#My Fics

[sarinskymonteagudog]

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[thefrogdalorian]

My Pain Fits In The Palm Of Your Freezing Hand

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: When you and your Mandalorian companion are ambushed by a group of bandits, you hope that his stubborn nature will not make the task of treating his wounds any more difficult than it needs to be. But that is not the only obstacle. You also hope that the depth of your unrequited feelings for Din will not impact on your ability to care for him...

Word Count:  2.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Canon typical violence briefly described, reader provides first-aid to minor, bloody injuries. ✯ Author's Note: A daydream about holding the stubborn tin can man's hand turned into whatever this is!! I've never written unrequited feelings for Din before but it made my heart ache in the best possible way. Hope you enjoyed!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

Once the adrenaline of your latest brush with death subsides, your focus immediately pivots to caring for your Mandalorian companion. Although the heightened emotions leaving your body render you a trembling, shaky mess, your priority is to ensure his well-being. Maker knows he will never take care of himself.

As you approach the Razor Crest, you mentally scan yourself for painful areas. Casting your mind back towards the encounter as you try to recall anywhere you could have been hurt. After all, you will struggle to assist him if you are not healthy.

You recall that you had taken a couple of painful blows to the side during the skirmish, but your clumsy assailants had fortunately missed all of your vital organs. Aside from a pounding heart and dry mouth, you have mercifully made it through the ambush unscathed. 

Satisfied that there are no immediate areas of concern to treat, you turn your attention towards Din. You cast your mind back over the altercation, towards any wounds he may have sustained. It is easier said than done, considering how many of them leapt out of nowhere and caught the two of you off-guard as you walked through the thick forest towards the ship.

You remember how many of them Din fought off with his bare hands. Well, through his gloves. Still, you know they will have provided scant protection, so you are keen to check them for injuries. 

You momentarily struggle to remember what happened after Din had seen most of them off as you crouched behind a bush, hiding. 

Then, you recall how one of your assailants had slashed at Din’s hands when he grabbed the remaining pair of them around the throat. It had been a frenzied attack, which momentarily worked as his grip loosened. Just when you had feared that all hope was lost and they were going to escape, Din brought his boot up to deliver a swift kick in the stomach to the slower of the duo, which sent them careening into each other.

Din had used many parts of his body, as well as all of his wits and expertise as a warrior to see your attackers off. He had done a formidable job, considering how much they had taken you by surprise.

Still, the state of his hands concern you.

You are pretty sure they sustained the most severe damage. Plus, as they are vitally important for everyday function, treating them takes priority.

It is settled... Din’s hands are the first area you will treat. 

If he will let you, that is.

Your Mandalorian companion does not possess a reputation for being the easiest man in the galaxy to take care of... a willing patient, Din Djarin is not.

As the two of you ascend the ramp up to his beloved ship, you hope for both of your sakes that he makes this process as painless as possible.

“Din, sit down and let me get the medkit,” you order when you finally enter the familiar old ship's hull. 

“Let me initiate the launch sequence first,” Din stubbornly responds.

“No,” you reply, shaking your head as you fold your arms, glaring at him.

“Fine,” Din mutters in annoyance. 

It seems your sternness has done the trick. 

Din perches atop a crate as you grab the medkit in preparation to treat his wounds. You hope he does not make it harder for you than necessary. Din has never made any secret that he is comfortable being fussed over. You are no stranger to the fact that he hates being taken care of like this, but if you do not tend to his wounds, you know he will never do so himself. 

“Your gloves,” you nod towards the two-toned leather which covers his hands, “Take them off, Din.”

Din sighs and lifts his gloves beneath his helmet, seemingly biting at each finger to loosen them before repeating the process with his other hand. You feel like a voyeur and wonder whether you should turn your head and look away, as though his gloved hand disappearing beneath his helmet is somehow sacrilegious. Despite your inner turmoil, you cannot help but watch, unable to tear your gaze away until finally, he slides the gloves off and bares his flesh to you. 

It is not the first time Din has removed his gloves in your presence, yet you still feel a thrill travelling across your body at the faintest sight of his skin. 

For Din Djarin’s bare hands provide you with the tiniest peek at the man that lies beneath the cold, hard beskar. To catch a glimpse of the human side of the formidable warrior, the side of him you yearn to know entirely.

You remember how stunned you had been the first time he had removed his gloves in your presence while he was repairing a blaster several months ago. 

You had been sitting elsewhere in the hull as he worked at the bench, tools spread out as he dutifully performed much-needed maintenance on one of his many beloved weapons.

A grunt of frustration indicated that the parts had been far too intricate to repair with his cumbersome gloves. So, he had pulled on each finger one by one, tugging them off. Seemingly uncaring about baring himself, even ever so slightly, in your presence.

You had tried your best not to look, but you had been unable to resist sneaking a glance at who he was underneath his armour. Although for the most part, you kept to yourselves, there was no lingering frostiness in your dynamic. You and Din were amicable, possibly even friends... if he could even have such a thing.

That day, you watched as his hands meticulously repaired his blaster. You noticed the smattering of dark hairs across the back of his hand, the surprisingly tanned skin and the calluses and scars which littered the back of his hand. It was a fascinating glimpse into the man who hid so much of himself from you, yet you still felt you knew enough about him to believe he was, deep down, a good man.

Your mind ran wild with so many questions. Was his skin a similar colour elsewhere on his body, or was it tanned because his hands were the only parts of him that saw the sun? Did the dark hairs on the back of his hand mean that the hair on his head–if he had any–was a similar colour?

They were questions you knew you would likely never get answers to. Nor did you expect to.

When Din had hired you to care for The Child and attend to maintenance on his ship, he had informed you of the rules regarding his armour and helmet. He would remove neither his helmet nor armour in your presence. You were never to question the reasons why or attempt to subvert this stipulation in any way.

That was why glimpsing a sliver of his skin had thrilled you. It had exposed the man you had been yearning to see in a way that was not a violation of his Creed.

Yet, when you see his hands this time the circumstances could not be more different. Neither could the emotions Din’s bare hands provoke in you. 

Rather than feeling a thrill at the sight of his skin, now you cringe when you see the wounds that litter his flesh. His knuckles are split and bloodied, contusions that will surely colour shades of blue and black before eventually healing. There are also angry red gashes in all directions, a result of the bandit’s vibroblade making contact with his hands. 

You steady yourself, mentally preparing for the gargantuan task of providing first aid to a stubborn Mandalorian. Din values all you do for him. You are certain of that fact, even if he does not often vocalise it. Still, having someone take care of him is an uncomfortable prospect for a man who has spent so long leading a solitary, nomadic existence.

When you finally take his calloused, yet soft, skin in your hand, Din sucks in a harsh breath at the sensation. The sound is amplified and crackles slightly through the vocoder. A reminder that, although he has bared some of himself, he is still mostly hidden from you. He feels like more machine than man sometimes.

You take a bacta wipe from your medkit, and the antiseptic’s sour smell lingers unpleasantly in the air. You hold Din’s hand still, as you carefully bring the wipe towards his skin, your brow furrowed in concentration. 

“This is going to sting,” you murmur apologetically. 

Din nods. You hear him inhale deeply as he braces for the first contact with the remedy. You prepare yourself to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to make the process needlessly painful for him. 

At the first touch of the bacta wipe against his bronze skin, he jerks away from your touch, groaning slightly in pain at what you are sure is an uncomfortable, stinging sensation against his cuts.

“Hold still,” you sigh, flashing a disapproving glance in what you hope is the direction of Din’s eyes, hidden by his helmet. 

“Sorry,” he huffs.

You cannot help how your lips curl upwards at the sight of him sulking. This hulking man, all broad shoulders and gleaming beskar, reduced to a wounded child. You wonder if he is pouting beneath his helmet.

Din flinches again when you resume your task, but this time, you do not chastise him. Instead, you are thankful that he is not making this any more difficult than it needs to be. 

At least he has not told you he can look after himself. 

Content with his behaviour, you diligently tend to Din’s wounds. You ensure each one is cleaned thoroughly with the bacta patch and then wrapped in a bandage. It will take a few days to heal, but he will have plenty of time as you hurtle through hyperspace towards Nevarro again. Unfortunately, it will mean he likely has to refrain from being the hands-on father you know he loves to be. 

When your task is almost complete, you move to sit by his side on the crate. You need to steady your hands by placing your elbows against your thighs as you wrap a particularly nasty wound, which already streaks angry red tendrils across two knuckles. 

Din groans again in pain, and you quickly reassure him, “Almost there,” you whisper encouragingly. 

With the task finally completed, you cannot resist gently taking his hand in yours. Ostensibly, to check him for any wounds you have missed. In reality, it is borne out of a selfish desire to feel his skin against yours. Precious contact you had been yearning for since you first laid eyes upon his skin all those months ago. 

If Din notices the way you subtly lace your fingers with his and hold his hand in your lap for a few moments longer than necessary, he does not say a thing. Only when you disentangle your fingers from his grip does he speak again.

When you move to stand up from the crate, he places his arm across your stomach to stop you. You look at him questioningly, wondering what is going on beneath that bucket of metal. 

“Thank you,” Din finally whispers, voice thick with emotion.

You move to open your mouth, to respond. Before you can, Din’s deep voice cuts through the stillness.

“For everything… I…” Din pauses, sighs deeply, then continues, “I appreciate everything you do for me.”

