#maybe squashies

[walkman-cat]

i actually have to get the portfolio done today if it kills me and i will do it !!

[creepyscritches]

Almost done with a giant squishy queen blanket and I've been ogling an even squishier pattern already lmao....anyway think next one I make might be this crazy double layer weighted pattern 🤔 or maybe I'll save this for someone else???

[azurexsnake]

Wolfwood is one of those characters I want to write for so badly but every time I think I have a thought I can’t put it into words that make any kind of sense at all. Just hysterical crying in a post I end up deleting every time

[wewontbesleeping]

I want to get some feather pillows

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat- enter Jason 1/2

MASTERPOST

The air was different with Cass, now. Danny felt a little anxious as he followed her to the study after breakfast. Something about her was serious-determined-protective. 

She always felt protective towards him. That was why he'd followed her in the first place. Some ghosts lied, but they couldn't do it with their aura. He knew what she really felt for him. 

“Sit?” She asked him. She gestured at the big squashy chair. Danny did without complaint. Cass perched behind him and started dragging her fingers through his hair, relaxing him.

Man. She was good at this. Top tier mothering, right here. Danny went limp. 

“I'm worried,” Cass broke the silence. She didn't sound worried. She never really did. Her voice was quiet and serious, but still kind. Her thumbs dug into his scalp. He pushed his head back against it. Bliss. “Barbara made you sad. Because you miss your sister?”

Danny tensed. 

‘I should have figured that Batman would track me down.’

Maybe he had known, if he was honest with himself. It didn't hit him like a shock.

“Tim thinks your name is Fenton,” she added, brutally sensible as always. And yup, that was it. No point in denying it. “Declared dead. In danger?”

He sucked in air through his teeth. He wasn't going to lie to her. 

“Worried,” she repeated. 

He thought about it. He really did. Danny bit his lip. 

She was liminal. That probably meant she'd come really close to death, in at least one sense of the word. Would that mean she was desensitized to it, or extra paranoid?

…It was hard to imagine Cass over or under reacting to a possible danger. She was just so steady. But would she see him as a possible danger if she knew what he was, what he really was? 

He could feel it out before he took a plunge with the whole truth.

Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was invasive. She didn't seem to realize that she was liminal. That meant she definitely didn't realize how much she was communicating to him under her words and gestures. 

But Danny deliberately tuned into her quiet aural communication and tested the waters. “Tim is right, I'm Danny Fenton,” he said. He knew he was too tense. She would definitely feel it. But what could he do about that? He was nervous. “I… Maybe I did die.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. He could feel the crush of grief on her heart. 

But it didn’t wash away the thudding repetition of love-protect-my darling. There was no suspicion, no guilt, no fear. It was just pain for his sake, with no calculation about how to solve a sudden problem. 

God. He wanted so badly for that to have been how his parents reacted. His eyes started to sting.

Danny sniffled. He thought it was safe to tell her. “I died,” he corrected, and he knew he was right when Cass made a little wounded sound and leaned her body into him, aiming to comfort. “Not then, but a couple years ago. I’m different now, and it’s uh… It’s dangerous to be this way.”

“Affects?” Cass asked quietly. She started to pet his hair again. “Mood? Health?”

“...Huh,” he said, because that was a sensible question he hadn’t expected. If he really thought about his mood and emotions before and after the accident: “Yeah, uh, there’s sometimes a mood thing. I might be a little more aggressive than I was before? And I can get kind of intense sometimes.”

He had thought that was basically just a reaction to having a whole bunch of new threats in his life. But would pre-electrocution Danny have been able to actually stand and fight Skulker? He had genuinely been afraid of the jocks. Maybe… Maybe he was different. Sure, Sam and Jazz were up for shooting ghosts with Fenton tech. Would he have been if he was just human? 

…He didn’t really think so.

Oof. Well, that wasn’t exactly great for his sense of self.

Cass shook him lightly. “Health?” she repeated.

Danny forced down that revelation to deal with later. He didn’t like acknowledging that he was kind of a chicken by nature, but historically, there wasn’t much evidence of bravery pre-mortem. “Uh, my heart rate is really slow, body temp is low, so I can’t really afford to go to a doctor for a checkup,” he said. “Uh, sometimes I’ve got none at all and my hair turns white.” He paused there. That was- that was enough, yeah? He was going to be honest with her because she deserved honesty from him. But that didn’t mean he had to explain the whole great beyond and his inhuman status.

“Sounds like Jason,” Cass said, after a long silence.

Danny short-circuited. “Wait, what?” He craned to look at her. “Who?”

Cass darted forward to kiss his forehead. “Little brother,” she said cheerfully. “Want to meet him?”

Uh, yeah. Danny nodded vigorously, wondering what the hell she was on about. “Do you mean he died?” 

“Died,” Cass agreed, getting out her phone and tapping away at it rapidly.

“Not like, heart stopped for a minute on the operating table and he was revived, or what?” Danny pressed.

“Dead in the ground, came back later,” Cass said. “Dead for months. Now, very crabby.”

Danny balked. “What?”

“White hair too,” she said. Then her face did something funny. “I think he dyed it recently,” she said. 

Danny huffed a laugh. “If it’s the same thing as mine, you can’t dye it.” He saw her look over his head for white streaks. He didn’t correct her line of thought.

He hadn’t thought that anything could top the anticipation of meeting Batman. But Danny had to admit the rest of the day was a wash. Apparently Jason couldn’t make it until the evening, about an hour before patrol.

Danny nearly paced a line into the carpet. He had enough energy to do that now, even without ecto. He was getting soooo much food here. A guy couldn’t even stress out for an hour without someone coming by to make sure he had fruit and yogurt or a hot drink.

He didn’t need someone to come and tell him that the much anticipated Jason had shown up. Danny knew it when he went to take a sip of cruelty-free chocolate milk (hand delivered by the most frightening child in the world) and choked on vapor.

Damian gave him a glare and snatched the drink away. “Are you incapable of drinking beverages?” he demanded. His face looked so goddamn cross but he was just worried.

Danny managed a smile. “No, went down the wrong pipe, sorry.”

Damian didn’t seem to even see the fog, so- so that meant that either he was really unobservant or he wasn’t liminal enough to see it the way people did in Amity. That was a small blessing. Danny appreciated it and he took back his drink to have something to hold onto.

That was a whole ass ghost. That was a whole ghost coming onto the property, one that felt big and mad and old. Danny smacked his lips, disconcerted. 

He, uh, didn’t know what to expect from this.

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

Can you please write a fic for the prompt “late night chats”?

The sound of Ron’s footsteps treading up the stairs to the dormitory slowly fades, and they’re finally alone in the Common Room. 

Ginny makes a show of checking to make sure the coast is clear, and then she burrows happily into Harry’s side, snuggling deeper into the squashy sofa by the fire. His arm snakes around her waist to pull her in closer. They should probably go to bed, too, but it seems wasteful not to eke out every moment she can, to wring this weekend completely dry of moments with him. 

“Thought he’d never leave,” Ginny says with a sly grin. “I was ready to sit on your lap just so he’d get the hint.”

“Were you?” Harry says with interest. Then, he turns his head toward the stairs, and calls, “Ron?” as though to summon him back. 

Ginny snorts and pokes him in the side, and he turns that devastating smirk back at her - flashing green eyes, crooked lips, the hint of a dimple - the one that’s had her slowly losing her mind for months. 

She still can’t quite believe she’s allowed to kiss the smirk off his lips, now. She does, just to prove it’s real. 

Every moment alone they’ve stolen has taken on this oxymoronic tone: bodily tangible, like she can reach out and grasp their growing tangle of feelings as easily as a Quaffle, but wholly surreal, like they’re some elaborate daydream snatched from her subconscious. Both, and neither. 

She pulls back and smiles at him, and he does too, something wry creeping into their expressions, something that seems to say, we’re nauseating but I can’t help it. 

He’s made her so quickly greedy for more, the git. It’s been two days of kissing and banter and touches, overwhelming and not enough. 

“Tell me something,” she says, suddenly, “that you haven’t told anyone before.”

His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, and Ginny’s plunged immediately into the vulnerability of her question, the implication of it. I want to be closer, she’s asking, do you? But, she’s not in Gryffindor for nothing, and so she holds his gaze and withstands his onslaught of silence. 

“Hm,” he says, looking thoughtful. “About what?”

“Anything,” she shrugs. “Whatever.”

Harry furrows his brow, stares ahead into the middle distance, and Ginny holds her breath, waiting to find out whether he’ll hand her a key or if she’ll have to keep knocking, knowing already she’s succumbed to knocking at his door until her knuckles bruise. 

“I dunno if my dad was a good person,” Harry says without preamble. 

Ginny doesn’t know what she’d expected him to tell her, but it hadn’t been that. “What makes you say that?”

He stares at his knees and explains about the Occlumency lessons with Snape. The memory he was never supposed to see. His father, every bit the bully Snape had always claimed. 

“--that’s why I wanted to talk to Sirius, last year,” Harry admits. “When you helped distract Umbridge. Stupid, I know–”

“It’s not stupid,” Ginny says fiercely. She feels the weight of it, what he’s told her. Wondering about someone who isn’t around to ask. Grieving someone and the idea of them at once. “What did Sirius say?”

“He said he grew out of it,” Harry says, though his tone says loud and clear that this explanation hadn’t been satisfactory to him. “But, I dunno. Means he was still a git before, doesn't it?”

