down against the sleep-warm sheets and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

But sleep is still lapping at his edges, and soon the near frantic need slows into something languid and undemanding.

Buck sighs his name, sounding half a step from sleep himself, and they settle again, tangled together.

“I’m gonna tell you everything in the morning,” Eddie promises. Means it, too, when he says everything—everything that went down in El Paso with his parents, with Chris, everything he’s been keeping back from Buck because he couldn’t bear to tell him with eight hundred miles still between them. “But tonight I just—I’m home. We’re home. And I love you. That’s the most important part.”

“I love you, too,” Buck says, as easy as anything. Like it’s something he’s said a hundred times before. And maybe—maybe it really is that easy.

Buck hums again and between one breath and the next Eddie feels him drop back off. 

He follows soon after.

When Eddie wakes, he’s alone. It takes him a full minute to even remember where he is—not in Texas anymore thank god— and an additional few seconds to remember that Buck was in his bed last night.

That’s also about when he hears the sound of the kitchen door closing just a little too hard.

He’s out of bed so quickly he’s almost dizzy, stumbling across the hall and into the kitchen where he finds Buck.

Buck who is not, as Eddie might have thought, shuffling around in his pajamas trying to get the coffee going for them. Instead he’s standing fully dressed, shoes on, with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

Eddie leans against the doorway. “Were you seriously gonna try to sneak out?”

Buck jumps at the sound of his voice and then immediately goes rigid, his head angled down like a dog waiting to be scolded for bad behavior. “Eddie.”

“Well?” Eddie asks.

“I—” Buck chokes out, his shoulders stiffening, his hand clenched around the strap of his duffle bag. “I’m sorry.”

“For sneaking out?”

Buck nods, face red and bright. “For—all of it. For being in your house when you were—when you were gone. For sleeping in your bed. For—for last night.”

“You’re sorry for last night?” Eddie echoes. “Buck, you kissed me.”

Buck flinches. “I didn’t—I thought I was dreaming.”

“What?”

“When you woke me up last night I—I thought I was still dreaming,” Buck says. “That’s why I kissed you. And then I woke up this morning and you were really there and that meant I’d really, actually kissed you, and I—”

“Freaked out and decided to sneak out of the house before I woke up?” Eddie suggests.

Buck nods miserably. 

“And at any point in this freak out did it occur to you that the fact that you really, actually kissed me means that I really, actually kissed you back?”

“I—oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie repeats, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face.

“You wanted it,” Buck says slowly. “You…”

“Want it,” Eddie corrects, crossing the space between them and taking Buck’s face in his heads. “Really, actually.”

Buck drops the duffel bag on the ground. Eddie kisses him, as sweet and slow as he’d kissed him last night. Buck makes a noise that sounds like wanting and kisses him back, holding onto Eddie’s arms, thumbs digging into the soft parts of his wrists. 

“This is real, Buck,” Eddie murmurs between lush, indulgent kisses. “I’m really here. I’m really home. And I really love you.”

“I love you, too,” Buck says, and it’s so different from the way he said it last night. In the light of morning, the words are tremulous and precious, but still easy, so easy.

Eddie smiles, and before he can kiss him again, Buck pulls back. 

“And…you don’t think it’s weird?” he asks anxiously. “That I was, uh—living here?”

“Well, that explains the duffle bag,” Eddie says mildly. His hand finds Buck’s shoulder, his gaze finding Buck’s. “Buck, everything has felt wrong since the second Christopher walked out that door with my parents. Last night was the first time in my life that everything, finally, felt right.”

“Oh,” Buck says, eyes pink and wet. “That’s—me, too. That’s why I thought it had to be a dream.”

Eddie kisses him again and this time—this time the kiss turns from soft to molten. Eddie had been too exhausted last night to even think about anything more but now—now he’s definitely thinking about it. And judging by the noises Buck’s making and the way his hips hitch against Eddie’s, he’s thinking about it, too.

“You know,” Eddie says breezily, walking them backward out of the kitchen and back toward the bedroom. “We had a pretty long drive yesterday. Chris’ll probably be asleep for the next few hours. Maybe in the meantime, we can see if I can make some of your other dreams come true.”

ficlet february prompts

[vecnuthy]

decode

@steddiemicrofic June prompt: stuff || wc: 483 || G || established relationship, moving in together, language, Eddie being chaotic

Confused, Steve grabbed the keys he'd just set down, and -- yep, right apartment number.

When Steve had left their brand new apartment that morning, he'd known that Eddie and Wayne would be relocating their things from point A(ll yours now, Wayne!) to point B(abe, this is ours. Ours.), but Steve didn't realize--

"Eddie?"

The apartment had been completely empty that morning when he'd left for work, the mattress that Steve had tied to the top of his Bimmer ("I'm not sleeping on the floor.") and yesterday's clothes being the only things left behind. Now, however, Steve wondered if there had been some kind of mistake with a hypothetical delivery service that he knew Eddie and Wayne definitely did not hire, because there were mountains of boxes in front of him. Towers. A miniature King Kong would have a field day in this apartment, and Steve could only stare, overwhelmed by the amount of....everything.

Until, finally, a familiar head of hair popped out from behind one of the towers.

"Eddie, is this really-?"

And then Steve's face fell, lips pursed at the sight of his boyfriend, blissfully oblivious to Steve's presence, absolutely jamming to the music blaring from the headphones clamped over his ears. Steve bit back a laugh at the guitar solo that Eddie vocally mimicked with his eyes closed as his air guitar got downright shredded.

Eddie bumped into a stack of boxes, then paused, hands held out placatingly to the swaying stack, and said, "Excuse me," before he went back to wailing along with the guitar in his head.

Steve could have taken him right then and there.

He settled for a light touch to get his attention, since it was obvious that Eddie would otherwise remain oblivious to Steve's presence, but when Steve touched his arm, Eddie's eyes flew open and the guitar wail turned into a banshee shriek, his arms flailing wildly as he fell back and into a tower of boxes in surprise. Steve tried to grab him, but it was no use. He followed Eddie to the ground, and the boxes crashed next to them.

"Jesus fucking CHRIST," Eddie cried, starfished on the floor, his chest heaving under Steve's hold. "Damn, Steve, you scared the shit out of me. I think I just lost five years of my life."

"I'm sorry," Steve couldn't help but laugh.

Eddie, winded, grinned back then winced and turned toward the toppled boxes next to them. "Hope those didn't have records in them."

Steve frowned at words scrawled on the toppled box. "It says The Prancing Pony?"

Eddie relaxed. "Sheets and stuff."

Steve's confusion only grew when he saw other names across the other boxes, until he landed on one that said Rivendell.

He knew that name.

"Why is Rivendell on that one?"

"That, my liege, houses aaall of your hair care stuff," Eddie smirked.

"....Eddie, no."

Eddie grinned wider and winked.

[lsunstreakerl]

just imagine the walk of shame as I bring you all this fic, please and thank you. 6.6k of the tentacle verse I clearly said I would not be revisiting. if you aren't caught up, this verse was born during the smut prompts of February, and you can probably guess what the prompt was! this has also been referred to as the sea creature charles au. part one, part two.

helllooooo this is explicit! there's a chunk in the beginning, and then I got lost in the sauce for worldbuilding, and then back to being explicit near the end.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: literally everything from the first two fics, a dash of body horror, uh, biting in a violent way, and sharkstappen. questionable dietary habits when you think too hard about it.

Charles has been a massive dick the entire season, and Max is over it. He doesn't want anything to do with him, even though Charles keeps shooting him quick glances at the drivers dinner. He's been trying to get a moment alone with Max for weeks, but Max isn't interested.

He's going to sleep for a week, eat junk food, maybe go clubbing with Daniel, and play video games. It's his entire plan for the break, and nowhere in it does he have Charles.

Charles tries to corner him after dinner anyways, frowning as he boxes Max in a hallway corner as everyone is leaving.

"Max, can we talk? Please? I know you are upset with me, and I want to fix that-"

"You did not seem interested in fixing it during the season."

Max isn't interested in what Charles has to say- wants this conversation to be over with already.

Charles presses his lips together, eyebrows furrowed.

"I know, and I'm sorry, but even if I could just see you over break? Get lunch?"

Whatever gets him off of Max's back.

"Sure."

Max doesn't mean it- has no intention of actually following through, but Charles seems relieved, shoulders relaxing as he gives Max an apologetic grin.

"Thank you."

------

Max has come up with an excuse the last three times Charles had reached out to him, but he really does mean it this time- he's not feeling well.

He's dizzy constantly, thirsty and weak. He has no idea what's wrong with him, and no combination of over the counter medications have been able to get rid of the ache in his gut, settled just behind his stomach.

He feels like shit.

He's been chugging water down, but it's not enough, and everything feels too bright and too dry- he's going insane.

Max had been meaning to wait it out, let it get better naturally, but it's only getting worse now, and he's not even sure what it is- just knows he needs something.

He's half delirious in his bed, tangled in his sheets. It's dry, so dry he feels sick with it, and he needs some kind of solution.

Going down to the harbor when he feels like this is out of the question, so he's stumbling over to the sunken bathtub, cranking the faucet on and letting it fill.

It takes forever.

When it's finally filled to the brim, water splashing over the edges, Max sinks down into it, groaning as he settles.

It's marginally better- he doesn't feel like he's going to crack apart at the edges anymore, body finally starting to relax. It's not helping anything else though, his head still spins, and he still has a desperate ache inside of him, but it's enough for him to lean his head against the rim of the tub, eyes fluttering closed.