You simply nod, too taken aback to speak. It is unlike Din to be sentimental or emotional, not with anyone other than Grogu. It is part of what makes him such a respected and feared hunter. Yet, here he is, confessing his appreciation for you. It causes hotness to creep up your neck and face, embarrassed by his earnestness. Desperate to respond, but not entirely trusting that you can keep it together. 

“You’re worth it, Din,” you smile, daring to believe that this moment will change something for the two of you. You hope he will finally realise the depth of the feelings you hold for him; that you have always held for him. 

As you take his hand in yours once again, you sit back on the crate. You take up a more comfortable position and daringly lean your head against his shoulder. The pauldron is bitingly cold beneath your cheek. But with how warm your skin suddenly feels at his words, it is an altogether welcome sensation.

Din noticeably inhales at your gesture, and you momentarily fear you have hurt his tender skin. Until he relaxes once again and squeezes your hand as best as he can considering his injuries, a reassuring gesture that soothes your worries.

As you sit there holding hands in the relative darkness of the hull, you imagine a shooting star passing somewhere far in the skies above.

You wish on it and dare to dream that, one day, Din Djarin will love you, too.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

#din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fluff #pedro pascal characters #my fics #pleasE LET ME HOLD HIS HAND AND TAKE CARE OF THIS STUBBORN MAN #JUST ONCE PLEASE I M BEGIGIN YO UU1!!

[munsonkitten]

Sub Eddie Week day 3: Brat Eddie (with spanking & daddy Steve) | Read the full fic on AO3 [Explicit] @subeddieweek

Eddie gets into this mindset when he’s on stage. This headspace where he’s the most important person in the world because everyone’s singing his words and screaming his name. He’s a fucking diva, Steve won’t even deny that. He struts and he moves a certain way and he does whatever the hell he wants whenever he wants to do it. 

And he gets a little mean. Just a tiny bit. Steve would call him bratty, but everyone else would probably say mean. 

Steve has him in the dress tonight, skimpy underwear underneath, plugged up and ready to go the second he gets off stage because Eddie gets like this. He gets in this headspace, he floats up into the clouds, and Steve’s there to make sure he comes back down to earth gently, makes sure he doesn’t fly too close to the sun and come crashing down. 

He makes sure Eddie doesn’t say anything he regrets when he gets off stage each night. 

That’s kind of how this all started — Eddie had been high on god knows what, he’d been drinking, he’d been too fucking self centered, and Steve just… Snapped, really. He snapped because Eddie demanded another drink after a set and almost made someone cry.

He told Eddie to get his shit together. He told him to apologize. 

That made Eddie stop dead in his tracks, and his eyes cleared, and he slumped a little bit, stumbled into Steve a little bit, and Steve steadied him because that’s what he does, and Eddie apologized, and then he turned and apologized to the person he yelled at, and after that — well, after that, they figured out Eddie responds well to Steve. 

They’d been fooling around for a few weeks at that point. Nothing serious, just… Two guys in close quarters who trust each other, getting off together. They’d both been realizing things about themselves, both of them having only been with girls before that, both of them realizing it was never as good doing anything with girls as it is to get a simple handjob from a guy, and well… 

It wasn’t hard to figure everything out. Their system for before shows and afterwards. 

When Eddie needs to come back down to earth and Steve’s the one who gets him there. 

Steve’s the one who really runs the show, after all. 

Just as expected, Eddie takes a different guitar halfway through the set and he’s not entirely nice about it. Steve lets him go this time because now isn’t the time to remind Eddie who he belongs to. Eddie belongs to the crowd right now. 

The crowd belongs to Eddie. 

Steve just needs to wait, watch as his boyfriend acts like a whore for nearly twenty thousand people, watch as Eddie soars, his fingers dancing on his guitar, as he wails into his microphone. 

He watches from his spot side stage, and he waits. He waits until the moment he needs to reclaim Eddie, and not a moment later. 

The last notes of the set fall silent, but the venue lights stay dim. The crowd screams for an encore, and Eddie’s running around backstage trying to keep his energy up. Steve forces a bottle of water into his hand and makes him drink a few sips of it. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, tugs anxiously at the hem of his dress, making sure it covers everything because he won’t have his guitar during the encore because he goes down into the crowd, standing on the floor as everyone parts around him, and sometimes he stage dives, but not tonight because Steve told him he can’t. No one can touch him tonight, not when he’s dressed the way he is with barely anything on underneath. He’s not flashing his dick to every poor sucker who gets stuck underneath him while he crowd surfs. 

Before Eddie goes back out, Steve drags him in for a kiss, hidden in the safety of the darkness. They’re not exactly open about their relationship, the world isn’t quite ready for full openness, but they don’t exactly hide it either. Steve knows he’s allowed to do this, and Eddie needs it right now or he’s going to jump out of his skin. 

He feels the moan against his lips more than he hears it, a sound just for him in the middle of a roaring crowd. He squeezes Eddie’s hip possessively, pulling him in even closer. 

“Easy there, daddy,” Eddie says with a smirk. “They’re not done with me just yet.”

Steve’s blood burns red hot in his veins. That makes him want to take Eddie back to the dressing room and have his way with him right now. 

But he can’t, so he just turns Eddie around by his shoulders and playfully smacks his ass to send him away. 

Then Eddie’s off, running back on stage while the band kicks off their final song. 

Hometown shows always get Eddie extra revved up. Something about being so loved in a place so close to where he was so hated. Steve knows assholes from high school are out in the crowd pretending they loved Eddie all along, telling stories to strangers about how Eddie was back then. 

It makes Eddie feel bigger than the entire world. 

When the last notes ring out and Eddie climbs back on stage and the lights come up, Steve’s there. He’s there to catch Eddie by the arm and drag him down the hallway to his dressing room. Everyone else has instructions on packing away equipment, everyone knows to give Steve and Eddie enough time to sort things out. They know not to touch any of Eddie’s guitars, even the ones that Steve already put away in cases when they were done being used for the night. 

They know that Eddie will be useless after all of this, that he’ll follow Steve around like a lost puppy while Steve packs up amps and guitar cases and makes sure everything else is in order before they head to the next city. 

“Stupid,” Eddie grumbles as Steve pulls him down the hallway backstage. “Fucking. Ex. Why the fuck — no, it’s — it’s fine. Maybe it’s not fine because why the fuck does she think — no. No, it’s fine.”

He’s always muttering about something or another after a show, and Steve knows he just needs to forget about everything, to be able to let it go. Steve likes when he gets like this — all mouthy and annoyed. It means they get to have fun, that Eddie will be mouthy and talk back to him and give Steve more to work with. It means he gets to put his hands on Eddie and make him fucking whine. 

“You forgot who you belong to,” Steve tells him the second they’re behind a locked door. 

“Oh yeah?” Eddie taunts. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Gonna have to remind you,” Steve whispers before pushing Eddie up against the door and crashing their lips together. 

Eddie’s reaction is to push back, to shove Steve over to one of the old couches up against the wall, but Steve doesn’t let him. He pins Eddie where he is, a knee shoved between his thighs, hands on his wrists above his head against the door. 

“I don’t think so, baby,” Steve warns. “Need you to remember.”

“C’mon, then,” Eddie says. “Get on with it.”

“Be patient,” Steve says. But he knows Eddie can’t be. It’s why he’s in a dress and just a pair of panties that can easily be pulled to the side — because they both need the easiest access they can get, no time for extra constraints tonight. 

They learned their lesson last time they were in Indiana, when Eddie decided to wear fishnet tights, underwear, and a pair of ripped up jeans. Only the jeans made it through that encounter, and that’s only because, try as he might, Steve can’t rip through denim with his bare hands. 

Eddie still pushes back against Steve, but he’s half hearted about it, already slipping down where Steve likes him. 

“C’mon,” Eddie grunts, pushing his dick down onto Steve’s thigh. The dress is riding up, showing Eddie’s cock straining inside his underwear as it hardens against Steve’s jeans. 

“Go over to the counter,” Steve tells him, releasing Eddie from his grip. “Bend over.”

“Make me,” Eddie challenges. 

And so it goes like it always does — Steve picks up Eddie around the waist and carries him over to the counter. He shoves him down over it, pushing the dress up over Eddie’s ass to put him on full display. He tugs the black panties up by the waist band, making them disappear into his crack. Eddie whines, and Steve knows the plug just got pushed even deeper inside him.

He’s beautiful like this and Steve tells him. Scars and tattoos on pale skin. Steve thumbs at a scar on his back, slides over to the edge of a tattoo on Eddie’s side.

“So pretty,” Steve says again. He lightly grazes his fingers down, presses at the base of the plug inside Eddie. 

Eddie jolts beneath his touch. He makes a noise of protest when Steve draws his fingers away, and he sighs in relief when Steve tugs the underwear down. A light tap to Eddie’s thigh has him stepping out of them and kicking them to the side, automatic in his movements. 

“Aw, look at you,” Steve coos. He can’t hide the slight laughter in his voice. “So sweet and obedient for me.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie shoots back, looking at Steve over his shoulder with a playful glint in his eyes. The words aren’t all there, like Eddie’s forcing the front today, like he wants to give up the performance and just let Steve have him. 

Read the rest on AO3

#steddie #my fics #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steve/eddie #stranger things #subeddieweek #rockstar eddie munson

[roselatteswrites]

warm ways | steve harrington x reader

summary: you and steve enjoy an afternoon together while on vacation in the south of france.

tags/warnings: smut (18+, mdni!), cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, squirting, unprotected piv sex, creampie, cock warming, established relationship, fem!reader

word count: 1k

a/n: inspired by rohmer's a summer's tale. regular text size and capitalization under the cut.

cross-posted on ao3

Somewhere in the south of France, 1989

You woke up in a room illuminated only by the warm colours of the sunset. As you slowly roused from your slumber, you felt the trace of lips on your neck. Steve was still spooning you, just as he had been when the two of you laid down for what was meant to be a quick nap. You hummed in delight at the feeling of him mouthing at your neck, teeth grazing and tongue soothing the supple skin.

