#ask fic

[ssahopelessly]

Sick Leave

Synopsis: There has never been a time where she was ‘too sick’ to go to work.

Request: Could you do a Spencer x BAU Reader where she is sick but doesn’t want to admit it and comes into work? Please?

Warning: SpencerxFemReader, ambiguous relationship, symptom descriptions, sans Spencer’s germophobia, light displays of affection // let me know any I missed!

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist

If you had asked me what my problem was that morning, I would have endless options but I couldn’t really decide on which one was actually the front runner. Maybe the inability to breathe properly, maybe the scratchiness at the back of my throat, or maybe it was the headache that seemed to be wrapping around my head like it’s own imaginary gym headband. But maybe, it was the way I still went to work, having taken some medication and telling myself the symptoms would subside. Or at least I hoped they would.

I had stopped by my desk, trying to rub the pressure from my head as I felt a pair of eyes on me, studying me in my state from across the aisle. “Are you feeling okay?” Most sounds had only made my headache twinge in sharp pain, but I was thankful that didn’t seem to be the effect with him. His voice was a cool breeze, wrapping around my shoulders to fight the heat that had rushed over my skin.

“Pfft, yeah. I’m fine.” I tried to dismiss him though, turning to see the rightfully deserved quirked up eyebrow he was casting at me. “I’m fine.” Was another attempt at reassurance that probably would’ve been believable if, in my state, I hadn’t also tried to take a step forward towards my chair, and nearly stumbled on my two feet, almost falling to the ground.

Spencer was soon behind me though, pulling me up onto my feet with an arm around my waist as he pulled me to his chest, safer there than the floor. He kicked my chair further out with his foot as I grabbed onto the desk for stability, the both of us wrestling my body towards the seat.

“You’re definitely not fine.” Was huffed into my ear as I was finally seated, eyes all over me as he backed up slightly, assessing me in my state. The back of his hand raised to my forehead, bottom corner of his lip pulling inward. “You have a fever.” I avoided looking into his eyes as his hands slipped under my ears on both sides of my head and towards the back of my head, somewhere near where my hairline met my neck, fingertips pressing into the skin in their vicinity. “And I can feel how swollen your lymph nodes are.” I would blame the potential fever on the blush that rushed to my cheeks, knowing that the way he was holding my head was a bit more intimate than acceptable for simple coworkers. If Derek had held Emily or JJ’s head like this, there would be room for concern or rumors.

“What is that supposed to even mean?” An attempt to breathe through my nose had him recoiling back, the proof that I was congested hanging between us.

“It means you’re sick and need to go home.”

“You’re not even a medical doctor. You can’t make that call.” His stare softened as his hand reached up once more to brush hair from my face to behind my ear.

“Do you want to talk to Hotch or should I?”

“I don’t want to go home. I want to work.” I forced the pout on my lips, knowing my bottom lip jutting out was often how I got him to cave in an argument. But he simply closed his eyes and turned away from me, moving back towards his desk.

“Okay,” was his admit of defeat, “Fine. I just feel like you should go home. Just trying to look out for you.” There was a layer of hurt in his words that made me feel guilty. Spencer buried his nose in a book, practically ignoring me from my side of the aisle, and that might’ve hurt more than his words. No matter how aggressive my cough had become, or how many times I sneezed, not a look, not a ‘bless you’, nothing. It was just an effort to look out for me, we both knew this. But I was stubborn, and it honestly just felt like a head cold. I could work through a head cold with medicine. I had done it before, I could surely do it again.

-

I’m not sure when, and I’m not sure how. All I know is, I was being woken up by someone shaking my arm, and when I opened my eyes, Aaron Hotchner was squatting down at the side of my desk, a sympathetic smile on his face. Dad Hotch was coming out for me in his smile, a sharp contrast to the stern exterior that usually accompanied SSA Hotchner. “Go home.” Was all he offered, the corner of his lips never falling.

“No,” it came out more of a whine than I had originally meant, my head pounding as I lifted it from where it had been resting on my arms. “I want to stay.”

“You’re sick. And you were sleeping here for an hour. Go home.” Another attempt at pleading with him would have dropped cold on the floor, and I wasn’t going to argue with him when he just explained to me how long I had been out. Gathering my things from my desk, Aaron walked me towards the sixth floor elevator bay, where Spencer joined us.

“I got her from here.” The grudge from earlier had been dropped, as his hand reached for my bag, draping the strap onto his other shoulder that wasn’t occupied by his own work bag. Aaron offered him a smile and nod before reentering the BAU glass doors, the only other company with Spencer and I being the hum of the elevator car as we waited. I kept my arms wrapped around myself, feeling very much like a child in a child swap dynamic. “Told you.” He muttered under his breath as he rocked from his heel to his toes. Rolling my eyes at him, I entered the elevator when it finally showed up, Spencer reaching over for the ground floor button as the door closed us in.

On the few occasions Spencer and I had carpooled to work, Spencer had noted that I tend to park in the same area and I tried to explain to him it was the prime parking spot location, and the banter had fallen off after that. Now, I was happy he seemed to know where I would have parked that morning, his hand reaching into my bag for my car keys. I had wanted to drive, but it was another instance where Spencer seemed to know better than me, and my energy was dwindling to maintain any fight that could start between us.

The drive home was quiet and I was fighting sleep. I would never admit to being sick and/or tired, but I was grateful for being sent home. I was grateful for having someone like Spencer as my coworker and my ‘something more’, but I didn’t know to what extent I was entitled to some actions. “Are you at least going to stay with me?”

“I’m taking you home, aren’t I?” There was a twinkle in the corner of his eye as he tried not to laugh at me, doing a terrible job of suppressing his humor from his lips. I sank further into my seat as we traveled further from Quantico and closer back to the residential part of DC. I had already fallen asleep at work, surely Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if I fell asleep on the car ride home.

-

“We’re here.” This time, I was woken by Spencer’s hand on my thigh as he had opened the passenger door and was working on getting my seatbelt off of me. Something he couldn’t quite do as my arms were once again wrapped over my chest and my head was resting against the strap as it crossed my shoulder. I just grunted as I reached for my bag that had been at my feet, seeing Spencer had once again placed the strap over his own shoulder to carry it for me. He stepped to the side as I tried to climb out, offering a hand for me to hold when he thought I might need it.

I was still capable enough to unlock my apartment in my state, but that didn’t stop Spencer from wanting to stay, entering my place with me. He placed my bag on one of the bar stools, like he’d seen me do countless times before, then just kind of watched me as I moved through my space. Sleep hadn’t left my system just yet, as I bumped into the door frame into my room, immediately pulling my top off, attempting to throw it towards the hamper. My pajamas had been resting on the foot of my bed and I had fully changed over to those by the time Spencer entered my room, hand in his pockets as he watched me from the door. “You didn’t have to tell Hotch.” I tried to chide him as I pulled the layers of fabric back from my spot on the mattress.

“I didn’t.” I raised my eyebrow at him, his head bowing as he took a moment to laugh under his breath, stepping into the room now. “You fell asleep at your desk. He asked what was wrong and I just told him you hadn’t been feeling well.”

“So you snitched on me?”I climbed into bed, back under my covers because that seemed like the best place for me to be in this moment. If I had been sent home from work, I was simply going to sleep the day away. Spencer sat on the side of the mattress, reaching for the covers to pull them over my body for me.

“Get some sleep.” The look of adoration was so intense, I thought I might actually see cartoon hearts take form in his eyes, his hand reaching up to gently brush the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone.

I couldn’t stay mad at him, not for being overprotective or for telling Hotch. He was doing what he thought was best in an effort to care for me, and where it maybe hadn’t been how I would’ve handled the situation, it was only in my best interest. I reached for his hand as it rested between us now, trying to interlace my fingers with his. He let it happen, his focus seemingly only on our hold. “Spenc-”

“Sleep.” A kiss was applied to my forehead before I laid back against the pillows, watching him as he moved from the bed back towards the door frame, hand lingering over the light switches.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Pressing a hand to my lips, I blew him a kiss as he turned off the lights in my room, a blush rising to his cheek as he cracked the door in his exit. I listened for the sounds of his departure from the apartment, but instead only heard the sounds of him moving through the kitchen, probably making lunch. I pulled the pillow next to me closer, trying to imagine it was him, that it had been him cuddling me into tranquility as I drifted off to sleep.

-

For the alternate twist on this trope, check out my SickSpencerxFemReader fic here!

Thank you for reading!

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid x you #angst #spencer reid x y/n #oneshot #comfort #aaron hotchner #ask fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid y/n

[dystopicjumpsuit]

hey hey hey, for the first kiss prompts-

the uncontrollable smile they break into either after or during the kiss itself with... Jesse!

happy writing <3

Thank you for the request @multi-fan-dom-madness! I got a flash of inspiration during the thotting hours, so I bring a Thanksgiving present for you. (That's totally how Thanksgiving works, right?)