------

Max wakes up when the water has gone cold, manages to fight through the haze to drain the tub, filling it back up with warm water. He's hungry- has no idea when he last ate- but there's no way he leaves the tub, not when it's the only thing that's helped.

His fingers are shaking when he turns the faucet off, head thunking against the side of the tub again. He knows something is wrong- really wrong- but he's spiraled too far to do anything about it- his phone is in the other room. He has no idea how long he's been in the water.

His eyes drift shut again, and he starts accepting that this is somehow his fate. 'Formula 1 Champion Max Verstappen Found Dead in Bathtub!' isn't quite the end he'd been hoping for.

------

"-ax. Idiot."

There's something....

Max groans, slowly waking up. There's something in his mouth, stretching his lips wide and filling his throat, slick and strong. It's satisfying the thirst that water hadn't, thick and viscous inside of him.

He shifts and realizes there's something between his legs as well, coiling up further and further- he's so full, feels so much better than the ache of before.

His throat is stretched too wide for him to swallow, but he doesn't need to, eyes blinking up to hazily stare at his savior.

Charles is cramped into the bathtub with him, looking equal parts concerned and annoyed.

"Good morning, you stupid, petty brooder."

Max makes a muffled noise. Charles is... Charles is good, he takes care of Max, he'll make it better.

Charles sighs, and then Max is being pressed tight to his chest, sharp teeth scraping his nose as he leans down to kiss him.

"You see how dumb you were being now? You are changing, Max. You have cycles now too, and ignoring them- ignoring me- is only going to hurt you."

Max isn't quite following. He's feeling so much better now- his needs are met, and he kind of wants to get fucked.

Really wants to get fucked.

It must be apparent to Charles, who looks annoyed with him.

"I am not giving you a clutch in your bathtub, Max. We are going back to the cave, and I am going to breed you properly. We're behind schedule now anyways, since you wanted to be so fucking stubborn. You'll still be carrying a week before testing starts."

Sure, whatever Charles wants. Whatever gets Max more of this, feeling better than he has in days.

------

Max is draped across Charles' lap, tentacles working their way across his body. His eyes roll back into his head as the one in his ass pushes further into him, thicker than what he's used to.

He's pretty sure Charles has given him the actual clutch already- he feels full even in the rare moments there aren't tentacles inside of him. That doesn't stop him from moaning around the one in his throat as they squeeze tighter around him, holding him in place.

He vaguely remembers the prior years, but they hadn't been as... intense, as this year. Max has never needed it like this before- he can barely stand to have the tentacles out of him, pressed close to Charles constantly.

Charles has one of his hands pressing on Max's spine, pushing him further down as Max tries to squirm.

"If you had not been ridiculous earlier this would not have been so bad, Max. But no, you wanted to be petty and wait, and it's messed with your head, yes? You need more?"

Max wants more. He wants more bad, trying to push his hips back up into Charles' hand even as the tentacle inside of him swells, pushing inside of him into sweet spots he didn't know he had.

It's still not enough, he wants-

He wants another clutch, body desperately trying to accommodate for it, starting to wiggle in Charles' lap.

Charles makes a low noise, apprehensive.

"Max, if I give you more it's going to be a lot, yes?"

Max doesn't care, just needs to be full, needs to settle the empty ache he's feeling.

"Okay. Hold still for me."

The tentacles around him tighten, holding him down as the one inside of him starts to rhythmically swell and compress, and then Max can feel it-

It's not like with the clutch, where there's a full pressure. It's a hot swell inside of him, heavy and viscous, more liquid than anything. Max finally falls still as it seeps inside of him, weighing him down.

There's a moment where it feels perfect, exactly what he needed, but then it keeps going, pushes into being too much- Max wants to struggle, but it's pushing him down, making him feel like he's made of lead.

Charles coos softly at him even as Max tries to whine against the tentacle in his mouth, because it's starting to hurt.

"There you go, yes, that was a full brooder drop. I did not think you were ready for that yet."

Max doesn't think he was ready either. It's too much inside of him, overwhelming everything else he could possibly feel. Charles' fingers brush over his cheek as the tentacles start withdrawing.

"Good job, Max. Perfect brooder for me, even if you made things difficult for us both."

There's a soft kiss to the side of Max's face.

"You had me very worried, when you wouldn't respond. You need this just as bad as I do now, but you don't remember, so you have to trust me, yes? Even when you are upset."

Max is barely following- gives a raspy noise that hopefully passes for confirmation. Charles nips lightly at him, teeth pricking into his skin.

"You're going to need extra food now- that is a big one."

The tentacles are lifting Max out of Charles' lap, and he groans at the feeling of everything shifting inside of him.

"Shh, it's alright, I'm just putting you back in the water."

Whatever Charles wants. Max is too exhausted to offer any input.

------

Max blinks awake to the sound of splashing, eyes cracking open. Charles must be back with food, although he's usually a bit quieter coming into the cave.

He freezes, breath catching in his throat, heard pounding.

There's someone else looking at him, settling along the rocks across from Max's ledge. It's a complete stranger, large orange tentacles dragging against the stone. They remind Max of an octopus, suckers decorating the underside of them.

He isn't breathing.

The man is leering at him, leaning forward.

"Hello breeder. You're new here, aren't you?"

Max scowls, even as he shrinks back further onto his ledge.

The man just moves closer, tentacles starting to drop into the water, drifting in Max's direction.

Max clenches his jaw, eyes narrowed.

"Get out."

"Oh?"

The man stops moving, eyeing Max.

"Isn't that cute. What exactly are you going to do, brooder? You're barely turning, and everyone knows that's the best stage. You're all so...

There's a tentacle trying to wrap around his ankle, and Max yanks his foot back- but the suckers cling, stretching his leg out in front of him instead.

"...Vulnerable."

Max's breathing picks up. He's in danger, real danger here- someone has come into their cave, and Charles isn't here, and Max is going to-

"You smell wonderful too. Young, well bred-"

Max feels more tentacles starting to slide across him. They're nothing like Charles, none of the smooth slide that he's used to. He's trembling.

"-scared."

He's running out of options- not that he had many to begin with- and Max swallows, curling his lip up in a futile threat.

The man just laughs softly, and then his eyes narrow-

Max is plunged underwater with him, breath leaving his lungs as his eyes fly open. They're going deep, by where the cave entrance is, and Max panics. He's pretty sure the man is an octopus, and he's pretty sure they're somewhat cannibalistic, and he's not fucking dying here.

He doesn't even think about it when he sees the tentacle heading for his neck- just lunges forward, mouth open as water rushes in, before he gets his teeth on the tentacle and bites.

It's hard and rubbery, thrashing in his mouth, but Max digs deeper- something in the taste is lighting up his brain, adding to the anger.

Max is better than him. It doesn't fucking matter that he's somehow ended up with a life where he spends some of his year fucked full with eggs- he's not some kind of cowering incubator.

If this man is stupid enough to come after Max-

He'll kill him.

The tentacle in his mouth flails wildly as Max digs his teeth deeper, and then it snaps, bursting in Max's mouth as he spits it out. He's furious.

A stranger, in their cave, coming after Max, when he has eggs-

The man looks angry, but there's not currently any tentacles on Max- he's withdrawn them all around his body, nursing the bitten one.

The water is bloody around them.

Max lowers his head, still watching him. He's floating in the water, but he looks like a threat now. He doesn't care if he has to go one by one- the man can either leave now, or he can leave in pieces.

He snarls at Max, but his body language isn't aggressive anymore, and he's slinking towards the cave entrance.

Max won't relax until he's gone, but at least he's leaving.

Which is of course when Charles comes in.

It's fast- Max can't really keep track of it, just knows there's a blur of dark blue and bright orange, and then Charles is slamming the man against the rock walls of the cave, biting a chunk out of his throat.

It should make Max sick. There's no possible way the man is alive, not with the way he looks when Charles lets go of him, using a dark blue tentacle to push the body outside.

The only thing Max feels is satisfaction. Charles came back and protected them.

Charles' eyes are wide when he sees Max underwater, and then he's being yanked to the surface, laid out in Charles' lap as worried hands stroke over his face, smooth tentacles gingerly wrapping around him.

"Max, Max can you breathe? How much water did you- Max, baby, please-"

Charles looks two seconds from CPR, and Max lifts a hand to bat at him. He's fine.

He tries to open his mouth to say that, but there's a weird whistling noise when he inhales, and Charles' eyes widen in surprise.

"Oh- Oh, Max! That is amazing, you have-"

Max has fucking gills.

------

Charles brings them both back to the surface.

"You were using them fine when I came in, why can't you use them anymore?"

Max is scowling.

"Because I am not supposed to breathe underwater, Charles. I am a human person- not whatever weird fish shit you have going on."

Charles furrows his brows.

There's still flecks of blood on his face.

"But you are? You are a brooder, Max. Yes, you are turning faster than I thought you would, but you're still turning. Which is what I expected? We talked about this."

What.

"No? No, Charles, we definitely didn't- you said something about the chemicals messing with my memories. There was not any discussion of gills."

Max pauses.

"And I sort of thought when you were calling me a brooder it was-"

He makes a face, because he thinks about bringing it up every year, but by the time he remembers, it's always right before he forgets.

"-it was derogatory or something. Like calling your partner a slut."

Charles raises an eyebrow at him.

"And you were okay with that?"

Max tosses his hands up, frustrated. There's a complicated swell of emotions inside of him, and they're getting harder to suppress, thick behind his throat.

"I was more concerned about the egg thing, Charles!"

Charles is resettling Max where they're floating in the water, tentacles brushing soothingly across his skin. Max blinks rapidly.