“Sleep well, honey?” He spoke quietly.

“Mhmm,” you replied sleepily, turning around to see him. You gently raised a hand to his face, thumb stroking his cheek. The sun had left his skin bronzed and starry with freckles. The two of you had spent the day roaming around the small seaside town, admiring the scenery, and taking in the salt-laden air. It was a beautiful day. However, nothing could compare to the view laid in front of you.

“So pretty, Stevie,” you said softly. At that, his eyes softened. The brown irises were almost golden in the sunlight.

“Says you,” he replied, giving you a quick peck on the lips. Before he could pull back fully, you chased the feeling. Your lips connected once again. Delicately, his tongue prodded at your lips, and you allowed him entry. Your tongues danced together, and you could still taste traces of the oranges you two had eaten earlier.

Steve moaned into the kiss, all the while moving his leg to fit between both of yours. A whimper escaped your throat at the feeling of his bare leg pressed against your clothed heat. Hands tangled in his hair, you tugged gently. It was a habit you had developed when you wanted more, and it didn’t go unnoticed. He pulled away, giving you a few more pecks as the kiss slowed.

“Feeling needy, huh?” A slight smile danced across his lips. You nodded, dazed. “Words.” He reminded you.

“Wanna feel you, Stevie,” you spoke, “need it so bad.”

“I got you, honey, don’t worry,” he said as he rolled over to lay between your legs. You could now feel his growing bulge, the feeling spurring you on even more.

He kissed you once more before beginning his descent down, down, down to where you needed him most. Slowly, he slid your bathing suit bottoms down your legs, discarding them somewhere you didn’t care to know.

Two fingers slid between your folds, presenting your clit to him. He leaned down, kitten licking experimentally at your bud before sucking more harshly. Your hands found purchase in his hair once again, and you brushed it back so that you could truly look at him. His eyes stayed trained on yours as he continued his ministrations, alternating between licking and sucking.

You felt your hole clench around nothing, and as if reading your mind, Steve slipped a long finger into you. He curled it up, reaching that spongey spot within you, and you could feel that familiar spark beginning to grow in you, along with something a bit less familiar.

“Steve, ngh,” you tried to get your words out when he suddenly added a second finger, “feels too good, I–”

“Just let go, baby,” he said quickly, “let go f’me.”

The spark grew into a flame that licked at your insides until you could no longer take it. Your orgasm engulfed you and you felt a strange, but not unwelcome, release. You looked down to see Steve, cheeks flushed, and chin drenched in your fluids.

“Fuck,” he gasped, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, “just squirted for me, baby.” You went to cover your face in your hands, but he caught your wrists softly.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said, “that was amazing.” He continued, pinning your hands above your head. He left a small kiss on the tip of your nose. As he pulled back, he searched your eyes, but you were still feeling hazy.

“Think you can take me after that?” He asked.

“Yes,” you whispered, “want you.” He let go of his hold on your wrists to slide his swim trunks down. He took his length into his hand, giving it a few strokes. A bead of precum glistening at the ruddy tip. Your mouth watered at the sight.

Soon enough, he lined himself up with your entrance, pushing himself in slowly. He stilled when he bottomed out, and you whined.

“God, you’re so tight after you cum,” he spoke, voice raspy, “can barely handle it.” Once he’d regained his composure, he set a delectable pace. His cock glided between your walls tenderly, accompanied by just the right amount of stretch.

The room was filled with pants, moans, and the sound of skin slapping. When you thought you couldn’t feel any better, Steve brought your leg up, hooking your ankle over his shoulder. At this angle, you felt everything so much more intensely, and you could feel that spark growing once more.

Steve could tell you were close, bringing a thumb down to circle your clit messily. A few more strokes, and you were cumming once again, walls clenching around him rhythmically. The flame, now dying down within you, sparked something in him. His strokes became sloppier, his arms trembling as he tried to hold himself up. You brought a hand up to the side of his face.

“Cum for me, Stevie,” you pleaded.

And he did.

He pushed his hips into yours as close as humanly possible, while rope after rope of his cum painted your insides.

Finally, he stilled, bringing your leg back down and resting his head on your shoulder. You stroked his back until he finally came to. He started to pull out, but you grabbed his bicep, stopping him.

“Can we just stay like this for a little bit?” You asked gingerly.

“Of course,” he said, “just wanna be full of me, yeah?” You nodded, biting your lip.

The moon slowly revealed itself, casting its gentle light across your forms. The sound of the waves from outside the window lulling you both back to sleep.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

#my fics #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #smut #stranger things fic

[moris-auri]

Heaven is not fit (to house a love like you and I)

Pairing: Aemond x Baela

Summary: The war, bloody and devastating, is over. Having bested his uncle over the God's Eye, Aemond returns to King’s Landing and to his elder brother.

But his victory is short-lived when Aegon dies in 131 A.C. without an heir. After more than a half year of peace, the realm is thrown into chaos once again. Made to choose a bride after having the ruby studded crown of Aegon I placed on his head and made King, Aemond chooses his cousin, Baela Targaryen.

And Baela Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, grows more than fond of saying "Fuck the realm."

Warnings: NSFW 18+, spoilers for Fire and Blood (A Song of Ice and Fire)

**

Coming soon!!

#my fics #aemond targaryen #baela targaryen #house of the dragon #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

1k request: Stede has his own version of a merman dream. But. Ed's a catboy instead.

You are an absolute genius. This possessed me mind body and soul. Absolutely inspired.

--

Stede Bonnet was dying, probably.

The world was hot and strange, and their bedroom felt weird and empty. His head felt swimmy. The last thing he really remembered was Ed trying to feed him some soup and looking terrified when he couldn’t finish more than a few spoonfuls, and he remembered wanting to fight the entire world for making Ed look so scared.

He remembered Ed putting a wet cloth on his forehead, and it had felt like heaven, and he remembered Ed whispering that he was just burning up, begging please don’t leave me - he wasn’t sure he’d been meant to hear that part.

And now the world was dark and hot and strange. He registered being in his bed, but it was lonely, and he tried to focus on breathing. He didn’t want to go, he wanted to hang on, but it was so hard. He wanted to rally his strength, find the will to choose to live, but he was so fucking tired.

He felt the world start to slip, bleeding away at the edges-

“Stede?”

Stede gasped as he opened his eyes. He was used to the sight of Ed in bed with him becoming the new most beautiful thing he’d ever seen every morning, but this was on a whole new level.

The Ed that crawled into bed with him had big, adorable, soft-looking gray kitty ears, and a long, fluffy tail that curled up into a curious hook, and his movements jingled with the bell on his collar. Stede’s heart absolutely melted at his big, adorable eyes, and the way his ears were slightly folded back with concern.

“You can’t leave me,” Ed pouted, curling up into Stede’s side, fingers starting to knead nervous biscuits into Stede’s chest. “I love you, I need you! I’d be so sad without you!”

Stede reached out to touch his adorable, soft ears, and Ed headbutted his hand, leaning into the contact with a cute little mrrp?

“Please don’t go,” Ed said, leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek cutely against Stede’s shoulder, the bell on his collar jangling. “You promised you’d never leave me again.”

Stede had promised him that. It would be an absolute dick move, to abandon his boyfriend when they’d only been living together for a couple months. Stede Bonnet, taken out by a little head cold? Ha! If his throat wasn’t so sore, he’d laugh at the thought.

“Please come back to me.” Ed pressed his nose under Stede’s jaw, purring softly, an adorable little noise. His fluffy tail thrashed anxiously over the covers. “We’ll keep each other safe. We promised each other, didn't we? I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I can’t lose you.”

Stede took a deep, rallying breath, and he tried to sit up. All he really managed was a groan in the back of his throat and a twitch of his hand.

“Yes!” Ed’s ears pricked forward with excitement, his eyes getting somehow even bigger and more adorable. “You can do it, babe, c’mon! Fight it! You’ve got this!”

Stede thought he might be able to manage a word. “Ed,” he groaned.

“That’s it!” Ed wiggled happily, pushing his head against Stede’s shoulder before doing this sort of adorable stretch onto his back, his shirt riding up to show off his adorable, soft tummy. As usual, the sight made Stede want to brush his fingers adoringly through his happy trail, bite gently at the soft skin there to make Ed squirm and giggle…

He couldn’t be finished. He wasn’t going to die before burying his face in Ed’s tummy one last time.

With a prodigious effort, Stede opened his eyes.

That was a little strange. He’d thought his eyes were already open, but when he opened them again, the cat-Ed in his lap was gone, and their bedroom felt more real than it had just a few moments ago. He could feel the soft quilt under his fingers, and as he sat up, the cloth that had been placed on his forehead, which had long since stopped being so pleasantly cool against his skin, kind of flopped down into his eyes.

And…there. Stede’s entire body relaxed when he realized Ed was still with him, asleep in a chair at his bedside. He’d fallen over so his head was resting on Stede’s thigh, his soft snores like a cute little purr.

Stede reached down to pet Ed’s hair. “Ed?”

“Mm - Stede?” Ed rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles as he sat up, starting to smile at him automatically before the realization hit. Shit - Stede! How do you feel?”

