#double drabble

[airas-story]

Tony doesn’t know why Stephen and Rhodey get along so well. They don’t have similar careers, their interests are fairly separated. They have some similar hobbies, but nothing Tony thought they would bond over. It’s driving him insane. Until he finally overhears a conversation between them and realizes they get along so well because they’re worried about him.

Tony didn’t get it. He really didn’t.

Rhodey had a type—not romantically, just in general—of people he got along with. Which, admittedly, didn’t include Tony’s type at all, but he’d always been the exception to that particular rule. But Stephen. Stephen didn’t fit the type either. Stephen was a little too sarcastic, a little too ‘bizarre’, a little too out-of-this-world. 

So, why was Tony watching Stephen and Rhodey chatting near the wall when Sam Wilson—a favorite of Rhodey’s—was there. And, not to brag, but Tony was here and Stephen normally spent his time with Tony.

He wandered over casual as could be, giving into his curiosity.

”—he’s doing okay,” Stephen was saying. “Don’t want to go into it, of course.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey said. “Not going to ask you to infringe on his privacy.” Rhodey shook his head. “He doesn’t talk to me as much, anymore.” He sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Things haven’t really been the same, since…”

“I get it.” Stephen paused. “I’ll take care of him.” His voice was quiet. “As much as he’ll let me,” he added wryly.

Rhodey sighed. “Tony’s lucky to have you.”

Tony froze. Oh. Oh.

It was for him.

[jomiddlemarch]

constitute my happiness

“I ought to put my bonnet back on,” Elizabeth sighed. “I know I ought, I know the risk to my complexion and even more, to my tranquility if I freckle as dreadfully as my mother warned me I might and we’re to receive Lady Catherine before I’ve any chance for lemon juice to work.”

“Dearest Elizabeth, it’s England. It rains six days out of seven. Enjoy the sunshine,” her husband replied. It had been far easier than she’d expected to persuade him to leave off his account books to take their afternoon tea in a bright glade she’d discovered rambling over Pemberley’s extensive grounds.

“That’s easy enough for you to say, sir. Should you turn brown as a walnut, no one will think any less of Mr. Darcy. Indeed, they’d likely remark on how healthy you looked, whereas I should be an embarrassment to the very shades of Pemberley,” Elizabeth said.

“You’d never be an embarrassment to Pemberley. Leave the bonnet off.”

“You sound quite determined,” she said.

“It’s far easier to kiss you without the silly thing getting in my way,” he said.

 When she gave him an inquiring look in response, he obliged her by demonstrating at length.

Written for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month Day 23, prompt: bonnet

[infiniteeight8]

Would you write Tony overstimulating Stephen until he safewords?

There’s a small reference to edging in here as well. 

This ended up not coming out particularly sexy, so I hope you were more interested in the comfort afterward. *wry* Also, I have no idea if this is a good way to soothe overstimulation. I did some googling which did not give me an answer, but people have all kinds of reactions, so just assume this is what Stephen prefers.

Behind the cut for the usual reasons.

-

God, Stephen was beautiful like this, laid out on crisp bed sheets, flushed with arousal, skin shining with sweat. His eyes were clenched shut, broken moans escaping him as Tony stroked his cock. Tony tightened his grip, starting to work Stephen towards the edge again. They’ve been there several times already, always backing off before completion, but this time when Tony swipes his thumb over the head of Stephen’s cock Stephen flinches.

By the time Stephen chokes out, “Nebraska,” Tony is already letting go of his cock.

“You want the wash cloth?” Tony asks.

“Yeah,” Stephen sighs. 

It’s already sitting in a dish on the nightstand, just in case. The damp cloth is only room temperature, but that’s plenty cool on Stephen’s heated cock. Tony keeps his touch light, and within a couple of minutes Stephen is softening.

“Sorry,” Tony says when he puts the cloth aside. “I didn’t realize you were that close to the edge.”

“Neither did I,” Stephen says wryly. He pulls Tony down into a kiss. “It can’t be perfect every time.” When Tony frowns, Stephen smirks. “With the amount of sex we have, it’s statistically impossible.”