"I did not explain it very well, Max. I'm sorry, it is also just that-"

Charles huffs, and his gills flare on the side of his neck. Max had never really noticed them before- Charles takes care to keep them closed above water.

"We only take one brooder in our lifetimes? And you obviously are the first I have had, and I don't exactly- I mean, Lolo has told me some about what his partner went through, but obviously these things are different."

Max blinks, digesting Charles' words. Processes.

His eye twitches.

"You don't know?"

Charles winces.

"Not really."

Max can't tell if he wants to scream or cry, and instead a slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of his lips.

The tentacle thing- manageable, if Max doesn't think too hard about it.

The egg thing- a little harder to deal with, but Max can compartmentalize.

The gills? His entire body turning into something different, something he has no control over? Something even Charles doesn't understand? He has no idea how to handle that.

"So, what? I'm going to go full fish person? Did you-"

Max cuts himself off, doubling over in laughter, even though it isn't very funny at all.

"Did you turn me into a fucking mermaid, Leclerc?"

"Max-"

Charles sounds concerned, hands trying to settle on Max's waist, but Max twists away. He can't tell if he wants to smash Charles' head against a rock, or his own.

"I mean- what the fuck? Genuinely, what the fuck? How do I even- How am I supposed to handle this, huh? Do you know? Did you think about that before you yanked me off the beach?"

Max is feels like he's going off the rails, hands flying as he speaks, voice getting higher as his eyes get worryingly wet.

"Where, at any point, was I even asked?"

Charles flinches.

Max isn't done.

"Nowhere! Absolutely nowhere! No one ever went 'hey Max, do you want to be a fish person for the rest of your life?' because the answer would have been no!"

His chest is heaving, eyes darting around the cave wildly.

"And now- and now every year, I have these fucking eggs, and they are- they are mine, and we fucking abandon them. I did not want to be a parent, but I refuse to be that kind of parent. I don't care that it's 'nature', Charles, it's not me!"

Charles looks at though Max has stabbed him, hands helplessly reaching for him even as Max shifts away.

"On top of it all, I am turning into a fucking mermaid!"

His words are shaky, and he's trembling. He wants to curl up, to protect the eggs. He doesn't know if that's Max Brain or Fish Brain- is there even a difference?

He wants to cry.

He wants to punch Charles in the face.

Charles is keeping his distance, giving Max the space he's asked for, even though it looks like it's physically paining him.

"Max-"

Max bursts into tears, curling up on his stupid rock ledge, wanting Charles near him, despite the fact that the whole thing is his fault.

There's a brush of a tentacle against him, and when Max doesn't shove him away, Charles cautiously drifts closer, pulling him into his chest.

"I hate you."

The tentacles are wrapping around him, cocooning him in the safety that is Charles.

"I'm sorry, Max."

It doesn't fix anything.

------

Max refuses to try and breathe underwater with Charles around. He's refusing to do much anything with Charles, which is extremely distressing for both him and probably also the eggs.

He feels terrible for the eggs- but he can't bring himself to get over it.

Charles is out hunting again, even though Max is on a self imposed hunger strike since early morning.

He slides carefully off the rock ledge back underwater. It's definitely a mental block- telling himself that it's okay to open his mouth and inhale water isn't going over well with the reasonable side of him.

He grits his teeth and tries anyways.

The first rush of saltwater is the worst, stinging his nose and the back of his throat, and he's expecting to choke, prepared for it-

He takes an even breath.

And then another.

Slowly, he starts to relax, carefully letting go of the rock ledge, where his fingers have had a death grip on the stone.

He kicks his legs, floating in the water as he adjusts. It feels like his regular breathing, just-

Through his neck.

This is fine.

Max tries to push his leg at the side of the wall to push off further into the water, but a shooting pain rips through his hip, and he immediately brings both legs up to his chest, hissing.

He gingerly tries to extend his leg to the side again, but there's a stiffness to his hips- they just won't work with him.

It's not a reason to panic. It's probably just a weird muscle cramp.

A really weird muscle cramp, on both sides.

Or maybe the fucking octopus tentacle he'd bitten off yesterday had a slow acting poison in it and he's dying.

He kind of wants Charles to come back, even if he's mad at him, because his legs aren't working, and he's about to start freaking out.

Max twists his core, scrunching up to push off the wall with both feet backwards, swimming back to the surface until his fingers are gripping his rock ledge again.

He pokes the top of his head out of water, blinking his eyes to adjust back to the dim light of the cave. He's still breathing through the gills, which is not any less weird than it was the first time.

There's a stack of fish near the edge- Charles has been in and out all day, trying to find something enticing enough for Max to break his hunger strike.

Max has been holding out on principle, but Charles still isn't back, so he drifts closer, picking through the pile.

It really is a good haul- fat fish, plenty of protein. Max isn't entirely sure what he's looking for, but he knows what he's not, so he carefully picks through the pile, discarding fish at random.

There's a particularly large trout near the bottom of the pile, and Max inspects it carefully before deciding he wants it.

There's just one problem- his ledge is back to his left, and his legs aren't doing him a whole lot of favors- he needs his hands.

Can't swim with both hands if he's holding a giant trout in one.

His eye twitches. Charles is never finding out about this.

Max sighs heavily, cringing as he lifts the trout, the slick scales against his teeth and tongue, gripping it between his teeth as he pushes back for the ledge, spitting it out onto the rock as soon as he arrives.

Disgusting.

Problem number two-

Charles has always deboned Max's fish. Max has no idea how to do it on his own.

He pokes at the slimy scales for a moment, trying to remember how Charles does it.

Except Charles is some kind of squid person, with freakishly sharp nails and lifetime of experience behind him, and Max has... none of those qualities.

Well.

He's got the gills now, but that isn't exactly helping him.

Does he just...?

Max grips one fin of the trout in one hand, holding the rest of the body with the other.

He gags, and then he rips.

It tears easier than he'd expected, and he's not near as disgusted by the metallic tang of blood as he should be.

He's not really sure where to go from here.

There's exposed meat now, but does he just... rip it out?

Max has not been appreciating Charles' fish filleting skills properly. He really doesn't want to rip chunks out, but-

He's hungry, and he's upset, and there's enough things going wrong in his life- the last thing he needs to do is accidentally fuck up the eggs any worse than he already has.

His eyes dart down to the water again, making sure there's no sign of Charles.

He lifts the fish in his hands, noise wrinkling, and bites.

------

Charles had to fight for his life to get this fucking tuna- if Max doesn't eat it, he's going to lose it.

He's dragging it behind him on the way back to the cave. He would've been more worried about leaving Max undefended, but letting an octopus hybrid corpse float up for scavengers is a pretty clear statement.

Admittedly, he hadn't expected Max to bite a tentacle off- he's both impressed and slightly disturbed.

Brooders- human ones anyways- most often turn into relatively peaceful hybrids. Certainly not the kind of hybrids willing to sink their teeth into an octopus.

Then again-

This is Max.

Charles feels his stomach roll with worry as he gets closer to the cave. Max has been furious since the discussion about the turning, and Charles...

He can't blame him. Max has valid points, a genuine reason to be angry. At the same time- his brooder has eggs, and the stress is bad enough- getting into a fight and going on a self imposed hunger strike isn't going to help anyone.

If Max doesn't like the tuna, Charles is going to have to settle him down and force feed him. Also something he doesn't want to do.

This whole breeding season has been a mess- Charles upset Max during the racing season, and then had to break into Max's flat, only to find his brooder a heatsick disoriented mess in the bathtub, and now Max is mad again.

His nose twitches as he swims through the entrance- there's a faint tang of blood in the water. Not Max's, thankfully. Charles focuses, dimming his bioluminescence and sinking to the bottom of the floor, carefully looking around.

There's a few fish bones that have sunken down to the sand- fresh ones. He gingerly lifts one, turning it over in his hands. It's decently large, tiny little nicks and chips in it.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say it looks like the feeding marks from a predator species- sharks and eels, the kind of hybrid species that Charles keeps his fair distance from.

They're not particularly opposed to hunting other hybrids, and Charles is strong- but he's not at their level.

He's grateful that the Mediterranean is warmer waters- they don't have to deal with some of the larger species, or the worst case scenario- orcas.

Still.

He lets the bone drop back into the sand, carefully swimming up to the surface. Ideally, Max would be more comfortable using his gills, and Charles could bring him to their actual nesting site, but his stubborn brooder refuses to try again.

Except-

Max is curled into a tight ball on his ledge, completely submerged. He's also deeply asleep, gills flaring softly with each exhale.

Charles is quiet as he brings the tuna over to the pile that's started to amass on the edge of the pool, but he's pleasantly surprised to find it in disarray.

Max has been in here, and Charles' trout he'd brought back a few hours ago- an impressive catch- is missing. He sets the tuna on the pile, eyes flicking over to the dry stone near Max's ledge.

There's a small pile of bones, and a splattered bloodstain.

Huh.

Charles... didn't think Max would have been willing to do that. He's been deboning all the fish for him, slicing them into little bite sized chunks for his brooder.

But now- it looks like Max had just torn into it.

So much for a hunger strike.

He drifts closer, brushing one hand against the side of Max's face. He has his legs curled up tight to him, although he's grimacing, even in his sleep.

Lolo had said his brooder went through the actual changes rapidly, once they started- a painful few days before she'd finally settled, coherent and also a beautiful flying fish hybrid.

Charles had been slightly jealous of the extravagant fins.

Max must be starting his physical change now, which means Charles can get them both to the real den, further underwater but closer to Monaco.

Now that Max is breathing through his gills, Charles thinks it's time- and he's been carefully working on their space, getting it ready for Max. It's larger than their current one, and it's more secure, solidly within old family territory.