Stede let Ed press the back of his hand to his forehead. “Pretty great, actually.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ed groaned in relief, climbing into bed next to him so he could hold his face and pepper his cheeks with kisses until Stede was laughing. “You were so warm, and I couldn’t get your fever down, and I didn’t know what to do-”

“It’s alright.” Stede held Ed’s hand to his chest, letting him feel the steady beat of his heart. “You saved my life, I think.”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Stede sighed in fond reminiscence. “I was thinking about how I felt like absolute shit, and then you just appeared to me.”

“Woah,” Ed breathed. “Like a mermaid? What color were my scales?”

“More like a cat,” Stede said, scritching at Ed’s beard, smirking at the way Ed’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into it. Still very catlike, really. “You were so cute. You had these big soft ears, and a cute fluffy tail, and I knew why I had to stay alive.”

Ed humored him. “Why’s that?”

“So I could do this.” Stede lunged forward, gently pushing Ed over so he could press his face into his soft, adorable tummy. Oh, yeah. The world felt right again.

Ed snorted, wrapping his arms around Stede to hold him close. “Never change, Stede.”

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fics

[bidisasterevankinard]

for the prompts can you do 1 and 8 I feel like they fit so good together

Nonnie, it's a little got way from me (1211 words) because I have strong Tommy feels so. here you are(I know it's not just fluff and I'm so sorry)

Sometimes there are days Tommy just doesn’t want to get up from the bed. It can be simply because he is exhausted after a long and hard shift or because it’s rainy, and cool wind, which walks all around, makes his bones and old wounds ache.  Those days are pretty easy to get through. Just take it easy, take painkillers, make sure you’re warm and watch Love, Actually in bed with cocoa. Simple and comfy.

But they're also days when he can’t get out of bed, not because of a little pain, or at least it’s not because of physical pain. There are days in his life when his head attacks him with memories of the army, or bad calls, or all the years he was looking for someone to love him, and, most importantly, for a reason to love himself. Because there were more than enough days he was rough, rude and just simply awful to himself. And all this darkness around him forever found a place in his heart and head, mainly staying low, being overpowered by his self-growth and reasons he founds to love himself anyway, by hanging outs with Eddie, sometimes with Chim and even Hen, and of course, by dates and smiles of Evan. 

Evan, this adorable dork, found the way to give him the sun to light his life enough that darkness is scared to get out. But it still is waiting for the moment when he will be too distracted and unprotected to hit again. 

Like today.

Yesterday was … a lot. He accidentally met his mother on the market where he went to get some good groceries for the meal he was planning to cook for Evan to make him feel good after the shift. The literal bumping into each other near the vegetables quickly became a screaming match, mostly from his mother’s part, because Tommy way long before stopped to try to to prove that just because he likes men, doesn't mean he's a bad person, or son, or chose the wrong way.  Eventually, he just ran away from there.

Then the dish he tried to make burned because he was too distracted crying in his bathroom. He had to order take out.

And then Evan texted him that he couldn't come tonight because they had a long and hard call, and the only thing he wanted was to fall into his bed.They changed plans from a little dinner together yesterday to spending all day together today. 

Yesterday ended as awful as it was all day. The nightmare of one of his close calls made him sleep badly after, turning half the night in his bed, trying to get the best position for sleeping, but not succeeding for more than two hours. 

So, here he is, miserable and alone in his bed, looking at the clock which shows him that Evan will be here in less than five minutes, but he is still in his bed, in his the most comfy, but really old hoodie and boxers. 

Tommy kind of wishes Evan would text him now and rain check again, not wanting to drag the man into his mess, but of course as he thinks about this, Evan opens the door.

“Hey, sleepy beauty, I brought us coffee and your favorite burgers from this cafe you like so much,” Evan’s voice, as always sunny as his face and smile, spreads throughout the small house.

The sound of the sneakers being taken off, then steps to the, as Tommy suspects kitchen, as next he hears sounds of the plates taken out. Next he hears footsteps again and then his bedroom’s door is open, to reveal his boyfriend in his dark skin jeans and burgundy hoodie, Tommy pretty sure Evan was wearing during the tour. 

“Hey,” Evan smiles at him, putting plates and coffee on his nightstand, and sits down near his face, putting his hand to stroke his hair.

Tommy will never admit he melts into the touch. But he melts and ready to purr like a kitten being pet.

“Are you having a blanket burrito day?”

“Blanket burrito day?”

“Yeah. I call the bad days, when I can’t get out of the bed because of my leg or  because of bad mood, or both,  ‘blanket burrito day’,” Evan kisses his forehead. “Are you having this today or you just want me to jump into your bed?” his boyfriend smirks and winks at him and Tommy smiles a little too.

He knows he can joke about that. Say that yes, it was his way to get Evan into his bed and maybe make out or even something more, but he doesn’t want something like that.

He needs someone to hold him. Just hold him and show him he’s not alone and it will get better.

“Can you hug me?” Tommy doesn't like how small his voice sounds and he hates how quick he folded looking at his boyfriend who with one glance knew he was having a bad day. “If-if it’s ok.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course it’s ok. I love cuddles,” Evan smiles at him, taking his jeans off and lying down behind him, putting his hands around his waist.

He makes sure Tommy can feel himself touching every part of Evan’s big body behind him and Tommy wants to cry from the feeling of being safe. Protected. Loved.

They stay like that for half an hour, not talking and Tommy breaks the silence, needing to know.

“You don’t ask questions. Why am I having a bad day? What happened?,” Tommy plays with Evan’s fingers on his waist, “Or you are not even trying to tell me to stop. You aren’t telling me to male up,” he whispers it but in silence and with how close they are he knows Evan hears him.

Hands on his waist only squeeze tighter and then he feels a careful little kiss on his neck.

“We all have bad days. Especially on our job, with everything we saw. It’s normal to have them and you deserve to let yourself be sad if you feel it without trying to move on. You deserve someone to take care of you. And the reason for your bad mood isn’t so important for me to find out, if you don’t want to talk right now. You can do it on your time. Just,” Evan turns them so he can look him in the eyes. Blue to blue. “Don’t push me away. I want to be here, with you not just on good days. I want bad days too. Because you can’t live without them. But,” Evan smiles at him and kisses him so chaste Tommy wants to cry, “you can be not alone. Especially on bad days. You can share the pain with your person, making the burden easy to bear.”

Tommy just nods and lets himself get comfortable in Evan’s hands, feeling how slumber takes over him because the warmth from Evan and his breath lull him into sleep.

“I’ll tell you after the sleep,” Tommy mumbles before falling asleep.

“Take your time, baby,” Tommy feels the kiss on his shoulder, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tommy knows it’s not the promise only about today.

read on ao3

prompts

#my fics #evan buckley #911 #evan buck buckley #911 abc #tommy kinard #tuck #bucktommy #tevan #kinkley #911 on abc #bucktommy fic #buck x tommy #buck buckley #9 1 1 #evan buck buckely #911 show

[dipplinduo]

Fun fact about me: April 18th is my birthday! :)

And part of what I wanted to do to celebrate this year was to give back. Introducing * ~ a dipplinshipping birthday oneshot ~ * :

Rating: T

Summary:

Today was Kieran's birthday, but it was the last thing that mattered to him. In fact, he vowed it would never matter to him again. Instead, he would focus on things that would keep him strong: his battling, his strategizing, and his crown as the Blueberry Champion. His sister and the Elite Four won't stop asking him random questions, though, and if anyone brings up Juliana any more than they already have since she arrived as an exchange student, he's seriously going to lose it. But...why can't he stop thinking about her? And why is everyone acting so suspicious?!

A bittersweet birthday celebration fic for anyone who's had complicated feelings about their birthday. <3

Take this as a thank you to all of those who have followed my work and/or my Tumblr blog. I wouldn't have imagined having the support of this wonderful community on my last birthday, and I can't even begin to describe how encouraged and inspired I have felt to write since finding you guys. I have never written this much for this long, consistently, and your constant feedback and comments seriously brighten my day more than Juliana brightens up Kieran, LOL. Hope you enjoy this! <333

(And yeah, this fic is the "event based idea" that this poll was about. I thought it was so funny that some of you thought it was gonna be some devastating angst LMAOOOO. That's for after TTPD releases, tysm for the bday gift Taylor.)

#I legit was gonna go a bit of a wholesome route for S&S D but y'all said “nah” so I said “bet” and wrote Chapter 18™ instead #anyways #on a real note #seriously tysm for all the love & kind words & support #I hope this brings you some of the happiness you all constantly bring me #<3333 #my fics #dipplinshipping #kieran pokemon #kieran x juliana pokemon #juliana x kieran pokemon #kieran x juliana #juliana pokemon #juliana x kieran #I had fun with some references see if you can spot 'em all #now Im gonna run to bed #I have a busy day ahead of meeee #bye for now!! <3 #also yes I did lowkey contemplate teal mask Kieran instead #but my bias is allowed for today LMAO #what can I say #indigo disk Kieran is just elite #plus its fun to have the rest of the blueberry squad there #oKAY NOW IM SIGNING OFF BYEEEE #wouldnt be a dipplinduo post without me going back to edit tags #catch me editing typos later too lmfao #yes TTPD release technically falls on my bday in the time zone im currently in #will never ever shut up about that

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

I am SO curious about the SQH Burnout Fic 🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️ i beg <333

i have a bad habit of writing a new sickfic to cope every time i feel unwell 😂 this one is SQH gets anxious about the future, overworks himself, and gets pneumonia. excerpt from near the end of the fic, which i wrote first for some reason?