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers! May your turkey be as juicy as Jesse’s thighs.

Pairing: Jesse x Reader (GN)

Rating: T but MDNI as always

Wordcount: 720

Warnings and tags: Fluff, banter, kisses

Summary: Jesse performs "emergency field medicine."

Suggested Listening:

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

There’s an ARC trooper in your office. He has his back to you as he inspects your shelves full of plants, holoframes, curios, and even a few actual paper books. You don’t recognize the kama, so he’s not one of yours—though you have no doubt that the Jedi generals would lecture you for getting attached to the troopers that way. 

Good thing I’m not a Jedi.

Whoever he is, he’s a big kriffing dude. ARC troopers always look extra imposing thanks to the pauldrons, but damn, this one must have needed custom armor to accommodate those muscles. His helmet is off, and all you can see is the back of his shaved head.

“Hello,” you say. “Can I help you with something?”

Translation: Who are you, and what the kark are you doing in my office?

He turns, and you catch a glimpse of a large Republic cog tattoo.

“Jesse?!” you exclaim, rushing across the office to fling your arms around him. 

He doesn’t even stagger a little bit as you collide with him, just wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. Impulsively, you press your lips to his cheek.

“When did you get back?” you demand.

He beams at you with a smile that’s too brilliant to be contained. “About ten minutes ago. Came straight here.”

“And I was stuck in a meeting,” you say with disgust, drawing a laugh from him. 

“I haven’t been waitin’ long,” he replies.

“Well, I’ve been waiting for you forever!” you exclaim. “How long is ARC training, anyway?”

An odd expression flickers over his face, and he hesitates before he replies, “I’m not actually allowed to say. Sorry.”

“That’s all right; I’m just happy to have you back,” you grin as you lean back to admire his new armor. “Look at you, Mr. ARC Trooper! You look great.”

“That’s ‘Lieutenant ARC Trooper,’” he says with a tiny smirk.

“You got promoted? Jesse, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d ever make it past sergeant, either,” he jokes.

“That’s not what I meant,” you laugh, slapping his chest and immediately regretting it when your knuckles collide with the hard plastoid armor. "Ouch!"

“How was that?” he asks.

“2/10, do not recommend,” you reply, shaking your hand to ease the stinging.

“Let me see.” He takes your hand gently in his and holds it close to his face to inspect it. “I think it might be fatal.”

“Better get Kix in here before I keel over,” you say, trying to ignore the warmth of his fingers and the rough texture of his gloves on your skin.

“No time,” Jesse replies gravely. “I’ll have to perform emergency medical treatment.”

He kisses your knuckles softly, and your heart begins to hammer in your chest.

“Did they teach you that in ARC training, or did you pick it up from Kix?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light.

“It’s a top secret ARC procedure,” he replies. “Very advanced medicine. I doubt Kix has heard of it.”

“I’m so lucky you were here to kiss it better,” you say. “I’d hate to die of a scraped knuckle.”

“Funny story,” he says. “This procedure requires multiple rounds of treatment.”

Your breath stutters to a halt. “It does?”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to each of your knuckles individually. He grazes his thumb across them, and suddenly you forget all about the pain. 

“I think it’s working,” you say.

He raises his other hand to your face, stroking his thumb over your lips as his fingers caress your jaw.

“Better try one more thing, just to be safe,” he says as he leans close to you, his lips a breath away from your own.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Just to be safe.”

His lips brush against yours softly, and it feels like the galaxy stops spinning around you, because you’re finally kissing Jesse, and it’s even better than you imagined, and his lips are kriffing perfect, and he tastes suspiciously like the candy that you keep in a bowl on your desk, and you never want it to end. Eventually, though, you have to come up for air, and he cups your cheek as you rest your forehead against his.

“You know,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, “I’ve been waiting for you forever, too.”

#arc trooper jesse #jesse x reader #arc trooper jesse x reader #ask fic #star wars #clone wars #sw tcw fanfic #clone wars fic #dystopicjumpsuit writes

[virgo-dream]

heard u need some headcanons!! much love bc this time of year is ROUGH 🫂

Hob got really into the queer liberation movement and has gone on to be the resident bisexual professor that all the students know is a safe person to go to and helps out with the LGBT clubs on campus.

He gets really excited to share this with Dream, who is a little confused about why it's so important (having missed much of the fight) but immediately takes interest because omg Hob is into more than ladies??

Hob hosts the club at the New Inn and Dream shows up and all the students just Know by the way those two look at each other and spend the night trying to get them to admit it to each other.

Look. LOOK. I'M. I'm very NORMAL ABOUT THIS. Did you know the bi flag was unveiled in December 5th of 1988? Did you know HOB DIDN'T MEET DREAM IN JULY 7TH OF 1989 ANYWAY HAVE A FIC

Dream doesn't get it at first. He never really did get it, but only attributed it to the need humanity had for labels, for packing things into boxes and saying this goes here and that goes there. Sometimes, it led to this goes to heaven and you go to hell. It seemed to be a very common one, too. He was beyond that; his name said it all, Dream was endless. Not he nor she, not man nor creature, he was all there was to be and the nothingness beyond it. Gender and sexuality need not apply.

Still, it meant so much to Hob, that he'd have dreams about it. Nightmares too, for nights on end, and even if Dream begged Hob to allow him to take them away, Hob always declined, always braved through them. "If you take them, I'll forget how much it all means. I'll forget why I'm still fighting."

They sat at the New Inn one afternoon, while Hob graded papers and Dream had a cup of chamomile tea, but his eyes couldn't help but focus on a shiny pin on Hob's jumper shaped like a flag, the shades of pink, purple and blue a spot of proud colour in Hob's otherwise earthy colour palette.

"It's the bisexual pride flag."

"Hm?" Dream's eyes dart up to meet Hob's, tilting his head slightly. He wasn't sure if he should feel bad for being caught, because he wasn't sure what he was looking at in the first place.

"The pin. I wear it for my students, but also for myself. The kids feel safer I guess, knowing they have at least one of their own in the faculty. Can't say it doesn't make me feel good too."

Hob has a particular tone to his voice that makes Dream's heart sing in tune to its melody. It's a fuller sense of self, maybe more than Dream ever had in regards to his own identity. "...one of their own?"

"Oh, I– Sorry, those are pretty recent." Hob straightened himself up (ha) on the chair, his lecturing posture taking over. Dream liked when he did that. He liked to hear Hob speak of things he had deep knowledge of and passion for. "This one was created in 1988 by a queer activist called Michael Page. Had the pleasure of being there when it was first unveiled, but clearly it took a long time until I was able to wear something like this out in public and not be decked by some bloody homophobe."

It was starting to sink in.

"...I'm afraid I was not present for these developments." Dream saw the look on Hob's face, like he was ready to apologise. He raised a had to stop him, waving his concern away. "As far as I can remember, queer was not a form of self identification, but only a way to shun out those outside the established norm."

"Ah, yes. We reclaimed it, though. Or are reclaiming it. The 80s were crazy. All of them were, for me." Hob smiled at Dream, at their shared secret and at their years of now reestablished friendship.

"I think you're lonely."

Could it have been....? Could he have meant...?

"What does it mean for you, then?" Dream asks in a way he hopes sounds inconspicuous, pointing at the pin. He was hesitant to ask, afraid to be getting it all wrong.

"For me? It means I love whoever I love. Man, woman, either or neither."

The pride coming from Hob's words filled Dream with hope, something he had not felt in a long, long time. The look in his face then shifted onto something else, something he didn't quite understand. "...what about you? That is, if you're okay with talking about that. I don't want to overstep. Last thing I want is for you to walk out–"

"I won't, Hob." Dream knew Hob had reason for feeling that way. "I don't believe the terminology you have could define my experience. I have laid with mortals and gods alike, and have wore many faces and names. It is beyond human comprehension."

Hob seems takes a moment to think about what he'd just heard. Dream feels like he might have thrown too much at his human friend. "...I think I get it. But, and tell me to bugger off I'm wrong, do you prefer to be a particular way? To be with a particular sort of being?"

Dream. Didn't have an answer.

He never thought of what he preferred. He'd never felt in need of any sort of outside validation, but. That was a lie. He needed it. He just never cared to look for it.

Hob's smile was what broke him out of the spell of his own self doubt. "It's okay if you don't have an answer, you know. It takes people a loooong time to get it, it took me nearly 600 years, you know? Ah! You know what? I've got an idea–" He reached inside his brown messenger bag, pulling out a colourful piece of paper, handing it over to Dream. A pamphlet for a meeting. "We're having a meeting for the uni's LGBT clubs here at the Inn. I want this to be a safe space for the kids, and to get them to connect with other folks in the community, share their experiences. It's tomorrow, and I'd love it if you could make it. I'm sure they would too."