There's a separate brooding space for Max, interconnected by tunnel inside the den, artfully arranged to be as ideal as possible. There's a sunken basin for fish storage, soft kelp weavings across the room, and the space itself is all smooth rock.

There's optional lighting, delicately brought in from above ground, but Charles has found that Max prefers being in the dark while he's being bred.

The rest of the den system is cozy- a sleeping space with a deep layer of sand for sleeping, and a coral structure to wrap around and rest on.

Charles will make more edits to it as he and Max settle, but as far as starter dens- it's acceptable. Max can nest in the brooders den while he turns.

He's a bit worried about this seasons eggs. Turning is going to take everything out of Max, and the stress that's been present throughout the entire ordeal can't possibly have helped. There's a chance Max has reabsorbed any possible nutrients for his own survival.

He carefully lifts Max in his arms, and uses a few stray tentacles to grab the rest of the fish.

Max shifts, face scrunching as he turns closer into Charles' chest. He's starting to produce the viscous gel over his legs and hips- so he's not a tentacle hybrid.

Charles is fairly confident that the gel will start to solidify into the structure of Max's tail, and when he starts to see scale growth is when he'll know Max is almost done.

His brooder is... probably going to want to kill him.

Charles definitely hadn't discussed the tail thing with him, but- he hadn't expected it to start with Max only three years in.

He's deliberately ignoring the glaringly obvious problem of racing. He and Max will figure it out when they get there.

------

Max feels terrible when he wakes up. His entire body aches, and everything is blurry when he blinks, like he's looking underwater.

He realizes a moment later that it's because he is.

He's completely submerged in a new cave, resting on the sand underneath him in a curved basin. There's tentacles draped across him, and Charles looks like he's also asleep a few feet away, half buried into the sand.

Max slowly stretches, arms in front of him as he pops his head above water, but when he goes to move his legs, they don't respond the way he's expects them to.

His head snaps down to look, but his entire lower half is covered in tentacles.

Max reaches to try and push at them, see what's going on, but the movement wakes up Charles, who looks almost-

Scared.

"Max, you're awake."

Max narrows his eyes. Trying to sit up feels weird too, and the tentacles just tighten further around his legs, making it impossible to see.

"Where the hell are we?"

Charles is fidgeting with his fingers, a nervous habit from when they were younger.

"We are in the actual den, now that you can breathe underwater. It's safer, and it is closer to Monte-Carlo also."

Max likes the sound of being closer to his actual flat, back at home, but he's got an equally pressing concern, and there's a bad feeling rising in his gut, twisting and turning inside of him.

"What are you not telling me, Charles?"

Charles winces, tentacles squeezing around Max.

"Remember our conversation about the turning thing?"

Max's heart drops to his stomach.

"No."

"Max-"

"No-"

He yanks away from Charles- his legs won't work with him, abdomen twisting weirdly as he turns, and when he's finally pulled away, hissing at Charles-

His legs are gone.

It's just- it doesn't even feel real. It can't possibly be real, the way Max transitions from smooth human skin to a rough, sandpapery texture.

The tail goes further than his feet had, and it's the same color as his skin, but there's an assortment of dark brown speckles and dots, extending from his ribs all the way down the tail.

There's a few fins, but they're not the frilly kind- they're rigid, clearly defined triangular shapes.

It's a prank. It has to be- some kind of prank, or a nightmare, or an awful drug trip.

It moves when Max moves.

The noise that comes out of him is strangled, high pitched and distressed, because he's-

His head whips back around at Charles.

"Fix it."

Charles winces again, shrinking back from him.

"I can't, Max, you have to learn to shed it normally-"

"Fix it!"

Max cannot be a fish person. Not only does he not want to be a fish person, he doesn't have the time for it, and it's not like he can drive when he has no legs.

Charles at least looks mournful and apologetic, for all the good it's doing him, carefully keeping his distance.

"Max..."

Max is a fish.

Max can't drive.

Max has a tail, because three years ago Charles decided to snatch him off a beach, fuck him full of eggs, and then kept doing it.

He's worryingly close to another breakdown, and he's already cried into Charles' arms about the whole thing, which leaves him with the other emotional extreme- and he's more partial to this one anyways.

"Leclerc."

Charles twitches.

"Max."

Max locks eyes with him, tries to make it as clear as possible that in this moment, he really does mean it-

"I am going to kill you."

Charles' eyes widen, and then he's bolting out of the space, a dark blue blur. Max doesn't waste any time, launching after him.

The tail feels like an extension of him, and he hits a few corners at first, scraping his skin on stone and coral in the unfamiliar cave system, but Charles is getting away, so he keeps going.

Once they're out of the cave in open water things get easier- Max moves fast with the tail, feels the adrenaline rush that he's always craving, eyes searching for where Charles has hidden himself.

There's a large kelp forest nearby, and Max feels a grin stretch across his lips.

Charles is in there somewhere.

He leisurely lounges around the edges of it, watching sharply for any movement. There's so many smells- but he's pinpointing on a specific one, a combination of Charles and something else that makes his mouth water.

It reminds him of their octopus intruder, the way the tentacle had burst in his mouth, chewy flesh under his teeth.

He takes another inhale, drifting down closer to the seafloor. He doesn't know much about squids, but he's pretty sure they like to hide in the sand.

There's a few moments where he doesn't see anything, and then he locks eyes with a familiar green shade, staring right back at him.

Charles' pupils are huge, fearful and wide as he looks at Max.

It's not terribly dissimilar to how Max had felt when he was first yanked off the beach, terrified and feeling distinctly like prey.

He winks at Charles, before swimming a few feet back.

He's not actually going to take a bite out of Charles- even if the idea makes his mouth water, his brain is also screaming at him not to do it. Seeing the look in Charles' eyes when he'd realized Max had seen him- that's satisfying enough on its own.

He opens his mouth, intending to speak, but all that comes out is a low warble. Charles carefully unearths from under the sand, but he moves painstakingly slow to the edge of the kelp forest, ready to bolt again at any moment.

Max rolls his eyes, following his nose to backtrack the scents back into the cave system they'd come out of. He wants to talk to Charles about this.

It's a good thing the tail feels like second nature, because if Max was dead in the water on top of everything else, he might've genuinely taken a chunk out of Charles.

He makes his way back into the first cave he'd woken up in, settling with his head above water.

It takes a few more minutes for Charles to slink in, staying tight to the walls as he eyes Max.

Max sighs.

"I think I am weaker now than I was before, I'm not sure what has you so freaked out."

Charles makes a weird squeaking noise, still watching Max intently, practically pasted against the opposite wall.

"You are- uh, you are a shark, Max."

Huh.

Max looks back down at the tail- not his tail, but the tail-

Nope. Still not real.

He furrows his eyebrows, head jerking back up to meet Charles' eyes as he remembers.

"Charles, the egg-"

Charles winces, worrying at his fingers.

"You absorbed it."

"I what?"

Max's voice goes high and hysterical, one hand pressing to the flat of his stomach.

"You needed the extra nutrients and support, and the turning process is much longer than the actual turn, so really,"

Charles is looking apologetically at him.

"They most likely did not even fertilize."

Max's head is spinning. He has a tail. He doesn't have eggs. He doesn't-

"I'm not doing this."

Charles tilts his head to side.

"I'm not sure...?"

Max throws his arms out, tail splashing unhappily.

"This, the fucking- the fish thing, the egg thing, everything. I want to go back."

"Max, you can't."

The words trip in Max's brain, rattle over everything else because he hates it and it's true.

His entire life has been people dictating what he can and can't do, and now that's extended to his body, his entire being-

He launches forward at Charles. He isn't sure what he wants, just knows he's upset and angry and it's Charles' fault.

"Shit-"

Charles is wrestling him below the water, and Max is snapping at him, gulping in mouthfuls of water as he thrashes.

There are tentacles sliding around him, and he swears he sees Charles mouth sorry at him before Max is being yanked into place, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder, deeper than Charles has ever bitten before.

He shouts, air bubbles moving towards the surface as the water tints red around them, blood- Max's blood- starting to surround them.

The tentacles around him are squeezing and sliding, and Max hates how it has him relaxing in their grip, hips twitching.

Having sex is not going to make him any less angry, even as he feels Charles lapping at the bite mark he's left behind, and a small tentacle is curling around Max's neck.

Something presses between Max's legs, a weird sensation with the tail, sending lightning bolts of pleasure through him- it feels like Charles is pressing on his prostate, but there's not even anything inside of him.

He jerks in the tentacles grip, eyes rolling back in his head as Charles does it again, and again, and then there's a tentacle sliding inside of him, and Max is moaning, spasming as it pushes deeper.

It's nothing like getting fucked- everything is so much, and he's already losing himself to it, tentacles coiled around his skin as Charles fucks a tentacle smoothly into him.

Max- he's upset, it isn't fair that this is working. Charles makes it hard to stay mad at him, sealing his mouth over the pinpricks in Max's skin, tentacles tight around him.

Max's mouth drops open, head dropping limply as Charles presses further into him, and he feels cored open with it, rearranged in the truest sense of the word.

He almost doesn't recognize the swelling sensation at first, but he definitely feels the pressure inside of him, and he fights back, teeth snapping in Charles' direction.

He doesn't want another clutch, that's not how they solve problems-

It's not until he starts trying to utilize his legs- or his tail, whatever it is now- that he realizes Charles is struggling, tentacles slipping against the rough skin of Max's lower body.

Max lunges forward again, eyes narrowed, but he's unfamiliar with the water, with the tail, and there's still tentacles inside of him, coiling up tight, and he gasps, lightning shock through his system at the abrupt fullness.