Shang Qinghua isn’t sure what makes him aware of the change in the room. A shift in the air, a sound, maybe just the slightest drop in temperature. He blinks, sleepy and bleary, at the pages of the novel he was failing to read, feeling warm and syrupy from whatever was in the medicine Mu Qingfang was dosing him with. “My king?” Mobei-jun steps from the shadows silently, and comes to sit at the edge of his bed. He’s dressed down, unarmored— just soft silk robes and simple boots, no weapons or jewelry save a pendant around his neck. Shang Qinghua recognizes it as one he gave his king when he was still a disciple, some ridiculous one-of-a-kind protection artifact that he’d known to snatch out of a crumbling temple thanks to special author knowledge, about forty years before it was going to become plot relevant. He hadn’t realizes that Mobei-jun still had it. Had he been wearing it all this time? Mobei-jun’s cold claw-tips brush through his bangs. “Shang Qinghua,” he says, rumbling and familiar. Shang Qinghua blinks up at him. “My king,” he repeats. And, suddenly struck by the memory of exactly what position(s?) the king of the Northern Desert last saw him in, feels his face heat in a way that has nothing to do with any lingering fever. “My king! I’m so—” Mobei-jun halts him with a raised hand. “You are recovering?” “Yes, my king,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m doing much better already.” “Good.” Mobei-jun pulls over the chair that Shen Qingqiu was sitting in earlier. The sight of his hulking form dragging over and delicately maneuvering into the small chair sparks something warmer than amusement in Shang Qinghua’s chest. “This king… must apologize.” Shang Qinghua’s gaze jerks up. “W-what?” “You were sick. Humans are weakened by the cold. I allowed you to stay and work in the North anyways, and missed the signs of your ill health. Qinghua could have died.” “But I didn’t. I wouldn’t have! My king, I was just sick, it wasn’t… as bad as all that. I’m a cultivator, it takes more than some cold weather to take me out.” He gives an awkward laugh. “It does take more than the cold. Qinghua was overworking himself, and was hiding from this king.” “But I overwork myself all the time,” Shang Qinghua says, the words coming out more earnestly than he means them to. He drops the book and wraps his arms around himself, looking away. “I’ve been working like this since I was a disciple. I don’t understand what’s changed. I should have just felt bad for a little bit and then dealt with it and gotten better. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal.” “I am sorry,” Mobei-jun repeats. He runs his fingers through Shang Qinghua’s loose hair again, and Shang Qinghua leans tiredly into the touch. “I… regret. The part I played in not allowing Qinghua to rest. Then, and now.” Shang Qinghua’s face feels hot. He scrubs at his eyes, the feeling only intensifying as Mobei-jun continues to run his cold hands through his hair, his claws pleasantly scraping against his scalp, the touch comforting. “It’s fine, my king,” he says. “It is not. But I will endeavor not to make the same mistake again.” Shang Qinghua leans miserably into Mobei-jun’s cool touch.

#listen.... comfort genre #if im suffering i make my favs suffer #svsss #thank u sm for the ask :)) #scum villain #sqh #mbj #moshang #shang qinghua #mobei jun #scum villain's self saving system #svsss fic #burywrites.pdf #buryspeaks.mp3 #my writing #my fics #classic bury writing mbj sadly teleporting into sqh's room moment

[calaisreno]

My Fics: Time Travel

A year ago, I was still posting The Traveller, my longest time-travel story.

In that story (103k words), Sherlock travels back from 2050 to 2010 to make sure Moriarty dies and doesn't go on to cause the apocalypse, as the Ministry of Time has predicted. A lonely mission, but he isn't alone. His uncle Mycroft, whom he remembers as an old man, is still young, working in a government office few people ever visit, or even know about. Sherlock will report to him. And then there's the ex-army doctor who saves his life. Sherlock may have been briefed on the rules of his mission, but that doesn't mean his heart won't belong to John Watson.

As Mrs Hudson advises him: "You are the one in the moment, making the choice to play each decision point in a certain way. They chose you because they trust you to improvise, to use your judgement in the moment, even your biases. If they wanted a technician, they would not have given you this kind of freedom."

Go ahead and fall in love, Sherlock. John Watson will always save you.

Feeling a bit of nostalgia for that story. (And endless thanks to @keirgreeneyes for her beta work 💕)

Now that I've written eight stories 😮 featuring time travel, and don't see any end to my obsession with it, I've finally decided to make a series of them on AO3. (See link above.) Eight stories for now, more to come!

My parallel world stories can be found in my Off-Axis Series. My WIP Déjà Vu will belong to that one when complete.

As always, thank you for reading! ❤️

#my fics #johnlock #bbc sherlock #time travel #the traveller

[cryptid-ghoulette]

You can always reach me

Some days rain really struggles, but luckily phantom is there to help

(shout out to @sister-nyx for giving me the push to finish this!)

WC - 683

Includes - rain dealing with chronic pain, very mildly injured phantom, but very much fluff with a happy ending.

Rain slumped face-first onto the couch, ignoring the others who were sitting at the dining table. He was too tired to hear anything they might have been saying. His head pounded, and the sound of blood rushing in his ears was deafening and ceaseless. He didn’t even care that he could barely breathe with his face smooshed into the musty couch, and even if he did care, he was pretty sure none of his limbs would respond.

He wondered if this was the time he wouldn’t be able to get back up, if this was the moment his body finally just gave up, leaving him stuck inside his own head, permanently part of the couch until someone came and peeled him off it, like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe.

Eventually, he felt a hand tousle his hair, and a familiar voice said far too cheerily, “Hey, let me join this pity party,” followed by the weight of someone directly on his back, curling into a ball, purring loudly into the crook of his neck.

Of course, it was Phantom. The youngest of the ghouls and by far the sweetest. “Hey bug, comfy?” Rain joked, his voice a little muffled by the couch.

Phantom let out a soft giggle, gently lifting one of Rain's arms. “Yep, very. You okay, Rain? You feel even more floppy than usual,” he said, letting the arm fall back onto the couch with a dull thud.

“Just a bad pain day, nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry about me, Ant,” he said, still face-down in the couch, trying his hardest to hide just how tired and sore he really was. He knew Phantom would see right through him, though. The kid had a sixth sense for lies, especially when Rain was the one telling them.

“Well… if it makes you feel any better,” Phantom started to say, moving off Rain and back onto the couch, Rain rolling onto his side. “I got this earlier today falling down the stairs coming back from Mountain’s room. Tripped over my own tail,” he said, pulling up his pant leg to reveal a large bruise trailing along the side of his knee, already starting to turn a deep, angry purple.

Rain winced. “Ouch, Bug. You do know you control your tail, yeah?” Phantom rolled his eyes. “Ha ha, very funny. Do you want my help or not?” Rain chuckled softly, nodding his head and rolling back onto his stomach with a groan, letting his body settle back into the dent in the couch.

The small quint took his place on Rain's back again, curling up tightly, purring louder, letting the vibrations rumble through Rain’s body, a warmth slowly spreading, and he could feel his body relaxing, sinking further into the couch (if he couldn’t move before, now it was probably worse, but for the best reasons).

There’s something about Phantom’s purrs that is magical. Rain knows it’s probably the quintessence, but the soft hum settles into his very bones, warming him from the inside out, loosening all the knots and tangles of muscle and sinew.

This little exchange has become an unspoken agreement between the two of them, both knowing more than most what it's like to have a body that is more often than not aching in some way or another, even if for two entirely different reasons. Rain's pain is more chronic, something he can't control, while Phantom’s is mostly out of clumsiness and his seeming inability to fully control his own tail. Either way, the two of them have bonded in mutual agony, with Rain quick to share any heat packs, band-aids, and some of Mountain’s special teas, and Phantom always happy to help with some purrs and a little quintessence.

Eventually, the rest of the pack spotted the two on the couch; by then, both were sound asleep. Phantom continued to purr on Rain's back, while Rain quietly purred into the couch. It wasn’t long before Mountain fetched a blanket, draping it gently over Phantom and Rain without disturbing their peaceful slumber, both completely at ease.

#the band ghost #rain ghoul #phantom ghoul #cryptidrambling #my fics

[gaiaseyes451]

A Little Life - Chapter 7 - Clarity

Rated: E, Words ~49k/~71k. 7/12 Chapters. Read the tags!

Chapter Excerpt (Read on AO3):

A chime rang to signal the lift’s arrival on the third story of the physician’s offices in the medical complex. Ezra laced their fingers together as they stepped out into the bright white hallway. They had always hated hospitals. The gleaming white floors were harsh and sterile rather than bright and buoying. Mass-produced paintings and photographs were deliberately spaced, displaying soulless images carefully selected to be neutral and calming, celebratory or conciliatory depending on the emotions of the viewer. Anthony wondered if hospitals and hotels purchased their artwork from the same supplier.

Even the floor-to-ceiling windows, intended to make the space feel more uplifting, managed somehow to filter out all of the warmth and comfort from the sunlight through their thick, industrial-strength, practical glass. Plastic and pleather chairs in too-dull-to-be-teal-but-too-bright-to-be-gray and mauve squeaked no matter how still he sat, no matter how carefully he shifted. He always worried he’d disturb someone’s grief if he perked up with joy, or mar someone’s joy as he sank into grief.

He wondered which way it would go for him and Ezra today.