Dream took the pamphlet in hands, looking at the bright colours and bold fonts, taking in every bit of information Hob was giving him and trying to fill in the gaps of the questions he wouldn't dare ask. After a moment, he looked up at Hob, allowing himself a small smile. "I shall be in attendance, then."

#if i keep writing this now i won't ever go to bed lol #thank you for sending this!!! #aquilathefighter #dreamling #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #ask fic #hob gadling #dream of the endless #morpheus #virgo dream writes

[vaehbae]

Warmth. That was the feeling Sabine desperately needed as she embraced her dearest friend, Ezra, while they were alone in their shared tower.

It did not take long for her cherished partner to return the hug, feeling calmer as his arms wrapped around her body and held her firmly, yet gently at the same time, so as to not cause any discomfort for her.

It had not been long since Ezra had returned to Peridea with Hera in tow, and Sabine was fortunate to have been spared of the same fate he went through. To be trapped on an unknown world in a different galaxy, waiting years for someone to pick her up, and having to deal with the reality that no one could end up coming at all.

However, there were still many hardships to be taken on. Thrawn's return was the obvious factor, but Sabine had not yet taken the proper time to properly open up to Ezra about the pain she endured during the nine years of waiting and moping, especially when it came to the revelation of her clan's fate.

Ezra may have learned a tidbit about what happened to Sabine's family from Huyang, but he never got the full picture from her. On the other hand, when he wanted to apologize to her over what happened to her relatives, he was stunned when she all of a sudden embraced him tightly. He could sense her stubborn emotions trying to break free as her body shook in his hold, as well as that she was trying hard not to break down in tears. He knew Sabine was strong, there was no doubt about it, but whenever he saw her crying, he knew it was something very serious.

"You're all I have left..."

Hearing her whimper when she said those words, and sensing how vulnerable she was broke his heart as he hugged her. Ezra was no stranger to familial loss, as he had lost his own parents at an earlier age. At one point, he even felt brutally jealous towards Sabine since she still had her family alive and well.

Sadly, that was in past, and the current reality told him that Sabine losing her family proves that her struggles were no longer any different from his, and that the two would need to keep fighting for each other in order to live the life of peace they both equally crave.

"We'll get through this, Sabine... We have before, and we'll do it again."

Eventually, the Force-Sensitive Mandalorian was able to calm down as she relaxed her grip on Ezra's robes, pulling back slightly so she could look into his deep blue eyes.

"Together?"

His response to Sabine's question was proof of his loyalty and honor to his word, but by use of his own words as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.

"Together." He responded after pulling away, his voice evident with care and affection, while he retained his steadfast attitude.

Sabine smiled weakly for a moment, deciding she wanted a repeat performance as she cupped his cheeks and pulled his face towards hers again.

THIS IS WHAT I NEED TO HAPPEN! I swear at times I think the fan base has better writing than the professionals.

This is amazing! So much emotion and well-thought-out descriptions of how they are feeling in the moment! UagH! I'm so touched! This is beautiful! thank you for sharing.

#sabine wren #sabezra #ezra bridger #ezrabine #star wars rebels #ahsoka #ship fanfic #ask fic #adorable! #what we all need #sabine just needs to cry it out #together at last

[unecoccinellenoire]

Truth. Whoever you want.

Nathalie has been sat still staring at her phone and its one incriminating message for what must be almost half an hour.

Adrien knows.

The door to her office slams open.

Adrien looks a mess. His hair is dishevelved, and he's breathing heavily like he's been running. Maybe he has been.

He looks, for the first time she's noticed in a long time, like his father. Like Gabriel had used to coming into her bedroom after a failure to beat Ladybug and Chat Noir.

He looms over her with Gabriel's height, with his fury, but the disappointment in his eyes is wholly his own.

Gabriel's had looked different. It had never really been her who had disappointed him as much as it had been the world. Himself. Magic.

But Adrien-

It's Nathalie who's failed Adrien.

He closes the door carefully, quietly, and then turns back towards her, collopsing back against it.

"Were you ever going to tell me the truth?"

Hidden by her desk her nails dig into her thighs, "which truth?"

"That my father was Monarch? That I'm not even human? That we live in a world my father created? That Ladybug lied to everyone?"

"You are human."

"I'm a sentimonster. Just like all those ones you and father created and discarded."

She wants to cry. She wants to go over and hug him. Instead she settles for a firm, "No."

"No? Don't lie to me again!"

"No," she repeats, "You were created with the Peaocck Miraculous, but you were created to be human. You are human. Trust me I'd know."

"Trust you?"

"Like you said. I made others. I can tell the difference."

"Right." He presses at his temples, "did you never consider telling me?"

"You told me Ladybug gave you the ring. Between that, and well whatever your father told her to get her to give it to you, and to lie to the city I assumed she knew how you were born and what that ring meant to you. And that she'd told you. Or that Felix would have. Because I'm pretty sure-"

"Yeah he knows," Adrien inturrupts her, "and you never thought about checking? About making sure I kept my soul safe on my finger?"

"I was a coward. I didn't want to lose you when you knew what I'd done. I supporse that's why your father never told you."

"You suppose?"

"I tried to convince him to tell you early on. Before things got worse between you. And then he didn't. And they did. He did. Then he died. And everyone, including you, wre saying he was a hero. And you had the ring, I assumed Ladybug had told you what it was and...I was selfish. I thought if Gabriel got to get away with it all and be a hero in his mind then why should I and my relationship with you have to take the fall?"

"Yeah well," Adrien exhales, "apparently that's something you and Ladybug have in common."

#my fic #adrien agreste #nathalie sancoeur #prompt fic #ask fic

[bayousexual]

"graveyard", for hualian

I have never attempted HuaLian in my life though i love them so much. This was a little difficult but i gave it my best little shot.

---------------

It's a near miss, one foot faltering over thin air as a hand delicately grips his wrist and holds him still. 

"Gege," Hua Cheng says gently, with no admonishment, "you seem a little distracted." 

“Sorry..” The open grave below Xie Lian’s careless foot is dark, wet from a recent rain, and empty. He doesn’t look in it, for fear of remembering something unpleasant. “I’m fine.”  

“Mn.” Hua Cheng acknowledges his reply, though Xie Lian knows he doesn’t believe him. “We won’t be here long.”  

We shouldn’t be here at all, Xie Lian thinks, but there’s no reason for it. They aren’t disturbing anything, merely trying to see if someone else has. So far every grave they’ve passed has been completely dormant, and nothing that could manifest here should stand a chance against them anyway. 

Yet, the persistent unease in Xie Lian’s chest tightens. He maneuvers his wrist, still in Hua Cheng’s grip, down until their fingers can interlock gently instead. 

“If you say so, San Lang.” He can’t help but smile up at the possessive glance his husband gives him at the nickname. It makes Xie Lian suddenly long for their too-large shared bed in Paradise Manor. “Perhaps if we leave here quickly we’ll have time to—”

The sound of an array shattering in the near distance sours the words right on his tongue, and Xie Lian finishes with just a sigh. 

It can never be simple, can it.

------

Send me One Word & and One Pairing for a ficlet!

#hualian #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hua cheng #xie lian #ask fic #my writing

[wrxsslin-hours]

Hi! For a fic request how about Shawn and Kevin (who use to date but are besties now) gossiping about how cute Shawn thinks Bret is

A one-shot where Diesel judges Shawn's taste in men.

a/n: ty for the ask! This was a treat to write

“Is it Taker?”

“No.”

“Luger?”

“I have more class than that, Kev.”

Diesel leaned on his locker; the metal creaked under the added weight. The behemoth of a man smacked his lips together, going through the list of wrestlers Shawn has ever made eye contact with. It wasn't that long a list, considering how much time Shawn spends sending kisses to his mirror reflection. He wrapped his arm around Shawn, his mind still wandering. The smaller man bumped his head on Diesel’s shoulder. “Since when was it your business to know who I like?”

“It always has been.” Shawn maneuvered his way out of his friend’s hold with a laugh; some strands of his hair clung to Diesel’s skin. The two had just finished a tag match and had retreated to the corner of the locker room. Their heads were ducked down, whispering about anyone passing their peripheral. One conversation led to another, and now Diesel was on a one-man investigation to figure out the new man Shawn was pining over.

“Is he hotter than me?” Diesel asked, his voice laced with seriousness. Shawn hummed in faux naivety. He tapped his gloved finger on his chin, lips twisted in a pout. “Absolutely.”

Diesel gasped, offended as Shawn took off his gear. “No one is hotter than Big Daddy Cool,” the older man smirked, “Except you.”

Shawn couldn’t hold his laugh back. “Naturally.” He placed his leather, zebra-patterned hat on Diesel’s head; it tipped over to one side. Diesel fixed it, tucking his stray hairs underneath the hat's band.