Charles takes advantage of his distraction, tentacles tightening enough to hurt, twisting forward and pressing him against the wall- Max freezes as he feels sharp teeth rest gently across the front of his throat.

He's completely still, some animalistic part of him realizing Charles is perfectly poised to rip his throat out. They're both tense, neither of them moving, before Max feels the tentacle inside of him uncoil, and he moans- the undoing is almost as bad, the sudden change in him.

He still doesn't dare move, even as he feels the pressure build up again, but- it's harder for Max to find the anger now. Charles won, so he's in charge. Max knows that's not how it's supposed to work, but he can't find his righteous anger about it, eyes rolling back as he twitches in the tentacles grip, fingers uselessly clenching into his palms as Charles deposits the clutch.

Again.

[inexplicifics]

Deerly Beloved, a modern AU ficlet in which Eskel meets a white deer!

[multiverse-of-fanfic]

uh, yeah, so this was meant to be a microfic for @drarrymicrofic’s February Prompt: Slot, but it turned into 2k words instead!

Through narrowed, petty eyes, Draco stares at the empty cubby, the plaque with his name on it glistening just below.

Glistening in a torturous, mocking, very unwelcome way.

Six months Draco has worked at the Ministry, and for six months he has received no mail. Oh, he gets the interdepartmental memos as he should. Perhaps they come to him more aggressively than his colleagues. And perhaps they never quite manage to takeoff from his office — cubicle, rather, and even that is a generous word for the closet they’ve stuck him in — to the preferred recipient.

Everything essential to his job, Draco gets, no matter the manner in which he receives them. For that, at least, he’s grateful. He’s lucky to have a job at all. He can handle a challenge. He is a Malfoy, after all.

A sigh just manages to slip through Draco’s nostrils.

A Malfoy. Not that it means anything these days.

Which is why Draco’s personal mail slot has remained empty.

Anyone who would bother contacting Draco with anything non-work related does so outside of Ministry hours. Except Mother, that is. But she prefers to firecall. And though Draco pretends to be put off by the inconvenience, he looks forward to her calls. He’s grown used to the monotony of his job, the emptiness of it. Often, a day passes where he has spoken to no one save Mr Prat, his boss, or Helga, the witch who doles out lunch in the cafeteria.

Draco’s grown used to the routine and its monotony.

And yet.

Every Thursday, like clockwork, between his nine o’clock debrief with Mr Prat and eleven o’clock tea break, Draco finds himself camped out in the mail room waiting for the mail slots to fill themselves with mail.

Today is just like all the other Thursdays. Logically, Draco knows he will not get anything. Merlin knows he’s berated himself time and again for continuing to appeal to the small, foolish shred of hope that refuses to vacate his chest.

And so, today, like every other Thursday, Draco leans against the wall across from the labyrinth of mail slots, arms crossed over his chest, finger nervously tapping against the breast pocket of his waistcoat. With each tap, his finger encounters a nigh unnoticeable drag of resistance against the wool. His bespoke leather shoes rest on top of the thick elaborate rug that covers worn wooden floor. The pointed black tip restlessly taps against the rug, the sound muffled. And if it taps in time with Draco’s finger, well, he has always been efficient.

Draco ceases all tapping and swiftly removes his pocket watch from its pouch and clicks it open, eyeing the clock mounted on the wall above the slots with disdain. His watch would never dare be twenty seven milliseconds slow.

He watches as all the hands approach sixty, the minute hand seemingly dragging on to its next destination at ten forty-five. Just as the second hand hits its mark Draco feels the room swell with magic, where it stays for only a moment before its gone.

Pushing off the wall, Draco delicately places his watch back in its place before straightening out the nonexistent wrinkles on his waistcoat. He clears his throat. That inconvenient speck of hope rears its ugly head as he prepares himself to see another empty mail slot.

But before he can look up and find the inevitable, the door to the mailroom flies open, and it’s all Draco can do to throw up his right arm to keep the door from colliding with his face. He yelps when the door hits his elbow with a sickening thud. A cry of pain bubbles up in his throat, but he refuses to let it out. The last thing he wants is for whatever nonce carelessly flung the door open to have a story to spread around to their mates.

After allowing himself a moment to recover, Draco pushes the door closed, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees an all too familiar mop of black hair lifting an enormous bag from the mail attendants hands. This is an encounter Draco wants to have even less than he wants to go to a Muggle football match with Blaise tomorrow, but at least in this he has some say.

Draco makes for the door, a swift exit within his grasp, but a half meter from the threshold, he trips over the edge of the infernal carpet below his feet and stumbles into the door, the wooden rectangle slamming back into its frame.

A soft “oh” breaks through the haze of Draco’s embarrassment, and he rests his forehead against the frosted glass panel, eyes squeezed shut, if only to give himself a moment before facing…him.

“All right there, Malfoy?”

Draco sighs. “Quite, Potter.” He pushes himself off away from the safety of the door and spins around.

Piercing green eyes are on him immediately, and Draco finds he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. They search Draco’s face. Then, once satisfied with whatever they find there, move to rove down Draco’s entire person with practiced scrutiny. Draco feels his cheeks flush under the attention, but refuses to shrink away from it.

Sconces outline the room, two on each wall, and their soft lift reflects off the glass of Potter’s glasses. Behind them, Potter’s eyes continue their inspection. Draco’s skin itches under his clothes wherever they go. His eyes show only concern, maybe some humor if the slight quirk in Potter’s lips are any indication. But there’s no malice there, none of the disgust or hatred Draco is used to seeing from everyone else. Used to see from Potter.

But it’s been months since they resided there. Draco selfishly relished watching them drain away, watching the fine eyes he’d always been obsessed with slowly see the man Draco has become.

While Draco’s tenure at the Ministry has been monotonous, that isn’t to say there haven’t been little deviations. Though it is rather comical, Draco thinks, to call Harry Potter a little deviation.

As fate, a rotten mistress, would have it, Draco ran into The Golden Trio his very first day. And over weeks and months of inconvenient run-ins in lifts, bathrooms, and hallways, Draco watched as the green in Potter’s eyes turned from violent and poisonous to bright and lush.

Those same bright eyes were done with their assessment and pinning Draco in place. Draco swallows. “I didn’t realize you were so important,” Draco jokes, finally tearing his eyes away from Potter’s and onto the obscenely large bag of mail he has in his arms.

Potter’s brows furrow before he realizes what Draco means. The absolute dolt. “Oh! It’s nothing really. Rubbish mostly. Fan mail.”

Draco feels his eyebrows jump to his hairline. “You ready all of that?”

Potter chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, and Merlin if that doesn’t threaten to melt Draco’s insides to sludge. “God no. Well,” he hefts the bag up further, readjusting his hold on it, “sort of.”

“Only pick out the love letters then, do you? Can’t resist the affections of the wixen world after all,” Draco smirks, enjoying the color painting the apples of Potter’s cheeks.

Potter shuffles awkwardly in place. “‘Course not, you git.”

Draco nods mockingly, lips pursed to keep the laughter at bay. “Mm, I’m sure.”

“It’s true!” Potter protests. “I bring them to pub night and read them over with Ron and Hermione. Makes for a good laugh.”

“Ah, yes. The famous pub night. I can see how that would be fun,” Draco muses. In the months since he and Potter have become better acquainted, the nights he spends at the pubs have come up. And though two thirds of the company sounds dreadful to Draco, he must admit it does seem like fun.

“It is. Loads,” Potter laughs, eyes bright.

Draco sees the moment a thought falls into Potter’s head. And he watches with rapt attention while Potter mulls it over, his every emotion playing out on the canvas of his perfectly sculpted face. Draco has been staring at the stubble peppering Potter’s chin, wondering what it would be like to rub against it when Potter speaks again.

“Speaking of,” he hedges, clearing his throat, eyes briefly flitting to a spot behind Draco. “Would you, uh, maybe like to join us? Tomorrow?”

“Oh.” Draco can scarcely say more. Every thought in his head abandons him. Every word, too, apparently.

“You don’t have to say anything now,” Potter rushes to add in an obvious attempt to placate Draco. And Salazar it’s so like him Draco wants to laugh. He doesn’t, though. Now is not the time. Because he finds he actually does want to go.

“I’d like that,” Draco whispers, fingers toying with the hem of his waistcoat.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Draco replies, suddenly nervous. “If you meant it.”

“I did. Of course I did.”

The silence that follows should be awkward. With anyone else it would have been. Not with Potter. There’s something in the air between them, though. Something charged, heavy. It presses against Draco’s sternum like a pewter cauldron. Potter stares at him, and though the bag of mail covers his torso, Draco is sure Potter is breathing just as hard.

“Here,” Potter says suddenly, startling them both.

He shifts the weight of the bag all to one side, freeing one of his arms. He reaches into his back pocket, retrieving his wand, and Draco can’t help but notice the way the fabric of Potter’s trousers stretches taut over his thighs and ass. Draco bites his lip to keep from moaning.

Potter points his wand at a spare bit of parchment sitting on the shelf below the mail slots. Words in Potter’s scrawl appear on it. “That’s the address to the pub we usually go to,” he provides.

Draco nods, only to think of a question he knows needs asking. “Will Granger and Weasley be ok with my being there?”

If Potter looks surprised by the consideration of Draco’s question, he doesn’t show it. But Draco sees the subtle way Potter sets his face. The determination that lays there. He’s seen it so many times before.

“They won’t be a problem.” His tone leaves no room for argument, and Draco knows that because it’s Potter, Granger and Wesley would absolutely grin and bear their discomfort for him.