*~*~*

Summary:

When Professor of Botany Anthony Crowley met bookshop owner Ezra Fell one November afternoon both knew their lives had irrevocably changed. From that moment forward, Anthony and Ezra’s existence was intertwined. Their story was written in the moments and memories they created as they moved through life’s chapters of coming together, building a family and facing the challenges of being human. This is a story of unconditional love and the joy and humour, obstacles and grief that inevitably come with choosing the same person, day after day, over and over and over again.

*~*~*

A huge thanks to @goodomensafterdark for the writers community. And an extra special thanks to @hakunahistata and @the-literal-kj for beta'ing this story. Finally, a huge thanks to @fuzzygoblin for the song prompt that inspired this work.

#mind the tags #good omens #good omens fanfic #human au #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #good omens fic #my fic writing #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #my fics #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing #best beta's ever! #good omens after dark

[thebest-medicine]

Day 17: Interrogation

Tickletober 2023 - Critical Role - Campaign 2 Mighty Nein - lee!Caleb 

[see my other tickletober 2023 fics]

A/N: [continuation of day 10] Beau is determined to get Caleb to sing like a bird, even though she already knows the song. 

[ao3 link]

Words: 1.4k

—

“Ah, wait, Beauregard, there’s no need for—”

“Shut up, ya little shit. I know this was you. It has been for weeks now.” Her glare morphed swiftly into a smirk. “And I know just how to get you to fess up.”

“Wait—” Caleb stammered as he backed up toward her bed, cheeks lit up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about— please.”

“Wanna talk now, make it a little easier on yourself?” 

Caleb was stubborn, they both knew it. Beau stared at him for a few long seconds, waiting. 

He stayed silent.

Then, she shrugged, still smiling. “No, of course not. I figured. Don’t worry, they all talk eventually.” 

She cracked her knuckles, the sound causing Caleb’s eyes to flick down to her hands. He swallowed, his legs meeting the foot of her bed. Shit. 

“Now then.”

“Wait- please, I—” Caleb implored her, eyes wide. “I didn’t even do anything!” 

“Bullshit.” She pushed him gently but firm onto the bed. He stared up at her like a caught rabbit, heart hammering in his chest. She almost felt bad for everything she was about to put him through. Almost. 

 It was easier than breathing to maneuver the wet mop of a wizard around on the mattress. She straddled his waist, crushing both hands to his sides with her thighs. Caleb put up a good show of squirming, but it wasn’t what anyone could truly call a fight. Beau loomed over him, her fuming annoyance from earlier already melting away easily to play. But, she had to keep up the charade. 

And besides, she was curious to know how this tickle magic shit worked.

Caleb scrunched up under her, wincing as hands drew nearer. He bit his lip, shaking his head. 

“Telllllll me. Or this is gonna get a lot woo-oorse.” Beau explained in a sing-song tease that seemed to derive from the mouth of a tiefling. 

Caleb shut his eyes as he flinched hard just as Beauregard’s fingers touched down on his stomach, unmoving but steady. He took a shaky breath, making a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.

“What, you’ve moved on from denial to the silent treatment? We’ll see how long that lasts.” Beau snickered. “Let’s get you talkin’.”

Deadly, accurate, precise, and fast — so fucking fast. Beau’s damned fingers scribbled wild patterns and shapes lightly all over Caleb’s midriff. They traced along his belly and wiggled into the negligible space his sides and his arms. They prodded a few times at his lowest ribs and poked at his hips. Caleb wheezed, barely holding in a shout. He couldn’t help but snicker madly into his shoulder where he tried his best to hide. She started tickling quicker, pinching here and there too. Soon Caleb lost his battle and the room lit up with his laughter. 

Beau laughed along triumphantly. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Maybe I need to go up a little higher?” She poked along his short ribs and he squealed.

“Nohohoho!” Caleb protested through frantic laughter. “Beahahaahau! Don’t- dohohohon’t!” 

“Such a way with words. Care to tell me more about what you were up to in the store, then?” 

“Neihihihin, plehease!” 

“Well now. You’re just begging me to go for the ribs, then, you know.” 

“Nohohohoho!” 

“Yeeeeees!” Beau teased right back. She began the crawl, moving up from his lowest ribs slow and deliberate. 

Caleb buckled, his legs kicking out as his head shook in protest. Not fucking there. “Wahahahait! Bitte, dohohon’t! PleheasEE NOHOHO—” He pulled his elbows in as closely as he could for protection. 

Beau grunted in frustration, and through his cackling Caleb picked up her saying. “—stupid lanky arms in the way.” 

A welcome respite came not a moment later when Beau took her hands away, and then she lifted her weight off of him. Caleb heaved a few breaths, unsure if it was over. When Beau looked back at him, though, and tugged one arm out before resecuring him in place, he knew it wasn’t. 

“Wait, Beau no! Don’t!” Caleb cried, wiggling his arm frantically in an attempt to pull free of her iron grip. 

Beau ignored him, moving his arm up and pinning it over his head with ease. Caleb practically whimpered under her, eyes big and scared like a lost puppy. “Look, man, you know what I wanna know. You don’t have to put yourself through all this.” Beau insisted. She wiggled her fingers toward his armpit to make him jump. 

Caleb was the one to grunt frustratedly this time. He knew there was an out. And he knew Beau was as stubborn as he was. This was only going to end one way. Yet here he was, thinking instead of talking.

“Alright, you were warned.” Beau smirked and instead of returning to the crawl up his side and ribs, she started up at his wrist and marched her fingers down his arm. She already had him squirming by the elbow. He was trying to twist and wriggle away inches before she made it to his armpit. Caleb howled with laughter and frantic giggles as she scribbled in place for a while until he went from red to pink. Going for the kill, Beau tickled a bit lower, pinching and scratching at his ribs with nimble fingers. 

Caleb was shouting with laughter, his voice wheezing and hoarse. His eyes welled up with tears that splashed in tiny pitters from the edges of his lashes. He couldn’t fight her off. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t take that fucking spot. Why did he have to be so damn sensitive on top of being so damn weak? Caleb tried to say something when Beau started digging her knuckles in to the tops of his ribs and Caleb shrieked. 

A few moments longer, and Beau stopped, watching him catch his breath with an expectant look in her eye. Eventually, she prompted him, “well?” 

“I- I, well, first of all, I hate you.” Caleb laughed shakily. 

Beau made a grab for his rib cage again and Caleb yelped. 

“Fine! Fine, ja, it was me. I’m sorry!” Caleb’s tickled-out grin added a comical look of insincerity to the apology. 

“I told you, I know it was.” Beau huffed. “I wanna know how you did it.” 

“It’s- it’s a spell.” Caleb explained, still giggling through his words. “Nothing of my own making, a relatively common spell — Unseen Servant. It can be used for lots of things, tasks, and whatever you ask really.”

“So it’s not a tickle spell?” 

Caleb laughed at that, blushing more. “No, no that is simply one of many uses.” 

“….Can Jester learn it, do you think?” 

Caleb and Beau stared at one another, a look of worry on their faces before bursting into laughter. 

“Alright. Well. I’m not gonna tell everyone yet.” Beau narrowed her eyes. “You gotta help me get Yasha with it though.” She winked.

Caleb nodded, and finally his hand was released.

Beau slide off to the side of him and patted his cheek, letting his noodle arms flail weakly back to cover his sides and wipe away the residual tingles of sensation. 

He flinched when she moved to try to help him sit up, and she laughed. “Relax, I’m done.” She nudged him. “For now.”

Caleb crumpled in on himself in relief, a tiny sound slipping from him involuntarily that made Beau laugh even harder.

“Bold move, provoking us like that.. Secret’s safe with me for now but I’m not helping you whenever someone else figures it out. You’re gonna get yourself into trouble if you keep using it to set people after Fjord.” Beau raised her eyebrows with a smirk. “And when Jester figures it out.” 

Caleb swallowed nervously. “Well, as I said it’s, it’s not just a spell for… that. It can be used for all sorts of tasks. I think I should stick to those for a while.” He continued, answering a few questions Beau posed on the parameters of the magic.

“Sounds like a cool utility spell — I’m impressed.” She punched his shoulder as lightly as she could manage. He still flinched. “Why’d you even think to use it on us like that though? Had to know we’d figure it out eventually.”

“Perhaps I- perhaps I just wanted a chance to participate in your shenanigans without being constantly victimized.” 

“Mmmm, and how’s that working out for you, buddy?” 

Caleb laughed, letting his head lull back against the floor. “Ja…not so great.” 

#tickletober23 #tickletober 2023 #ticklish!caleb #tickle fic #critickle role #tickling #empire siblings #beauregard lionett #Caleb widogast #tickletober #day 17: interrogation #tickletober 6 months later #interrogation #tickle interrogation #tickles #pinned #i forgot about Beau’s above bed mirror until I finished writing this and I’m like #do I go back and completely add another layer of embarrassment to poor Caleb #no bc she would have to pull the string or whatever to reveal it and she was busy tickling Caleb to bits #Beau and Caleb both being terrified of jester learning a spell that can be used for tickling hdhjfjggkkhh #besties #ticklish #mine #my fic #my fics #writings

[munsonkitten]

you're the only place that feels like home

by deadratz

sub Eddie week day 3: Brat Eddie

explicit | 9.2k words | read on AO3

tags: daddy kink, sub Eddie, brat Eddie, dom Steve, spanking, butt plugs, Eddie in a dress, lingerie, rockstar Eddie, road crew Steve, possessive Steve, top Steve, bottom Eddie, anal sex, post-canon, flight of icarus compliant

summary:

Eddie belongs to the crowd right now.