“Is it one of the Harts?” Diesel asked. He noticed how Shawn’s silence stretched on for a second too long. Diesel smirked, “Is it?”

Shawn shrugged his shoulders, a smirk perking up on his own lips. “Maybe.”

The heartbreak kid sat beside his friend, legs perched up on the other’s lap. “There’s no way it’s Anvil or Bulldog,” Diesel started, and Shawn nodded in agreement. “You can barely tell Keith and Bruce apart.”

In a flash, Diesel took hold of Shawn’s legs, trapping him in his grasp. “Is it Bret?” Shawn’s silence was enough for Diesel to confirm his suspicions.

He should’ve known. From how Shawn lingers in the locker room to hover beside Bret, even though his match was a few minutes away, how he tries to make small talk, asking Bret for advice. Diesel had already lost count of how many times Shawn slinked away from him in bars to be with Bret. The Hart was far from Shawn’s usual type, if Diesel were completely honest. He was the same height as Shawn, a far cry from all the taller wrestlers that Shawn was ever interested in. He was all serious, no nonsense, both in and out of the ring when surrounded by people that aren’t his family. Diesel was sure Shawn had called him a wet blanket more than once. Arrogant, stubborn, and too uptight. Diesel pursed his lips, “No way.”

Shawn braced himself for the judgment. Diesel’s nose scrunched as he furrowed his brows, “I’m way hotter than him by a mile, and that’s not just my ego talking,” Diesel continued, a playful glint in his eyes. He released Shawn’s legs and stood up, towering over his smaller friend. “I mean, I’m the total package – charisma, height, and let’s not forget these chiseled features.” He pointed at his own face with a smirk.

Shawn rolled his eyes, amused. “I think I’m starting to rub off on you.”

Diesel stood up and brought Shawn up with him. “Didn’t know you were into the brooding artist type.” He took off Shawn’s hat and placed it on its owner’s head. “Should I start wetting my hair and slathering my body with buckets of baby oil too?” he bantered.

Shawn watched as Diesel carried both of their bags. He gave the bigger man a playful shove, but that hardly did anything. “You know, Kev, you’re still my number one. No one can replace the original Big Daddy Cool.” Diesel grinned and opened the door for Shawn. “Great! Now spill it, when are you making a move?”

Shawn pretended not to hear the other man; his eyes focused on Bret, who just finished a promo. The two exchanged smiles before Shawn turned to Diesel. The taller man had a shit eating grin of his own, "Well-" “Don’t even start, Nash.”

#shawn michaels #bret hart #kevin nash #wwe fanfiction #wwe headcanons #shawn michaels x bret hart #ask fic #dividers by: cafekitsune #writing

[khaleesa]

Hallo friend. Have one of the writing prompts from the list you reblogged:

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

What a great prompt! I had so much fun writing this one. Thank you! And thanks to @bratanimus for betaing.

(TW: disordered eating.)

~*~

Faint Heart, Fair Lady

"Chrissy, take ten!" 

The voice seemed to come from a long way off. Chrissy might not have heard it if it hadn't said her name. Blinking away blackness at the edges of her vision, her eyes, a little blurry, focused on Coach Johnson, who wasn't very far away at all. In fact, she was standing right in front of Chrissy, front and center on the basketball court. She could feel the eyes of every other member of the cheer squad--her squad--in formation all around her, staring. 

Judging. 

Tightening her sweaty grip on the handles of her pompoms, slack at her sides, Chrissy perched them on her hips and pushed out her chest. "I'm fine, Coach. Just a little light-headed. I don't need a break." "You're clearly not fine," said Coach Johnson. "You're sluggish and out of sync. You're sweaty but pale. You look woozy--"

Chrissy latched onto that. "I am a little woozy, that's all. It's so hot…" 

After school practices in the un-air-conditioned gym in August were like cheering in a sauna. The propped-open doors at each end didn't do much to help catch the breeze.

"Exactly. Put a cool, wet towel on your neck. Drink water. Get some fresh air." 

When Chrissy started to protest, Coach Johnson lay a hand on her shoulder and spoke softer. "You're not in trouble, Chrissy. I'm not kicking you out of practice or off the squad. Or demoting you from captain." 

Behind her, Chrissy heard gasps and whispers from the other cheerleaders. If she'd been pale before, now her cheeks burned flame red. She'd worked so hard to make captain this year, and Dana Holloway probably thought this was her chance to take over.

"I just want you to take care of yourself." Coach Johnson released her shoulder with a squeeze.

Chrissy staggered out of the gym as fast as she could, but her legs were heavy, slow, like in those dreams where you needed to run away but couldn't. Her vision blurred. She blinked against what she assumed to be tears, but her eyelids were dry. As she pushed through the swinging door and stepped into the hallway, the darkness was creeping in again. 

A buzzing in her ears; she swept her eyes around the hall for the source of the sound, but there was no one, nothing there, school out for the day and the students and staff gone home. Everything looked wrong, orange and white tiles tilting toward her, too close, at a strange angle to the striped walls. Or was it her who was wrong? 

She saw her own hands flail outward, scrabbling for balance or something to grab onto, so pale against the orange linoleum square. Was she falling? It didn't feel like falling. She was moving downward in slow-motion, there was gentle pressure at her back, around her waist, like a pair of strong arms supporting her.

Then, only black. 

~*~

"Chrissy. Chrissy, wake up." 

The voice seemed to come from up close. Very close. Like, right up in her face. It said her name, but wasn't a voice she recognized. 

"Chrissy." This time, the up-close voice was accompanied by a hand on her cheek. The skin was warm, a little rough. Fingertips lightly tapped her cheekbone. "Come on, Chrissy, wake up…" 

Her eyelids fluttered open, the black receding as she blinked up into a face she did recognize, framed by a wild, dark mane of hair. A pair of worried brown eyes peered down at her. 

"Eddie?" her voice creaked from her throat.

Eddie Munson--third-year senior, loudmouth, social pariah (except when dealing weed)--was touching her face. 

Eddie Munson was…holding her. 

"Surprise," he said in a sing-song voice. 

It certainly was. They were posed like the Gone With the Wind poster, for goodness' sake! Chrissy tried to push herself upright, but although her feet were on the floor, her legs were like jelly. She settled for raising her head.

"What happened?" she asked.

“So, uh, the strangest thing. I was coming out of detention…" 

Figured. 

"...and, uh, you fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

"I didn't want your attention," Chrissy snapped. 

Eddie's hand left her face and he held it up, palm out. A gesture of innocence--a word that didn't fit with what she knew of him at all. "Just a joke. But, uh, you're probably not really in the mood for jokes, huh?"

She shook her head--a bad idea, as it made her dizzy. "Not really." 

With unexpected gentleness, Eddie eased her to sit on the floor. The linoleum was dirty, but blessedly cool against the backs of her thighs and calves, bared by her green practice shorts, and Chrissy pressed her palms to it, taking deep breaths as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

"So why'd you faint?" Eddie asked. 

Chrissy opened her eyes to see he'd dropped to a squat in front of her, a black metal lunchbox and backpack beside him.

"Did the sight of me make you swoon? I hope it was that and not, like, low blood sugar." With a toss of his head, he added, "Please tell me it was the dashing good looks and not the diabeetus?" 

Chrissy really wasn't in the mood for jokes, but Eddie had come to her aid, and she felt a little bad for being rude to him before. She opened her mouth to tell him she'd overheated during cheer practice, but her stomach let out a deep, rumbling growl. 

Eddie's round eyes darted comically to her stomach, then back up to her face. "That came out of you?"

"I didn't bring my lunch today." That sounded like she'd forgotten it, right? 

"Okay? They sell food in the cafeteria. I mean, they call it food, anyway."

"I didn't bring any money, either." 

Eddie gaped at her like he was illustrating the meaning of incredulous in the dictionary. "Do you mean to tell me that your boyfriend, God's gift to Hawkins High, just let you go hungry? What a dick."

"It's not a big deal to miss lunch now and then." Chrissy crossed her arms over her chest. 

Who did Eddie think he was, criticizing her boyfriend? She couldn't decide whether she was more annoyed about that, or the realization that Jason hadn't even noticed that she wasn't eating lunch, because it was so normal for her. He used to ask, but at some point, he'd stopped.

"Believe me, I've missed lunch more than a few times," Eddie said. "But then I don't go do back handsprings and stand on top of human pyramids with one foot in the air." 

"Only when you've had lunch first?" 

"Thought you weren't in the mood for jokes." The corner of Eddie's mouth edged upward in a grin, and Chrissy felt the muscles of her own face mirror his expression.

"Apparently I am." 

He was kind of funny. Not like she'd thought he'd be, from the unhinged rants she'd witnessed in the cafeteria.  

"I'd offer you some of my lunch," Eddie said, indicating the lunchbox, "but unfortunately, all that's left in it is, uh…" He made a show of casting his dark eyes up and down the hallway, before leaning in to stage whisper, "weed." 

