#snarky's ficlets

[carolmunson]

the boy is mine (carol's edition)

you know i had to do it to 'em. if you'd like to take a crack at the 'the boy is mine' writing challenge, you can check it out here. you can also see the masterlist of everyone's works here. a/n: for me, how eddie was fleshed out in FOI has always been how i see him. hurting, but goofy, but snarky, but sweet, but loving, but scared, but all that. eddie 'has taken care of himself since third grade' munson just makes sense to me. in this ficlet, our romantic night in gets muddled when eddie doesn't know how to just let someone love him right. i've also always have written eddie as older than he actually is, so here -- he's 25. argue with the wall. tw: 18+, angst, hurt/comfort, some smutty references but no smut, references to smoking and drinking. some arguing but nothing crazy.

The day was hard on his shoulders and back, no one should be hunched over the hood of a car for this long -- and even being young isn't saving him from the grimace he makes every time he gets out of his bed with a decades old mattresss. Eddie cracks his neck each way while he chugs down the road leading to Forest Hills, slick and shiny with rain from the afternoon. The orangey yellow headlights on his beat up '71 Chevrolet bounce cheerily off the darkened asphalt, but the scrape, clatter, and growl of his engine and whatever else was a stark reminder that this van was on it's last leg. As bright as the headlights were, the gloomy purpled evening sky was a perfect match to his mood.

Today is Eddie Munson's birthday.

For the past few years, Eddie has spent his birthday working double shifts at the auto shop and then meeting the guys at the Hideout to get so drunk he can't see. Can't be sad about your birthday if you're too drunk to think about how your mama's dead and your dad won't call. Can't be sad about how you won't ever get to hear her sing you happy birthday, or put on a record, or dance with you in the living room. Or have your dad make dinner and put the six pack away if only for that night. To not run out on 'a job' or 'work a late shift' where he won't come back for days afterward.

He'd drink and drink until you had to hold him up to get him out of the bar, piling him into the back seat and having the guys follow you home to help load him into bed. He always looked forward to the greasy diner hangover breakfast in the morning where it could be just the two of you, and not his birthday, and not all the awful things he thinks he is.

The gravel groans and crunches when he pulls in at the side of the trailer he used to share with Wayne. With another roll of his head and shoulders he kills the ignition, hopping out of the van and leaning over to grab his bag. It's only when he slings it over his shoulder that he notices the warm glow of the kitchen light on, passing muted through the small curtains. He hip checks the door shut and makes his way up the steps that need repairing -- another thing to add to the list for 'Spring Cleaning' in a couple weeks that he knows he'll forget to do until you remind him or one of the boards rots out. Eddie's ring tap against the metal handle and he braces for the screech of the door, only to be met with the cozy blend of garlic, onion, and rosemary hitting his nose first. He swallows while he kicks off his work boots, turning the corner to see you in the kitchenette, putting the lid back onto the one large pasta pot he has and turning the burner off. "Oh!" you jump when you see him, shock turning into a smile, "You're earlier than I thought you'd be. Hold on!"

"What're y--" He's interrupted by you hurrying into the fridge, glass clinking when you pull out a Mionetto bottle that was already opened to reveal the cork.

"Surprise!" you ring out, popping the bottle with a little flourish, "Happy birthday!" He stands there, unsure at first what he's looking at, trying to take it all in. You in the kitchen with an apron on, the table set nice, a cake set on the counter to cool with a covered bowl of what looks like home made vanilla frosting next to it. To the side, a familiar small notebook lays opened to a buttercream recipe -- his mom's buttercream recipe, still scrawled in her loopy handwriting on yellowing pages with fading blue ink.

"Melvald's didn't have any like, nice cups," you say with a scrunch of your nose as you pour two glasses of prosecco into flimsy plastic flutes, "Is that okay?" "Uh..." he snaps back to reality when you hand him the cup, "Y-yeah that's okay." "Happy birthday, handsome," you smile, raising your drink before you take a sip, he follows suit.

"What is all this?" he asks, voice sounding like it's coming from someone else. Objectively, he should be falling to his knees right now, crying with adoration for you. Sobbing over the clear effort you've put in for a romantic night together at the trailer. "Um," you suck in your lips quickly, and release them, eyes lowering to the scuffed linoleum, "I uh, I made braised short rib and mashed potatoes, some broccoli. Wayne told me that um, that your dad used to smoke them for your birthday but we don't have a smoker so..."

"Why?" The swell in his heart builds from genuine affection to suspicious bitterness, this was way too much.

"Did you not check the calendar today or something? It's kind of a big day," you try to lighten the mood with a laugh, taking the apron off and hanging it on the hook by the hallway, "Sit, sit." He follows your direction, sitting at the table where the place setting is the best it can be with what you have. You even folded up the paper towels nicely. He silently sips on the bubbles, uncomfortable on the makeshift throw pillow cushion on the chair, while you take the plate in front of him and begin serving.

"I should um," he starts, voice gravelly, "I should wash my hands and uh, and change or..." "Yeah," you nod, voice higher pitched than expected, "Go, go ahead. It'll all be ready when you're done washing up." He leaves the glass behind, thudding into the bedroom where he notices a Frederick's of Hollywood bag sitting at the end of the bed. A small pile of gifts in shiny blue paper lay stacked up pretty on his dresser -- a card front in center 'Eddie My Love' - you write it in the same way you sing it to him absentmindedly every now and again. Flipping the lyrics every time. He swallows again, pulling in his cheeks and biting down while he peels off his coveralls and slips into what he was planning to wear to drinks later -- a band tee and some worn jeans. It feels cheap to wear this now, now that you've put in all this effort. Now that you're looking all sweet and put together in the kitchen for him. He rolls his shoulders again, trying to stretch the frustration out. He doesn't wanna be mad at you, you didn't do anything wrong. He doesn't wanan feel so sick in his chest over it -- but he does. All this work for what? Eddie takes his rings off to wash his hands, using the same Dove bar soap to wash the remaining grime off his face from work. Big inhale, big exhale into the towel on the door before making it back to the kitchen where the dinette table was ready for dinner, two tapered candles lit in old holders on the side. He sits across from you, your eyes glittering in the light of the flame.

"You didn't have to do this," he says quietly. Your lips twitch into a half smile, head cocking slightly to the side. "I know, but it's your day...it's a big one, too. The big two-five," your voice doing its best to soothe, "Can't just, I dunno -- get plastered at The Hideout every year..."

"Sure I can," he shrugs with a quirk of his brows, pushing the mashed potatoes around with his fork. He watches the melty pat of butter ooze off one of the edges like a volcano, pooling in next to the broccoli. "And you like that? That's fun for you?" you chuckle before noticing he's just playing with his food, "You gonna eat?"

"Getting plastered at The Hideout is like, tradition," he mutters, looking at the clock over the cabinets, "And we're gonna be late meeting the guys."

"Ed..." you say, a vapor of disappointment floating through his name when you say it. He winces.

"Like I said, babe," he says, "You didn't have to do all this -- y'know, spend all this extra cash on dinner and --"

"I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to -- I wanted to do something nice so that your birthday could be sp -- " "Okay, well I don't need my birthday to be special, it never is," he snaps, he doesn't mean to, "I didn't ask you to do this for me." You hold your soft gaze at him, shoulders round down while you rest a cheek on your palm. If Eddie's mama was still alive, she'd tell you to get your elbows off the table.

In the flame, your glittering eyes turn glassy. You let a soft breath out through your nose, a sulk clear in your posture. "You're right," you mumble, a soft squeak of a sound while you slowly stand, shaking your head, "You're right, you didn't ask. I shouldn't have assumed that you..."

You trail off while you flick the lights on in the kitchen, leaning forward to gently blow out the taper candles. Your hand swishes away the smoke and soot, pushing out out of the cracked kitchen window before the smoke detector catches it. The cabinets creak while you take out some Tupperware from the top shelves, the good stuff that the ladies in the park sold Wayne back in the 70s. They click and clack as the bowls and trays and their tops hit the formica counter top.

"Well--well, wait -- you don't have to pack it up, babe," he says, sitting up a little taller in the chair. When he hears the shudder in your breath he stands, "You don't have to put it away."

"No, it's fine," you assure, a small strain coming through from your chest, "It'll be like -- you'll be so excited when you get home and there's all this food. I just gotta call the guys and tell them to just go to the bar instead of coming here."

"Whaddayou mean, coming here?"

You turn around, eyes wet now but not crying, a tug on your brow and taughtness in your jaw from where you try to hold it back.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," you shrug, "But like, it's not important. Lemme just pack this up and I'll get it figured out." "What's the surprise?" he asks, tilting his head to get a better look at you. "Well I..." you let out another breath, lower lip wobbling; an action your stop with a sharp inhale through the nose. "Well I thought it would be fun if the guys came over and did a birthday oneshot campaign with you. I helped Gare and Jeff write it and Jeff was gonna DM," you let out in one breath, "And it was gonna be like, a silly drinking game version." "You were gonna play?" he asks meekly. You nod. You rarely play, always watch. Always make snacks or help him clean up the trailer, always order the pizza because Eddie forgets to. Always add extra mushrooms on one because Richie likes extra mushrooms. Always make sure to get one with white sauce cause red cause doesn't sit great with Dustin.

"Did a, um, did a character sheet and whatever," you say, defeated, while you open the utensil drawer to pull out an extra pair of tongs and a serving spoon, "Drew her -- it's in your card."

You start to pack up the food and the tears start up again, welling in your eyes but still not spilling over. Eddie steps forward, getting between you and the pots and pans on the stove.

"Hey, wait," his voice bare audible, "Babe, don't."

"It's okay," you sniffle, "I just have to call them."

"No -- baby, stop," there's an edge now, ring hand falling on your wrist, "Stop packing it up."

"It's fine--"

A waltz between you, him, and the tupperware on the counter.

"Don't make me..." he huffs, trying to maneuver the tongs out of your hand, "If you don't stop, we're gonna have a pr--"

"Ed, enough! We will go to the bar, it's fine," you urge, anxiety heightening in your chest where it bursts, you start to cry, "Please, let me put it away. It's fine. I just -- fuck --"

"I feel like such an asshole," you sigh, breaking. You relent, letting go of the tongs where he takes them and leaves them between the burners on the yellowed stove.

"Don't be like that, you're not," he soothes, closing in on you against the counters edge, "You're not, I'm sorry."

"I really just wanted your birthday to be special," you weakly murmur, wiping at your eyes.

"You know how I get," he says, rough hands coming up to cup your face where he leaves a soft kiss to your cheek, "M'just not great at bein' fussed over."

"You deserve to be fussed over, doofus," you garble out, his thumbs replacing your fingers to catch the tears as they fall.

"It's hard, babe," he nods, "You knows it's hard for me. Y'know with my mom's stuff gone and my dad being...who fuckin' -- who fuckin' knows. The Hideout just makes sense. That's y'know -- that's what I deserve."