“All right. I’ll be there.”

“Really?” Potter asks within something akin to wonder in his voice.

“Really,” Draco says simply, smiling fully.

Potter flicks his wand and levitates the slip into Draco’s slot. He returns his wand to his back pocket and makes his way toward Draco. Draco’s arm shoots out, his hand wrapping around the cool metal of the door knob. He steps back, making room for Potter to leave with his haul.

He stops next to Draco and looks into his eyes. “See you there, then.”

“See you,” Draco breathes.

He watches Potter walk down the hall and disappear around the corner. Only then does Draco shut the door and collapse against it, legs feeling as if they’d been hit with a Jellylegs Jinx.

Draco’s heart is pounding so fast he can feel it in his ears. The cage of ice that guards his heart prevents him from voicing what this could mean, but when he lifts his eyes from the floor and sees the little slip of parchment in slot above his golden nameplate, that little sliver of hope flares to life again.

He walks towards the wall on unstable legs. All of the slots around his are full with letters of all shapes and sizes, but for once, Draco isn’t concerned with them. His focus is on the singular piece of parchment in his, the address written in the most abominable script. His heart beats faster.

Draco knows he’ll need to cancel on Blaise when he gets back to his cubicle, but he can’t find it in him to care.

Not when he’s finally got mail.

[siderealdei]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: Jango Fett, Obi-Wan Kenobi Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting Series: Part 4 of February Ficlet Challenge 2025, Part 3 of soulmate cravings Summary:

Jango has been chasing the hints of his soulmate's meals across the galaxy for close to ten years.

[mokaisathome]

Day 17 of the 2025 February Ficlet Challenge: map / oath

   What’s in a ring?

   To begin with, three months worth of salary… Scratch that, only a single month would suffice – given his position as Kalim’s right arm, one month was enough to buy anything he wanted. He had spent most of his free time looking at catalogs lately, telling Kalim that he was observing trends to know what the Al-Asim corporation should invest in when it came to the jewelry side of their business, but really, his full attention was on rings and nothing else. The ones he finally chose were simple, nothing as lavish as most of what Kalim usually wore but that simplicity was why it’d be more striking to any casual observer. A golden band mimicking a snake holding a jewel – onyx for Kalim’s ring, ruby for Jamil’s – in his maw. Perfect.

   What’s in a ring?

   Obviously, feelings. You didn’t give a ring to just anyone. In his whole life, Jamil only gifted these to two people. One was Najma for her most recent birthday as she wanted a pair of trendy sun and moon rings – “Jamil. Gift.” was the message she sent him alongside a link to an online shop – and the second was, of course, Kalim. From a plastic toy ring to one made with flowers, he remembered every occasion he gave Kalim one. Now, his feelings weren’t as innocent or cute as when he was a child, heavier to an incomparable degree, but the way his heart annoyingly fluttered when thinking about Kalim was the same. All the small and big emotions he couldn’t convey with words or actions were surely conveyed by these small rings.

   What’s in a ring?

   Finally, words. Jamil was good at talking – getting people where he wanted them to thanks to well-turned sentences, having them sign contracts because he let slip a few praises, making them beg for their lives with a single word… There wasn’t anything to worry about when it came to this step. Kalim wouldn’t refuse him. Jamil just needed to talk clearly to him, something he’d learned to do back in their student days. That was easy.

“Jamil? You’ve been standing there for a while… Do you need something?”

   Easy.

“Jamil?”

   Jamil was good at this, especially when it came to Kalim. Handling him was a second nature.

“Should I call the doctor?”

   Instead of a reply, Jamil turned on his heels and left Kalim’s office, ignoring the panicked “Jamil?!” behind him.

   What’s in a ring?

   Perhaps a little more vulnerability than what Jamil was used to.

[eddiegettingshot]

my issue w writing is that i get 2 ambitious and i have so many things i want to say. for literally everything. so then i end up fizzling out because it would take more words and build-up and context than i have in me at any given moment and i’m like this is so Hardddd and it has 2 be perfect and the more words there are the more words i have 2 get right. the solution would be letting myself write very short things. which is why i have so much smut in the backlog bc theoretically it’s very easy 2 keep short. except then i still have so much 2 say even with that. and so the cycle continues. LIKE.

[paigemathews]

The ask prompts ask number who knows what I’ve already lost count:

victor and henry sr bonding as mortals in a magical family

Pairing: Victor Bennett & Henry Mitchell

Background Pairing: Paige Matthews/Henry Mitchell, Victor Bennett & Paige Matthews

Walking into the living room, Victor immediately realized what the problem was. Henry had his face buried in his hands and was perfectly still, a posture that Victor more than recognized from his early years.

Settling into the armchair opposite of his son-in-law, Victor waited. Henry finally looked up, something wild in his eyes.

"I traveled to the future."

Okay, so that one wasn't exactly in Victor's expertise. He'd seen the effects of time travel a few times: a time loop tormenting his daughter, his grandson making a desperate bid to save his family and world, and even his dead ex-wife visiting him. He'd never once gotten caught in any of that himself, however, which was probably preferable. While his daughters and grandchildren had (would?) knew the dangers of meddling in time, Victor had a list of regrets that he knew he'd never be able to resist fixing if given the opportunity. Being there for his daughters. Sparing them the trauma of demons preying on their trust and betraying them. Finding Paige two decades earlier. Saving Patty and Prue from dying so young.

Unaware of Victor's thoughts, Henry continued, "Paige and I were talking about raising kids with magic, and Wyatt-"

"Sent you to the future to see what it'd be like," Victor finished. Piper had warned him about being careful what he said in front of his oldest grandson until Wyatt was old enough to better understand his powers. He hadn't gotten the full details of the problems that'd caused, but he knew it'd happened more than once.

Henry nodded and rasped out, "We had twins. Charlotte and Penny. One of them moved all of our living furniture with her mind. The other one accidentally cheated on her science test by seeing the answers in a vision."

Henry buried his face in his hands again and mumbled, "I don't know how to do this."

Victor shuffled over and patted Henry on the back. "Magic is... not easy to deal with. You'll never fully understand it and never fully be a part of this world. Some people can handle that. Some people can't."

If he'd known before he'd married Patty, he doesn't know if he'd had gone through with it. Magic was... terrifying. He had no way of protecting his family, could only watch and hope that they'd be able to save themselves. But life without his girls, even with magic, was one that he didn't want to imagine.

"I love Paige," Henry argued, lifting his head. "It's not just the magic. I'm not- I grew up in the system, I don't-"

That was something that he had more experience with. Well. More of a "what not to do" type of experience. "Parenting is hard. Parenting witches is even harder, especially as a mortal. Now, I didn't do that great of a job of it, but you're not the person I was. More than anything, the thing is being there. You'll make mistakes. There's no getting around it, but being there and trying to fix them are the most important part of being a parent. And from what my girls have told me, including Paige, you're not the type to run when it gets hard, Henry."

Henry had a faint smile as he met Victor's gaze. "Not when it comes to Paige. I love her."

"Is that so?" Paige leaned against the doorway as both men turned to look at her. She smiled, eyes soft. "Good thing I love you, too."

She held her hand out to her husband. "Wyatt wanted to apologize for the magical journey, and I think Phoebe wanted to pry some future information out of you."

Henry rose and took her head with a wry shake of his head. "I don't know if that's how it works."

"I'll distract her for you two," Victor promised. He needed to go find his third daughter anyways, find out about this Coop fellow.

[forlorn-crows]

for ghoulette prompts, maybe cirrus or mist teaching new summon! aurora how to kiss?

happy valentines day btw <3

well this ended up as more dialogue than kissing. oops.

just cirrus and aurora spending time together and getting used to each other. aurora is equal parts nervous and eager, but she's also very, well, aurora about it haha

slice of life fluff. enjoy xx

“Why me?” Cirrus asks, twirling a stark white strand between her fingers.

“I dunno,” Aurora says. “You’re quiet. Safe. Some of the others can be . . .”

“A lot?” The taller ghoulette offers with a smile. 

Aurora nods, a little color rising to her cheeks. She looks down at her lap. “Not that I haven’t, you know, thought about it,” she mumbles.

“Oh?” Cirrus drops the lock of hair, placing her hand warmly on Aurora’s shoulder instead. “What have you thought about?”

The question gets her squirming. She quickly shoves her hands between her knees to keep from wringing them and laughs nervously. “I guess. How you all look and sound when you—” She rolls her eyes. Shakes her head at what she’s about to say. “—when you do it.” She mocks her inferior replacement phrase for ‘kissing’ and its underlying innuendo. 

“Anyone in particular?”

Aurora furrows her brow, her face growing pinker. “Sometimes Swiss looks at me like I’m food and I . . . like it?” 

Cirrus snorts. “Been there. His excuse is always ‘I like looking at pretty things,’ but I think he forgets he looks a bit like a predator when he does it.” 

They share a giggle, and it’s nice. Cirrus’ hand is warm on her arm and her eyes are kind, patient. There’s an air about her that makes her feel like she could sit beside her in silence all afternoon and still feel comfortable—even though Aurora’s heart feels like it might sprout wings and flutter out of her chest. Despite the waves of anxiety Cirrus must be able to feel rolling off of her, the older ghoulette remains unbothered and unhurried. And Lucifer is she silently thankful for that. 

“You think Swiss thinks I’m pretty?” she asks in a small voice a few moments later. 

“Aurora,” Cirrus lilts, voice going a little deeper. “I know he does.” She shifts her leg closer until their thighs touch, yet still leaving plenty of space between them. A shiver runs down Aurora’s spine at the tiny point of contact. Mood shifting instantly to something more enticing, a shift she’s been waiting, itching, to feel for herself.