Was he joking? Was she still unconscious? This whole thing had the bonkers quality of a dream. Maybe this was just what talking to Eddie was like. She never had before today, at least not that she could remember.

"Wait here," Eddie said. 

With the jangle of his wallet chain, he bounded off down the hall like someone who didn't run often—or ever—disappearing around a corner. Chrissy could hear the squad in the gym, chanting, Pump, pump, pump it up, pump that Tiger spirit up! She should probably get back. It had to have been ten minutes by now. How long had she been unconscious? If Coach Johnson was really so concerned about Chrissy, why  hadn't she come to check on her? Before she could work up the energy to push to her feet, Eddie clattered back around the corner clutching something in each hand.

"For the lady," he said, a little winded, bowing and presenting with a flourish a can of 7 Up and a packet of peanut butter crackers. 

Chrissy's stomach clenched. It wasn't a diet soda, and peanut butter was so fattening, and crackers were just empty carbs. But…she hadn't eaten anything all day. A little bit would be fine, wouldn't it? She'd burn off the calories when she went back to cheer practice.

"You didn't have to do that, Eddie," she said.

"Ah, but I did. For you are the Queen of Hawkins High, and I am but your humble servant." 

He bowed again. Was he making fun of her? Eddie made fun of the athletes all the time, but maybe he didn't have an issue with cheerleaders? Whatever was happening, Chrissy didn't care when she cracked open the 7 Up and took a cold, sweet, citrusy sip. It was the best thing she'd tasted maybe ever, until she bit into a peanut butter cracker. 

"Thank you so much," she said. "I feel better already." 

Eddie picked up his lunchbox and slung his backpack over one shoulder. "I, uh, hate to lunch you and leave you, but I gotta get to practice." 

"Practice?" 

"Uh-huh. My band." 

He stood staring at her, like he was waiting for her to say something. As Chrissy swallowed another sip of soda, a memory sprang from some dusty corner of her mind. 

"Corroded Coffin!" 

Eddie's face lit up. "Wondered if you remembered the middle school talent show." 

"With a name like that, how could I forget?"

He ducked his head almost bashfully, hair falling into his face and hiding his grin.

"Take care of yourself, Chrissy." He turned  to go, then the soles of his Reeboks squeaked on the linoleum as he wheeled back. "And if the queen should ever again find herself with neither lunch nor money, she has only to ask, and I'll happily split half my sandwich." 

"I thought you only had…" Chrissy's voice dropped to a hush. "...weed." 

Eddie's delighted cackle followed him through the hall to the exit. The door had just shut behind him when the gym door swung open and Coach Johnson poked her head out. 

"Chrissy! There you are. You look better." 

"Surprise!" Chrissy heard herself say in a sing-song voice not quite her own. 

As she took another drink and pushed to her feet, her gaze drifted down the hall in the direction Eddie had gone. Her heart beat an erratic rhythm that she wasn't sure had anything to do with her fainting spell. 

And that was the most surprising thing of all.

150 Random Writing Prompts

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheersource #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #chrissy x eddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #my fic #ask fic

[makesometime]

A little dialogue happens if you pass the insight check on Astarion (to see if he means the flattery or not) and I just love the idea of Tav knowing that Astarion is lying out of his ass and still flirts back, thinking it's just his thing.

(I have been avoiding a lot of Astarion’s scenes because I didn’t progress the romance past the first scene on my first playthrough so I’ve kept this more free-form. It's also... not entirely happy, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!)

(G/T rated - gn!Tav, flirting, references to sex but nothing too lascivious)

#

Walking through the wilderness with Astarion at their back makes them feel safer than by rights they should. With every new thing they see they look forward to getting back to camp, to hear his witticisms and return to their bedroll with his voice echoing through their mind.

Tonight is no different.

He’s filled their thoughts with such pretty words, lately, plying them with clever images and temptation. He looks at them like he knows quite how much it’s affecting them, and gods they don’t know how they feel about that.

When they make their way to stand in front of him once everyone else has gone to sleep, Astarion favours them with one of those precise looks.

“Good evening.” He says, dipping forward into a slight bow, his arms spread out in welcome. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Nothing more than other nights,” Tav says, crossing their arms. “You usually make it worth my while.”

He laughs, snatching up a bottle of wine from beside the mirror. When he turns back, they think they spot a flicker of something else in his expression, something he is a moment too slow to hide. 

“I’ve been dreaming of you.” He says. “Do you know how devastating your presence is for my concentration?”

“Ah, that would make my heartbeat quicken if it weren’t for one simple fact - you don’t sleep.” They say, taking the bottle when he rolls his eyes and holds it out. They take a deep swig and offer it back, his quick hands snatching it up and taking his own slow drink.

His eyes never drift from theirs.

“And to think, this is the closest our lips have come to touching in a tenday.” He sighs, uses his tongue to catch up a stray droplet in a move so lascivious they wonder who such a move might have worked on in the past. “One day, perhaps, you might steal away with me again.”

“There’s nothing stopping you asking.” They murmur. “If you’re so keen to spend that much time with me. I certainly wouldn’t object.”

He doesn’t speak, for a moment. Long enough that they almost start to worry. It’s just fun, isn’t it? Their first time together was one of the only times they’d felt like themself since the Nautiloid, and he’d seemingly had just as lovely a time.

What if… no. They’re overthinking again. This is all just a game, a fun little diversion. Astarion likes to flirt and so do they.

“Perhaps when we’re free of the Underdark, darling.” He simpers. “There’s nothing quite like the open sky above our lovemaking, the feel of the moon shining down. Here is rather… cramped.”

It feels like a dismissal, but he’s wrapped it up in a metaphorical bow so pretty that they smile and nod.

“Truly, it would be a shame to miss out on seeing you in all your glory.”

Whatever hesitation, whatever concern, fades away behind a sweet little smile. Astarion coos, offering them the wine once more. 

“Take it, darling. Retreat to your little tent and dream about how good I’ll make you feel when we next have the chance.”

They wrap their fingers around the neck of the bottle before he can entirely remove his, the coolness of his skin still a little unsettling beneath their own. With a smirk, he draws his hand away slowly, caressing the back of their fingers with a quick little flourish.

“Only if you’ll dream of me too.”

“Oh darling, you are forgetful.” Astarion chuckles, his red eyes flashing fiercely. “I don’t sleep.”

#astarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #ask fic

[glitch-after-dark]

For the writing requests.

Sunstreaker, nsfw, G1 and the prompt is something to do with his narcissism (Mirror, clones, get creative)

A Solo Session | Sunstreaker Solo

Sunstreaker checked his appearance one last time in the mirrors. He’d set them up so he’d have a view from all angles to ensure he was always in the best position. They were on a pulley system that could safely be retracted and adjusted now thanks to Wheeljack’s assistance. A necessity so Sunstreaker didn’t have to spend his setup time herding a grumbling Sideswipe into helping him.

His polish, as always, was perfect and his paint touch up had dried without a hint of difference. He had been worried about mixing in human paint but they’d done an admirable job helping get the right shade. He brushed his digits over his chassis, enjoying the smoothness that showed no hint of the nasty scratch he’d had only days prior from Skywarp. He glanced upwards towards the ceiling where a full body mirror hung and slid down on the luxurious pile of pillows to a more splayed-out position, moving one to directly under his lower back to give a more pronounced arch.

A side mirror showed how prettily the curved lined made his body and the way it allowed his chassis to hit the lighting better.

He smiled. Perfect. He took the time to watch himself, languidly tracing the lines of his body, enjoying both the feeling of his silky-smooth bodywork under his servos and the sight he made caressing himself. The camera should start the stream automatically, and the playlist started with a ping from his system. A thrumming, lyricless rhythm that he could feel vibrating sensually against his system.

As he moved his servos downwards, grasping the round curves of his hips and stroking inward to nudge his legs into parting, he found himself humming along with the familiar music. His body reacted to it from habit, having long associated it with appreciation. He looked in front of himself, watching his blue optics darken at the sight of the view of his long legs spread with servos teasing closer to his panel, pausing to trace his seams and dig into them to tease the wires underneath, starting up the first sparking charges within him.

His fans came on with a vengeance and the sound and touches triggered his array, though he kept it firmly shut, watching intently as he started to move his hips to the rhythm of the music.  He wasn’t the dancer Jazz was, lacked the practiced sensuality, but he moved with the rhythm smooth and assured and the thrusting roll of his hips as his servos followed the movement only further got him in the mood.

His array pinged again to open, this time with a distinct wetness starting to gather behind one panel and pressurization alerts behind another. He dismissed it again, optics dimmed to focus on his fingers, digging into the opening in his hips pulling at the wires barely able to be caught inside them. The sharpness of the sensation made his mouth drop open to pant and he darted his optics upwards to admire how his lips looked open and plush, slightly damp from the oral lubricant gathering there.