"That's not even true," you shake your head, "Don't be stupid."

"Well, I barely graduated so," he offers you a peck to each salty, wet cheek, "Stupid's my middle name." "Don't cry, sweetheart," he breathes, leaning in with a slow kiss. A kiss drenched in apologies and thank yous, breaks away just to kiss again. And again, and again, and again until you're both breathless under the sickly yellow green glow of the overhead kitchen light. "How about I change into something nicer than this, and we'll pop these plates in the microwave and start over," he asks, a smile toying on his full lips, "'Kay?"

You nod back, getting another peck stolen from you, and following him down the hall. "Oh, yes, yes, allow me to slip into something more..." he announces with flourish, posing half sexily half awkwardly in the doorway to his bedroom, "Uncomfortable." You snort, giggling while you follow in after him, settling on the end of his bed, "You don't have to dress up fancy." "'Course I do," he tsks, brows furrowing, "M'going to a five star restaurant doll, I can't look like a slob." He pulls out a pair of slacks from a funeral he went to two years ago, discarding his jeans and sliding them up over his pale legs. To your dismay, he plucks the t-shirt with a screen print of a tux out of his closet, and exchanges the worn Dio tee with that. You'll always prefer the Dio tee. "Classy," you tease. He winks, and that's enough to make you okay with the tux shirt. His fingers trail over the stack of presents and land on the envelope.

"Can I open the card?"

"Sure."

"Am I gonna cry over it?" he asks, looking at you over the dull paper when he flicks open the top.

You shake your head, "Nah, it's not sappy. You're the sappy card writer."

"I'm so sappy," he agrees, pulling out the card, "I gotta work on that, huh?"

"No, I like when you're sappy, ya sap." You watch him read the card, blush evident in the warm wash of gold from his bedside lamp. You're not a sappy card writer, but you always know how to make him feel like a kid with a crush. When he opens up your character sheet his bottom lip tucks between his teeth. "Shit," he grins, "Rogue tiefling, huh? You tryna kill me?"

"I thought it could be fun," you titter, standing up to look at the pages next to him, "Chaotic evil. Look at me."

"Ugh, baby's first villain," he gushes, "I love it."

"Look at the picture," you bounce on the balls of your feet while he goes to the next page. A much quieter 'shit' falls from his mouth. It was not a drawing that was for the rest of the guys to see, a sketch of a tiefling version of you in an outfit meant for his eyes only. "So you are trying to kill me," he asks, fingers tracing the curve of 'your' hip on the page where the outfit digs into the fat of 'your' hips.

"No, that'll be later," you smirk.

"Hm?' his brows raise.

"What do you think is in the Frederick's bag?" you ask, faux innocence smattering into your tone.

"Ah, you put a little costume together for me?" Eddie's mouth waters at the thought, brain fuzzy as he looks at the picture and then at you.

"Something like that," you tease, making your way back out into the hallway. "Something like that?!" he repeats back, hurrying back out to pull you into a searing kiss before you can make it back into the kitchen. The kind from the movies where he dips you down toward the faded carpet. As he pulls away, he nuzzles your nose against his, staring at you through lowered lids, "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," you nod, both of you making it back to full height, "Happy birthday."

You relight the candles on the table and nuke the plates of food, topping off each others plastic flutes with the left over Prosecco. There's three cases of beer in the fridge and you know Gareth is bringing Absinthe and it's something you pray doesn't mess your boyfriend up too much.

Dinner is the best meal Eddie's had in years, unable to keep his eyes off of you in between bites while you rehash your day and him, his. You're picking up the dishes off the table when the boys show up and they deliver. Taking the heat off you, they provide the snacks and even more extra booze. Jeff passes out party hats that make you all look ridiculous -- Eddie can remember laughing this much on his birthday, not even when he was a kid. Not even when his mama was alive.

After the oneshot completes and everyone is ankles deep in a tipsy haze and the smoke from a few joints lingers in the air, you walk in with the cake that is finally frosted -- the 2 and 5 confetti colored candles dancing in front of him while the rest sparkle in the middle of the coffee table. He makes one thousand wishes that he knows will come true because his friends are all still there with him and so are you. You're one room right over, cutting the cake and plating it up, and you'll be there when the boys leave in your skimpy nerdy costume that you bought just for him. And you'll be there while he sleeps and you'll be there when he wakes up. You'll be there across from him the next morning when he feeds you fries dipped in chocolate shake at the diner.

Today is Eddie Munson's birthday. And his mother's buttercream frosting is the sweetest it's ever tasted.

[oneforthemunny]

summerween |modern!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie is itching to decorate for halloween. the only problem is, it's still summertime.

still on my fall shit, and still on my fluff shit. very fluffy and sweet for these two (i love them). short little fall ficlet. all fluff. language, that's really it. just fluff.

“It’s not even August.” You stare him down from your place behind the counter, arms crossed your white tank top, adding emphasis to your statement. It was hot, late July hot, too hot for Halloween decorations. 

“Getting started early this year, sweetheart.” Eddie grinned, flashing a dazzling smile that had your chest swelling, cheeks tingling with warm rushes of emotion. “Never too early to get started.” 

“This feels like too early.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Despite your protests and snide comments of how many weeks away October was, you still helped Eddie clean. Vacuum and mop, wipe down everything the way you always did before decorating. 

“Kids aren’t even back in school, and you want to decorate?” You lifted a brow, cringing at the thud of the totes collecting a cloud of dust in the air from the dusty storage unit they’d been homed in since last November. 

“Yeah, c’mon, it’s the most wonderful time of the year.” Eddie trilled dramatically, tearing the lid off the first box. A plethora of black and orange and purple figurines poked out, a waxy, plasticky scent following from the stored heat. 

“Besides, everyone’s started putting stuff out. I keep seeing it on Instagram, people are finding all this cool shit. I wanna get what we have out, and then I was thinking we could go shopping tonight. Or tomorrow, just dependin’ on when we get done.” Eddie rambled excitedly, pulling out the tangled garland, eyes meeting yours with a sickly sweet pleading gaze. 

You rolled your eyes, snatching the garland in dramatic irritation, sitting down on the couch to unravel it. “We’re putting all of this out today? What if I had other plans today?” You challenged, lifting a brow. You didn’t have any, of course, Eddie had already asked you that yesterday when he’d planned this.

“I’ll help you do them, baby. I promise. We don’t have to go shopping tomorrow if you don’t want to.” Eddie hummed sweetly, brown eyes rounding in the most adorable way towards you. “I just thought we’d go to Fort Wayne tomorrow. Take you shopping over there.” 

Your lips pursed, too stubborn to relent so easily, but melting under his affection the way you always did. “There will be a million fuckin’ kids there tomorrow, Ed, school starts back in a week.” 

“We can go first thing in the morning.” Eddie countered, proudly setting a plush ghost pillow next to the others. “Before it gets insane. I’ll wake up early for you.” He winked playfully. 

Your lips rolled, fighting back a grin, chin ducking towards the garland. “Yeah, right.” You muttered. “You’ll sleep ‘til noon.” 

“Nope. I’ll set twenty five alarms if I have to.” Eddie declared, unwrapping the glass figure carefully, wadding the paper back up. “You have my full consent to dump cold water on me if I don’t wake up after the third snooze. That’s what Wayne always did, and it always worked.” 

You snorted lightly, facade breaking and a grin taking over your scowl. “Cold water? Like in a Disney Channel movie?” You lifted a brow, a snarky tease still in your tone. 

Eddie grinned, dimples creasing deeply. “Yeah, I was a heavy sleeper. ‘Specially after I hit puberty, ya know? I think it was my seventh or eighth grade summer, I started playing Neverwinter Nights and would stay up all night. Then when school started, I didn’t stop, and I’d stay up the whole night and Wayne would be so pissed at me in the morning.” He shook his head lightly. 

“One morning I wouldn’t get up, and I thought he’d finally just left me, was letting me stay home, and he came back, like, five minutes later with this popcorn bowl of ice water and dumped it on me.” Eddie snorted in laughter. 

You barked out a laugh, an edge to your giggle that had Eddie blushing, his own laughter bubbling thick in his chest. “So that’s how he got you to get up?” 

“Worked like a charm.” Eddie nodded, a half grin pulling at his lips. 

“Good to know.” You lifted your brow, lips curled in a devious little grin. Eddie’s knees weakened at the sight. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time you sleep through my cousin’s gender reveal.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes lightly. “Baby, that was- c’mon, even you agreed that it was insane that they had it at ten in the morning. Who has a party that early?” 

“Parents, Eddie.” You huffed. “Adults.” 

“Alright.” Eddie shook his head, trying to diffuse a fight he could sense was looming. “Hey, look, I forgot you got this.” He pulled the bright pink ceramic ghost out of the tub. 

“Oh, I forgot about that.” Your face lit up, pulling the final knot loose of the garland’s chords. “Put her on the shelf- no, on the other side, Eddie.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance, nodding harshly towards the empty shelf on the TV stand. 

Eddie flicked on the switch, the dim bulb fluttering to life before sticking it on the shelf, proudly. Normally, he thought pink decor- especially Halloween- killed the vibe. It was supposed to be scary and dark and gloomy and moody, not pastel. Until he met you. Then pastel pinks, oranges, purples, all made their way into his dark and gorey decor. Happy, cute ghosts with his grim reapers and skulls. 

“Did you get this at Target?” Eddie pushed the ghost so it was center, spine straightening as he stood. 

“Mm, I think so.” You hummed, hooking your foot on the edge of the tote, sliding it closer to you. “Maybe Home Goods.” 

“I think they have that huge Home Goods in Fort Wayne, don’t they? We could go there tomorrow. Look for more.” Eddie slid beside you, throwing a hand over your waist, squeezing your hip gently just to feel you squirm. His lips pressed to your jaw, soft and pillowy, leaving a burning heat of excitement in their wake. 

“Fine,” You relented, melting into his affection, letting him pull you into him victoriously. “But I want to go to Anthropologie too. I want to see if they have those cute witch glasses I saw.” 

“Yeah, we can do that. We’ll hit the mall first then Home Goods.” Eddie muttered, nose nuzzling against your cheek. 

“I think they’d be so cute on the bar cart, don’t you?” You hummed, nodding towards the tiny gold bar cart in the corner of the kitchen. 

A new edition to the apartment. Eddie had searched high and low, finally found the one you wanted on Facebook Market and drove all the way to Muncie to get it. You had been so excited when he showed it to you, beaming in a way that was rare but felt exhilarating to be the reason for it. Right now, it was donning a tequila theme, one you saw on Pinterest and had to match. 

“Yeah that would be. You know, Gareth used to date this girl, Ayesha, and she always got this wine called Witches Brew. It had a cool lookin’ label on it, that would be cool to add to it too.” Eddie tucked his chin down to look at you. 