“Maybe,” Ginny agrees. “Or maybe that was his worst moment.”

“Pretty shit moment.”

“Yeah,” Ginny admits, leaning her head on her hand, propped up on the back of the sofa so that she’s turned to face him. “Pretty shit. But I’d hate it if my future children only got to see me… oh, I dunno. Hex Zacharias Smith. Or slip that itching powder into Romilda Vane’s pumpkin juice.”

Harry shoots her a look. “When did you do that?”

“She tried to give you a love potion and got my brother poisoned, Harry.”

Harry snorts. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Well, that’s what I mean. We’ve all had shit moments that’d look terrible without proper context. My future children wouldn’t have any idea what Romilda had done to get on my bad side, would they?”

“I suppose,” Harry says, though he still sounds unconvinced. “But I don’t reckon there’s any context that’d make him look much better. I’m not saying Snape was a saint, I’m sure he gave as good as he got. But it… my dad was humiliating him. On purpose.”

“Mm,” Ginny hums slowly, mulling it over. “Do you reckon Sirius was right? That he did grow out of it?”

Harry swipes a hand through his messy hair. “He must’ve. My mum married him. Sirius and Lupin said he was better. But, I dunno. Maybe he did. I’ll never know, anyway.”

Ginny reckons that’s the real problem - the never knowing. Forgiveness is a difficult thing to offer when the person isn’t around to ask for or receive it. 

“I wish,” she says wistfully, “you’d got to see more. People can’t be all bad, I don’t think. I’m sure Sirius and Lupin have hundreds of memories that you would’ve liked him in. Makes it easier not to like him in that one.”

Harry’s lips part, and then he nods. “Yeah. Me too.”

She’s still thinking about it when Harry shocks her. “What about you, then?”

“Hmm?” she asks, confused. 

Harry jerks his head at her and nudges her knee with his own. “Your turn. Something you’ve never said to anyone.”

Ginny meets his eye, the warmth billowing through her chest like a cloud of candyfloss. He wants to know her, too. The thought - I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone - threatens to spill from her lips, but she holds her tongue, wanting to offer him something of equal weight. 

“I use the bathroom on the second floor whenever I can,” she says, knowing he’ll understand which one she means. “Just to prove I’m not bothered by it. Only, it does bother me. Maybe that’s why I keep using it.”

He looks stricken. “Do you still think about it a lot? The Chamber?”

Ginny shrugs, perhaps a bit more nonchalant than she actually feels. “A bit. Still get nightmares sometimes, but not as often as I used to.”

“Yeah,” he says, and she’s struck for a moment by the fact that they might be haunted by the same ghost. “Me, too.”

She shoots him a commiserating look, and continues. “But it’s not about… about Riddle, really. I mean, it is. But it’s more about… me.”

“What do you mean?” His stare is so piercing, like he’s trying to see straight through to her soul. She imagines he can. 

“I dunno. It was awful, obviously, what happened. But when I think back on it, what actually bothers me…” she chews on her words, trying to articulate the vague shame that always clings to these memories, “is that I was so stupid.”

“What?” Harry says sharply. “You were eleven. That diary… it’s… you weren’t stupid.” His words are so firm that it steals her breath. “That was a powerful bit of Dark Magic, you couldn’t have done anything.”

“No, I know that. Logically, I know that. But, I dunno. I wrote so many pathetic things in that diary.” She tries to laugh, but it comes out a bit scratchy. “I was so lonely, after Ron left for school. So desperate to go off to Hogwarts and have mad adventures and play Quidditch and… meet you.” She stares down at her hands, the embarrassment threatening to overwhelm her. “I just hate that he knows all that, that I was this pathetic, desperate little girl–”

“He doesn’t,” Harry says. “The version of him you wrote to is gone. The real one doesn’t know any of it.”

“Oh,” she replies, coming up short. “How do you…? Well, never mind, you haven’t got to answer that, I suppose–”

“It’s not that I don’t want to–”

“No, I know,” Ginny says quickly, unable to bear some platitude, not from him, “Really, you haven’t–”

“Whatever you wrote in that diary died with it,” Harry says firmly. “I promise.”

Ginny nods, and lets the words sink in. Ever since Riddle had come back, she’d wondered whether pathetic little Ginny Weasley was somewhere in the back of his mind. Weak. Stupid. An easy target, close to Harry. The relief that she might just be anyone – no one, even – to this version of Riddle, is palpable. 

“Thanks,” Ginny breathes. “That makes me feel a bit… better.”

“You weren’t pathetic,” Harry says, like the thought is so absurd he’d never considered she might feel that way. “It’s quite impressive you managed to resist it for so long, actually.”

Everything that had happened with that diary has been so tinted with shame, with weakness, that Harry might consider her brave for it… it feels so antithetical to everything she’d ever thought, she nearly laughs. 

“Right,” Ginny says, deflecting away with a joke. “I’m sure all those roosters thought I was very impressive.”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t laugh. “That wasn’t you. It was him.”

Easy to say, harder to feel. “The Department of Mysteries wasn’t you, either.”

Harry stares at her, and she holds his gaze unwaveringly. She can see she’s made her point, can read in the pull of his brow that Harry understands exactly the weight of a guilt so heavy that words can’t lighten it. Just as plainly, though, she can see that he hates that she’s carrying it at all. 

Fair enough, really. She hates that he is, too. 

She breaks eye contact and nestles back into his side. She lifts up his hand with hers, plays absently with his fingers. “Why haven’t you ever told Ron and Hermione about your dad?”

He considers for a long moment, letting her play with his hand and pulling her in closer with the other. “Dunno, really. Just felt… defensive, I suppose. Like whatever they’d said, it would’ve bothered me.”

“I get that.” She winces. “Did I upset you?”

“No,” Harry says quickly. “It’s not like that, with you.”

The words melt in her heart like honey, covering everything in sweet, sticky warmth. She ceases her mindless fiddling with his fingers and looks up at him, knowing her face must be an open book, knowing it must be apparent that he’s got her whole honey-coated heart in his hands. “It’s not like that with you, either.”

He stares back at her, deep into her eyes, and for the first time it occurs to her to check her own palm for his.

He leans down and kisses her deeply, and she pulls herself up and snakes her arms around his neck. This thing has always been irritatingly there, for Ginny - the way she can read exactly what he’s thinking without even trying, the way she trusts him absolutely, the way he makes her heart skitter like she’s in a free fall. 

It’d never honestly occurred to her how powerful it would be to have it reciprocated. To have him understand what she’s saying so completely, to have him offer her something vulnerable just because she asked, to feel his heart hammering against her own. 

It’s been two bloody days, and yet she’s slipped past the point of no return with him already. Perhaps she’d started there. 

She pulls back from the kiss, feeling breathless. Harry looks a bit winded, himself. 

“We should probably go to bed,” he mutters, eyes still locked with hers. 

They should, probably. 

And they will. Eventually.

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

Don't mind me, just thinking about a character recovering from an illness or injury. The danger has passed, but they're still weak and exhaustion follows them like a heavy cloud. Comfort food is brought regularly. Soft clothes. Blankets. Fuzzy socks.

Particularly, the image of them sleeping on a squashy looking couch. Maybe they kicked off the blankets. Golden sunlight bathes them in warmth, and it's heavenly. Their hair is fluffed and messy.

And their companion stops themselves in the threshold of the door, not wanting to disturb this rare moment of bliss. They're carrying a tray of warm food, and the steam catches in the sun's rays just right.

They smile. Lunch can wait.

[uhhlifeig]

Cozy - Dec. 25th - word count: 348 - @wolfstarmicrofic - (happy holidays!!)

It was snowing outside, making the land look like a scene straight from a postcard.

Sirius and Remus were inside, cuddling in one of the squashy couches in the Gryffindor common room. 

Remus was nestled into Sirius’s chest, arms around his boyfriend but somehow still managing to read a book. Meanwhile, Sirius held onto Remus tightly and watched the snow gently drift down from the heavens.

“Hey, Re,” Sirius said after a while of silence. “What do you think you’re gonna do after Hogwarts?”

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Remus answered, voice a little muffled because of the way he was tucked into Sirius. “I mean, no Wizarding places would want me, because- well, you know. I might be able to get a Muggle job, though.”

“But what if you didn’t have a furry little problem? What would you want to do?” Sirius asked.

“Ooh, well, er. I’d love to be a teacher, y’know, of magical subjects. It would be a lot of fun, and quite a few people have told me that I’m a good teacher.” Remus chuckled softly. “Dunno why, though. I’ve swore like a sailor at tutoring sessions before.” 

Then, taking his head off of Sirius’s chest and looking up at him, Remus asked, “What would you want to do?”

“Ooh, tough question, Moons.” Sirius thought for a little while before responding. “If it weren’t for all of this war stuff happening, I’d want to be a Healer. Maybe Auror though, because it sounds awesome,” he smiled.

“Yeah, that does sound awesome. Say, where would you wanna go after Hogwarts? Places to live and stuff, I mean.” Remus fiddled with Sirius’s jumper absentmindedly, waiting for a response.

“I’d maybe get us a seaside cottage, and then connect the fireplace to the Floo so that James and Pete can come over, and then we can spend holidays together like we’re doing now,” Sirius smiled. 

“Sounds cozy,” Remus replied drowsily. “Can’t wait to unwrap presents with you and the boys while you act like five-year-olds.”

“Oi! That’s not nice. I’m a very esteemed seven-year-old, thank you very much.”