“Do you?”

Cirrus smiles. “Do I what?” 

She pouts, but she can feel how it fails. “Do you think I’m pretty, Cirrus?”

“Of course, I think you’re very pretty,” she answers easily. “I assume the feeling is mutual?”

The smaller ghoulette nods quickly. “So pretty. I mean, everyone’s pretty—I mean, but you’re, you know—”

Cirrus shushes her gently and pulls her closer by the waist, causing Aurora to let out an inelegant squawk. She’s pressed against her side now, Cirrus’ arms wrapped around her torso lazily and their faces much, much closer than before. A little breeze whips around them both, smells of fresh autumn leaves and crisp hydrangea wafting around, laced with something darker, almost smokey. 

“How about we start our lesson, cute thing?” she says softly. “Or you can keep complimenting me.” Cirrus offers her a wink, tossing her raven black hair over her shoulder. “Either is good.” 

“The kissing, please,” Aurora blurts out before she can scurry away in embarrassment. She never imagined she’d be this skittish once they got down to it. But now that Cirrus is so close—tall, dark, gorgeous Cirrus—her face is over-warm, and she just doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Or the rest of her body, for that matter. 

“Nothing to be nervous about, I promise.” She pats her knee before unwedging her hands from between her legs. Cirrus holds them in both of her own, making soothing circles with her thumbs and offering her another gentle smile. “We’ve all been there. And you don’t have to worry about ‘getting it right’ or impressing me. Just follow my lead.” 

And closer she gets, bringing her elegant hands up to cup the side of her face and making those same soothing motions with her thumbs along the tops of Aurora’s cheekbones. The smaller ghoulette’s breath hitches in her throat. She thinks she’s nodding yes, she doesn’t know. All she can see, smell, feel is Cirrus, and suddenly she’s eager to learn. 

“Do you trust me?” She whispers, mouth inches away from Aurora’s and dark blue eyes searching her bright cotton-candy ones. Those same eyes dart down to her lips, as quick as a hummingbird’s wings, before meeting her gaze once more.

Aurora swallows, belly flipping in anticipation. Heat curling in places she hasn’t yet explored.

“Yes,” she breathes. Lashes fluttering over her cheeks before Cirrus even starts to lean in. 

The breath of Cirrus’ huffed laugh fans over her face, and then her lips press against her own, soft and chaste. It’s just a soft brush, no real heat behind it. But before Aurora can form any kind of protest, Cirrus is kissing her again, a series of the same, feather-light touches that make a delightful noise each time they part. 

“Thas’ nice,” Aurora mumbles against her lips.

“Good,” Cirrus whispers in reply, smiling slightly and shifting her hands to cradle the back of her neck. The action sends a tingle across her shoulders, mouth inadvertently dropping open in a soft oh. Cirrus uses that to her advantage, tilting her head ever so and turning the kiss from sweet into something deeper, more romantic. Lips actually slotting together, molding to each other. The slight change makes Aurora grab hold of her shirt, hungry to have her even closer. Hungry to kiss her back, albeit sloppily, just barely stopping herself from accidentally putting a fang through Cirrus’ lip as she scrambles into her lap. 

“Hey,” she laughs, pulling away. “Hold on, baby.” 

“What,” Aurora asks breathlessly, cheeks flushed and lips already puffy and spit-slicked. 

“Take it slow,” Cirrus soothes. “There’s no rush.”

“Oh.” She looks away, tail tucking between Cirrus’ spread knees. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she assures. “Nothing wrong with being eager, either.” She touches the pad of a finger to the tip of one of Aurora’s tiny fangs, smiling when she visibly restrains herself from moving. Aurora knows they’re sharp. Nicked her own skin one too many times in her first few weeks topside. She just wanted more, and frankly, now she’s a little mad at her own body for getting in the way of that. 

“But you have to watch these, baby,” Cirrus tells her softly. 

Aurora nods once she removes her finger. “Can we try again?”

“What kind of teacher would I be if I failed you for making a mistake?”

“Uh . . . a bad one?”

Cirrus laughs then, pulling Aurora close and nuzzling into her neck. She presses a kiss there, enthusiastic and playfully over the top, rubbing her nose along the ends of her hair until the smaller ghoulette giggles and swats her away. 

“Come here. Let's start again.” 

[deathbyglamour01]

February Ficlet Challenge 2025

Day 3: “nonverbal communication”

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Characters: Dipper, Stan

Ships: N/A

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 280

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62768353

Dipper rocked forward and back in his bed, soothing himself. He had on his noise cancelling headphones and he gripped each side to give his hands something to do. His favorite book sat in his lap and he scanned over the pages for what felt like the millionth time, allowing the familiar words to comfort him. 

He was brought out of his zone by the attic door creaking open. The headphones muffled the sound enough for it to not hurt, and he looked up to see who was there. Grunkle Stan stood at the threshold, eyes scanning to asses the situation. When he met Dipper's eye, Dipper managed to give him a small, hesitant smile. Stan returned the smile, signing 'come in' with a questioning expression. After a moment, Dipper nodded, and Stan entered, sitting on the edge of his bed. Stan signed 'talk?' and Dipper pointed to him and nodded, then pointed to himself and shook his head. Stan nodded and smiled.

"You good?" Dipper shrugged. "Well, better than earlier at least?" He nodded. He was still shaky from his previous meltdown, but feeling considerably better. "Good." After a moment, Dipper uncrossed his legs and wormed his way over to his grunkle, ignoring his raised eyebrow and making himself a spot against his side, half in his lap. Stan snorted and patted him on the shoulder with the arm that wrapped loosely around him.

Hesitantly, Dipper flashed the sign for 'I love you' and Stan very obviously tried to play it cool. He wasn't affected at all, what're you talking about? He was fine! He returned the sign and gave Dipper a noogie leaving him giggling in Stan's arms.

[leaderpinhead]

Leona - Checkmate

Prompt: Only One Bed

“I know we just had to prove ourselves worthy to grace you with our gross herbivore presence, but now we have another issue.”

Leona snorted but otherwise pretended not to hear her. He used the excuse of being in the bathroom. Just like his sister-in-law, Yuu had no issues with continuing to nag him. “Do you think ignoring me will make the problem go away? I have enough experience to tell you life doesn’t work that way.”

Leona clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. When they drifted back down to the mirror, he caught the reflection of the prefect and her pet in the bedroom behind him. Grim circled in and out of the room from the balcony like he couldn’t get over the view of the dorm. The prefect stood at the foot of the bed with her hands propped on her hips and her gaze steadfastly fixed in the direction of the bathroom. Her brown eyes met his in the mirror without hesitation.

Leona quickly glanced away. Not because he was intimidated, but because he had inadvertently dropped the brush he held. Yes, that was his excuse.

“You’re the one who insisted on staying here,” Leona snapped. He tossed the brush onto the counter and prowled around the large bathroom. He moved out of the view of the mirror and tossed a towel onto the floor just because he felt like it.

“Now I see why your room is such a mess. I almost feel sorry for Ruggie having to clean up after you, but then I remember he benefits from it just as much as you do.”

Nagging—why were all women of every species such experienced naggers? “If you have a problem, why don’t you go room with the puppy?”

“I’d prefer Jack, but you know why that isn’t possible.”

Leona huffed, but he didn’t argue on the point. He did understand why. He might have made her fight to earn the right to room with him while Azul manipulated his contracts, but he had known letting her room anywhere else in the dorm wasn’t an option. He’d heard the whispers circulating the dorm as more and more students realized the prefect was a girl in disguise.

He was quick to put those other boys in their places, especially when the whispers made even his stomach churn.

Ruggie’s snickers reminded Leona of the hyena’s presence outside the bathroom. “You three have fun figuring that all out. I’ll be back to see who still alive in the morning. Shyeheehee.”

Leona’s ears flicked when Jack mumbled a farewell too. He heard the obvious click of the bedroom door. Soft shuffling signaled the prefect and Grim moving around his room. Leona fiddled with the tubes and containers he found on the sink counter. His nose wrinkled when he picked up one container. Why the hell had Ruggie bought him a warthog scented candle?

“If you’re planning on spending the night in your bathtub, then I guess our problem isn’t as big as I thought it was.”

Leona grumbled and tossed the offensive smelling candle into the wastebasket. He sighed when he caught the prefect still glowering at him in the mirror. Clicking his tongue again, Leona ambled out of the bathroom. He tipped his chin back and scowled down at the prefect. “You should learn to show some gratitude. I could’ve sent you straight back to your dorm to deal with Azul’s lackeys.”

Yuu’s chin tipped back to meet his gaze. His eyes narrowed. Did she think she could intimidate him? He might—on occasion—bow to his sister-in-law's nagging just to get her off his back, but he certainly wasn’t about to do the same for a little herbivore.

The prefect tipped her head without breaking his gaze. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have thanked you. Your benevolence is second only to Azul’s. After all, had you not given me—a magicless little girl with only her monster companion—the opportunity to fight a group of thugs who used magic more than their fists, I would not only be sleeping in front of the statues on Main Street tonight.” Yuu paused to show him the bandage wrapped around her elbow. “I would also have never earned this new battle scar.”

Leona rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “Battle scar? It was barely a scrape. You wouldn’t even have that bandage if Howl hadn’t been so dramatic about an infection.”