“Ooh, that would be cool.” Your eyes lit up, just enough to have Eddie’s chest swelling with pride. “Isn’t there a Total Wine near the exit? We can stop and look there.” 

“Sounds like a date to me, baby.” Eddie squeezed you closer to his chest, fingers barely brushing your sides so you squirmed. He paused for a moment. “Are you sure you’re ok with me putting this up? I-I can wait if you really don’t want me to, I just, I’m just excited ya know-” 

“-I know.” You turned, shifting in his arms to look at him. “It’s fine.” You sighed dramatically, a teasing in your tone. 

“At least if we get it up now, we can see what we need to add. Get it before it sells out.” You muttered, spinning the tiny fake spell book in your hands. Eddie grinned, eyes shining with excitement. 

“But,” You lifted a finger, face dropping back to something serious. “Not outside yet. Only inside.” You pointed your nail at him threateningly. “Don’t want the neighbors to think we’re total freaks.” Eddie snorted, arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer to his chest so you were chest to chest, nearly nose to nose. “Please, a little late for that, babe.” Eddie snorted loudly. “They already know we're total freaks, what do you mean? They’ve definitely heard us being total freaks before- oof!” You cut him off, smacking him with a bat shaped pillow.

[whiskersz]

Hey there! I saw your requests were open so I was wondering if you could do a Vox x fem!Reader who loves cuddling? I don't mind if it's headcanons or a ficlet, whatever floats your boat! Thank you!

Hey!! Yes, I could gladly do that! Still learning how to write Vox, so apologies if this isn’t in character. It’s simply how I see him! Anyhow, do have a nice reading session <3

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Vox x Cuddly! Fem! Reader

✩Despite what one would initially think, Vox is not averse to affection; when he’s not in a bad mood due to the other Vees or Alastor, he’s pretty level headed and as such he’s willing to accept intimacy. He expects it from you, his lovely girlfriend, after all, since you’re quite the cuddle bug.

✩ He doesn’t talk much during cuddles, opting to just hold you and let you speak if you’re in the mood to. He mostly hums as a response and smiles when you nuzzle your face into his neck, thinking of how cute your face must look like all squished up. This is also due to him thinking that it's kind of awkward to talk during intimate moments, so if he does expect it to be a short snarky remark.

✩If you want to cuddle him while he’s working, sure! He will let you do that, as long as nobody is watching. Some PDA is okay for him, but this much flusters him, admittedly. He’ll use one hand to do whatever is needed and the other will periodically reach into your hair and massage your scalp, or hold onto your waist and squeeze it slightly. He finds it quite endearing that you enjoy this activity so much, and it takes him nothing to accommodate you.

✩If you want to be the small spoon during cuddles in bed or on the couch, that’s his preferred position. He’ll wrap his arms around you protectively as that’s all you need to feel to know that he’s there with you. His screen head is a bit awkward to cuddle with...but through the years he’s figured out ways to not make it difficult to cuddle.

✩If you want to be the big spoon however, he’ll be a bit embarrassed at first; it’ll need a bit of adjusting but he’s not totally opposed to it, actually he quite enjoys it during a hard and tiring day at work. He fully thinks that he deserves to be taken care of like this. If you bring this up in public though, again, he will be flustered and deny it as professionally as he can.

✩The only issue with Vox and cuddling is that he doesn’t love doing it for too long, either because he’s busy or because he simply gets bored and the positions are a bit uncomfortable after a while, so unless you spice it up with kisses and such he will either let go of you and leave or get out of your grasp with ease, depending on who’s cuddling who. If you act sad because of this he will pinch your cheek and tell you to wait until later, as he’s got quite some work to do now.

✩If you’re only cuddly with Vox, that’s all fine and dandy by him. If you’re cuddly with other people as well though, such as your friends, he’s going to get jealous. He knows very well that for it to be a healthy relationship you two would need to talk about this calmly, but part of him wants to just blow up at the thought that you could enjoy cuddles with somebody else. Are his not enough? Maybe the time you spend cuddling is what’s not enough; he can’t do much about it though, he’s a busy man and he simply doesn’t enjoy too much affection in one go. Still, he’ll squeeze you extra tight next time you go up to him and ask to cuddle, and remind you that you’re his – this could be interpreted in different ways, but I quite simply meant with his words!  -.

[faulterge1st]

Doing it to Compensate (Not Love)

Now, I don't usually do this, but I wrote a really rough ficlet for any Call of Duty character x reader with a dash of rivals to lovers (younger reader is heavily implied)

It was written with Horangi in mind (blatant favoritism), but you could imagine this with any character in COD that fits the mindset

I don't want it to rot in my documents, so here u go

He resented you, he hated how stubborn you were about how you were right.

He hated how you would preach how much better you were than him at a certain skill, even if he was superior to you in rank. He hated how you would smirk everytime you saw him miss the bullseye during gun training. He hated how you would roll your eyes at him at every terrible unhealthy choice he made during meals, judging his barely sustainable appetite despite you having the oddest cravings he had seen. He despised you, absolutely detested your attitude.

But ever since that day, ever since you clung to him with heavy breaths in need of assistance, he just couldn't help but find you absolutely gorgeous. This was the first time you ever depended on him for anything, gripping his shoulder like he was the only thing that could save you.

He could remember the image of you covered in mud, your untrained fingers coated in your own blood while his rougher hands held your wound closed. It wasn't a pleasant sight, in fact, it was disturbing. But to him? He saw your defeated image as a portrait of a sorrowful martyr painted by a historic romantic, a tragedy cursed by the heavens.

He felt an unfound pity and worry seeing you like this. You were confident, believing in an ability you haven't fully mastered could help you defend in battle, but here you were, met with the reality of war. In that moment, he had just realized how important you were to him, how your confidence didn't make up in your lack of skill. Sure, he enjoyed making you groan in contempt everytime he commented on how much of an amateur you were if you missed a chance to kick him during sparring or how you were a terrible soldier if you missed a practice target just by a centimeter, but those times were accompanied by mischievous grins and amused smirks. They were all in good fun. You genuinely suffering? It wasn't any fun for him. He couldn't handle seeing you hunched over, leaning on his shoulder over a wound that could've taken your life. He just couldn't bear the thought of you being taken from him.

Since that day, he realized that for all the teasing and snarky comments made from good intentions, he'd make it up to you now just by making your life easier.

Ever since that day, he chose to make you your coffee, no matter how painfully sweet or disgustingly bitter it was. He chose to give you a pat on the shoulder every time you shot a straight bullseye, and chose to praise your efforts everytime you sent him flying back on his arse during training. You deserved it. He just couldn't go back to treating you like shit after that day, because it made him realize how he could lose you at any moment. He didn't want the last words he ever told to you to be a criticism of your skills or a sarcastic judgement of how your inexperience made him better than you. He had to make it special, because he loved you.

But he sure as hell will never tell you that. Instead, he'll tell you that you are a valued soldier, that losing you would be detrimental to the team. He would place his hands on your hand, your shoulder, or any place on your body that was subtle enough that you couldn't realize what he was truly feeling. It didn't carry his devotion nor his loyalty to you. It didn't send the message of how much he cared. But, it will always be close enough to an "I love you" that he could ever manage to tell you.

[techwrecker]

𝐆𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧

Summary: Something goes wrong on your mission with Echo. He promises to help you feel better.

Genre: Echo x Reader, Hurt Comfort

Tags: SFW, gn!reader, you travel with TBB, Echo has feelings (& so does reader, but he doesn’t know), Crosshair is a snarky asshole (what’s new), Wrecker is a perfect angel, Tech is ipad baby, spiders?, all the batchers are alive (no Omega)

Word Count: 1.5k [Ficlet]

Warnings: N/A (please let me know if I missed any!)

A/N: I am dedicating this fic to Vi! ( @welcometo79s ) I had this short lil ficlet in my drafts, all ready to go and they’re going through a tough time. I figured some Echo comfort might cheer you up a lil. I hope you enjoy!!

Other: dividers by @moosgraphics & @bunnysrph (tysm!)

find the extended version here

Whatever sickness you had come down with, you had Crosshair to blame. After all, he was the one who suggested you go out with Echo on the mission.

“She’ll be fine.”

“Crosshair, it’s a Krykna nest! You know how I feel about creatures like that,” you pushed back, throwing your arms up in exasperation.

“Hexapods?” Tech cut in, pausing from tapping away on his datapad. “Hexapods make up roughly 15% of our galaxy, you know. Though this is just an educated guess. There is no way to definitively number the countless species.” He rambled.

“No, Tech, not hexapods.” You rolled your eyes. “Creatures who live in dark, disgusting caves.”

“Whoa, have a little faith, huh? I’ll be going with you.” Echo said, feeling slighted.

The Bad Batch had just been contracted by Cid to find a lucrative jewel that originally belonged to the Banking Clan before the trade wars. Its whereabouts had last been seen in a Krykna cave on Atollon, about 200 clicks from the nearest port.

You were the un-lucky crew member who was voted in for the mission. They all put on a tough-guy act, like the creatures didn’t bother them, but you knew they did. Wrecker shivered after Hunter gave them the objective and Crosshair didn’t even try to hide the contempt on his face. Tech argued that he would be more useful guiding the mission from The Marauder, using their complex holomap system that handhelds didn’t feature. The caves were as intertwined as they were dark, like a giant bowl of protonoodles, stewing beneath the sandy surface. Echo was the only one who originally volunteered and Crosshair made an easy target out of you.

“Echo, it’s not that I have no faith in you— or even myself,” you soothed him. “I just don’t appreciate being volunteered for missions by Crosshair.” If looks could kill, Crosshair would‘ve taken one to the heart.

“Enough— All of you. You and Echo will be just fine. We’ll take every precaution to track you in the caves,” he said to you. “Crosshair, quit stirring up trouble. Tech, for the love and life in the Maker, would you get off the blasted datapad,” Hunter prattled off the orders. He knew how to control chaos, thankfully. Otherwise The Bad Batch would not have gotten far as they have.

“Uh… What about me, Hunter?” Wrecker asked, cautiously.

“For once, Wrecker, you’re doing just fine.”

Wrecker beamed at his leader’s words. He patted Crosshair on the back facetiously, causing his chewed toothpick to fly across the cargo hold. Crosshair only glared at Wreckers back as he walked away.

Tech wrapped up his typing and rolled his eyes at Hunter’s orders. He had actually been researching the weaknesses of the Krykna species to aid in the mission. He tried not to succumb to the petty infighting that went on amongst the crew. His factual statements were hard to argue with, after all.

“Alright, let’s head out,” their leader resolved.

Your confidence shrunk with every passing parsec. You talked a big game, and more often than not, you were able to deliver. Caves just creeped you out and spindly creatures didn’t make them any more appealing. And all for a lousy jewel? As if the Banking Clan didn’t have enough funds as is.