[magical-reid]

Dancing on the Edge

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none?

Word count: 1.1K

Summary: Y/N, a Slytherin with a unique blend of independence and friendships across house lines, finds herself unexpectedly catching Fred Weasley’s attention during a celebratory Gryffindor party. After an eventful and embarrassing night involving too much Butterbeer and Firewhiskey, Fred comforts her while navigating her drunken confusion, ultimately revealing his genuine feelings for her.

She wasn’t like the other Slytherins. A pureblood through and through, she had the poise and privilege her housemates prided themselves on, but she also had an independence of spirit that set her apart. Unlike her peers, she counted Gryffindors Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger among her closest friends.

Of course, that hadn’t stopped Fred and George Weasley from making her the subject of countless pranks during her first five years at Hogwarts. It was Fred in particular who seemed to delight in getting under her skin, though Y/N often found herself biting back laughter instead of indignation. There was something about Fred’s roguish grin and the twinkle in his eye that made her heart skip just a little too quickly for her liking.

Now in her sixth year, Y/N was determined to avoid trouble. However, trouble had a way of finding her—especially when it involved the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

The Gryffindor common room was alight with celebration. After a grueling Quidditch match, Gryffindor had been crowned the school champions, and no one was more jubilant than the Weasley twins. Fred and George stood on a makeshift podium near the fireplace, leading the room in a raucous cheer.

Y/N, who had slipped into the party at Ginny’s insistence, found herself perched awkwardly on the armrest of a squashy chair. She clapped along half-heartedly as the team passed around the Quidditch Cup. She hadn’t planned on staying long—she wasn’t even sure she belonged there—but Ginny had handed her a Butterbeer the moment she walked in, and then another, and another.

“Loosen up, Y/N!” Ginny laughed, tugging her into the throng of dancing students.

The butterbeer was stronger than she expected. Or maybe it was the Firewhiskey someone had slipped into the drinks. Whatever it was, her usual composure was unraveling, and before long, she was swept up in the energy of the party.

Fred had been watching her from across the room.

He wasn’t sure when he’d started noticing her in a way that wasn’t entirely platonic, but it had been gnawing at him for months. Maybe it was the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder when she was annoyed with him. Or the way she could outwit him in their sparring matches of sarcasm.

But tonight, she wasn’t the sharp-tongued Slytherin who kept him on his toes. She was… carefree. Radiant. She danced with abandon, her green eyes sparkling under the flickering firelight.

“She’s having a good time,” George said, appearing at his side.

Fred rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the insight, mate.”

Somewhere along the way, she ended up on a table. She wasn’t sure how it happened, and frankly, she didn’t care. All she knew was that the music was infectious, the cheering of the crowd was thrilling, and the world felt weightless and exhilarating.

“Y/N, get down from there!” Hermione hissed from the sidelines, but Y/N only laughed and twirled.

Fred froze as he saw her climb onto the table. His pulse quickened as she started to sway to the music, her movements wild and uncoordinated.

“Oh no,” he muttered.

The chandelier above the table rattled as she reached up to mimic a dramatic dance pose, her fingers grazing the crystals.

“Y/N, watch out!” Ginny called, but it was too late. She lost her balance, her head hitting the chandelier before she tumbled off the table.

Fred reacted instinctively. He dashed forward, catching her in his arms just as she fell.

The room erupted in laughter and applause, but Fred’s heart was pounding. He looked down at Y/N, who was giggling uncontrollably.

“You’ve had enough for one night,” Fred said firmly, but his voice was gentler than he intended.

“Oh, George,” she slurred, blinking up at him. “You’re so cute. Don’t tell Fred I said that, though. He’d never let me live it down.”

Fred’s stomach flipped. She thought he was George.

“Right,” he said, trying to mask his disappointment. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

Fred carried her up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory, navigating the curious looks of his housemates. He set Y/N down gently on his bed, draping a blanket over her.

She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed. “You’re such a good friend, George,” she murmured, her words slurring. “But don’t tell Fred. He’s mean to me. Even though he’s really handsome. And funny.”

Fred felt his face heat up. Was she serious? Did she actually think he was George?

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I won’t tell Fred.”

She smiled contentedly, her eyes fluttering closed.

Fred watched her for a moment, his emotions a tangled mess. He brushed a strand of brown hair from her face before turning to leave.

The morning sunlight streamed through the dormitory windows, pulling Y/N from a restless sleep. Her head throbbed, and her memories of the night before were hazy at best.

She sat up slowly, wincing as the events of the party began to trickle back into her mind.

“Oh no,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

Her head snapped up. Fred was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Fred?” she said, her voice rising an octave.

“The one and only,” he said, pushing off the frame and walking toward her.

Y/N’s heart sank. If Fred was here, then…

“Oh Merlin,” she muttered. “I thought you were George.”

Fred chuckled. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

Her cheeks burned. “What did I—what did you—?”

“Well, you called me cute,” Fred said, grinning. “And apparently, I’m handsome and funny. Though you didn’t want Fred—me—to know that. Bit of a mixed message, don’t you think?”

She groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. “Please tell me this is a nightmare.”

Fred gently tugged the blanket away, his expression softening. “It’s not a nightmare, love. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty great too.”

She froze, her eyes searching his face. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

Fred shook his head. “No tricks. No pranks. I mean it.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Well, in that case… maybe last night wasn’t a total disaster.”

Fred grinned. “That’s the spirit. Though, for the record, you might want to avoid dancing on tables in the future.”

“Noted,” Y/N said, laughing despite herself.

As Fred sat down beside her, she felt a warmth settle in her chest. Maybe Gryffindors and Slytherins weren’t so different after all.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Nest Pic

Inspired by this little bit of omegaverse meta from forever ago.

steddie, omegaverse, modern au, courtship in the digital age

An omega’s nest is a sacred space; private, meant only to share with close pack members, with pups, with a mate. It’s a place to relax and feel safe. A refuge.

Steve’s nest is no different, plush and filled with scent tokens, some so old they smell only of him, of sweet orange and spice. Not many people have seen it: Tommy, after he first presented, back when it was mostly made of nesting supplies his mother picked up at Pottery Barn; Nancy, when they were dating, but she mostly made excuses to avoid being in his nest; Dustin a couple times, when the pup was too overwhelmed, and going home came with too much baggage around his parents’ messy divorce; and Robin. Of course, Robin! For Steve, some days it was almost like having an alpha his nest smelled so much like her. She’ll stroke his hair and hold him close, let him snuggle into her shoulder to block out the light when his migraines flare, and he feels whole.

Eddie’s never seen Steve’s nest, even with Steve offering up his massive kitchen table to Hellfire for close to a year. Even with how close they’ve grown looking out for the same group of pups. Even with Steve routinely spending a Saturday night on the squashy couch at Eddie’s, sharing a joint, his legs sprawled across the alpha’s lap. Even with how cuddly Steve gets when he’s high or tired, how much he clings to Eddie at every chance.

Even now that Eddie has officially given Steve a scent token for his nest.

But they’re still just friends. Close friends. Pack. But *just* friends.

At least, that’s what Eddie thinks until he gets a picture message from Steve close to midnight. No text, just a mess of blankets and pillows, the scrap of the torn up Dio shirt he used to make the patch on the back of his battle vest given pride of place. Warmth fills his belly, and Eddie stares at the photo until his phone goes to sleep, screen turning black.

He hurries to wake it, staring again for a few seconds, then typing a quick, “Can’t sleep?”

“Nope, went for coffee witg Robs way 2 late today. Feel wired” Steve sends back, followed quickly by a second text: “And my heat is due soon”

Eddie reads the words over and over, not sure how to respond, only for another picture to come through, one of Steve, too close up and cutting off most of his face, in his nest, one of Eddie’s hoodies around his shoulders—which Eddie doesn’t remember giving to him, Steve must have swiped it from his den when he was over. He looks cozy, and the pic shows off his neck, the long line of it, the soft swell of his mating gland disappearing into his shirt collar. Somehow, Steve is completely covered up, but it feels like the most salacious image Eddie has saved on his phone (of course he already saved it!). A nest pic is serious. An opening salvo to more.

But Eddie doesn’t trust himself, and he sends a simple, “Steve?” back, even as he feels himself chub up in his sweatpants.

Another pic, showing more of Steve, more of his nest, along with, “You should be here, Eddie”

Maybe he’s lost his mind, but Eddie types back, “15 mins, sweetheart,” as he struggles to find his shoes and his jacket and his keys. By the time he pulls into the Harringtons’ driveway, Eddie has 8 new texts all from Steve. He doesn’t bother looking at them, though.

Steve is waiting for him at the door, Eddie’s sweatshirt still wrapped around his shoulders. “Hey,” Eddie says as he approaches.

“Hey, yourself.”

“I figured we should actually talk in person, because this feels… fast.” Eddie bites his lip, stopping just short of invading Steve’s space.

“Is it, though?” Steve asks with a soft smile. “Robin always says I’m too obvious about my feelings.”

Eddie chuckles; Steve is very physical in his affections. “I need some words, Stevie.”

“I already invited you up to my nest, but I’ll say anything for you, Eddie.” Steve closes the distance between them, and leans in for a tentative first kiss.

Eddie kisses back, pleasant sparks filling his belly as he puts his hands on Steve’s hips. “Say you mean it,” he whispers when their lips finally part.

“I do. God, Eddie, you’ve gotta know that I’m yours. Your omega.” He put his hands over Eddie’s, holding himself in place and leaning their foreheads together. “Now I want my alpha with me in my nest.”