His tongue darted out licking over the softness of them and he shivered from both the sight and the slow sensation.

This time when his array pinged he didn’t deny it, gasping as the cooler air made contact with his warmed up components.

Sunstreaker couldn’t have stopped himself from planting his feet to spread himself as wide as he could, making certain he had the perfect view of his carefully constructed array. His engine turned over at the vision he made.

Plush gold lips with the inside peaking out with how they spread with arousal, the inside stripped black to map out the calipers of the paler yellow soft insides visibly clenching and rippling, glistening pink stained fluid dripping down his thighs, a perfect white-gold bright node lit up and peaking outside of the hood.

"Perfect," he breathed out angling his hips in a way to share the sight. "And all mine."

He felt a wonderful throb at the sound of alert pings popping up from the computer he left open and smirked. Oh, it would be fun to read later and the heat building in him felt all the sweeter for all the envy he knew his fans felt. It was going to be a long session, he could already tell.

-

Sorry for the delay it took me a bit to get the flow going, though it was fun. Hope you enjoy!

#valveplug #sunstreaker #ask fic

[bratanimus]

33. you are such a nerd

@khaleesa, thank you for this awesome prompt! It was a lot of fun to write. And thanks to the lovely @pipergirl17 for betaing! I hope to work on the other prompts in my Ask box soon.

~*~

Hoard

Eddie sprawled on his stomach across Chrissy’s white eyelet comforter and peered over the edge of the bed, like the invisible Bilbo peeping at Smaug. All around herself, his girlfriend (someday he would stop italicizing that word in his mind, but today was not that day) had spread a veritable dragon’s hoard of paper, folders, notebooks, flashcards, pencil cases, and pens of all colors on the pink shag carpet. 

Sitting cross-legged in her running sweats, framed in a patch of afternoon sunlight, Chrissy looked luminous as she carefully pried open the lid of a box of new pencils as if it were a treasure chest.

“Tell me again,” Eddie said.

He pushed up the long sleeves of his T-shirt and rested his chin on the heels of both hands in what he hoped was a coquettish and distracting manner, his jean-clad legs bent and kicking his socked feet behind him like he was at an honest-to-god Annette Funicello pajama party. 

“Why are you doing this, exactly?”

Chrissy gave him the briefest of eye rolls, because she’d already started to explain on their way upstairs…though she’d been interrupted when they’d passed the Cunningham household’s actual dragon, who’d bellowed after them, “Door stays open!” Eddie could almost feel the mistrust billowing like acrid steam from Laura’s sewing room. Well, the old reptile would get used to him sooner or later. Or not. 

“Make fun all you want,” Chrissy huffed (oh, she was cute when she was miffed at him, and maybe he shouldn’t rile her up, but he was a dumbass still getting used to having her undivided attention, so sue him if he occasionally resorted to his old habits of poking and prodding and other sorts of ill-advised provocation, and anyway, she didn’t seem to mind). “But it’s the end of spring break.”

With that, Chrissy pinned him with a friendly glare, as if a reminder of the calendar date should’ve made everything crystal clear. 

Smirk (and dimples) still firmly in place, she broke the eraser off one of those brand new pencils, an unexpected act of violence that made Eddie’s eyebrows shoot upward. She tossed the nub into the flowery little trash can under her desk. Then she grabbed a fat, pink, arrowhead-shaped cap eraser from a pile of them and twisted it onto the top of the pencil. 

“Ah, I see,” said Eddie, not seeing at all. 

Chrissy only laughed at his confused expression, so he lay flat on his chest, chin on the bed’s edge, letting his arms dangle so he could fiddle with the felt tip pens scattered on the carpet. He stole a glance at Chrissy and pondered why one eraser might be somehow inherently better than another, so much so that she had to amputate and reattach, like some nerdy bookworm version of Mary Shelley.

“School starts back in a couple of days, right?” Chrissy went on as she attacked the next pencil.

“Uh-huh.” 

Eddie shoved aside her big green binder and slid his fingertips along the pens as he lined them up, orange and purple and red and blue—

Bonk! Another brand new nub landed in the trash can, and another cap eraser got reamed by a wooden writing instrument.

“I always reorganize my school supplies after fall break, Christmas break, and spring break. It helps me stay focused.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he bullshitted, as if he had any idea about systems for focusing.

He arranged the pens according to the colors of the rainbow, remembering Roy G. Biv, the acronym his seventh grade art teacher had taught for the progression of colors. But Chrissy owned way more than the seven basic shades here. There were at least two dozen. Did she carry these to school every day in a pencil case, a small treasure trove in her pink backpack?

“I love school supplies,” she gushed, continuing her mutilation of the pristine set of Ticonderogas, popping off a dozen heads one by one and replacing them with bloated Frankenstein ones.

He knew she had a thing about control, and Eddie had seen her do her fair share of feverish erasing in the two classes they shared this year. But were twelve cap erasers really necessary?

Messing with the felt tips on the floor, he must’ve asked that last bit out loud, because Chrissy said tightly, “Oh, you know. Just in case I need to correct a lot.”

Oops. He’d touched a nerve. He needed a distraction.

“I bet you pack five extra pairs of underwear for every overnight trip,” he mused, “just in case you have a blowout.”

“Ew!” she squealed.

An eraser nub hit him square between the eyes, which made him flinch and blink. 

“Seriously, Eddie.  Are blowouts something I should worry about?”

“Oh, I dunno. Hang around with me long enough—”

A larger arrowhead eraser smacked him on the cheek. He caught it before it fell off the bed, stuck it on his pinky, and made it speak over Chrissy’s giggles.

“Look, lady,” he Muppet-squeaked, “you have an eraser problem. And possibly an underwear problem. You need help!”

Chrissy pointed to his pinky. “Speak not to me, nor my Trapper Keeper, ever again. You’re just jealous of my loot.” 

“I have absolutely no use for dragon-guarded treasures,” Eddie murmured, quoting Tolkien as he slipped the eraser from his pinky and laid it reverently in Chrissy’s outstretched hand, “and the whole lot could stay here for ever, if only I could wake up and find this beastly tunnel was my own front-hall at home.”

Watching him, Chrissy’s eyes glimmered, prettier than any gemstones. His cheeks warmed. 

It was something to be looked at by her, wasn’t it? To be admired? He dropped his gaze back down to the pens he was arranging and hoped his face wasn’t too red.

“That’s it.” The words were barely a breath.

Eddie’s gaze rose again to find Chrissy staring down at her hoard of loot, hands upturned helplessly on her knees, the arrowhead eraser still in the center of her palm like the One Ring.

He tried to match her hushed tone. “What?”

“That’s how I feel. All the time. This house. All my things. It’s just…stuff.”

And she had no other home but this beastly one.

Eddie's heart pinched.

“Come up here,” he said.

She did, lying on her stomach next to him, chin resting on her folded arms as she watched him arrange the felt tips into different configurations with one hand. Gravity made his veins bulge a little; they looked knobbly and greenish-blue in the bright light from her window. His hand could almost be a pale dragon skittering over its mountain of treasure.

He didn’t know what to say, because he couldn’t say what he wanted to.

Come away with me. Let me be your treasure. You are already mine.

Leaning into her with one shoulder, he reached awkwardly into his front pocket and scrounged for the ever-present handful of mismatched polyhedral die, which he tossed to the floor, a field of shimmering stars around what he’d written across the landscape of her Pepto-Bismol carpet.

“Wait.” Chrissy’s head lifted from her forearms. She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Does that say—”

It did indeed. Eddie had arranged her plethora of pens to read 

NERD

“You are such a nerd,” he whispered, creasing his brow and dipping his chin for emphasis. He wondered if she could somehow read on his face what he was really thinking.

Chrissy looked back at him and smiled like he’d just placed a crown on her head. He swallowed. Maybe she could read his thoughts. Eddie tucked her lovely smile away into his own mental hoard, for safekeeping.

“Takes one to know one,” she said, cutting the inhalation for his retort short with a kiss.

He nodded his fervent agreement until her widening grin made further kissing more difficult, but not impossible.

The eraser lay forgotten on the floor with the rest of the hoard. 

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #eddissy #stranger things #stranger things fic #chrissy x eddie #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #ask fic #writing prompts #my fic #hoard

[dystopicjumpsuit]

because I’m a greedy ho, may I also request:

the hands. on the waist. oh my god.

with Neyo 👀🫣 do not perceive me pls

A/N: My friend. When I tell you that this awoke me out of a dead sleep in the middle of the night last night. I instantly bumped it to the top of the queue. Who has deadlines? NOT THIS SIMP! Please enjoy, and thank you for the ask!