After what felt like an eternity of dread, Tech landed The Marauder with ease, nestling in between an outcropping of rocks. The pile of sand-crusted earth would act as cover from any unwanted eyes as well as from the sandstorms, which were particularly nasty this side of the equator. At least, according to Tech.

“Have everything we’ll need?” Echo asked you as he whirred his scomp link to make sure it was in working order.

You mentally scanned the brief checklist before replying. Sand goggles, flashlight, mini fire thrower, and trusty boots. “Think so.”

“Well then, let’s get moving. The cave isn’t too far from here. Maybe a 10 minute trek.”

The hatch of the hull opened, letting a rush of arid air invade The Marauder. The wind whipped against your cheeks, scraping particles of sand into your skin. Though you were wearing the goggles, you raised your arm to shield your eyes out of habit.

“This outta be fun,” you said to Echo, tone almost as dry as the planet you just landed on.

Echo chuckled and headed down the steps.

The journey to the cave really was not that bad. If a scorching sun and high-speed winds was your idea of ‘not that bad’, that is. By the time you and Echo walked up to the mouth of the cave, you were already over it. The irritating dust, the lashing wind, the searing sun. You started to see why the Krykna hunkered down in the caves, safe from the terrain.

“You ready?” Echo called to you, trying to carry his voice above the howling wind.

You eyed the hollow opening warily. Not even the sun was able to penetrate the thick darkness. Looking back to Echo, he had a smile on his face. His smile always managed to stir butterflies in your stomach.

“You can do this, you know,” he reassured. He held his hand out to you, offering stability and comfort.

The gesture surprised you, but not enough to be taken aback. You wondered if maybe Echo felt the same way that you did him. You gladly clasped your hand in his, your heart jumping against your ribcage at the welcome touch.

“Okay. Let’s do this,” you resolved.

You started toward the eerie cave, hand in hand— together.

“Well, at least you got the jewel.” You heard a voice say.

You opened your eyes to see Crosshair and Echo standing at your bedside.

Why were you in bed? You scrambled through your hazy memory to find the answer.

Isolating darkness, sticky webs coating your arms, the twinkle of the scarlet jewel reflecting off your flashlight, Echo desperately calling your name… And then nothing.

Echo huffed. “No, at least we got out of there alive,” he corrected.

They hadn’t noticed you had awoken, so you began to sit up. The pain in your temple scolded you by promptly throbbing in your skull, demanding you lay back down. You groaned against the pain and brought a hand up to lightly press against your head. A damp cloth was already in place across your forehead, attempting to soak the heat off it.

“Thank the maker you’re awake,” Echo said, coming closer to your bedside. “You had us worried there for a minute.”

“W-what happened?” You asked quietly. It seemed your usual confident tone had gotten themselves tangled in the webbed caves along with the memories of the mission.

“A large Krykna got to you before Echo could rescue you,” Crosshair explained. “He’s only being a touch dramatic about it,” he finished sarcastically.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Echo. It happens.” You tried to smile at him, but it came out more of a grimace from the pain.

“No, it isn’t. I should have been quicker than that. His only fist was straining against the rail of the bed, knuckles paling against the dark metal.

Luckily, it was within your reach to rest your hand on top of his to settle his feelings. His rigid grip softened considerably under your touch. “I promise Echo, it’s fine. I’m alive, aren’t I?” You tried to make light of the situation.

“Barely,” Crosshair snarked.

“Go shine your rifle, why don’t you?” Echo shot back, glaring.

The sniper threw his hands up in surrender with a smirk before turning out of the room. You were surprised he didn’t have more to say, but you had bigger things to focus on.

“Tech said it’s some sort of sickness from the Krykna fangs. It’s nothing serious, but you’ll be out of commission for a few weeks,” he explained. He paused before continuing. “I won’t leave your side until the fever has broken and you’re back to your old self,” Echo promised, his voice more serious than you’ve ever heard it.

His eyes were filled with concern for you, brows knit together. You had never noticed how his eyes had more of a golden hue to them until now. The generic deviation only added to his already handsome features. Echo let go of the safety rail, rotating it to hold your hand instead. Your fingers found their place laced between his, almost as if his hand had been specially crafted by their maker just for yours to hold.

“Thank you, Echo,” you said, squeezing his hand gently, signaling your sincerity. You wanted to reach around his armored torso and give him a hug, but you knew the headache wouldn’t let you, so you settled for rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand.

You knew Echo would do everything in his power to see that you got better . With him looking after you, your health would return in full force and then some. He cared about you more than you knew and wanted to make sure nothing like that ever happened to you again.

Besides having the best caretaker in the galaxy nurse you back to health, you knew that Crosshair would never hear the end of it from the batchers since he signed you up to almost materialize into the force.

tags: @baddest-batchers @rinksu-no-joo

Comments & Reblogs greatly appreciated! 🥰

[palfriendpatine66]

uh thanks for gracing us with your fics and drawings of obikin... as for your nsfw 5 sentences fill... Anakin realized he might have a bite kink upon seeing his master's sharper... fangs (vampire au (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)) when the man growls or scowls at him (and the other enemies or unruly senators

Send me, your pal, a nsfw prompt and I’ll write a five sentence ficlet

🫡 hi hello I managed to keep this to five sentences but also pretty sure it’s very quickly morphing into a smutty vampire one shot because I cannot resist 🧛🏻‍♂️

At the sound of a snarl Anakin rose in his cell, as much as his binders would allow, to await his rescue.

Durasteel shrieked in protest as the door was ripped away and Anakin was immediately flooded with relief and gratitude at the sight of his master before him with his signature sass; standing with his hands on his hips and his head cocked to the side with one arched eyebrow that clearly conveying they would be discussing the events that lead to his capture, later, at length.

But for all that the sight was familiar, it was also startling clear that Obi-Wan had changed since he emerged - alone - from the dark caverns he’d braved in search of the lost men of his battalion.

The fond amusement and snarky words of greeting and censure died on Obi-Wan’s lips, replaced by a wild snarl and the flash of fangs as his master whirled to grab the guard who rushed toward to cell with blaster in hand.

Anakin knew he probably shouldn’t have felt a pulse of arousal at the display of strength and the loss of Master Kenobi’s unshakable calm as the guard was thrown against the nearest wall, but he definitely shouldn’t have been almost dizzy with want and burning with need when Obi-Wan viciously sunk those inexplicably sharp teeth into the guards neck and let out the softest sigh as he crushed his throat.

[thegnomelord]

i remember how hound accused price of replacing him w gaz when they first got hound back, but that will be a 1000 times worse w alpha!gaz 🫣

just imagine how betrayed hound would feel, the angst....

Oooh head that would be fun to play around with, but I'm still unsure if I will end up including abo to the main story despite the poll. A moot of mine gave the suggestion of doing like occasional ficlets with abo Hound but keep the main story as it was without the omegaverse.

But I think it's the same either way, Hound a young man eager to prove himself, someone that can be molded by Price's experienced hands. And in his eyes, he was thrown away for a shinier model that Gaz is.

Okay I am so eager to actually get to the writing part where Hound gets to be a snarky bastard at Gaz and Gaz gets to be the same to him lol

[barbex]

Happy Friday! How about "look i’m not coddling you, i’m just trying to help. i wanna take care of you cause i, you know— care about you." for Fenders? 💖

Thank you! A wonderful opportunity for another fenders @dadrunkwriting ficlet.

---

“Go away.”

Anders wrings out a tea towel, spins it in the air a few times, and drapes it over Fenris’ forehead. “No.”

Fenris sniffles, his voice turning nasal. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” 

“You don’t know that. Leave me alone.”

Anders sighs. “I do, in fact, know that.” He takes the mug of tea he made half an hour ago and discreetly warms it back up in his hand. “Come, sit up and drink the tea.” He takes the towel away and slides his hand behind Fenris’ back to help him up. 

“I can sit,” Fenris huffs. But he takes the mug and drinks from it, so Anders counts it as a win. Fenris glares at him over the rim of the mug. “You don’t need to coddle me.”

“I’m not coddling you, I’m just trying to help.” Anders leaves Fenris’ side, before the pink shade on his cheeks can give him away. Not only is Fenris adorable in this state of sniffling grumpiness, he also doesn’t have to know how much Anders needs to take care of him. How solid that need sits in his chest and beats in time with his heart. “I’m a healer, It's what I do.”

“What good of a healer are you if you can’t make this go away?” Fenris gestures at his red and puffy nose, his face scrunches up, and Anders shoves a handkerchief into his hand, just as his whole body gets shaken by a sneeze. He falls back onto the pillow with an exhausted sigh.

Anders turns to the table where he set up a workstation with mortar and pestle and a variety of herbs and roots. “I can help you with the symptoms, but I can’t magic away the cold. Your body has to fight this itself.”

“What is your magic good for, then?” Fenris mumbles into the pillow. 

“For helping you sleep, if you let me,” Anders says as he grinds up herbs and steeps them in hot water. “And for getting hunted and arrested and made tranquil,” he continues quietly. Carrying the mug with the new infusion over to Fenris’ bed, he keeps his eyes on the mug, careful not to spill anything. “Here, drink this, it will calm the symptoms. You’ll sleep better and I won’t even have to use magic.” 

When he looks up, Fenris stares at him. Anders sets the mug on the sidetable and sits down on the mattress to help Fenris sit up again. “What?” he asks when Fenris just keeps staring.

“They hunt you,” Fenris says, as if he just now realises it. 

“Yes. Now, sit up one more time and drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Fenris dutifully sits up and drinks, looking at Anders the whole time. When he lies back down, his eyes flit around, looking anywhere but at him.

“What is it?” Anders asks.

Fenris’ gaze snaps to him, which would look more impressive if he didn’t have a drop of snot hanging on his nose. “What do you mean?”

Anders hands him another handkerchief. “You want to say something.”

Frowning, Fenris blows his nose. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve known you for years. You’re fidgeting when you want to say something but don’t know how.”

A huff, but it turns into a sniffle. “I don’t fidget.”

Anders barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Just tell me.”

“Everything hurts,” Fenris says quietly. “The markings, my arms, everything.”

“Do you allow me a gentle healing spell? Just for that pain?”

“Yes,” Fenris says, turning away. “Please.”

Anders swallows all snarky remarks he could provide right now, easily, and focuses on the spell, letting his magic spread over Fenris’ body. He watches him for signs of disapproval, but Fenris’ face relaxes and his hands unclench as the spell dulls the pain. Anders keeps the magic up on a low level, just enough to help Fenris relax. “You should sleep now,” he whispers.

Fenris closes his eyes and turns to the side. When he tugs the duvet around his body, Anders hears Fenris mumble, “I still do not understand why you are here.”