“Lead the way, Puppy.”

[thatrandomwriter]

Be Right Back

Ghostface Stu Macher x Reader

Warnings: Threat of violence, underage drinking, kissing

Summary: Ghostface follows reader into the basement at Stu’s house party, but reader has an idea about who might be behind the mask

“I don’t know what you did, Sidney, but on behalf of the entire student body we all say thank you!” Stu had swooped in to walk with Sidney, Tatum and I, presenting us with flowers. He winked at me, and I rolled my eyes. He clutched his chest as if this was the most heartless action I could’ve taken. I laughed.

“Drop it, Stu,” Tatum said as Sidney looked down at the ground, but Stu was not put off.

He slid between me and Sidney, slinging an arm around each of our shoulders, “Ya know I say, impromptu party tonight, my house, celebrate this little siesta. What do you say?” I could smell his fresh cologne, feel his warmth next to me.

“Are you serious?” Sidney asked, unconvinced.

“Sounds like fun - might be good to take your mind off things?” I said.

“That’s exactly right,” Stu piggybacked off my reasoning, flashing me a grin. I felt my face heat up slightly, “If Tatum doesn’t invite the entire world, we’ll be fine. Intimate gathering, intimate friends,”

“What do you say, Sid? I mean, pathos could have it’s perks,” If Tatum was on board too, there was no way Sidney was saying no.

“You’ll be totally protected. Yo, I am so buff. I got you covered, girl,” Stu made a show of removing his arms from around us to flex them exaggeratedly.

“With Stu as your bodyguard, no-one is getting anywhere near you,” I said, and Sidney smiled.

“Come on, Sid. For me? It could be fun,” Tatum appealed.

“Okay, whatever,” Sidney caved in.

“Yeah? Cool, you guys bring food, alright?” Stu said, leaving to walk in another direction. I turned to wave goodbye, catching him doing a triumphant air guitar.

“Save that energy for the party,” I called back to him.

“I’ll be at the top of my game, don’t you worry,”

*

I was a few hours and a few drinks into the party. Stu had disappeared a little while ago, and embarrassingly, I was disappointed that he wasn’t around to hang out with anymore. Instead, I was sandwiched between Sidney and Tatum, sunk deep into the squashy sofa, someone’s legs across mine.

“I’m getting some more drinks - anyone want anything?” I asked, feeling more claustrophobic than thirsty. I was met with a general consensus that just about everybody needed another beer “I’ll grab whatever I can carry,”

Tatum removed her arm from my shoulders, and I struggled up from the sofa.

“Thank you!” Tatum grinned up at me.

“Be right back,”

I was still getting used to the size of Stu’s house, managing to open two wrong doors before I came across the basement - dark and steep stepped. I fumbled for the light switch, hand patting down the wall, until finally I felt it and flipped it on, lights flickering into being.

The fridge was impressively stocked - full of as much beer as could be crammed into it, bottles and cans stacked haphazardly, threatening to fall to the floor if I made one wrong move. I wiggled a few free, grabbing bottles by the necks in an attempt to fit more in my hands. It would be a miracle if I made it back to the party without dropping any of them, but one trip down into the spooky basement was enough for me, especially with a killer around; I would not be making a second trip if anyone ended up without a drink.

I reversed with the beers, shutting the fridge with my foot and nearly toppling over, stumbling backwards until I hit a wall. No, not a wall - a person, soft and warm.

“Sorry, guess I’m more tipsy than I thought,” I laughed, turning to see who I had fallen into. A white mask, mouth open in an exaggerated scream stared down at me. A ghostface mask. “Shit, you scared me,” Was this just a tone-deaf joke? Perhaps someone had meant to catch Sidney down here to really freak her out. Or maybe this was the real deal - I fought the urge to laugh. This could not be how I died, fetching beer at a trashy highschool party.

“I’m just gonna-“ I moved to walk around him and back up to the party, but he side-stepped, making me walk into him again. Something about him seemed familiar - his height, the way he stood, his smell … I realised then exactly who it was. I had smelled Stu’s cologne when he had put his arm around me earlier, and I could smell it again, now.

“Stu?” I let out my laugh, relieved. He had a tendency to take jokes too far, this was just an instance of his somewhat unsympathetic sense of humour.

Stu shook his head, mask turning from side to side.

“Come on, I know it’s you. Let’s go have a drink,”

Metal gleamed as Stu revealed a knife from inside one of his long sleeves.

“That’s not funny, Stu,” Was this part of his joke? Would he really take it this far, or was I somehow mistaken about the identity of whoever it was behind the mask?

The person tilted their head to one side, as if he were analysing what I was saying. For a moment, we were at a silent impasse. Then, Ghostface lunged for me with the knife. Beer slid from my arms, shattering on the basement floor, and I made no effort to hold onto it as I ducked. I shoved at the body in front of me to put some distance between us. I was trapped between him and the shut garage door - all I could do was try to evade his attacks. Part of me was still convinced that it was Stu, another knew that surely he was not capable of murder. He stabbed at me again, and this time I gripped onto his arm, but the knife was aimed for my chest. I was weaker than he was, and despite all of my efforts, the knife was still closing in on me. I knew in that moment that I was not going to win this fight, so instead, I turned my attention to the mask. I managed to push his arm to the side, stepping away from it so that he stumbled forward. Before he could recover, I grabbed onto the mask, yanking it away from his head.

“Stu?” The reveal floored me. I had been expecting this, I had known it was him, but still I was shocked. Stu regained his footing, taking advantage of my shock to shove me backwards and into a wall, a real one this time, knife at my throat. I was breathing heavily, from a combination of fighting him, fear, and, ridiculously, what felt like nervousness twitching in my chest at our proximity.

“How’d you know it was me, huh?” He pushed the knife further into my skin for a second, punctuating the question.

If it was anyone else, I probably would not have figured it out, “I just … recognised you,”

“You did? Well, I have to say, I’m very flattered - what are you, a stalker?” Stu was teasing me, laughing at me, with a knife to my neck. He stepped forward, even closer to me than before, almost touching me. I could still feel my chest rising and falling heavily.

“You’re flattered?” Part of me thought that maybe playing into this attraction could keep me alive, even just long enough for someone to notice that I had been gone too long from the party. Another part was shamefully intrigued as to where this was leading.

“Of course I am - don’t you think I’ve noticed you too?” he leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Who would’ve thought a knife was the way to get your attention?”

When he pulled back, I couldn’t help but glance down at his lips, how close they were to mine. As soon as my eyes were back on his, I knew that he had noticed. My face grew hot, but something shifted in his expression, becoming less playful and more serious as he surged forwards to kiss me. I tilted my head up towards him, my eyes shutting as his lips moved against mine, fast and hungry and full of desperation. I was pressed between him and the wall, the coldness behind me a stark contrast to the warmth in front. One of his hands found my neck, replacing the knife, thumb grazing my throat in a gentle caress meant to remind me that I was still entirely at his mercy. The feeling made me groan slightly. His teeth nipped roughly at my lower lip, hard enough to sting. I parted my lips for him, and he delighted in sliding his tongue into my mouth, leaving me somehow even more breathless than before.

His hands were on my hips, “Jump up,” Stu broke away from me only for a second, as I jumped up to wrap my legs around his waist. He used the wall to hold me up, one hand snaking back up to my neck, the other resting on my hip, fingers grazing the skin just beneath my top. He used the hand on my neck to pull my head to the side, kissing down my jaw until he reached skin soft enough to leave a hickey. Stu bit at my neck, sucking soft skin between his teeth, making me wince slightly which only encouraged him. When he was finally satisfied, he looked up at me, grinning, “You’re my masterpiece,”

The doorknob jiggled, before a knock on the door made him turn away. “You alright in there? I came to see if you needed help carrying the drinks,” Sidney’s voice sounded down into to basement.

I looked to Stu. Now would be the time for me to scream for help, “All good, I think the door locks when you shut it too hard sometimes,” I said. She would never make it through the locked door in time to save me, I told myself. But Stu was kissing my neck, nuzzling into me, and I knew the real reason.

“If you say so,” Sidney said.

“Yep, I’ll be up in a minute,” I struggled to keep my voice steady, but my reply seemed to satisfy Sidney, as there was no other sound from upstairs.

“How do you know you’ll be back?” Stu asked, finally removing himself from my neck to look into my eyes.

“I don’t, but I thought you’d want me to get rid of her,”

A smile widened across his face at my compliance, and his thumb caressed my throat once again, “Aren’t you clever?”

“Will I be back?” I asked; he was carefully evading answering his own question.

“I haven’t quite decided yet,” his hand had strayed to the knife which had been resting on top of a chest freezer, “But I’m sure you can figure out a way to make keeping you alive worth my trouble,”

[narrans]

A Small and Tall Collection | Chapter Ten | Battle Scars and Boundaries

Chapter Ten | Battle Scars and Boundaries

Her entire body shook violently. Unable to keep anything down and running on a completely empty tank was obviously taking its toll on her, but Ashlynn didn’t care. She had to get out of there – and now.

Trapped in a drawer just a few inches taller than she was, the Borrower woman knew she had maybe a minute before the human man named Soren showed back up with something that was either going to contain her or maim her so she couldn’t escape. She drew her injured arm close to her chest, afraid to use the tender limb, and glanced up at the edge of the drawer.