The crowd belongs to Eddie.

Steve just needs to wait, watch as his boyfriend acts like a slut for nearly twenty thousand people, watch as Eddie soars, his fingers dancing on his guitar, as he wails into his microphone.

He watches from his spot side stage, and he waits. He waits until the moment he needs to reclaim Eddie, and not a moment later.

-

Corroded Coffin are at the top of the world. Eddie needs Steve to bring him back down.

#steddie #my fics #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve/eddie #steddie fic #stranger things #subeddieweek

[janetbrown711]

Melatonin

Louie can't sleep after an adventure gone wrong, his mother's words echoing in his head like the worst worst record, and so he seeks solace with his dear old Uncle Donald.

Ao3 Link

Louie was tired, which wasn’t surprising for 2:17 in the morning. It had also been a long, long day of adventuring and he had been grateful when he finally was able to throw himself on his bunk bed.

Unfortunately though, Louie couldn’t sleep.

His back and legs ached something fierce from all of the above-average amounts of running and walking and climbing he had to do, and there was this weight on his chest that caused his heart to pound, keeping his eyes and mind on alert.

Insomnia was nothing new for the youngest duck brother, of course, but that didn’t make it any less annoying (especially with Dewey’s tendency to snore). He’d normally just go on his phone and scroll through social media until his eyes decided to close, but it didn’t feel right tonight. No, his feed was too full of Webby and Dewey’s photos of their adventure. Photos of Scrooge, Huey, and Della were on every post, with Louie having to swipe through to find any with him in them.

That wasn’t their fault though, Louie really hadn’t been in the mood today for hiking mountains and fighting bears and bear-like monsters to find some mystic honey stirrer. The photos of him were blurry and embarrassing, unlike the usual where he’d at least pose with the treasure or he and Webby had some kind of fun side quest.

A chill ran through Louie that made him sit up and sigh, rubbing the bandages around one of his hands as he tried to think of what to do.

He could go to the kitchen and if Duckworth wasn’t too busy ghost-sleeping, he could make him some tea..? No, no, Louie hated tea more than Scrooge hated to waste it. Something else then… like watching YouTube? No, his feed was overrun with videos about Doofus Drake and Scrooge McDuck sightings and hustler videos that Louie really didn’t have an interest in (at least… not right now). He could try counting sheep, but– but there was something else on his mind playing on repeat instead.

“C’mon Louie, it’s just one more mile, don’t get lazy on me now.” His mother smiled at him, hands on her hips and a bouncy energy that just made him even more tired by the second.

“Yeah, Louie! C’mon, it’ll be totally cool to see the top of the mountain,” Huey encouraged too.

“If I don’t die before then,” Louie panted, leaning back against a tree.

Della tsked and rolled her eyes. “You sound just like your uncle, you know that?”

Louie perked up at that, but before he could say anything, Dewey punched him in the arm as he and Webby sped by.

“See ya later, slowpokes!” he called out mockingly as Webby made a face.

“Hey! We’re supposed to be on the lookout for bears, you two!” Della laughed and hurried to go join them.

“Hey–! Wait for us!” Huey shouted and started scurrying off too, and Louie had no choice but to follow.

…Louie didn’t know why his mind was focusing on it– it wasn’t a big deal, really. They all made it eventually, even if Louie missed the “big reveal” and family photo op. They had hundreds of those, Louie being gone from one or two or however many at this point wasn’t a big deal. He was the lazy one, after all. Consequences, simple as that.

“If you want to be part of this family, you got to–”

Louie shot up and out of bed, startled by his own memory as the pounding in his chest only increased.

“It’s just a stupid memory, Louie. Just shut up and go back to sleep,” he muttered to himself before checking if he’d awoken his brothers. Thankfully, the answer was no, so Louie was left to… well, as much as he wanted to, he was in no condition to go back to bed. He was still stuck in “fight or flight” mode, so he needed to walk around– maybe to find some melatonin.

As good as that sounded though, he knew the numerous bathrooms barely even had toilet paper, much less medications due to how stingy Scrooge was. If there was melatonin to be found, it probably expired in 1986 and probably had a nightmare shadow creature trapped inside for extra measure.

Then again, Uncle Donald always kept his melatonin and other vitamins stocked, so maybe Louie could just go to the houseboat to check? Hopefully he could do so without waking his uncle, but if he caught him, it wasn’t like he’d get in trouble.

Louie bit his cheek, finding his phone and unplugging it to check the time, annoyed but not surprised it had only been two minutes. With a sigh, Louie put his phone in his pajama pocket, and quietly crept out of his room into the halls of the manor.

Nights like these always made the mansion feel haunted– more than by Duckworth, anyways. His uncle was crazy old and so was his choice in curtains and decoration. While Duckworth and Beakley kept dust away, the moonlight had this uncanny way of pointing out every crack and crevice that was previously unknown. Plus, the quiet made the creaking wood and pipes a lot more noticeable, and with Louie, being in the state that he was, picked up the pace to avoid it as much as possible.

Thankfully, the courtyard wasn’t too hard to get to and soon, Louie was back sneaking his way on the houseboat like it was nothing.

While it took a second to get used to, the familiar sway and creaking of the houseboat was comforting for the young duck, and he couldn’t help but smile as he made his way to the bathroom’s medicine cabinet for raiding.

In there, he found a half empty bottle of aspirin, a thing of tums, an empty paper cup, some mouthwash, but no sign of any melatonin.

“Well… frick,” Louie muttered to himself, closing the mirror and nearly jumping out of his skin when he heard footsteps just outside.

“Hello?” called out the tired and scratchy voice of Louie’s uncle.

Busted.

“Sorry, Uncle Dee, I was just looking for some melatonin to nab.” Louie’s face was red as he flicked the light off and stepped out to the small hallway.

His uncle smiled pitifully at him. “Can’t sleep?”

Louie shook his head.

“I keep that in my room now since you three moved out.” Donald chuckled. “I can grab it for you, and I can make some tea too, if you’d like.”

Louie bit his cheek. It was getting late, but as much as Louie wanted to just take the melatonin and hope his feelings would just drown out, he couldn’t deny having a cup of sleepytime tea with his uncle would help.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Louie gave a crooked little smile, which made his uncle chuckle again and ruffle his hair before going to the kitchen. Louie followed, sliding into the circular booth and watching as his uncle pulled out the dented old kettle and filled it with water.

“Have you gotten any sleep at all?” his uncle asked, watching it fill.

Louie shook his head. “No, not really… I’m more surprised you’re awake though, I really thought it would be an easy in-and-out.”

“You’d be surprised how raising triplets and being ex-navy can affect how light you sleep.” His uncle winked and turned the water off.

Louie snorted. “I think Mom could sleep through a bombing.”

“Yeah, that’s Della all right.” Donald’s voice wavered a bit, though he quickly turned to muttering in frustration as it took a second before his stove would light. It eventually did, and once that was all settled he sighed and leaned against the counter. “So what’s keeping you up this time, Lou?”

“Oh, you know… adventure stuff, I guess,” Louie danced around the details, picking at the bandage on his hand.

His uncle’s eyes landed on it, and based on his reaction, it seemed he hadn’t noticed his injury at dinner. “Are you okay? What happened? Did Huey or Webby do the bandaging? Or was it Dewey? Not that he does a bad job, he just always forgets the Neosporin–”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, Uncle Dee– really,” Louie forced a smile. “It’s just a minor scrape, I promise.”

“You know, I’ve always told Scrooge you boys need better gloves and gear just so situations like this don’t happen.” Donald shook his head and left the kitchen, muttering under his breath the whole time.

Welp. Better than a scolding to stay safer, Louie thought to himself as he closed his eyes for a second.

When he opened them again, his uncle was back with a first aid kit and a bottle of melatonin.

“Here, let me look at it,” Donald asked, taking a seat next to Louie.

“It’s fine, Uncle Donald,” Louie tried to assure him, but his uncle didn’t relent, taking his hand and quickly unwrapping the bandage.

His uncle frowned, inspecting it. “This doesn’t look like a regular scrape. What happened?”

“It was just a sharp rock, I swear.” Louie looked away to try and mask the lie.

Donald didn’t seem to believe it, but focused his efforts more on adding some neosporin to his cut before finding a suitable gauze pad, bringing Louie momentarily relief.

“Who wrapped this the first time? And how long was it between hurting yourself and getting bandaged?” Donald interrogated.

“Dewey when we got back to the plane, I guess– it’s really not a big deal, Uncle Donald, I’m fine,” Louie tried to push, but he could see Donald’s eye twitch.

“No one had a first aid kit? Not even Huey?” Donald asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“He ran out using it on Webby and Dewey and Launchpad.” Louie shrugged. “Seemed only fair to let them have it this time anyways, since I’m usually the one taking all the supplies.”

Donald frowned, now taking the roller bandage and wrapping his wrist twice before going diagonally to the outside of his pinky. “I don’t like you thinking like that; your safety and health matters just as much as anyone else’s– even if you’ve got worse luck and tire out quicker.”

“Sure,” Louie sighed, looking at the kettle and seeing the steam starting to escape, a squeal imminent.

“I’m serious, Louie. I don’t want you talking like that. You deserve as much love and care as anyone else.” His uncle looked at him seriously, but the ten-year-old avoided eye contact.

Donald frowned, finishing the bandaging just as the kettle began to squeal and put a brief pause to go deal with that.