“Because I care,” Anders says, wiping the hair away from Fenris’ forehead and dabbing it with the wet towel. Stepping back from the bed, he looks at Fenris’ sleeping form. “Because I'm a fool and I care about you,” he whispers to himself.

[skyfallscotland]

Fics:

Fear & Flame (Xaden/OC, 266k words)

Dangerous Devotion (44k words)

Truth & Talon (WIP, >100k words)

Ficlets:

Remi at 14; a Fear & Flame coda, (1k words)

Infantry Xaden & Remi AU (1.5k words)

intertwining souls (we were never strangers) - part one & part two— time travel AU snippets (2.7k & 4k words)

In-depth summaries, tags & FAQ below the cut ⤸

Fics:

Fear & Flame

Xaden Riorson/Original Female Character ✧ 266k words, complete

Remi Sorrengail is the antithesis of her sister. Snarky, depressed and quick to anger, she’s a realist. She’s well aware she probably won’t be making it out of the Riders Quadrant alive and she’s made peace with that. There’s just one thing she’d like to do there before she goes…climb Xaden Riorson like a tree.

Dangerous Devotion

Xaden's POV ✧ 44k words, complete ✧ (Note: this contains new content and is not just the same scenes from Fear & Flame, rehashed)

Xaden Riorson spends a year trying not to fall in love with Remi Sorrengail—and fails miserably.

Truth & Talon

Sequel to Fear & Flame ✧ 140k words, WIP

Remi Sorrengail’s life has been completely upended. The monsters that gave her nightmares as a child are real, her dead brother has been secretly alive this entire time and never once contacted her, and her partner has been lying about all of it. Oh and he’s also royalty. Throw in a bunch of assassins, a psychotic vice-commandant and a war on the horizon, and she truly has her work cut out for her—and that’s not even taking into account matters of the heart.

Ficlets:

Remi at 14; a Fear & Flame coda

1k words, complete

For a long minute, my heart thunders, but then I think at least it would have been over. Over. I don’t know if I believe in Malek, but if the world holds any kindness and the gods are real, I’d hope they would reunite me with Brennan in the afterlife.

Infantry Xaden & Remi AU

1.5k words, complete for now—potential series

I am not ashamed to admit that smirk does something to me. My lips part in surprise. “You…” I suppose there’s not much to say—of course he knows who I am. Everyone in Navarre probably knows by now about the Sorrengail twins and how they both bonded two dragons. “Who are you?” I ask instead, my brow furrowing.  He steps closer, a small smile playing on his lips, like I should already know the answer. “Xaden Riorson.” He murmurs.

intertwining souls (we were never strangers) - part one & part two

2.7k & 4k words, respectively—complete for now

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, climbing to my feet. “I know this isn’t—that you don’t know me.” I choke out. “But I don’t know what happened and I can’t feel my dragon and I’m scared, Xade.” Slowly, he climbs to his feet and takes a step toward me, closing the gap again.  A hand reaches out to brush my hair behind my ear and a wet chuckle escapes me. I guess some things really don’t change. “Where—when are you from?” He finally asks, his eyes glued to my face.

You can find the Basgiath: Remi's Version playlist here 🥰

Series tags: Asks / Quotes / Polls

✧ FAQ

Will you be killing Liam? Will Xaden turn venin? Will Remi turn venin?

Wouldn't you like to know 😌

[val-made-a-mistake]

❝FIREWHISKEY.❞

(not my gif)

summary: liquid courage - that's firewhiskey. a drink you and george can both overindulge in, sometimes, but it always seems to bring you closer together.

warnings: fluff central, alcohol (obviously), underage drinking, hangovers, mentions of vomiting, just a disclaimer, it’s been several years since i last picked up the harry potter series, you can probably guess the reason why, so i SINCERELY doubt everything will perfectly follow the timeline. my friend asked me to write something for the twins for her birthday and gave me her blessing to post, please know i’m trying my best lol. this is set loosely during the summer where the weasleys and friends attend the world cup. (google confused me on the twins’ ages so they’re seventeen, not sixteen.)

word count: 1k

tag list: @mizu-soup

a/n: happy birthday fred and george! psst...when i first posted the sneak peek of this fic, i said i had written SCENES for george, not just this singular one you'll (hopefully) read after the "read more" line. i'm planning to post these scenes as a little ficlet series eventually and develop george and reader's relationship more (firewhiskey is the main theme in all of them, as you can probably guess) but my life is a total dumpster fire at the moment, so who knows how fast that'll happen. please enjoy for now :) i love you

//////

Up on the highest floor of the Burrow, the window was a thin, uncurtained rectangle stretching up to the roof, and early in the morning, if, say, you’d gotten so drunk on Firewhiskey the night before you’d blacked out and subsequently forgotten to hoist Ginny’s old mattress up against the wall to cover it, the sunrise nearly blinded you and every other occupant of the room come 7 AM.

Not the most pleasant awakening one could have in the early morning.

“Merlin,” Fred moaned, wincing at the stream of sunlight and shoving his face into the pillow. “Ron, get the bloody mattress.”

“Why does it have to be me?” Ron cried, bounding up from the misshapen heap of blankets on the floor.

“You’re closest, you moron!” George snapped back. “Dunno about Fred, but my head’s pounding, Y/N woke up with her head in the bucket…”

“I’m awake, George,” you bit out from the opposite side of the room, absentmindedly grabbing onto the rim of the bucket in case you were to throw up again: your mouth tasted like something had died and rotted in your throat, and your voice sounded rough and gravelly from the dehydration. “Fuck, that’s the last time I’m drinking Firewhiskey…”

“You lot okay?” Harry whispered from opposite Ron on the floor. You didn’t think anything of it at the time, but he was clutching his forehead, gently rubbing his scar. Regardless of what it may have meant, you felt pity for him: you, Fred, and George might have just turned seventeen, and had drank Firewhiskey plenty before you’d legally been able to, but Harry was fourteen, much too young for a hangover. God, he’d only wanted a sip, why’d you let it go this far?

“We’re alive, I think,” Fred groaned as Ron got up to block the window; his voice was still muffled from his head in the pillow. “Mum will have everything in the pantry for a Rejuvenation Potion, right?”

“Reckon we can nick the cauldron from Percy’s room?” you put in tiredly, rolling over onto your back to stare at him.

George snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh, no, Y/N, that’s gonna be impossible.”

You’d opened your mouth to hit him with a snarky remark of your own, but too late: in a blink of an eye, George had vanished.

Before you could even roll your eyes at how abruptly he disappeared— and how clever he obviously thought he was as you’d failed your Apparition Test three times in a row and still couldn’t legally do it — he’d Apparated back into the room with a small rusty cauldron in his hands.

“Percy’s in the kitchen,” he told the room, his grin as smug as ever. “Go down and distract him for me, will you? Look alive, you lot.”

The sunlight no longer a threat to his wellbeing, Fred rose from the squashed, broken mess of a couch, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll see what Mum’s making for breakfast.”

He Disapparated, but not fast enough for you not to spot his identical grin. You had to glare at the wall. They loved teasing you, and no matter how much you may have loved them, you’d never hear the end of it.

There was an awkward silence as everyone seemed unwilling to move.

“Ron, get out,” George said, looking over at the misshapen heap of blankets that bore a wincing Ron.

“Fuck you,” he shot back immediately, and George grinned.

“You better not let Mum hear that sass. Harry, I love you mate, I don’t want to sound like I’m kicking you out, but can you leave me and Y/N alone for a moment? Potion’s gonna take, like, fifteen minutes to brew.”

“No problem,” Harry groaned, reaching for his glasses as he climbed to his feet. “Ron, c’mon.”

Much slower than either of the twins, Ron got up, wobbled to the door with his best friend’s aid, and with the loud CREAK of the door opening, they were gone. George was already taking the ingredients he’d gathered out of the cauldron: you saw several packets of herbs, tiny vials of juices, and a large stirring spoon.

Working deftly, he pointed his wand at the pan underneath the cauldron. “Incendio.”

A fire ignited immediately.

“Do you think you’re gonna vomit again?” he asked you as he ripped a packet of herbs open and dumped them into the cauldron. His voice was so gentle you almost didn’t register he was talking to.

You probably weren’t going to, so you finally let go of the bucket. “I don’t think so.”

“Last time she’s drinking Firewhiskey, she says,” he mocked you, wiggling his shoulders sarcastically. “That’s what you say literally ever morning after, you know.”

Slightly above him on the only bed of the room, you pinned him with the most searing death glare you could manage.

George grinned at you - his real grin, completely free of sarcasm or smugness. “Hang in there, love.”

A small silence fell as you watched him.

“I think if you had any ounce of ambition, you’d be a Healer at St Mungos,” you told him absentmindedly.

“St Mungos!” he gasped, his eyes jumping up to yours as he uncorked a small vial of a mysterious reddish juice. “How dare you, Y/N! You want to set me up with Snape for a few more years?”

You laughed, even though it upset your stomach, which was already growling incessantly. “No, I - I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Jesus, I need some of Molly’s scrambled eggs.”

“Go on without me,” he told you, eyeing a measurement of an equally mysterious brown powder that your Muggleborn background likened to hot cocoa mix. “Tell Mum I’m sleeping and am not to be disturbed. And tell Ron if he rats us out about what happens last night, he’ll wish he was never born.”

“I don’t think he will,” you said tiredly, rising. “But I’ll tell them nonetheless. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he responded. “Stay alive for me.”

You smiled gently; your head was still pounding, and now that you were on your feet, your whole world was spinning. “I’ll try.”