On occasions where she had to jump and catch herself, she would use her right arm or both arms to support her weight. This time was going to be different, and she only had the one shot. Her heart was starting to thump louder and louder, creating a roaring sound in her ears while her head throbbed.

Jump. Catch. Swing. Get away.

Ashlynn stood on the socks to give her a minute boost up and, bending her shaking legs, sprung up with as much energy as she could muster. Her fingertips barely cleared the top, but her grip didn’t last. The edges of the drawer were rounded, something she didn’t account for, and her weakened body couldn’t maintain her hold on it.

No! Curses! Come on… one more time. You’ve got to get out of here.

Ashlynn gritted her teeth and crouched again before jumping as high as she could. This time, she felt a groove in the wood as her fingers slid over the side of the drawer. She latched onto it. Even as she felt a dull throb begin in her palm as her nails bent backwards, she held on as tightly as she could. Her instinct and sheer will to live helped drive her leg upward, heel snagging the edge of the drawer.

Yes!

Ashlynn had just barely managed to drag herself up onto the edge when she noticed her surroundings within the human man’s room – and it wasn’t good.

From her vantage point, she could see there were two closets at the far end of the room next to the door. There was some kind of large cabinet she remembered him getting not too long ago and a bedside table that was at least a foot from the bed, which was where she was. The drawer she’d been carried here in was on the bed in the dead center. The good news was that if she fell now, it wouldn’t be the end of her.

The bad news was that there was no clear way down.

If she were on the bedside table, she could’ve used the weird looking lamp cord to belay down to the ground, but that was too far away for her to jump in her current state. Perched up high where she was, Ashlynn could see that the blankets on the bed draped over the edge, but she couldn’t remember if they went all the way to the ground.

Did she dare risk the climb and the potential drop down for the chance at freedom? And, if she made it to the ground, could she make it to a loose electrical socket in time before Soren got back?

All of this thinking was making Ashlynn’s head spin, but every dizzying thought came to a screeching halt when she heard a soft, “Oh,” of surprise come from the door.

She’d been looking all around the room instead of the one place that really mattered most – the door. Standing there was Soren holding some kind of red case in one hand and a clear plastic container with a turquoise lid in the other. It startled her so badly that, out of sheer instinct, Ashlynn leaned backwards to try and duck away from being seen by those almost golden eyes.

It was a mistake.

Her already poor balance sent her off of the edge of the drawer. She didn’t fall far, but her lack of balance and slowed reaction times left Ashlynn landing directly onto her injured arm. The squashy blankets did nothing to cushion the fall. A scream of agony erupted out of her before Ashlynn even had time to fully register the pain. Like hot coals being shoved beneath her skin, the burning throb in her arm reminded her of how little she could do now.

Fresh tears sprung to her eyes and she shoved her free hand into her mouth to prevent another vocalization; but did it really matter at this point? Did it count as talking to a human if they heard you scream? The shock of the weight of the body slamming into her injured arm sent a ripping shock wave through her body and, all at once, the nausea returned and the gag she’d suppressed came out of her.

What little bile was left in her spurted out onto the comforter, making Ashlynn burn hot in embarrassment and shame, but also fear. The one oldest human seemed reasonable, but would he have the same kindness now that she’d gotten sick on his bed? No coherent thought surfaced as Ashlynn lay there on the bed cradling her injured arm, the smell of her stomach acid permeating through the air.

This is it. He’s going to come over here and grab me. It’s over. I can’t get away. I can’t escape. I have to be a pet. All that stuff Soren said was just for show. Real person… yeah…

Those two words rang in Ashlynn’s head.

Real person…

He called me a real person. And… and he’s not over here.

Ashlynn’s concept of time was discombobulated, but what she did know was that some time had passed, and Soren wasn’t hovering over her handling her and picking her up to put her back into the box. Even with her eyes stinging from the salty tears, Ashlynn realized she had to look. She reluctantly let her eyes travel from where she was toward the door where she had seen Soren.

To her surprise and utter relief, he hadn’t moved. Not even an inch.

His jaw was locked, and his hazel gold eyes were transfixed on her. The expression on his face was a hard one to read, but Ashlynn knew she didn’t see malice. Concern? Worry? Unease? Eagerness? She wasn’t sure, and her blurring vision wasn’t helping.

What else wasn’t helping was the fact she didn’t know what Soren was thinking; and she wasn’t alone in that feeling.

Soren had stepped away just for a second to grab his medical kit as his mind scrambled to comprehend what had happened over the past ten minutes. A small woman was found in his brothers’ bedroom, and she was sick and injured. His brothers were upset, but they also needed a lecture about the importance of asking for help and also the importance and value of life, no matter how small. He’d just woken up. Part of him wondered if all of this was just a dream.

Then, the moment he made it back to his bedroom to tend to the first of many objectives he needed to tackle, he was greeted with the scene of that same small woman balancing precariously on the edge of the drawer he thought she was contained in before she fell onto the bed, landing harshly on her injured arm. Guilt riddled his mind as he realized he had made some sound of surprise, which probably surprised her. His heart lurched when he heard the woman scream in agony followed by the sound of her gag and subsequent vomiting. The instinct to rush over and make sure she was okay had never been stronger in his life. It was ingrained into who he was. So often he’d rush to his brothers’ sides when something was wrong, but now he forced himself to wait.

She’s hurt.

She’s scared.

She’s sick.

She’s probably alone.

She doesn’t know me.

I have to treat this like ground zero for anyone else. I’ve done this a million times. This is just a million plus one… a very… very… small… one.

Soren felt some switch in the back of his mind flick on and, just like that, his facial expression neutralized. He felt his pulse slow and his mind quiet. For several minutes, Soren simply froze in place and waited as the small woman shivered. It was when his impulse was to take a cautious step forward that the small woman opened her eyes after averting her gaze from him all this time and slowly let herself look at him.

There was no way to know what she was thinking, but Soren knew he needed to start working on her arm as soon as possible. He had to risk saying something to her first. The words usually came to him when he was out in the field working on one case or another. Trusting himself, he took a slow, deep breath and cleared his throat.

“Hey there, little miss. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare or startle you,” Soren stated gently. His heart started to quicken, but he let himself continue. When there was no response, Soren continued. “And… I’m sorry for the way you were treated. Dorian and Rey are young. Just kids. They’ve given me plenty of battle scars too, all from being careless kids. They should know better, but I’m sure they didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s not like them to do something like this on purpose.”

Ashlynn wasn’t sure where Soren was going with this apology, if that’s what it even was, but now she felt like the conversation was being tossed back to her. Was Soren expecting a response? Should she respond? Would saying something help her or hurt her?

No. It’s a trick. I’ve got to refrain from speaking. A scream of pain doesn’t count, right? Don’t all creatures make sounds when hurt?

“Well, I’m here to… I guess… try and make it up to you? You don’t look like you’re feeling well, and your arm is either broken or dislocated. I couldn’t tell which from a glance. I know how to fix stuff like that. So, I’m asking if it’s okay for me to help you.” Soren’s words hung in the air for several, long seconds while Ashlynn processed them.

Do I want a human grabbing and poking and prodding me? No. No! Of course not!

Ashlynn glanced from Soren to her arm as her fingers tingled numbly.

Then again… do I really have a choice?

I can’t get away like this.

I’m sick.

I’m hurt.

I’m alone.

Ashlynn looked back at Soren and then back to her arm.

He might be my only chance at fixing what’s wrong with my arm. I might have to trust him…

The thought was a nauseating one, and one Ashlynn was uneasy to accept. At the same time, what other choice did she have?

The expression must’ve been easy to read on her face because Soren cleared his throat again before asking, “Why don’t we start fresh, yeah? You don’t know me. I don’t know you. So, let’s start at ground zero. My name is Soren. I’m twenty-two years old. My favorite color is pale mint green. I have a sixth sense. Finally, I have a knack for helping people. There. Your turn.”

Ashlynn’s heart raced. She wasn’t sure what to do. The Borrower woman was in the same precarious situation as she was before, but now time was running out. What would happen if Soren wanted the answers now and wouldn’t help her unless she responded? Would she suffer because of her silence?

Soren’s light chuckle drew her attention back to the human across the room. “Well, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I mean, the point is for you to get to know me, right? Earn trust, not just give it away?”

Ashlynn couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This had to be fake, right?

“Tell you what. If you want me to leave… no, that won’t work either because I don’t know if you can understand and because you might not feel like talking,” sighed Soren. “Okay, new plan. I’m just going to talk this out in case you do understand, which I believe you do. Regardless of how you feel about me, it doesn’t change that your arm is hurt. So, slowly, I’m going to come over there and I’m going to fix your arm.

“If you don’t want that, say something. Back away. Squeak. Throw something. Anything. If you do understand, just… be patient with me, and I’ll do the same. Right? We’ll make some boundaries from there.” Ashlynn had to give kudos to Soren. He certainly was direct and thinking of every scenario. Was this what happened when you had kids? Especially two rowdy boys? There were obvious flaws with Soren’s plan with trying to communicate with someone who didn’t want to talk, but no one was perfect. If Ashlynn was being honest, it was the best case scenario.

She clenched her teeth and, as her head swirled, forced herself to hold still as Soren slowly took the first step forward. He took another. Then another. Each step felt like he was right there on top of Ashlynn, but it wasn’t until he was actually there beside the bed kneeling that the Borrower woman started to lose her nerve. The true moment she felt like breaking was when she craned her neck to look up into the human’s hazel eyes and swore she saw tiny flecks of green mixed in with those pools of gold.

