haunted_champagne_problems
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“Wait, you’ve never heard Andrew purr?” Nicky asked incredulously, nearly slipping off the locker room bench in surprise.
“Is that a bad thing?” Neil hadn’t thought about Andrew purring before.
“I mean,” Nicky continued, trying not to catch Neil’s eye. “It's something cat hybrids do when they’re happy, yeah? I guess I’d feel a little insecure if my partner never purred around me.”
And oh, that settled something twisted and ugly deep in Neil’s gut. Was Andrew not happy with him?
Bookmarked by haunted_champagne_problems
21 Feb 2026
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He lay in bed at night and he wished he didn’t, but he thought about Buck. Wondered who was touching Buck. Who was seeing him in that way. He wondered if Buck felt satisfied at the end of it or if he just felt more alone. He wondered if Buck needed him and wasn’t saying so.
He wondered what it must be like to have Buck that way. To hold him close, to hear the sounds he’d let slip when he was too distracted to be in his own head. He wondered how he’d look when he came undone, and if the person he was with could even begin to fathom how lucky they were.
But no, Buck just went back to eating his cereal, like he hadn’t just confessed to something that made Eddie’s whole body burn with too many feelings to articulate.
He was humming, happy as a pig in mud.
And as weird as he’d been with Eddie, Eddie found himself asking: “Sorry, are you humming Losing My Religion?”
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Buck fucks, Eddie befriends a priest, and the whole thing burns to the ground.
Bookmarked by haunted_champagne_problems
20 Nov 2024
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never fallen (from quite this high) by crystalcrow
Fandoms: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
02 Jun 2021
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For most people, a problem is a matter or situation regarded as unwelcome or harmful that needs to be dealt with or overcome.
For Andrew Minyard, it’s the word that fits Neil Josten with a capital P.
(or, aftg from andrew’s pov)
((this fic is now getting edited - chapters marked with a ☾ have been worked over. slight chances might apply, but nothing too drastic!))
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He saw the duffel.
It was battered all to hell and the strap was nearly torn from the bag, but it still glowed almost neon in the darkening night and streetlamp glare. Neil would never…
He dropped to his knees beside it and rifled through it, looking for any sign, any clue as to where Neil might have run. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Until his fingers found the keyring. Until he found the phone.Andrew's perspective on the Binghamton riot and the walking tragedy that is Neil Josten.
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“Have you considered the possibility that Neil has chosen you, but believes you have not chosen him?” Renee says. "Have you ever explicitly told him what you want?”
“Neil knows what I want,” Andrew snaps. This is not Andrew’s fault.
“How do you know?”
Because Neil always knows. He is as fluent in Andrew’s micro-expressions as he is in German and French. He knows which head tilts mean “go on” and which ones mean “shut up.” Without ever asking, he learned what it meant to see Andrew wearing double layers of long sleeves, or taking multiple showers in a day, and learned to hand Andrew the car keys.
That has always been the most terrifying thing about Neil — his patience to wait, watch, listen, learn. The prospect that if Neil were given enough time, there would be no part of Andrew that was just Andrew’s anymore.
“He has to know,” Andrew says.
“Does he?” Renee says. “Have you ever known Neil to assume that he is wanted?”
Five times Neil tells someone that he and Andrew aren’t dating, and one time Andrew uses his words to set the record straight.