[aftgficrec]

I would loveee fics where Andrew defends Neil to aaron and the other foxes (but definitely Aaron), i’ve seen so many of Neil defending Andrew but not a lot of the other way around and Neil deserves to have his man defend his honorrr

In canon, post-medication Andrew does not talk much to anyone besides Neil. Still there are definitely fics with this. Just know Andrew’s defense of Neil can be one sentence in a story, and physical violence is often his preferred method of communication. -A

previous recs  

‘The Ash is in Our Clothes’ here

‘Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder’ here

‘in the common tongue’ here 

‘I hate him,’ ‘One day we'll reveal the truth,’ ‘i'm getting static from my better sense’ and ‘My brother under the sun’ here

‘some1 saying something…’ here

‘Ember’ here

‘Can he play?’ here

‘Surreal But Nice’ here

‘Least Favorite Only Child’ here

‘Fighting Words’ here

‘Trust Fall (And Welcoming Arms)’ here

‘(Don't) Stand So Close’ here

‘In the Eye of the Beholder’ here

‘Beach Bois’ here

‘I'm Not Okay (I Promise).’ and ‘It’s not living (If it’s not with you)’ here

‘soft spots make easy targets’ here

‘Even the Darkest Night Will End’ and ‘The Andreil escapades’ here

in Masterlist for Nicky Kissing Neil: ‘The Kiss,’ ‘History Repeating,’ ‘Andrew Finds Out,’ ‘Something, Nothing & Everything’ (also big twinyards confrontation), ‘A Crack in the Mask,’ ‘Truth Time, ‘Truths Come Out,’ ‘The Unkindness of Ravens’ ch 16, ‘Delayed Reaction,’ ‘Delayed reaction (the fear of falling remix),’ ‘All For The Game Musings,’ ‘andrew finds out about what happened…,’ ‘Hold Each Other’ ch 6 and ch 15, and ‘Slip’. Finally, ‘Lessons in Cartography’ has Andrew defending Neil to both Aaron and Jack throughout

Andrew defends Neil to non-foxes

‘Something About The Sunshine’ here

‘Warmth’ here

Foxhole Tidbits ‘Ch. 22: Silent, but Snarky’ here

‘Through A Glass Darkly’ and ‘Some Things You Just Can't Bury’ here

‘Martyr’ here

‘The Bones of You’ here

‘monsters at night’ here

‘Killer Bunny’ here 

‘you're not next before forever’ here (completed)

‘looking for you’ here

‘Give Me Another Minute (to Lay Here in Your Echo)’ here 

‘Ficlet Collection…’ ch 35-37 here

you may also like

feral protective Andrew here

protective/possessive Andrew here

overprotective Andrew here 

protective Andrew here

protective Andrew gets hurt here

protective Neil/Andrew here

jealous Andrew here

previous recs where Andrew kills Nathan here

our latest Neil & Aaron ask here

Unconventional Therapy by JostenlovesMinyard [Rated M, Twinyards Appreciation Week 2021]

Twinyard Appreciation Week - Day 2 | “bottle episode” Andrew and Aaron attend their weekly therapy session but things don’t quite go to plan when the door handle falls off and they’re stuck in there together.

tw: implied/referenced rape/nocon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Nothing is Safe series by hismiley16 [Rated T/M/E, Collection, 7 complete works, Updated July 2023]

Part 4: Written On His Skin [Not Rated, 11344 Words] The Foxes face the Ravens for the first time since Riko's death and things go as well as expected. Andrew is mildly injured on the court and isn't there to protect Neil when the new Evermore captain comes for him after the game. The team sees more than Neil ever wanted them to, including the ghost of Nathaniel he thought he'd buried in Baltimore.

tw: vomit, tw: bullying, tw: nonconsensual touch/assault  tw: dissociation, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced animal death, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

this is me trying by crownowl [Not Rated, 2142 Words, Complete, 2023]

After Neil has a panic attack Andrew finds out exactly what happened when Nicky drugged Neil and he is not happy.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced nonconsensual kissing, tw: implied/referenced nonconsensual drug use, tw: ptsd

Don't let me be by Cutie_Wan [Not Rated, 1983 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil suffers a major dissociation episode in front of the Foxes.

tw: dissociation, tw: violence

One Step Forward by thecompletebookworm [Rated T, 1665 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange Winter 2020]

Based on the prompt: “Andrew and Aaron talking and solving their problems” "If you really don't care about Andrew, why does Neil bother you so much?"   Dobson asked during their Wednesday session. Aaron dug his fingers into the couch.  He hated this.  Hated that the only time he could get answers out of Andrew was when he was sitting in front of a shrink.   A shrink who was undoubtedly on his brother's side. And that in order to get answers he had to rip himself raw first.  

tw: implied/referenced rape/nocon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Angry Alone by obsessivereader156 [Not Rated, 1799 Words, Complete, 2023]

“Of course I’m not homophobic, you asshole. What are you even talking about?” “Aaron, please don’t use that type of language here,” Betsy softly interjects. “You’ve been very hostile towards Neil,” Andrew says plainly, as if that’s enough of an answer. ______________________________ Aaron has been feeling angry and alone lately. Maybe he doesn't have to be alone about it.

Everything's Alright by DarkD [Rated E, 182901 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2023]

Souls weren't meant to be left alone, so they split, always looking for their other half. No matter how long it took, the moment a soul existed, it sought the one that would complete it. The main indication is, when one of the halves of the soul turns seven years old, an identical mark appears on both parts. Along with that comes a set of unique abilities that soulmates can only use with each other—for protection, for finding each other. Soulmates would never be alone.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: child abuse, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: gun violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: murder, tw: canonical character death

A flash of anger. prompt fill by @nickyhenmick [Tumblr, 2016]

All reporters got on Andrew’s nerves. They were invasive and never asked interesting questions, and there was probably a reason he was rarely allowed to be on press duty.

a stupid ass decision prompt fill by @find-yourself-in-passion [Tumblr, 2017]

“I recognize that you have reached a decision,” Andrew replied over the top of Neil’s protests, unwrapping his right hand in such a rush that Neil knew he was going to have red marks where the tap ripped at his flesh. “Andrew-” “But given that it is a stupid ass decision,” He continued on, refusing to acknowledge the other man’s piercing gaze on him as he threw his bag and shoes in the closet, knowing what faced him when he turned around. “I have elected to ignore it.”

Art

3 & 10 art by @thematicallycoherent

im thinkin bout these two art by @wiltkingart

Safe. art by @eislekaj on instagram

exy banquet smoke break art by @twohiddenhalves

Vkook as reference art by @reyko__ on instagram

roof. andrew. tattoos. and two cigarettes. and neil. art by @puhnatsson

Someone strong to lean on art by @fornavn

[emmalostinwonderland]

💜 “Will they revoke my queer card if I don’t get oat milk in my lattes?”

FirstPrince please!

I was so hoping someone would pick this prompt lol. Thank you, Steph! For you, here's a bit of established-relationship cuteness featuring autistic Henry. Up to you if it's canon or not, it really could go either way imho. It also ran a bit longer than expected (which I should've seen coming - of course your prompt request would come with your short-fic-runs-long deal lol), so half is under the cut.

“I’ll have an Earl Grey, please.” “Okay, just the tea or did you want to try our lavender oat milk London Fog?” Alex looks up from his phone to find Henry staring in mildly-stunned confusion at the pink-haired barista behind the counter at whatever local shop they wandered into today. It’s loud in there – enough that it’s even grating on his own ears a bit – and it’s a brand new spot for them. He gives his boyfriend a moment to cope with the change himself, but Henry’s mouth opens and closes twice without any sound coming out, so he pipes up to rescue him. “He’s a black tea kinda guy, but thanks.” Henry bumps shoulders with him in a silent ‘thank you’, but the barista just shrugs, scribbles on the side of a cup with a sharpie, and sets it aside. “For you?”

“Medium latte with cinnamon. Actual cinnamon, not syrup.” “Iced?” Alex shakes his head. “Hot. And yes, I know it’s summer.” “Did you want that with oat milk?” They don’t even look up from the cup they’re writing on. “Sorry, did I miss a memo?” Alex laughs, mostly to show he’s just being a little snarky and not a complete asshole, but Henry gives him a look.  “Excuse me?” “You’re upselling on oat milk like. A lot. To the couple in front of us, to my boyfriend, now to me… Do you have 2%? Or will they revoke my queer card for not getting oat milk in my lattes?” “Alex,” Henry hisses at him.  The barista isn’t remotely fazed though. They just look exhausted. “My manager ordered double what we usually get, and I was told to push it. You can have whatever you want, man, I just work here.” “...I see. I’d like it regular please.” “No problem.” They ring up the drinks, and Alex pays, stuffing a 20 in the tip jar to make up for his attitude.  Henry pulls him into a hug while they wait at the other end of the counter, and Alex melts into it. They aren’t normally super touchy-feely in public spaces, but Henry has always had a sort of sixth sense for Alex’s mood shifts. He blames the autism, but Alex secretly thinks it’s proof that they were each designed by some higher power with the other in mind. “Are your batteries getting low, love?” It’s a little odd hearing the phrase from Henry – that’s usually his line when they’re out and about. He nods after only a moment’s consideration, rubbing his cheek against the wear-soft fabric of Henry’s old Oxford polo team t-shirt. “It’s been a long week. I’m sorry.” “It’s alright. We’ve ducked out of plenty of things early for me; it can be your turn this time. Let’s skip the movie and go home.” "You sure?" “Definitely. We can even watch Empire if that would help.” “I seriously fucking love you.” Alex smiles for the first time since they walked into the coffee shop when he feels Henry kiss his temple. “I love you too.”

More Ficlet Friday Prompts

[alectoperdita]

i don’t know how this could be conveyed in fic, but i’m always thinking about kaiba filming promos and what not for tournaments/dm stuff and he makes snarky jokes about jounouchi’s presence but the camera keeps zooming in his face to emphasize the adoration and glee on his face when he sees jou do /any/thing. but kaiba is not selfaware. he reviews the footage wondering why the cameras keep recording his reaction during jou’s duels instead of the audience. they want u 2 notice something, kaiba

Ooo this is such a juicy idea, anon! I love me a pining Kaiba. It's even more entertaining when he's a bit oblivious.

I know you didn't quite mean this as a challenge, but it activated my outsider-POV-loving neurons. So I attempted to write a little ficlet based on your idea. Sorry, that was why I was delayed in responding to your ask. Also apologies that I'm a little rusty. Haven't been writing regularly recently. 😭 I hope you still enjoy it.

---

Kenji always figured that Kaiba's, well, everything was an act. A show persona put on for the masses to sell his tech and promote his tournaments.

No one could be that genuinely ridiculous.

Except he was. Kaiba appeared to be every bit that extra, as Kenji's teenage daughter would say.

("Dad, no one says that anymore!")

Because in the week since he started following the larger-than-life CEO around, he recorded a number of baffling incidents on film. Initially, he wrote them off as the producers' or Kaiba's people's attempt to inject more oomph into the series. It wouldn't be the first time. Kenji wasn't paid to care about that. He was the film crew. His job was to point the camera wherever the producers told him.

But not even Kaiba would stage an attempted kidnapping as a publicity stunt, right?

Kenji could've done without that one. Not just because he got far closer to a gun-toting maniac than he ever wanted to. The police also confiscated his equipment and that day's footage for their investigation.

But they were back to business the very next day. Nothing changed except for a few extra suits lurking in the background. Kaiba showed no signs of being shaken or slowing down. He had a tournament to throw, after all.

That tenacity and resilience were admirable. Kenji could see why Kaiba was so successful at his young age. Barely nineteen and he had the world in the palm of his hand. It was easy to forget the boy wasn't that much older than Kenji's little girl.

Nowhere was that more apparent than when Kaiba was surrounded by his peers.

Kenji kept his camera trained on the trio of teenagers. Kaiba towered over most, including people twice his age. Next to Mutou Yugi, he looked like a telephone pole.

"Kaiba-kun!" Yugi grinned, craning his neck to meet Kaiba's eye. "Glad to see you're well!"