Her whole body was shaking. Thoughts raced around her mind while being sucked into the void like dust bunnies succumbing to the vacuum cleaner hose. Only now did she register that Soren was still speaking to her, saying the same thing repeatedly.

“You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Now merely a foot or so away from her, Soren could see minute details of the tiny woman’s face. The way her features twitched and shifted from resolved to absolute panic. The glistening sweat from her forehead. Every shiver and shake as she obviously fought off every impulse to run. Most importantly, he could see even beneath her oversized clothing that her arm was dislocated and not broken.

Heavens… she’s so human. I can’t imagine being that small. What does the world look like from her eyes? What do I look like?... probably some kind of monster.

Soren’s brief thought let him reflect momentarily on what he wanted to say next. Already, his practical mind was switching into high gear again. He’d helped do so many things in the field before like popping in dislocated shoulders and reviving people who had lost consciousness. He’d never felt so nervous to do what had always come so natural to him.

Get it together. It’s just like all the others. Just smaller. Just take a breath.

Soren followed his advice before setting down the medical supplies he brought with him and focusing on the miniscule woman in front of him.

“Okay. First things first, yeah? Let’s get your arm taken care of?” Soren asked. He received no response, but he didn’t really need to. All he needed to do was inform and perform. “Right. So, I’m going to walk you through this first, okay? What I need to do is slip your arm back into joint. It’s dislocated, not broken. It’s a good thing. Now, I’ll need to touch your arm and your shoulder to get everything back into place. Okay? It’s going to hurt, but after it will feel much better.”

Ashlynn didn’t like the sound of any of what Soren said. Touching. Hurting. Joints. The only acceptable parts were that it wasn’t broken and that it would feel better.

Ashlynn watched as Soren’s fingers crested over the edge of the bed, fingers slightly splayed in a surrendering motion and hovered there for several long seconds. The Borrower woman choked back a sob as she saw Soren’s immense fingers beginning to approach her. Every horrible scenario filled her head and flashed before her eyes. Those fingers wrapping around her, crushing her with as much ease as breaking a cracker. Her fears surrounded her, making the Borrower feel small and powerless. She had no voice. She had no way of escape.

“Hey, little miss, it’s okay. I promise.” Soren’s voice, deep and soothing like a summer rain, was so close that it sounded all encompassing. Unlike her fears of being contained in the fleshy digits, however, the sound of the human’s words was like that of a stack of blankets on a cold winter day. Comforting. Warm. When he said she would be okay, Ashlynn felt like she could believe him.

“Please… will you let me fix your arm?” asked Soren in a tone Ashlynn could only describe as earnest and pleading. Perhaps it was desperation. Perhaps there was something pleading in Soren’s eyes that was just enough to convince her. Ashlynn glanced from the human inches from her down to her cradled arm before, after several agonizing moments, she held out her injured appendage.

It was with increasing difficulty that she felt the tips of her fingers. Even stretching out her arm made her wince. She felt a whimper in her throat, but kept it down as she kept her arm extended. Ashlynn could’ve sworn that she saw Soren’s eyes flare with curiosity and wonder, which he clearly kept at bay as he slowly reached out toward her.

The tips of his fingers easily dwarfed the small woman’s entire arm. Soren knew he had to be careful to not cause more damage, and he hoped she could forgive him. Based on the way it looked and the way she was moving, Soren recognized the injury – a dislocation. Before, he wasn’t sure, but now he was. The pads of his thumb and index finger gingerly grasped the woman’s forearm, making her lean away as her chest rose and fell rapidly.

This is crazy. This is crazy. Both thought silently at the same time.

“So, good news and bad news. Bad news is this is going to hurt a lot. Good news is that your arm isn’t broken, so your recovery time is going to be a lot shorter,” said Soren. Ashlynn’s eyes flicked up to Soren, down to her arm, and then back up to the human whose fingers now practically encased her limb.

Okay. Not broken. I can work with that.

“Okay, there’s two parts to this,” stated Soren as he placed his other fingers by her shoulder. Her eyes, which Soren could see now were a stormy blue gray, were wide open while she continued to suck in beath after breath. I need to be quicker so she doesn’t freak out. “First, I need to get your arm into the right position. Second, I’ll need to pull up and toward you to get your shoulder back into joint. Don’t be afraid to pass out or scream if you need to. It’s going to hurt. Now, lay back on your back and I’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

Ashlynn hated this. Every moment the human man’s fingers were on her was one more second she could feel his steady pulse surrounding her limb. It was one moment closer to her screaming at him to get away. It was one more moment of agony she was subjecting herself to. She hated that, with no effort, he was able to guide her body backwards onto the bed.

The faster he does this, the sooner he’ll leave, and you can get out of here. Ashlynn thought over and over.

“Don’t tense up, and I’ll go on three. Ready?” asked Soren. Ashlynn gritted her teeth as she braced herself. “One… Two… Thr-…” Ashlynn didn’t hear Soren finish the last word. Everything happened so fast. She watched as Soren rolled her arm with ease in between his fingers as he pulled her arm ever so slightly away from her body. The twisting sensation made her head spin, but the distinct *crack* was what made Ashlynn cry out as her vision darkened.

Her ears were ringing, clouding all other senses she possessed, when her vision started coming back. Reverberations in the air shifted and fluctuated around her. There was a slight pressure on her shoulder before it subsided again. The pressure and pain were gone, and sweet relief had replaced it. Ashlynn clenched and unclenched her fist and a smile spread across her face as no stabbing pain ripped through her.

The Borrower woman blinked a few times, vision clearing up, and she could see the blurry face of Soren leaning slightly over her. Something was in his hands, which were eclipsing her returning vision. Her instincts returned and she attempted to sit up and push herself away when she felt another twinge in her arm.

“Hey… hey there… little miss. You passed out on me there for a second. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Soren’s voice still sounded a bit muffled, but Ashlynn popped her ears a few times as he spoke, and his words became clearer with each word. He held up something that looked like a white cloth diamond. “I know your arm probably feels a lot better right now, but it’s going to be really tender and sore. Okay? So, you need to not use it and put it in something called a sling. It’ll keep your arm still while it heals.”

Ashlynn didn’t like the sound of that. Holding still? Not being able to use her dominant arm? Was this a trick? Or was this real? Soren’s fingers were fast approaching, and Ashlynn suddenly found herself scooting back until her back was pressed against the wood of the drawer that was her confinement the night before. Soren stopped and retracted his hands, sighing only for a moment as he thought about how to best address the issue. He saw distrust and unease as clearly as the sun peeking through the wintery clouds looming in the sky.

What would I do in her shoes? A massive person tells me I can’t leave and that I need to get better.

He looked earnestly into her stormy blue gray eyes and offered a look of sympathy, muttering, “Yeah, I’d have a hard time believing me too.”

This got Ashlynn’s attention. In just a single look, Soren was able to figure out what was causing the issue. He could place himself in her shoes with such ease that it almost felt unnerving. If a dull throbbing wasn’t starting to intensify in her previously dislocated shoulder, Ashlynn would have dismissed Soren’s words instantly.

Seems like he’s telling the truth. I can’t lift myself like this, especially if it’s going to be more painful than this. Ashlynn interrupted her own thought with a round of coughing before focusing back on Soren, who had the same look of concern in his eyes as he did when he first entered the room and saw her fall. He’s been right so far…

“Tell you what. Um… why don’t we… set some boundaries, yeah? Things I’m allowed or not allowed to do. Sound good?” Soren asked. Ashlynn thought about it. It wasn’t the worst idea he’d suggested. The real question wasn’t about boundaries though – it was how she was going to tell him what she did or didn’t want. It required her talking to him.

Do I talk to him? To keep from talking to him? To keep him from touching me?

“I get it. Lots of stuff happening all at once. You might be feeling the symptoms of shock as well as you being sick, but we’ll start with no touching or approaching without some kind of indicator. You seem to be the most scared of that,” muttered Soren. “And, with that being said, instead of me helping you with the sling, I’ll show you how to put it on and you do the rest. Okay?”

Ashlynn swallowed hard, feeling the nasty gloss the mucus had coated her throat with, and glanced from Soren’s hazel gold eyes to the small diamond cloth in his fingers. What on earth is this guy? A mind reader?

Soren wished he could read the small woman’s mind. It would be so much easier than guessing based only on body language and facial expressions. Whether for better or worse, Soren had delt with a lot of people of all ages in circumstances very similar to the miniscule woman currently curled up on his bed. He’d helped children, the elderly, and one too many drunks as well as a collection of everyone in between. Having two young brothers who sometimes struggled with their words didn’t hurt either.

“Well?” Soren prompted. “Sound okay?”

Ashlynn bit her lip and looked between Soren and the cloth again.

“Well, just in case you change your mind about me helping you, here’s how this goes.” Soren proceeded to show her using a pillowcase from his closet how to tie the top of the cloth around his neck in order to support his arm. He demonstrated everything as simply as he could before offering the cloth to Ashlynn.

Ashlynn, head throbbing slightly, leaned forward and snagged the cloth once Soren’s fingers were far enough away. It took her a couple of tries, but she managed to tie a knot in the end and tightened it with her teeth before sliding it over her head and lifting her sore arm into it. The whole time, Soren watched in wonder as the small woman followed his instructions perfectly, even remembering to tuck in the flap at the end to make sure her arm didn’t slide out as easily.