“If you want a place in this family–”

Stop. Just stop, Louie hissed in his mind. He hated that stupid video and that stupid memory. It was so long ago, there really wasn’t a point for it to be on repeat like it was. Yeah, his mom joked that if he hadn’t been so clumsy on the last adventure then Huey wouldn’t have ran out of bandages, but like… that was different. Louie was fine. It was fine. It was cool.

“So are you going to actually tell me how you hurt yourself, or are you going to keep me guessing all night?” Donald sighed, pouring the hot water into two mugs.

“It was a sharp rock, I promise.” Louie bit his cheek.

“Right.” His uncle’s shoulders sagged, before he shook his head and set the kettle down. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Adventures are hard sometimes, I get it– plus, I know I can be a little protective–”

Louie laughed.

Donald rolled his eyes. “Okay, maybe more than a little protective, but you know… someone’s gotta.”

Louie’s smile faded and his eyes went back to his hands.

His uncle hummed in amusement as he got the tea bags and began brewing before returning with mugs in hand to the booth. “I’m sorry today was rough. I wish I could’ve been there.”

Louie waved his hand. “You would’ve gotten hurt a lot more than me.”

“Yeah, but at least Della knows to carry three extra kits whenever I’m around,” Donald laughed, and a lump formed in Louie’s throat.

“Right, yeah.” Louie tried to ignore it, tapping his fingers on the glass as he urged the tea to brew faster.

When it was done, he could feel his uncle's eyes on him as he took a sip of tea, searching and scanning like they had many times before. It was how he eventually learned to detect Louie's schemes, and it never failed to make Louie feel small.

To his surprise though, instead of saying anything, Donald wrapped an arm around Louie and pulled him to his side, kissing his head and hugging him tight. It made the lump tighten and tears threaten to form, the pressure building so tight Louie might just burst.

“I love you, Louie. You know that?” his uncle whispered.

Louie could only nod.

“I love you very, very much, Lou. I care about your health and safety, and I want you to be happy more than anything else in the whole wide world, do you understand?” Donald continued.

Louie nodded again, his lower lip beginning to tremble.

His uncle hugged him tighter. “Louie, I want you to tell me what’s hurting you. You don’t have to give details– but know that nothing is too much for me, okay? I want to help you… please…”

The ‘please’ shattered Louie’s resolve. He opened his mouth to speak maybe three times, before he eventually croaked it out:

“Why… doesn’t mom… like me..?”

Donald let out a quiet gasp, filling Louie with instant regret that broke him down into a sobbing mess in an instant.

“Oh, Louie.” His uncle pulled Louie onto his lap now, hugging him tight as he rocked back and forth while the ten-year-old just buried his face in his chest.

“S-sh-she– It-it’s like– She likes H-Huey, a-and Dewey, a-and even Webby– b-but– b-but–”

“I’m so sorry, honey.” Donald hugged him a little tighter, and Louie could tell he was crying too.

“I-I keep screwing u-up– a-and it’s like– i-it’s like she ca-can’t even tell a-and she just– she hates me, Unca’ Donald, she hates me,” Louie wept.

“Della doesn’t hate you, Louie, she just doesn’t understand, I promise,” Donald tried to assure, but Louie just shook his head.

“Sh-she keeps– she keeps calling me lazy a-and she makes fun of me wh-when I fail a-and even get hurt– it hurts so much, Unca’ Donald, it hurts so much,” Louie confessed, a wave of sorrow crashing down with the realization.

“I’m so sorry, Lou…” his uncle’s voice cracked. “I wish she didn’t. I really, really wish she didn’t– but old habits die hard, I’m so sorry.”

It took Louie a moment to process what his uncle said, and when he did, he sat up a bit. “Y-you mean she does that to you too?”

Donald nodded with a sad smile. “Everyone does, but Del and Scrooge especially. I used to joke that’s the only reason they kept me around.”

Louie’s heart managed to break a second time and he practically leapt to hug his uncle. “M’so sorry, I-I never meant to– I just– I’m so sorry, Uncle Donald.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Lou. I’ve learned to accept it.” Donald rubbed his back.

“But you shouldn’t have to! I-it sucks– I hate being just a joke to them, a-and you’re so much more than that too!” Louie broke the embrace again.

“Louie, you aren’t a joke to them, I promise. You have that wonderful mind of yours that’s always so good at planning and scheming and escaping and they value that tremendously.” Donald put his hands on Louie’s shoulders.

Louie looked at the ground. “Even mom..?”

Donald gave a long sigh. “Your mom is… new to this. She doesn’t understand how you work yet and assumes you won’t take it personally, like how I would act– but that doesn’t make it right. She loves you, but she just doesn’t know how to, and I’m sorry that hurts you…”

Louie looked away, his mom’s words echoing again in his mind.

“If you want to be a part of this family, you gotta stop.”

“She… she said if I wanted to be a part of this family, I had to stop scheming– had to stop the one thing I’m good at,” Louie whispered.

He could see his uncle’s shoulders tense. “When did she say that..?”

“When you were gone after the ‘timephoon incident’.” Louie sniffled, wiping away hot tears as he stared at his mug.

Donald gave another long, heavy sigh. “I’m so sorry, Louie. I wish she understood you, I really, really do…”

“Sh-she also– I hurt my hand because she didn’t see me slipping. She didn’t help me– sh-she assumed I’d be okay, but I’m not okay– it’s not okay, Uncle Donald, it’s not.” Louie shook his head and curled up to Donald’s side, and his uncle wrapped an arm around him.

“I’m so sorry, Lou. Della just gets so wrapped up in her own head, she has a hard time recognizing people aren’t always at her level.” Donald rested his head atop Louie’s and squeezed him.

“I-I felt so alone today– I hate feeling alone,” Louie confessed more.

“I know, Louie, I know. And if it helps, you’ll always have me no matter what, okay? There’s nothing you could do to make me hate or leave you. You’ll always be my little Louie, and even if we get separated, I’ll always find my way back– even if it’s the moon,” Donald pointed out with a soft smile.

“Thanks, Uncle Donald.” Louie nuzzled closer. “I wish mom understood you too.”

His uncle laughed weakly. “Maybe one day… but in the meantime, I’m lucky to have you.”

Louie couldn’t help but laugh a little too. “I’m lucky to have you too, Uncle Donald.”

The pair of them sat in silence for a while, with Louie curled extra tight to his side and Donald holding him nice and close. It was calming, especially with the slow eb and flow of the pool water. All that crying had exhausted Louie, and he figured his uncle likely felt the same. However, Louie couldn’t even imagine going back to his bunk now, not when he felt his uncle needed him as much as he needed Donald.

“I’ll try and talk to her. It’ll be slow and I don’t know how she’ll take it, but I’ll talk to her,” Donald suddenly spoke up. “Uncle Scrooge too, for that matter.”

Louie wiped his eyes and shook his head. “You don’t gotta do that, it probably won’t change anything.”

“I have to try, Lou.” Donald looked down at him. “You’re worth at least trying.”

Louie didn’t have a response for that, so he just nuzzled back close and there was quiet again.

Louie liked the quiet. It was much better than the eerie silence of the manor, and how it would always be broken abruptly by some creaking wood or wind whirling down the chimney. On the houseboat, the sounds were constant, like a lullaby. The splashing of the water, the squeaking old metal, the soft hum of the old AC unit– it always knew how to put Louie to sleep.

“Uncle Donald?” he suddenly spoke up.

“Yes?”

“Can I… stay here with you tonight?” Louie glanced back up at him.

Donald’s face melted into a soft smile. “Of course, Lou. You’re welcome here any time.”

“Good.” Louie smiled too, before yawning.

His uncle chuckled before yawning himself. “Looks like we should get going to bed, huh?”

“I could stay up longer,” Louie lied, making his uncle roll his eyes.

“Drink some tea before you take that melatonin, I don’t want it going to waste,” Donald lightly teased before getting up and drinking more of his own.

Louie nodded, beginning to chug before he remembered he really wasn’t that big of a fan of tea, and so set it down again. “Is… that enough?” Louie asked.

Donald laughed. “Yes, yes, it’s fine, I’m just joking, no need to force yourself.”

Louie smiled before struggling to open the bottle of melatonin. Noticing this, his uncle walked over and helped him retrieve the yellow pill, which Louie took with a little bit of tea. After that was done, Donald cleaned up their mugs and set them out to dry. Once that was settled, Louie took Donald’s hand and the two of them went to cuddle the rest of the night away.

#ducktales #dt17 #ducktales 2017 #louie duck #donald duck #della duck #my fics #i can't believe I actually wrote this #it's been eighty thousand years #wild #if any of you remember me from my ducktales days no you don't #i was 13 why did people listen to me #(because I had correct opinions on Louie) #fjdkslfjdsa; #anyways #uh #enjoy #<3

[jeanmoreauss]

Title: The Night We Met

Fandom: All For The Game by Nora Sakavic

Characters: Jean Moreau, Jeremy Knox, Kevin Day, Renee Walker (All For The Game), mentioned - Character

Additional Tags: Late Night Conversations, Minor Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, if you want to take it that way, there are definitely some bisexual jean thoughts, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, ish, like an odd mix of the two idk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Word count: 912

Summary: requested by the lovely @tara-the-star on tumblr who gave me the prompt of Jean's first night at USC

#the sunshine court #aftg #all for the game #tsc #tsc spoilers #jean moreau #jeremy knox #kevin day #renee walker #jerejean #if you want to take it that way #it's definitely building up to that #my fics #aftg fic #aftg fanfic #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #tfc #trk #tkm