Even an old fuddy-duddy like Kenji (again, much to his heartbreak, his daughter's words) knew about the storied rivalry between Kaiba Seto and the King of Games. But he was surprised by how calmly and politely Kaiba returned the greeting, even if his tone was a touch gruff. Kenji was unfamiliar with the blond boy who slung an arm over Kaiba's shoulders, however.

The blond boomed. "Still in one piece, eh? Saw the news about what happened. You really kicked those guys' asses."

Kaiba swiftly threw off the arm, but the blond didn't seem too offended. He also took a step to the side to put space between them. In profile, the tips of his ears went pink.

"They should've known better than to try anything. They've learned the hard way," Kaiba grunted. He made a motion to dust off his left shoulder, where the blond's hand rested mere seconds ago, yet his fingers seemed to linger momentarily on his flamboyant coat.

Not that the blond noticed. He was busy sweeping his gaze across the surrounding. "Yeah, tournament security's tighter than usual. Noticed 'em spooks hanging everywhere." Then he spotted Kenji. Or more likely Kenji's camera lens. He immediately perked, straightened, and puffed out his chest while flashing a crooked grin. "Hey, are they filming me?"

"No, deadbeat. Who would want to film you? They're filming me," sneered Kaiba.

The blond snapped toward Kaiba and took a step forward with his hands fisted at his side. A menacing move if directed at most people, but Kaiba wasn't cowed. He merely stared down his nose at the other boy.

The air crackled with palpable tension. If they started fighting, should Kenji keep filming or break up the fight? His producers probably preferred the former.

Yugi's eyes flitted between the two boys, then to the camera. "Kaiba-kun, Jounouchi-kun, calm down. Let's not fight before the tournament. I'm sure Kaiba-kun didn't mean that."

Kaiba and the blond, presumably Jounouchi, stared at each other for several more beats.

With a scoff, Jounouchi wheeled back and stuffed his hands into his ripped jeans. "Whatever. They can get a load of when the great Jounouchi-sama beat your flat ass out in the arena."

Kaiba smiled a sharp, toothless grin. "In your dreams."

Another charged pause.

Yugi shifted nervously.

"Only if you're lucky."

Kaiba's expression froze up. It looked as if he'd blue-screened and crashed. His ears were definitely pink now, though Jounouchi likely didn't catch that given how intensely he was staring at Kaiba's face.

But it didn't escape Kenji's notice. Or his camera.

Jounouchi smirked. "What? Cat got your tongue there, Kaiba?"

Kaiba coughed, making an admirable recovery. His expression retained an imperious quality when he replied, "Hardly. I'm merely stunned by your astonishing lack of self-awareness."

Jounouchi rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man. You're fulla hot air."

And just like that, they found their way back to the conventional arena of trash talk.

Yugi checked his watch. "We should get to our places, Jounouchi-kun. It's almost time."

"Run along, deadbeat. Or you'll be disqualified before you even take a step into the stadium."

Jounouchi made a rude gesture that Kenji was sure they'd blur in post. Yugi cheerfully wished Kaiba luck before following the other boy. Strangely, though, Kaiba's gaze seemed to linger on the departing figures. For no more than a beat or two, then he straightened and strode down the hall in the opposite direction, coat tails flaring dramatically in his wake. Kenji had to hand it to the boy's stylist.

***

There was a surprising amount of downtime when the duelists weren't playing. Much more standing around and gossiping and observing the current game than Kenji expected. Now that the tournament had officially started, Kaiba joined the other duelists stadium-side. Kenji naturally followed him.

Kaiba stood ramrod straight, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the tournament proceed. It was a picturesque pose, but even that became dull when he did and said nothing further. He had already played his first seed of the tournament and won summarily.

Kenji hoped this wasn't how the rest of the day played out. It would be dreadfully boring in that case.

Then Jounouchi took center stage for his duel.

Kaiba scoffed silently, but he remained as attentive as ever. Maybe even more so.

Not even two turns in, the mic picked up Kaiba's stray comments.

"Again with that unreliable gambling mechanic."

Still, he grunted in near approval when Jounouchi called his coin flip correctly. Soon, his stance and facial muscles eased to a state one might even call relaxed.

"Lucky," he muttered when Jounouchi countered his opponent's trap, but the light in his blue eyes shone brightly.

Kenji was a Duel Monsters novice, but he could read the room. The crowd's energy—Kaiba's energy changed as soon as Jounouchi was backed into the corner. Even Kenji winced when the opponent's monster halved Jounouchi's lifepoints with one attack.

Kaiba took a step forward before catching himself. A newfound tension vibrated through his body as Jounouchi picked himself from the floor. "Don't tell me that's all you got, deadbeat," he snapped to no one in particular. "This is just the first round."

Jounouchi didn't give up. Determination shone through his every move and declaration. It made for dramatic television, which the official tournament crew was filming. Kenji stayed focused on his assignment, which was recording Kaiba's every reaction to Jounouchi's moves.

A cheer rose among the spectator.

Kaiba stiffened, but the corner of his lips twitched. Upward. "Oh, he updated his deck."

Something warm and fond bubbled beneath the surface. It might be pride.

A dragon materialized on Jounouchi's side of the field. Kenji couldn't help but be struck by how its appearance was the polar opposite of Kaiba's sleek, white ace monster—black leather wings, sharp, and covered in spikes.

Ironic.

Or, dare Kenji think it as he zoomed in on Kaiba's face, serendipitous, judging by Kaiba's familiar expression. It was the same one Kenji's daughter wore when she thought of her "beloved"—one Kenji probably still made for his Ikuko. Infatuation was the best word for it.

***

"Isono."

"Yes, Seto-sama?"

Isono glanced up from where he was taking notes of his boss's comments to send back to the production team. Reviewing the cut footage took time, but Kaiba had a vested interest in how he was portrayed and he preferred the hands-on approach in this instance. Kaiba's brow furrowed as he watched scenes of Jounouchi's tournament duels interspersed with close-ups of his own face and reactions.

"Why is it so focused on the deadbeat's duels?" he asked. Not angry, though clearly baffled. Even now, Kaiba's attention was glued to Jounouchi's face as it always was whenever the blond duelist came into the vicinity.

A moth drawn to the flames.

Isono's eyes flitted between his boss's current oblivious face and his smitten expression caught on film. Most people wouldn't recognize him as smitten, including Kaiba himself. Isono did, thanks to his years of employment, though he initially doubted it. Evidently so did the cameraperson.

For a second, Isono contemplated confronting his employer about his crush. But he liked his job. Kaiba was a bright young man. He would eventually realize it, right?

He cleared his throat. "Jounouchi-san performed quite favorably in this recent tournament. Stories about underdog competitors are always a crowd favorite."

He gave himself a mental pat on the back. Both statements were technically true.

"He did perform above expectation," mumbled Kaiba, studying the paused image of Jounouchi on the screen.

Isono dared to hope on his employer's behalf. Then it was dashed.

"We'll see how long his luck lasts then," Kaiba smirked.

One day, thought Isono, Kaiba will realize what had been staring him in the face all along.

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

For the Drabble/doodle prompt:

Fem!Reddie But I’m a Cheerleader AU

ohhhh babey hell yeah

me and @haaawaiianshirt actually discussed this au like a million years ago but I genuinely can't remember who was who, so after like a full forty five minutes of staring at a wall, thinking about Them, I reengineered it to make eddie megan... except she still gets to be a little butch

ficlet below cut:

i haven't written these babies in so long so I sincerely apologize if im rusty but have some Eddie-specific, non-canon scene, but i'm a cheerleader vibes:

Eddie… didn’t quite see it working out like this.

Which to be perfectly fair, isn’t, like out of the picture. The past almost two months have been exclusively didn’t quite see it working out like this. 

Being accused of lesbianism, being sent to conversion therapy, and, goddamnit, especially not the accusation being right.

But when she’d been sitting outside the office, panic coursing through her nervous system, waiting, Eddie had genuinely thought that she was going to lie. She was fully prepared to pretend she was straight, to say that none of it had ever happened. That she’d never loved Richie Tozier and she was so, horribly, incredibly excited to graduate into a dull, mind-numbingly pink life of heterosexuality.

Richie was going to look at her with huge, betrayed eyes. Richie was going to get kicked out. She’d already carved out a place in her brain for the guilt.

Eddie was a good girl, Eddie was a catholic girl, Eddie was her mother’s perfect daughter, Eddie was a fucking cheerleader. Richie was the brave, snarky, proud-to-be-a-dyke one, not her.

But for some fucking reason, staring her mother down as tears and snot dripped down her face, demanding she reconsider, while Robert fucking Gray in neat little blue suit grinned at her and told her she could have a second chance, she couldn’t do it. Fuck that, she’d thought, considering a life of boyfriends and a raised ranch in the suburbs and two and a half kids, Fuck that.

Richie had said she was braver than she fucking thought that night, her hand slid under her skirt in the back of the Cocksucker, her voice all soft and smiley and genuine. She hadn’t really realized that she’d meant it comparatively. That Eddie was brave because Richie wasn’t.

Maybe that wasn’t fair. Eddie just… doesn’t know how to feel fair right now. 

She was supposed to leave with her and she hadn’t.

(The spot in her head she’d reserved for betraying-Richie guilt has been instead taken up with the image of Richie herself, pale and crying and more quiet than she’d ever seen her be, mouthing silent ‘I’m so sorry’s. With the words, ‘It’s been decided, then. Richie will do the simulation with Connor. Edith, you can go.’)

Adrien and Don had told her to take her time with the whole thing. Stan had rolled their eyes and told her that she’d get over it. She doesn’t think either of them are fucking right.

Not when she’s so fucking mad and confused, and every time she closes her eyes she pictures Conner fucking Bowers, sleazy, gay Conner Bowers, simulating sex that she knows Richie doesn’t want to have. 

She stares hard at the ceiling of her new bedroom. It’s smaller than her one at home, the walls painted a bright, angry red, and self-help books and dyke memoirs and magazines she knows you can’t buy in the grocery stores unsubtly sitting on the bedside table. 

It’s a weird, hands off sort of acceptance she’s not used to. And it’s better than her Mother’s cloying need to have control, but it almost makes her uncomfortable.

She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing, in general and as a fucking lesbian and… god, maybe it’s selfish but she almost wishes Richie were here just so she could tell her the steps. 

Richie was the same age as her, sure, but she had more experience with this whole thing. She’d kissed girls, she knew what fucking… scissoring meant, she was good at it, she had the fucking training hours and everything that Eddie specifically lacked. 

(Though, she realizes, maybe that's the difference.

Richie knew. Richie came into this whole thing well aware she was a lesbian. From what she’d whispered, hidden in the dark corners of New Horizons, when they’d stopped making out just long enough to talk, it’d been one of the openly apparent things everyone around her knew and hated since she was thirteen. 

All her sex talk and bold sexuality shit that Eddie’d been so intimidated by at first, that she kind of longs for now, was just a defense mechanism that could be easily broken down and manipulated. 