He decided not to make a comment about it, fearing he would make her self-conscious and shut down from future understandings and instructions, and instead grabbed a bottle of water from his kit and filled the lid with water.

“Thirsty?” he asked as he balanced the lid onto the tip of his finger. Ashlynn looked eagerly at the clear plastic cap and the clear liquid it contained. Every part of her craved water except for her throat, which felt swollen and slick. She’d tried keeping water down before but hadn’t had much luck. The Borrower woman knew she needed to try again though, regardless. So, when Soren’s finger approached slowly, she fought the urge to shy away and hauled the cap into her lap where she took small handfuls of water from her unbandaged hand.

The cool water offered little relief and, in fact, made her feel colder. The threat of nausea returned after a few seconds. Soren, however, seemed to have a plan for that. He had already placed a cracker onto a piece of tissue after crushing some of the corners and middle parts before sliding it across the bed.

“You probably need something to eat too, huh?” he asked.

Ashlynn stared eagerly at the broken saltines. She could practically smell their freshness even through her stuffy nose. Soren’s hand approached and, for the first time, she managed to clearly see some of the scars scattered about on his fingers. Some were scrapes and others were cuts, all varying in age. Most of them looked like burns.

Battle scars? Ashlynn thought quietly. What from though?

Ashlynn didn’t feel like spending the energy on trying to figure out what those marks on the human’s hand meant. For now, eating and drinking something and then keeping it down was her primary focus. The moment his fingers were far enough away, Ashlynn leaned forward and snagged a few of the fragments. She nibbled cautiously, drinking a few sips of water after each bite and waiting a moment to see how her churning insides would react. She hadn’t had a proper meal in days, and now she felt like she could finally keep some of it down.

After she finished a few fragments of cracker and part of the cap full of water, she felt her eyelids beginning to droop. The adrenaline that was keeping her upright was now completely depleted, and staying awake wasn’t an option anymore. The unease of falling asleep in the presence of a human also was a fleeting thought that Ashlynn was quickly losing her battle to.

A flicker of movement caused her to open her eyes once more, but what she saw made something in her chest and cheeks warm. Soren had another fragment of soft, fuzzy cloth he’d pulled from the other side of the bed and had set it near her side.

“Alright then, little miss. Looks like you’re getting sleepy, yeah? Okay. I’m going to leave and make sure the boys don’t bother you. I’ll be back in a bit to check on you. If you need anything, you let me know. And don’t hurt yourself getting down or anything, okay? Just get some rest and we’ll talk arrangements… well… I’ll probably talk arrangements, and you’ll probably listen. Anyway, sleep well,” said Soren gently.

Ashlynn didn’t need to be told twice. Before Soren had even left the room, she’d pulled the blanket over her injured shoulder and had laid down on her side, sleep dragging her into darkness in a matter of seconds. The Borrower wasn’t sure if trusting the human was a good or bad decision, but there was no going back now.

Desperation brought her to the brink, and now holding onto the word and a few kind actions of a being she thought would treat her inhumanely was all she had.

She hoped it would be enough.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue | Coming Soon

Previous

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

A Tall and Small Collection | Original Story

[monstersandmaw]

What do you think a house or building designed by and for accommodating nagas be like? I imagine stairs would be kind of pointless? And what would their version of couches or sofas look?

My first thought was something like a helter skelter XD.

Sorry, to be more serious, I'd imagine that if it's a multi-storey building, it'd have ramps but also if the nagas are based on tree-climbing snakes, then maybe columns with grippy textures to access different levels easily. Otherwise, all on one level.

Also underfloor heating (think Roman hypocaust systems if it's a fantasy world, or just... underfloor heating if it's modern) for maintaining a good temperature for them. Or heat lamps/sauna room. Areas to allow them to shed more comfortably?

Lots of squashy soft furnishings (beanbags and padded beds (kind of like dogbeds but not degrading lol), rather than wooden dining chairs etc.)

Feel free to add more ideas in the notes, folks!

It's 11.20pm now and I've been nuked by 5 hours on my motorbike today, and also daylight saving happening XD

[hayanwulf]

Painful Flowers

Tony stared down at the scene in abject horror.

Flowers and petals pooled the entire floor of the room. The large four-poster bed had literally turned into a flower bed, comprising of flora unlike anything on Earth. Their shapes and colors were otherworldly, some colors unrecognizable even, each one of them possessing an unfathomable beauty.

And amidst it, covered in thorny vines and soft flowers, lay the cold, motionless body of Stephen Strange.

Tony had never hated flowers more in his life than he did right at that moment.

He slowly stepped in, his gut twisting into knots, senses repelled by the sweet, floral scent in the air, trying to ignore the way the petals felt squashy under his boots.

This had to be a nightmare. This had to be. Maybe if he punched himself now, he’d find himself back in his workshop, neck lying on his desk in an appalling angle that would pain him for the rest of the day; back in a world where, with just a quick call, the wizard would instantly show up at his workshop, walking out of a sparking portal with a haughty remark on his lips, his cloak fluttering on non-existent wind.

It was exactly a week ago that he had done just that.

Exactly a week ago when he had seemed fine. Or the week before that, during Tony and Pepper’s wedding. Or the week before that, when they had met up for their usual lunch date.

He had been completely fine.

There had been no outward signs. No coughing or concerning shortage of breath. No indications of a sad or downhearted mood. No traces of anything being wrong. No, he had simply been his usual self. Snarky, throwing playful banters around with Tony that they both found easy to engage in, sharp as a pencil with his comebacks, a trace of content satisfaction always wrapped around his aura whenever he was around Tony.

He could still recall the brightened expression in the sorcerer’s face when they had met last week, that small, genuine smile he had given Tony, his eyes sparkling with a special kind of attention which they didn’t seem to hold for many people in this world.

“Are you happy?” He had asked Tony, at the end of the day. “With you marriage?”

“Couldn’t imagine being happier,” Tony had replied, letting all of his contentment pour into his words.

“I’m happy for you, Tony.”

They hadn’t met after that day. Tony had sent a couple of texts, especially one about their missed lunch date on Wednesday, and had never gotten a reply. But that hadn’t raised any concerns or suspicions. Why would it have? They were superheroes, their lives were busy and unpredictable.

And now, a week later, Stephen lay lifelessly in his own bed, succumbed to Hanahaki.

Unpredicted in the most unpredictable way.

Tony dared to look down at the man’s face.

There was some scabbed blood at a corner of his lips, red-bathed flowers lying next to his head and on his neck from where he had obviously coughed them out of his lungs. Even in his frozen state, his eyebrows were a little tense, scrunched-up as though in pain.

It was very slow and very painful, Tony realized.

The thought made something squeeze painfully tight in his chest.

A blue butterfly sat on his nose, its wings opening and closing slowly. Tony had no way of knowing if it was supposed to be one of his magic butterflies, or if it had simply found its way in through some crack on the windows, allured by the fragrant flowers.

Sickening flowers.

There was a disturbing-looking thin, green vine coming out of the side of his eye. Thorns dotted the length of the vine, needle-thin and menacing.

He had wept thorny vines, not normal tears.

And it looked excruciating.

Tony hadn’t even known that was something possible in Hanahaki. Probably shouldn’t be. Probably had to do something with magic, the same magic that had resulted in all of these unrecognizable flowers Tony was staring down at, instead of normal, Earthly flowers.

“How..?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Wong sighed softly from somewhere at his right. Tony didn’t care to look as the other sorcerer spoke, his eyes unable to leave the impossibly pale, lifeless man lying in front of him.

“According to the apprentices, he locked himself in a week ago. I was gone to another dimension the entire week. When I came back it was to learn that he hadn’t been seen around the entire time. It took me hours to break the spells he put up to ward his room.” A pause, then a tentative, “He left us sometime last night.”

Tony’s eyes stung as he took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Nothing made sense here. “He visited me a week ago. He was fine.” His words quivered.

“Don’t forget that he.. was, a powerful sorcerer. He’s been hiding his condition for a while.”

Tony snapped his head over to Wong, glaring at him through tears. “Not powerful enough to overcome fucking petal disease?”

He vibrated with anger. Whether that was towards Wong or the unmoving man on the bed or that fucked up disease, he didn’t know.

It didn’t make sense. You didn’t just die from Hanahaki, not in 21st century where you had effective solutions for symptom management and high-tech life support, where you had access to therapy and support communities and what-fucking-not. Very, very rarely did Hanahaki progress into a terminal stage in the modern world, and those were almost always cases where the person’s unrequited love or significant other had passed away, leaving them with no way of having a closure.

Wong’s own gaze was stuck on Stephen, eyes stricken with grief and what seemed like guilt. “Then maybe his love was more powerful than his magic.”

The comment made him recoil, his stomach twisting with a complicated mix of emotions he didn’t understand, his eyes moving back to the bed of flowers.

Stephen had never told him anything. He.. they had been friends. At least.. at least Tony had thought so.

Clearly, Stephen hadn’t shared the sentiment. Because Tony had never been told about this.. this soul-crushing love Stephen had held for someone in this world. He had sat next to Tony through tedious meetings about the Accords, had shared lunch with Tony every Wednesday, had taught Tony the endless wonders of magic, had made him love magic rather than fear it, had listened to Tony rant late at night about his latest inventions..

He had fought alongside Tony on Titan, had stayed with him through pain and hopelessness and victory. He had stood by Tony’s side as the government had welcomed Rogers back to the states and he had never left.

And yet.. yet he’d never trusted Tony enough to confide in him, to tell him that he held someone so close to his heart.