Pairing: Commander Neyo x Reader (GN)

Rating: T but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 1,556

Warnings and tags: fluff; minor injury; mention of blood; kissing; Neyo identifies as a warning

Summary: Marshal Commander Neyo takes his favorite medic for a ride. It’s not as sexy as it sounds… or is it?

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

“Commander, we’ve lost contact with CT-2639 on the eastern perimeter.”

Marshal Commander Neyo swiveled his head, pulling away from your hands as you cleaned the cut on his forehead. Head wounds always bled like a mudscuffer, and this one had made an unbelievable mess, but it wasn’t severe enough to be life-threatening. You silently followed his movement, continuing to work as Neyo replied to the trooper.

“Send a BARC trooper to reinforce his position,” Neyo snapped, clearly irritated that the situation had not already been handled several rungs down the command ladder.

“They’re all out on scouting missions, sir,” the trooper said nervously.

Neyo nodded shortly, then turned back to you. “You, medic. Grab a medkit. You’re coming with me.”

It galled you slightly that he hadn’t bothered to learn your name, even though he had refused to allow any of the other medics in the 91st treat him since the first time you’d patched him up months ago, but given that he was one of the highest-ranking clones in the GAR, you weren’t about to call him out.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, quickly sealing the laceration with a spray bandage. Luckily, you were nearly finished treating him before the trooper had interrupted; otherwise, you had no doubt the commander would have simply shoved his bucket back onto his bloody head and jumped on a BARC speeder.

You shrugged the heavy medpack onto your back and followed Neyo to a BARC speeder with an auxiliary stretcher, watching him nervously, dread swirling in your gut.

“Well?” he asked, his tone clipped and impatient.

“I’m not speeder trained, sir. Sorry, sir,” you admitted, hoping that he wouldn’t reassign you to a different unit as he tended to do when his subordinates weren’t up to his frankly unrealistic standards.

His sigh was audible through his helmet’s speaker. “Climb on the back.”

“Sir?” you asked, startled. It was going to be one hell of a tight fit on a speeder designed for one.

“Secure the medpack to the bike and get the kriff on,” he growled. “We don’t have all day.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, snapping rigidly to attention.

You squeezed in behind him, trying very hard not to think about the way his hips pressed your thighs open, or the way his strong back felt against your chest as you wrapped your arms around him and hung on for dear life. The BARC speeder was unbelievably fast, and the landscape whizzed by in a dizzying blur as Neyo expertly navigated to CT-2639’s last known position. The bike turned abruptly, and you unconsciously tightened your arms harder around his torso. He dropped his hand briefly from the controls and settled it over yours, adjusting your position so you gripped his belt instead of the slick plastoid of his chestplate, then raised it back to the handlebar.

The bike slowed as you approached your destination, sweeping the terrain for any sign of the missing sentry. A flash of white and red plastoid at the bottom of a ravine drew Neyo’s eye.

“There.”

The speeder came to a halt, and you jumped off, grabbing the medpack and running to the downed trooper. He was unconscious, but his vitals were strong enough—for the moment—and Neyo helped you stabilize his spine as you carefully transferred and secured the patient to the stretcher on the side of the BARC.

“Bike isn’t powerful enough to carry three,” Neyo said as he mounted the speeder.

You nodded in understanding. “Yes, sir. I’ll make my way back on foot. He needs more care than I can give him here, and the base medics are equipped for it.”

“Negative. Hold position here. I’ll send someone to extract you.”

“Yes, sir.” You hesitated, and Neyo looked up at you, his helmet blocking his expression—not that you’d ever been particularly good at reading the commander’s cold, hard eyes. “What’s his name?”

Neyo was silent for a beat. “Boey.” His helmet tilted as he surveyed you from head to toe, as if suddenly realizing he was about to ditch you in an active war zone without armor or weapons. He handed you his DC-15 and climbed back onto the speeder. “Try not to get killed.”

Luckily, no battle droids appeared to ruin your day. You didn’t have to wait long before you heard the whine of a speeder approaching your position, but you were surprised to see not one, but two BARCs appear, and one of them was the commander himself. He drew to a halt, and you immediately surrendered the blaster to him. The other trooper looked back and forth between you and Neyo, but stayed silent.

“Boey?” you asked.

“He’ll make it,” Neyo replied, sliding forward to make space for you. “Get on.”

You obeyed, feeling very thankful that it was a short trip to the base as you once again straddled Neyo’s hips and tried to think unsexy thoughts. 

For kriff’s sake, he doesn’t even know my name. He’s kind of a dick. Why am I like this? Maybe when he reassigns me for not having achieved every single karking qualification in the GAR, I’ll end up in the 212th—if I’m going to have an unprofessional and inappropriate crush on a superior officer, Commander Cody seems like a nice, safe choice. Why do I always seem to go for the dicks? Some mysteries may never be solved.

Neyo started up the speeder and took off at top speed, leaving the other BARC trooper behind to secure the position. Unfortunately for your sanity, it seemed that Neyo had decided to inspect the entire perimeter, because there was no sign of the base anywhere, and the ride seemed interminable. As you gradually became accustomed to the speed of the bike, you tore your eyes away from the center of his back and began to look around at the landscape as you hurtled through the air.

It was actually a beautiful planet, when there wasn’t an active battle going on. Neyo drew the bike to a halt at the edge of a cliff with a stunning view out over the lush forest. He pulled off his helmet and set it on the bike, then dismounted, holding out his hand to assist you off the speeder.

When you met his eyes, they were as hard, cold, and unreadable as ever, and you couldn’t help wondering if he’d decided to just dropkick you off the cliff instead of bothering with the hassle of reassignment paperwork. Well, if this view was the last thing you ever saw, you couldn’t deny that it was breathtaking.

“What is this place?” you asked, unable to keep the awe out of your voice.

“Western perimeter. Cliff provides a natural defense.”

You looked down over the cliff and immediately regretted your decision, feeling dizzy and lightheaded at the distance to the bottom. You swayed dangerously, and Neyo grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back from the edge, your back colliding with his armored chest.

“Damn, that’s a… hell of a drop,” you managed to say. 

“Mm-hmm,” he agreed, his voice low and close to your ear.

You couldn’t resist asking, “Is this where you dispose of medics who don’t know how to ride speeders?” 

“What?” You felt his head turn as he observed you closely. “Why the kriff would I expect a medic to be BARC speeder certified? Do you know how much training BARC troopers have?”

You cleared your throat, trying not to dwell on how very, very close he was; or the deep, quiet rumble of his voice next to your ear; or the way his hands still rested on your waist. “So… you’re not going to reassign me?”

“I should,” he said quietly.

Your heart plummeted and your stomach twisted. You stared down at the ground in front of you, desperately trying to hide your embarrassment and disappointment.

One of his hands slid forward, flattening over your belly and pulling your body back against him. You felt the rough fabric of his glove move softly across your jaw as he tilted your face toward him with his other hand. His thumb brushed your lips, and then his hand drifted down to rest at the base of your throat, your pulse racing wildly beneath the gentle pressure.

“I shouldn’t—” His lips were so close to yours that you felt his breath ghost over your skin as he spoke. “—with a subordinate…”

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from his mouth. It was all you could see as you whispered, “You’re a marshal commander. Everyone is your subordinate.”

He drew a shallow breath, but made no move to close the tiny distance between you. The moment stretched out unbearably, until at last you could no longer resist the temptation. The tip of your tongue barely grazed the corner of his mouth before he snapped, crashing his lips into yours, clutching your body against his as though, if he only held you tightly enough, he could feel your warmth through the cold, unyielding plastoid of his armor. He kissed you with a passion that left you breathless and reeling, and when at last his lips parted from yours, he nuzzled your face gently as he whispered your name.

“Wait…” you breathed. “You know my name?”

For the first time since you’d met him, Neyo smiled. “I’ve always known.”

---

Want some spicy Neyo content? Check out my fics Everybody Hates Neyo Part 1 and Part 2!

#commander neyo #commander neyo x reader #neyo x reader #star wars #clone wars #star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfic #ask fic #dystopicjumpsuit writes

[vaehbae]

The silence was deafening.

Okay, it wasn't *technically* silent. There was a soft humming coming from outside the purrgil that Sabine and Ezra were currently hitching a ride in with their stolen Lambda-class Imperial shuttle. Ahsoka and Huyang had decided to stay on Peridea to investigate the world's connection to the ancient Force-sensitive species known as the Zeffo, leaving the two former rebels with a vague promise that they would see her again "at the turn of the tide."

"Cryptic Jedi messages never sit well with me", the Mandalorian thought to herself as she sat quietly in the copilot seat beside Ezra.