Eddie… had honestly just never considered the idea before her mom sent her away.

Having sex with Conner would have grossed her out before, probably. She’d never even wanted to kiss Myran when they were dating, and now that she knew why, she wasn’t about to back down.

Somehow, Richie having more time to figure everything out made it even more complicated.

Christ, it’s not like any of this shit feels simple for Eddie, though.)

Without thinking about it she kicks herself off her bed and slams into the bathroom. 

‘Sweetheart, don’t worry about being a perfect lesbian,’ Adrian had soothed when she’d shown up, crying with suitcases, ‘Just worry about being yourself.’

It’d probably been good advice. If she’d known who the fuck she was.

She knew she was a cheerleader, that one had just been a fact.

She knew she was a lesbian, she’d figured that one out fast and then let it sink it incredibly slowly. 

She knew she was angry and she knew she was sad, and she knew that Richie might have had a point about her being brave. And that one had been after doing something impulsive and maybe stupid. 

She doesn’t really have time to recreate the first two, slowly burned life changes, but she can probably do the impulsive stupid one again. 

The least she could do was try, she thinks, digging in one of the drawers under the sink until she finds what she’s looking for. 

Her hair falls in clumps as she hacks at it with dull, bathroom cabinet scissors, uneven and probably ugly and she’s gonna have to get someone to fix it. Suddenly, though, she doesn’t think she gives a shit. 

She wonders if it’s a cliche, a dyke with short hair. She’s not necessarily sure she cares any more. Her head feels lighter than it ever has. 

She wonders why the fuck she hadn’t done this earlier, short hair would be so much easier for cheer than a fucking hair-sprayed stiff blow out. 

She wonders if Richie would like it. 

Richie. 

Fuck.

(Mother fucker… well, impulsive and stupid worked twice, right?)

She slams into Stan’s bedroom, the sudden plan shaking its way out of her skin too hard to take anything slow. They blink up from their book and look her over, cocking an eyebrow, “Nice hair.”

“Thank you,” She grins, feeling hot all over and shaky and kind of like she’s gonna pass out. Just, in a good way, somehow, “Wanna go crash the graduation tomorrow?”

[wolfsbanesbite]

hiya! i hope you're having a good day (or afternoon / evening), I've been binge reading your sebkimi were!au (I've been feeling down, n it's helping a lot) and i noticed that Seb tends to get snarky when kimi or the pack is insulted (like when charles called them mutts and seb was on him in a second).

i was wondering if we could get more snarky/rude seb. like if the press or someone says something rather scathing about kimi (or any member of the pack really) and seb just bites back with the rudest thing he can think of because he’ll always defends his pack. but after the moment is passed, he's like, "wtf that was so embarrassing," and kimi just finds it super endearing or smth. idk I'm not very good at this!

Okay so sorry for the delay but have this little ficlet set in 2020 in the were!au

Nearing the end of his career, the press decide that they can talk shit about Kimi.

Which isn't okay for Sebastian. Not in the slightest.

Even before becoming a werewolf, Sebastian was always protective of Kimi. He absolutely hated it when someone would talk shit about him. No one knew who Kimi was. Not really. But Sebastian did.

That should have clued him in on his feelings towards him sooner.

The day in question, Sebastian is in the media pen answering yet more questions about the terrible Ferrari he was driving. Kimi had just finished his own interview and was leaving the pen, giving Sebastian a wink as he passes by. It makes Sebastian feel all warm and mushy inside. God he loved him.

"....such a shame that Kimi wasn't never on par with Sebastian in Ferrari. He was clearly terrible after his championship. They should have gotten someone hungrier for wins. Instead they got someone who prefers getting drunk to winning races!"

Oh that. That hits Sebastian's sensitive hearing. He turns around to the voice and a low growl leaves him.

DC.

What the fuck did he know about Kimi?

He feels this heat wrap around him and his skin feels too tight. Without thinking he moves over to the ex driver and stands next to him. 'What did you say?"

If Sebastian was more aware of his surroundings he would have noticed that his own voice now had a rough edge to it.

DC looks up at Sebastian and blinks in surprise. "Sebastian! Good race today! A solid score of points!"

"What did you say about Kimi?" Sebastian asks, voice firm and rather scary.

His nose picks up the scent of fear and his wolf side gets interested. He'd love to chase this guy and pin him down with his fangs in his throat. But he can't.

"You....you must have good hearing. Care to weight in about it?" DC swallows thickly, his voice shaky.

"I'd prefer you get Kimi's name out of your damn mouth. That man is worth more than you. You who couldn't even get a championship. Remind me how many wins you have again?

"13." David says quietly.

"That's right. 13. And that gives you zero right to talk about Kimi the way you just did. You will earn that right when you're no longer mediocre."

A warm hand suddenly wraps around his and the scent of Kimi fills his nose.

"Sorry, DC. The sun has gotten to Sebastian. I'm going to take him away now." Kimi says pointedly, and in stunned silence, DC lets Kimi lead Sebastian away.

When they're out of earshot and out of public view, Kimi let's go of Sebastian's hand and turns him around.

"Your eyes are glowing, Kulta. Now I know what DC said was not nice. But it was just words. He didn't need to be threatened!"

Sebastian blinks at Kimi's words, and the sound of his boyfriend's voice is enough to squash the influence of his wolf. Instantly, everything comes roaring back to him, and he groans and buries his head in his hands.

"Did I really call DC mediocre?"

"You did, and I don't think you're wrong. But you should apologise." Kimi says gently, giving Sebastian a warm smile. "Even though it was nice to hear you defend me."

"I will always defend you." Sebastian says quietly. "You mean the world to me."

"And you me. Which is why you need to say sorry and make an excuse because you were radiating big scary werewolf at him." Kimi tells him.

"Fuck....what do I do?" Sebastian asks, his face pale.

'Like I said. Tell DC it was the sun. A trick of the light. Smooth it over with that silver tongue of yours." Kimi nuzzles his nose softly. "And for the love of God just breathe, Sebby."

Sebastian nods softly, taking in a deep breath to attempt to calm himself down. Kimi gently copies him, helping him to feel more human.

"Now after you apologise we can go for a run. Okay?" Kimi asks softly. 'I'm sure that will feel good."

"Oh it would. It absolutely would." Sebastian nods softly.

"Then off you go." Kimi gently pushes him back to the press pen.

"But what if I lose it again?" Sebastian asks, worry flicking over his face. "I barely was in the seat that time."

"You won't lose it again. I know how strong you are." Kimi says softly. He walks over to Sebastian and gently cups his cheek. "And maybe this kiss will help."

Kimi leans in to kiss Sebastian gently, feeling the German melt against him.

Works every time.

When Sebastian pulls back he's smiling confidently and he takes a deep breath. "Okay time to go apologise to that dickhead."

Kimi laughs softly and nods, letting him go as Sebastian walks away with Kimi's laughter a soothing comfort in his ears.

[chastillon]

Capri Valentines Ficlet

For @coffeedrgn87! Featuring some slight snarky Laurent and Damen taking them somewhere special. Happy Valentines Day! :) 

@caprivalentine <3 

“I’ve always wanted to kiss you blindfolded” 

Laurent’s cheeks heated while Damen pulled away. 

“And how long have you harbored that particular wish?” 

They were standing in an unremarkable field outside Marlas, and Laurent had been thoroughly sequestered for the afternoon. He had tried interrogating Damen about his sudden desire to take in the nature of the region. Questions rolled off his back and concerns shrugged away as though the demands of their new capital, and nascent kingdom, could be dismissed for an excursion. It was no miracle Laurent had a gap in his schedule. One was forcibly demanded by a particularly commanding king. It was also no miracle that Laurent let his stubborn protests melt away - for all his bluster, he could never say no to that dimple. He still made a show of grousing about their trip until they slowed to a halt in the field. 

It was early summer, and a golden afternoon swallowed the grasses and trees. Damen’s thumb brushed the line of Laurent’s lower lip while he mouthed at his ear. 

“Let me think. When was the last time I saw you blindfolded?” 

“It’s hardly a regular occurrence.” 

“More’s the pity.” 

Damen punctuated himself with a brief kiss to the cheek. One large, warm hand brushed the length of Laurent’s forearm until their fingers were tangled and he was being tugged onwards. 

“You don’t happen to have a Vaskian clan hidden somewhere in the trees? Should I start running?” 

“I’d only catch you again.” 

Damen was leading, so he couldn’t see Laurent smile. 

“Watch your step.” 

Field grass began to transition into soft moss and knobby roots that Damen deftly led them around. Bird cry echoed from above. 

There had been no time in the past few months for a day like this. They had barely left the fortress at Marlas while planning, negotiating, and reforming their kingdoms together. Daily Laurent was accosted by opinionated councilmen and diplomats exercising their right to be a nuisance. Exploring the surrounding wilderness hardly ranked high in Laurent’s priorities. As it happened, the season had just turned from shy spring into a lush, full summer. 

Laurent marked the passage of time - he hadn’t yet known Damen a year, but within months they would pass that milestone. 

An acorn dropped somewhere ahead as Damen led them around more roots. Eventually they veered to the left and a sudden wash of sunlight struck Laurent’s skin. 

“I’m starting to think you didn’t really need to blindfold me for this long.” 

“Maybe, but you love theatrics. Doesn’t it all add to the intrigue?” Plus there’s the distinct benefit of you seeing me in one, Laurent thought.

Damen slowed them to a halt, then moved behind Laurent to remove the silk slip from his eyes. They were standing in a small clearing ringed by saplings and bathed in sunshine. In the center, two feather cushions were arranged upon the ground. They were deep green and set atop the type of threadbare blanket servants used as tablecloths. A thick tome of poetry rested beside them. 

Laurent felt strong arms wind around his waist and someone nosing against his cheek. 

“Happy birthday,” Damen murmured. 

Laurent stood motionless as he struggled to compute the setup. Despite himself, a feeling of awe swept through his body and his heart kicked itself sore. 

“I - nobody knows when my birthday is.” He hadn’t let anyone know, and it had passed unobserved since Auguste died. It wasn’t self-pity. His uncle never celebrated him, and he was content to pass the day in peaceful reclusion. 

Damen dropped a soft kiss to his temple. 

“Well, I have means. And I’m on good terms with a physician who knows you fairly well.” 

Laurent angled his head to look up at his companion for the first time. There was an impossibility in front of him. The only blessed, unforeseen force of nature that could have altered the course of his life so drastically within one year. Not for the first time, his heart felt a vice of love. Their noses bumped. 

“What do you think?” Damen whispered. 

Laurent turned around completely and wrapped himself in the embrace. 

“The theatrics were a good touch.” I think I want to spend the rest of my birthdays with you, like this. Hiding away from politics and reading a good book. Laurent stepped back and smiled. 

“Thank you.”