No, instead he had chosen to lock himself up in his room for the final days of his life, withering away as more and more tragically beautiful flowers sprouted out of his misery.

It stung.

It stung so bad, it constricted around Tony’s heart and lungs like a python’s death grip, dug its disgusting blackened claws deep into the crevices of his soul, made it hard to breathe as he attempted to suck in a ragged breath.

Suddenly the pain morphed, and a vengeful kind of anger rose, higher and higher until it was boiling just beneath his skin. He turned his eyes to Wong.

“Who?”

Wong closed his eyes in a pained movement, shaking his head. “It is not my place to tell.”

Between one moment and another, Tony had crossed over to the sorcerer, holding the neck of his tunic in a vicious grip, eyes fiercely glaring down at the other man. “Don’t fucking bullshit me, Wong,” he spat, voice almost a growl from the ferocious anger roaring inside of him. “He’s.. he’s gone and it doesn’t matter anymore whose place it is to tell! Who did he love?”

Wong did not wither under his gaze in the least. “And what will you do, once you learn their name?”

“I will give them a piece of my fucking mind,” he snarled. “I will tell them how despicable a person they are, for not accepting his love.” For rejecting the person who would have given them an endless repertoire of affection, who would have treated them with nothing less than utmost respect, who was possibly, quite literally, capable of plucking the moon and stars out of the sky on their command.

How fucking dare they not even give him a chance?

Tony would not forgive them. He would tell them exactly what they had done, what they had turned down.

To be entirely honest, he was currently in a state of mind where he would probably just uproot their entire life and personally make sure that they would never be able to experience love again.

Wong didn’t need to know that, however.

“And what if they didn’t know?”

Tony’s grip wavered a little. “What?”

“What if Stephen had never confessed his love, as you seem to assume.”

He looked at the sorcerer from one eye to the other, feeling his own eyebrows crease progressively. “He would.”

Wong shook his head. “He didn’t.”

Tony abruptly released the sorcerer, stepping back as frustration boiled in his chest. “He would. Why wouldn’t he? If he loved them so much..” If he loved them enough to reach the terminal stage of Hanahaki, to not seek treatment in time.. surely, that meant that he had confessed his love to them?

Nobody died of Hanahaki. Nobody wanted to die — well, except suicidal people, but they didn’t necessarily go seeking out Hanahaki for that particularly. Nobody would.

Hanahaki was cruel. It was torture, the worst kind of body horror. It slowly turned your insides into flowers, pretty and fragrant and absolutely sardonic with the way it birthed beauty out of your despair, making you feel every bit of agony as you lost parts of yourself bit by bit, quite literally.

So no, there was no way Stephen would’ve wanted that. Surely, he’d have tried to court his love first before giving up so hopelessly, right?

“He had his reasons, Stark,” Wong said, and Tony couldn’t believe this. No. He couldn’t take this anymore.

What fucking reason warranted preferring to die over never getting over, nor confessing his love?

Why?

Why?

He wanted to walk over to Stephen, grab his shoulders by force and shake him, maybe slap him a few until he expelled all the answers. God, he wished he could do that right now.

‘I’m happy for you, Tony.’

He wished he had asked Stephen at that moment, if he was happy.

He wished he could rewind time. Wished he could go back to the previous week and ask exactly that. And then pin the sorcerer down in his workshop, not let him leave, plug him to a life support right then and there and bully him into accepting treatment.

He wished he could just.. talk to him.

About all the damn questions and mysteries swirling in Tony’s mind. About everything that Tony should have talked about, sooner. About why Stephen thought that his love for this person was important enough to give up his life for.

Why.

Why..

Damn it, Stephen.

His legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor, thick, hot tears streaming down his face. His hand touched the floor, and caught the silken texture of petals. He clamped his fist over them until it hurt, feeling the sickening velvet getting crushed in his grip.

The blue butterfly that had been giving Stephen company, fluttered down to Tony and settled on his thigh, almost as though trying to provide him a soothing touch with its weightless wings. One last piece of Stephen, trying to tell him, it’s okay.

It was the only semblance of comfort.

And an absolute joke of a closure.

Because he knew nothing. He had no answers, and now, he would never have the chance to obtain them.

[danrifics]

no theyre right dnp r broken up i mean did u see the squashie video they were looking at each other with pure malice!!! clearly the bitterest of exes

listen not to defend trisha but like reading something off wiki page that says that dnp haven’t said more than it was romantic at some point and then thinking oh maybe they aren’t together now with literally no other context is kinda understandable imo like she doesn’t really know anything more than that and i kinda think it’s a fair assumption on her part.

i keep seeing so many tags and tweets being like how could she not know just look at them etc and it’s like well she’s not actually looking at them too deeply in fact it literally looks like she’s not thought about dnp for a few years so i don’t know why she’d think anything of it really

[glorious-spoon]

The kiss prompt had me feeling too much like a kid in a candy store, and I couldn't pick. I managed to narrow it down to three, hopefully one of them sparks joy?

…as a suggestion.

…after a small rejection.

…because they’re running out of time.

for buddie please 🩶

:D thank you! i went for 'a kiss after a small rejection', hope you enjoy!

-

Buck has been extremely supportive of Eddie's dating woes, in his opinion. He has been a good friend about it, listening sympathetically to the post-game of every date that fizzled out and every connection that failed to manifest. After Marisol, there was Raquel, and then Marta, and María, and Janelle. Then, maybe less shocking than it would have been a couple of years ago, there was Daniel, and Liam, and Álvaro. Eddie told him about the first of those dates with a glint in his eye that dared Buck to comment, so Buck didn't.

But it means that they're currently in this weird holding pattern where Buck knows that Eddie likes men, and—maybe more relevantly—is willing to consider dating a man, and they still haven't actually talked about it.

That's a conversation that should probably happen. Buck just doesn't know how to bring it up without immediately blurting everything out, without begging Eddie to consider him as an option. And if he does that, there's no coming back from it. If he does that, and Eddie says no, he doesn't know what'll happen. The world will end, or he'll die of mortification and disappointment, or something else unspeakably awful will occur. Maddie keeps telling him that he's catastrophizing, and he knows she's probably right, but that doesn't mean he can just make himself stop.

He's working on it.

Right now, Eddie is flopped across Buck's new couch—brown leather, wide and squashy and comfortable. Natalia helped him pick it out, and he feels a little weird about keeping it now, but the truth is that the couch turned out to be a better fit than the relationship. It's big enough for the two of them to sprawl on while they drink their beers and Eddie grumbles about his most recent date.

"I mean, you know, it was fine. Whatever," he says, with a huffy little shrug. Buck loves Eddie in every mood, but there's something especially charming about him when he's being petulant like this. Maybe because it's such a contrast to the calm, in-control face he presents to the rest of the world. Buck's not the only person who gets to have this part of Eddie, but he is a member of a select group.

"So no second date?" he asks, trying not to sound hopeful.

"He said I was 'a nice guy, but he didn't feel a connection'," Eddie says, with sarcastic one-handed finger-quotes. He takes another sullen pull on his beer.

"That's not so bad," Buck offers. Eddie's dates don't usually crash and burn the way Buck's have a tendency to, or did back when he was actually trying to date. People like Eddie. He's polite and kind and thoughtful, and reserved in a way that comes across as mysterious and fascinating instead of aloof. And that's without even getting into the fact that he looks like a fucking model, but most people know that part before they go out with him. Buck has no idea how anybody could go on a date with Eddie and not immediately fall head over heels in love with him, but he is admittedly a little biased.

"Yeah, I know," Eddie sighs. He pushes himself upright and tilts his head back against the couch, cradling his beer between his palms. "I know, it's not like I really wanted a second date either. It's just…"

"Rejection sucks?" Buck offers.

"That too. Mostly I'm just wondering how long I'm going to have to keep doing this before I find somebody I can have a connection with? Like, with Shannon, it was—"

"—bolt of lightning out of the blue?" Buck asks, because that was how it felt for him, with Eddie. That moment outside the ambulance, Eddie's blinding smile and warm handshake and the way something in him cracked wide open then and never really went away.

Eddie huffs. "Kind of. But—we were friends first. We already had that connection. You know? And then one day I looked at her and I felt like—"

He stops abruptly. If Buck wasn't already watching him, he'd probably miss the way Eddie's eyes flick toward him, and then away.

His stomach feels suddenly like he's on a rollercoaster, in giddy freefall.

"Like you were seeing something completely new?" he asks. He folds his hand tight around his beer, but he can feel it trembling.

Eddie takes a deep, visible breath, then nods and leans forward to set his beer down before turning back toward Buck.

"Yeah," he says quietly, and Buck is almost completely sure that they're not just talking about Shannon anymore. Eddie's face is open, his gaze clear, but Buck knows him well enough to detect the faint hint of nerves there.

That's the thing that finally gives him the courage to do what maybe he should have a long time ago.

"Can you just, uh." He clears his throat, then sets his beer down too. "Tell me if I'm totally misreading this?"

"Yeah, okay," Eddie whispers, but he doesn't pull back. Not when Buck shifts closer on the couch; not when he reaches out to settle a hand on Eddie's cheek, and not when he leans in to press a chaste, careful kiss to Eddie's lips.

It lingers softly for a moment, and then he pulls back and opens his eyes. Eddie blinks a couple of times, then smiles, sudden and bright.

"You're not misreading it," he says, and leans in to kiss Buck again.

(for these kiss prompts)