Gods, were things ever awkward with Ezra right now. After Ahsoka had found them on Peridea, they had all gone to the Great Mothers' hideout in a last-ditch attempt to stop Thrawn. After subduing and capturing them, he had blown the lid off of Sabine's lie by omission, telling Ezra that the reason she was even there was because she had given his allies the means to find him. The Mandalorian had broken down into tears because of her guilt, and all Ezra coould do at that moment was send her comforting energy through the Force and assure her that it was okay. After they escaped and said goodbye to Ahsoka, they managed to get this old decommissioned Lambda working again and hopped the Purrgil Express back to their galaxy.

Now, two hours later, they still hadn't talked about anything.

"Ezra", she began, "Listen, I'm sorry."

"You could have just told me, Sabine", he said bluntly while continuing to stare straight ahead, "I wouldn't have been mad at you." Her eyes widened at this revelation. "But... you *are* mad at me? Because I lied?"

"I'm *upset* that you didn't tell me the truth. But no, I'm not mad at you."

"But... but I... I betrayed your trust. I doomed the galaxy to another war..."

"You fulfilled my trust", he corrected, "I trusted you to come find me and bring me home, and you succeeded. Sure, Thrawn's on his way back, too, but we beat him once, we can beat him again..." He reached over and clasped her hand. "... together."

Sabine interlocked her fingers and smiled. "Together."

In her mind all she could think was "I want to marry him."

See!! People miss this point; Ezra would be upset but he wouldn't be mad! And GRASGAH!!! For Sabine did what she had to do, Ezra was counting on her and she did it! Even if they have to do the whole show over again, then so be it.

Anyways! Whoever made this! Well done! U think it really accomplishes the soft and slow approach of Sabine's tell Ezra was happened.

#ezra bridger #sabine wren #ezrabine #sabezra #ask fic #fanfic #ship #starwars rebels #forgiving #angst/fluff

[unecoccinellenoire]

#45, panic?

The slam of his bedroom door almost makes Adrien fall to the floor.

"Nathalie?"

Her hair is wild, her suit covered in some sort of black powder and some dark liquid that-

Is that blood?

"Nathalie, what happened?" She falls forward flat on her face, the lights of her exoskelton suddenly turning off, "Nathalie?"

She's still breathing as he turns her over but there's a lump forming at the base of her skull, and he thinks some of the blood is hers, and no one's supposed to know he's Chat Noir but her eyes are shut and he really thinks that it's Chat Noir that's needed right now and not Adrien Agreste and-

Her hand falls open and inside her fist is two silver rings.

Two silver rings that look just like the ones she and his father had been wearing. That he and his mother had worn before. The very sign that maybe he was going to have a family again.

And now there's no ring on Nathalie's finger and two in the palm of her hand.

"Adrien," she groans, "Chat Noir, take them."

"What?" Panic claws at his throat, she shouldn't know, how can she know, "I'm going to get you out of here."

Her eyes drag open, it looks painful, "too late. Go. Take them and run. He's coming."

"Who?"

But he knows the answer even before she says, "Monarch."

"No, no," somehow Monarch's found out who he is and now he's targeting his family, "no."

"Go." She grabs his hand and pushes the rings in, "he can't," her laboured breathing interrupts her words, "have these. Ask Felix."

"I'm not leaving you behind."

"Have to." She lets go of his hand, "Love you." She coughs, and bright red blood splatters her lips, "m' sorry for-" there's a thump futher down the landing, "Run!"

He clenches his fist as he stands, "I'm going to kill him!"

"NO!" Nathalie's eyes are wide and white and she almost looks insane, "Ladybug."

Right. If Monarch knows who he is then he might know who his lady is as well. He has to warn her.

And if Monarch doesn't know-

Then he needs Ladybug at his side to ensure the villain never escapes or hurts anyone ever again.

#my fic #prompt fic #ask fic #Nathalie Sancoeur #Adrien Agreste

[bayousexual]

Hi! For the 'one word, one pairing', can I request quanyin from tgcf and the word 'found', please?

Thank you 😊 🙏

Oh Quan Yizhen, you had my heart the moment i realized that never answering spiritual communications means you ignore even Jun Wu, but will you ever have Yin Yu’s heart?

—--

“I found you.” 

Yin Yu’s back is rigid as the voice rolls over him, but he continues his steady steps down the echoing hallway. Perhaps, if he pretends to be deaf, the incessant golden retriever of a God behind him will not only fuck off, but maybe even finally cease to exist. 

He flinches at his own thought, regretting it the moment it forms, but not as much as he regrets slowing his pace enough for Quan Yizhen to catch up. 

“Please,” the God pleads softly, but grabs Yin Yu’s curse-shackled wrist with a grip so strong he swears it makes the bones creak, “you’ve made me chase you all the way to Ghost City, all I want is a moment to speak to you.” 

“We’ve nothing to speak about.” Yin Yu hisses, lip curling under his mask, and the pressure on his wrist increases. 

“I have looked for you, for so long,” Quan Yizhen’s words are quieter, still pleading, “and now I’ve found you. So I don’t care if we have to talk about the weather, as long as we can talk.”

Yin Yu’s breath halts in his chest, but he stops straining forward, turning back slightly to stare at Quan Yizhen with an incredulous look that the other can’t even see. 

There are things he wants to say—has for a long time— mountains of curses, half-lobbed apologies, and full on shouts of despair that he’s dreamed of shouting right in Quan Yizhen’s stupid too-trusting face, but now, faced with the God himself, they all die in his chest. 

Quan Yizhen is looking at him so sincerely, just like he always did, and Yin Yu makes the worst decision he’s made since trusting someone else to choose a gift. He looks out the window beside them, then right back into Quan Yizhen’s eyes and says flatly. 

“It’s raining.”

----------

Leave me One Word & One Pairing for a ficlet!

#quanyin #quan yizhen #yin yu #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #ask fic #my writing

[batstorm93672]

A fic where Damian gets deaged to a baby or toddler and Damians a really happy baby and everyone members that the league made Damian into a cold hearted warrior and Bruce feels sad that he missed these precious time with Damian.

A little two year old Arab waddling around the Manor isn't what Dick, Tim, or Jason expected to walk into. Lo and behold, the baby in the living room with Stephanie, Duke and Cassandra showering him with adoration.

"What's going on here?"

Stephanie didn't even look as Dick spoke, keeping her eyes on the child. "Damian got turned into a two year old! He's so cute!!" Dick was quiet... then his eyes sparkled a bit as he kneeled down with a serious expression. "This is Damian?" "Yes." "Are you certain?" "We were there to see it happen, a hundred percent." "...He's so precious" "I know!"

Damian was walking and grabbing a block, babbling a bit as he stacked the blocks and clapped. He grinned. "Stephy!"

Dick gasped "He's calling you Stephy?!"

Stephanie grinned. "Isn't he adorable!?"

"Stephy, got block"

"Yes, good job Dami"

Duke grabbed a block and handed it to Damian with a grin "Here you go"

Damian shrieked with laughter and clapped again, this precious little boy is going to break their hearts. Damian then noticed Dick, Jason, and Tim standing, Damian went to Cass and hid behind her back. "Hm? Don't worry, Dami, it's your brothers. Remember them?" Damian walked over a little uncertain, but he looked straight up at the three. "Hi Dami, I'm Richard" "Rich..." "That's Jason" "Jay" "And that's Tim" "Tim"

Damian smiled and tugged on Dick's sleeve. "Rich wanna play block?" "Of course"

Damian grabbed five blocks and handed two to Dick. "Here block, make with block" "What should I make?" "House, big house" "Hehe, I'll see what I can do" Tim and Jason sat down and watched the two play. "So what do we do with the baby bat?" "Bruce is looking for a way to fix it" "I see, so has he had a tantrum yet?" "A little one, when he lost the block. Cass found it quickly. He's been pretty good since"

Damian laughed as he played with Dick. As sweet as it was... a lingering sadness washed over the others. He was so... young and sweet. Damian grinned and smiled all the time as a two year old. So adorable, everyone felt their heart skip a beat whenever he did such an adorable as clapping and shrieking in joy. Bruce looked at his son, Damian was sleeping in Bruce's embrace... seeing him like this, so calm and sound asleep...

Dick looked at Bruce and frowned. "Makes you feel bad, doesn't it?" Bruce kept looking at his son sleeping away. "They really changed him. Made him so different at such a young age... but now? He's just a baby having fun" Everyone fell asleep in the living room that night, all around Bruce as Damian slept in his father's lap.

Morning comes, and Bruce awakens with a start. The youngest is gone!? "Damian!?" Everyone awakes with a start and begins to automatically search. Soon, Jason whistles quickly from the hall. They all follow and peek at Damian in the doorway. He's back to his ten year old self... they all go back to the living room to start their day. Bruce decides to ask Damian questions after a good meal.

Meanwhile, Damian has the blocks in his hands, and he looks somber yet fondly at the childish blocks in his palms.

With a small whisper, "So... that's what it's like to be a normal child... it's been so long"

#damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #bruce wayne #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #fluff with a hint of sad #anon ask #ask fic