What he didn’t say was that he was actually impressed by their victory. Yuu had an almost uncanny instinct when it came to dodging magical attacks, not to mention the dexterity to perform the dodges. Grim’s offense was grudgingly impressive too, but his lack of focus would be his downfall. If Yuu hadn’t snapped at him to focus on one boy before moving to the next, they wouldn’t have won the duel. Leona hadn’t given them any handicaps either. Two of the boys were sophomores and the other a junior, meaning they had more experience than the average freshman when it came to a magical duel.

None of which he was about to admit to her.

“The point is that my scar has made me an official badass.” Yuu pointed at the bedding Jack had thrown down in the corner of the room. “As a badass, I refuse to sleep on the floor.”

Leona pointed at the couch sitting in front of the balcony. “Then take the sofa.”

“That sofa is barely long enough to fit Grim. Do you want me to suffer a hunchback?”

“It would add to your badass image.”

“It would also hinder me as I run around campus cleaning up all of your messes.”

Leona snorted. He ambled across the room to stand on the opposite side of the bed from Yuu. He relaxed his posture, and while he didn’t exactly match hers—hands on her hips and chin held high—he made it clear he wasn’t backing down. “My messes? Last I checked, you’re in this situation because your own little friends made a mess, and then you decided to throw yourself into the fire.”

“And as punishment, I frequently remind my friends of their bad decisions. Grim?” Grim made a noise from the balcony. “The sea anemone on your head makes you look dumb. Like a midget unicorn but without the badass part.”

Leona bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking at Grim’s howling displeasure. He took the prefect’s distraction as an opportunity to flop down into the center of his bed. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “Your problems aren’t mine. Just be grateful I’ve given you a place to stay.”

He was on the very edge of sleep when Yuu chimed, “You know, Cheka wouldn’t be very happy to hear his uncle made his fiancé sleep on the floor.”

Leona cracked open one eye. The prefect still hovered next to the bed, her eyes now wide to mimic some type of innocence. His tail agitatedly flicked to the side. “Seriously? You’re trying to play that card again? The brat has no idea about what he writes in his letters. I doubt he even knows what the word fiancé means.”

“Sade says she’s very excited to one day welcome me into your family.”

Leona’s tail flicked harder. Of course, his sister-in-law was communicating with the prefect too. Sade had probably adopted the girl already. She probably told the prefect to make his school life even more inconvenient too.

“I wonder what she would say about you making me sleep on the floor now,” Yuu continued. She did a little spin and took one step in the direction of the bedding on the floor. “How very uncouth for the son of a king. Making a poor little girl sleep on the hard floor while he sprawls across a bed that could easily fit three people his size. And her son is being so heavily influenced by such a role model? I’m sure she’ll be absolutely thankful when I tell her—.”

With a tiny growl, Leona rolled over to lay on the edge of the bed. He took one of his pillows and plopped it down in the middle of the bed. He turned his back to her and glared out at the balcony. “Stay on your side of the bed.”

Yuu hummed with satisfaction. Leona’s ears flicked as he listened to her drag the blankets and pillows over to the bed. His tail twitched when the mattress jostled to accommodate the new weight beside him. After the prefect called for Grim to join her, Leona made a point of reaching for the light switch on the wall next to his bed. His two temporary roommates continued to wiggle and mutter in the dark. He didn’t close his eyes until the wiggling and mumbling stopped and Grim’s snores started.

“Leona?” Leona emitted a tiny growl. He was starting to question ever entertaining Jack on the prefect’s current living conditions. “Thanks. For real this time. You’re not that bad when you’re not throwing a temper tantrum.”

Leona grabbed one of the pillows beneath his head and whipped it behind him. Yuu yipped when the pillow connected. Leona tucked the pillow back into place and ignored Grim’s yowls about being caught up in “their feud.” “Shut up already and let me sleep.”

Yuu couldn’t stand him having the last word, so she threw one of her pillows at him. More wiggling ensued, and Grim mumbled his complaints before his snores started again. Leona closed his eyes, but for once, sleep didn’t immediately come to him. His ears flicked in the prefect’s direction.

With a quiet huff, he carefully shifted onto his back. With the help of the soft moonlight drifting in through the open windows, Leona could easily see Yuu quietly staring up at the ceiling. Grim slept curled up on her chest, and her breathing had slowed to match the monster’s, though it still wasn’t enough to simulate a natural sleep.

Leona dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers encountering a flicking ear. “If you weren’t planning on sleeping, then what was the point of fighting over the bed?”

“I just wanted to see if Sade was right,” Yuu answered without hesitation. She kept her voice barely above a whisper. “Apparently, you’ve never told her no.”

“Because if I ever did, she wouldn’t stop nagging me.”

“I think deep down, you’re just a big cuddly kitten.”

Leona clicked his tongue. His tail flicked across the pillow barrier between them. “A big cuddly kitten? You have no sense of self-preservation, do you?”

“Well, I could’ve attempted stabbing Floyd in the eye with a pencil and kicking Jade in the shin, but a tiny voice in the back of my head reminded me I didn’t necessarily want to leave the campus the same way I arrived.”

Leona snorted to cover an aborted chuckle. He obnoxiously yawned. His tail flicked back and forth from his side to hers. “How do you expect me to get a decent night’s sleep while sleeping next to a mouth breather?”

“Sorry, but I’m still mastering the art of breathing through my ears.”

Leona flicked his tail hard enough to brush against her arm. “Smartass.”

“Better than being a dumbass, but mediocre compared to badass.” She fell silent, but her shuffling made Leona’s ears flick. Her quiet sigh was inevitable. “Sorry. Aside from the change in scenery, I tend to have a hard time falling asleep most nights. I don’t actually mind sleeping on the ground if it’s too disruptive for you.”

The desire to snap at her to do just that died on his tongue the moment he imagined the disappointed glare from his sister-in-law. With a loud sigh, Leona rolled off the edge of the bed. He clicked on the small lamp on his desk. He glowered down at the bed. Yuu squinted back at him, Grim now tucked up against her hip. Leona made a show of kicking out the chair beneath his desk and flopped into it. The prefect leaned up just enough to keep squinting at him from above the pillows.

He shoved the chessboard on his desk towards the corner closest to the bed. He arranged the black and white chess pieces on their respective sides. “You prefer white or black?”

Yuu didn’t miss a beat when she climbed over the pillow barrier to sit on the edge of the bed. She twirled the board around, so the black pieces were on her side. “Do you normally give people the option?”

“It’s a courtesy,” Leona drawled. He slouched into his chair and balanced his elbow on the desk to give his cheek a resting place on his knuckles. “A show of good sportsmanship.”

Yuu snorted. She twirled the board again to regain possession of the white pieces. “Because you're so good at showing sportsmanship-like behavior.”

“I’m not above kicking you out of the bed if you annoy me too much.”

Yuu hummed. She spun the board a few times before letting it rest at an angle where both sides were somehow equally stuck between them. Her head slightly tilted. “I don’t know how to play chess.”

Leona released a loud sigh. He pushed the corner of the board until he gained possession of the white pieces. His ears flicked when he picked up the faint noise of the rowdier students trickling in from the dorms below. “Watch closely then because I’m not about to have a three-hour tutor session with you.”

They were on their fourth game when Yuu began picking up how each piece moved, which wasn’t too bad since each game only took Leona four moves to win. He still beat her with the same four moves for the next three games, but her frustration over him casually checkmating her king made her a quick learner. The next time they reset the board, she moved her knight to intersect his opening pawn. He still won, but she at least lasted three more moves.

By the time Yuu began to yawn in earnest, Leona was begrudgingly enjoying himself. She had become braver with her queen and had attempted several times to use it like some martyr-like sacrifice to somehow checkmate his king. Her strategies were laughable as a beginner, but they were just odd enough to make her less predictable than a veteran. She’d come close to checkmating him once but hadn’t even realized it. He wasn’t about to casually offer her the information either.

On her next turn, she stared at the board long enough with drooping eyelids that Leona couldn’t help saying, “Just give me your king, so we can go to sleep.”

Her eyes snapped up to his. The soft light of the lamp made the golden freckles hidden in her brown irises flicker. “Never.”

Leona firmly checkmated her in the next two moves. She squinted down at the board while he fluidly stood. He reached above his head in a long stretch. “You’re done. Now get on your side so I can finally sleep.”

Yuu huffed, but she complied with his demand with minimum fuss. Leona watched her stretch out on her side of the pillow barrier without bothering Grim, who had somehow wiggled his way down to the foot of the bed. She snuggled up under the extra blanket until only her nose was visible. Her posture, even hidden under the blanket, was much more relaxed than it had been earlier, and her annoying mouth breathing didn’t sound as obnoxious.

Leona quickly flopped onto the bed when he realized he had been staring too long.

“Good night,” Yuu yawned. Her voice was muffled because of the blanket, but he easily detected the slurred cadence of her words like she was already on the verge of sleep. “Chess’s s’more tiring than walking ‘round the campus. You’ll have to play me again. ‘Cause I’m gonna get good ‘nough to beat you.”

Leona snorted and clicked off the lamp. A comfortably dry breeze from the window loosened the suddenly stifling air in the room. “We’ll see about that.”

“Gonna take your queen.”

“It’s the king you have to checkmate.” Leona waited for her snarky comment. He peeked over the pillow when none came. Yuu slept curled on her side facing him. Her mouth was parted, and a gentle snore escaped with each breath she took. Leona huffed and dropped his head on the pillow. He closed his eyes. “Annoying little mouth breather.”

He wouldn’t admit to waking up once in the middle of the night when he couldn’t detect her snoring. He huffed in mild amusement when he found she had somehow flipped herself around and had her face buried in Grim’s belly. He flopped back onto his pillow and didn’t wake up again he until heard Ruggie whining about morning practice.