Tony laughs, as Stephen no doubt intended. “Fair enough.”

[starryeyedjanai]

Eddie’s on a mission when he walks into Family Video.

He heads to the horror section and stops in his tracks when he sees a guy sitting on his haunches, shelving tapes.

Eddie can’t help the way his eyes slide to the guy’s ass— the jeans he’s wearing are criminally tight. And it’s a really nice ass.

He nearly swallows his tongue when the guy turns his head to see who walked into the aisle because staring back at him is Steve fucking Harrington.

He watches as Steve gets up and dusts his jeans off before walking over to Eddie.

“Can I help you find something?” Steve asks.

He has a little mustache.

Steve Harrington has a nice ass and a little mustache.

Eddie did not come here to be attacked like this.

Steve raises his eyebrows and Eddie realizes he’s been staring at him for a beat too long.

“Uh, yeah. Do you guys have Possession?” he asks, throat dry.

Steve looks at him curiously before reaching an arm right past Eddie’s head and pulling a VHS from the shelf. He holds it out for Eddie to take.

Eddie snatches it and makes a beeline for the cash register.

[seokmn]

pairing: bf!mingyu x gn!reader

wc: 0.2k words

warnings: physics (ykes)

physics is something you never understood, no matter how much you tried to learn, all the effort was useless at the end of the day. however, the universe decided to stop playing against you and not only gave you a caring, amazing and hot boyfriend, but also an intelligent one, specially when it comes to physics.

which led you to asking mingyu for help quite often, just like right now.

“okay, newton’s laws of motion are very easy, but you gotta pay attention, alright?” he says as he looks through your textbook. “ill pay attention this time, i swear”

mingyu gives you an unconvinced look and sighs, “if you say so…” and just like that, he begins to explain to you the three laws.

you pay attention as your boyfriend starts to explain, noticing the way he speaks about the principle of inertia with such confidence and with such a calm voice, making sure he’s speaking not too quiet so you couldn’t hear him and not too loud so you wouldn’t get kicked out of the library.

as the time goes by, probably 5 minues later, mingyu’s voice starts to make you a little too comfortable to the point of getting sleepy.

mingyu only notices your situation too late, “now that i explained the three laws, its time for you to do some exerci-“ he stops when he sees your sleeping figure next to him, your head resting on your crossed arms while they’re on the table. “oh.”

mingyu chuckles quietly while shaking his head before kissing your forehead and, even tho he knows you wont listen, whispering, “i love you and i truly believe in your potential, but youre so gonna fail this test”

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Freckle face

When Ian flipped him over, he stared a little too long at Mickey's face. A sharp the fuck you lookin’ at was on the tip of his tongue, his mood souring a little. He thought he was gonna fucked senseless, or at least a good fuckin’ makeout, not Gallagher’s lips stretching into a dopey smile. 

“Holy shit,” he said in awe. 

“What?” Mickey snapped. 

“You have freckles.” 

Fuck. 

Mickey’s weren’t as visible as Ian’s were, or rather used to be from how they kinda lightened up since his time working at Kash and Grab, but they came out a little more in the summertime. Honestly, he would’ve thought Ian woulda seen ‘em before now. 

“Whatever, man,” he grumbled. He was gonna turn over if not for Ian taking his face by the chin with one hand. “The fuck-” 

“I never noticed them before,” he said, sounding almost giddy by the discovery. 

“So fucking what?” Mickey scowled. “You gonna finish what you started?” 

But Ian wasn't thinking about that at all. He grinned, using his thumb to trace along Mickey's cheek. “You're so damn cute, Mick.” 

It was spoken so earnestly, Ian's smile was one of adoration. Mickey felt a flush creeping up his face. Nobody ever said things like that to him before, and here Ian was, marveling over some damn freckles. 

“I ain't cute,” Mickey muttered, his gaze tearing away from Ian's face to look over at the wall. 

“You’re cute,” Ian disagreed, noses brushing against each other’s. One hand came to hold the back of his head, tilting his own so he could softly kiss Mickey. “So fucking cute....” 

[firenati0n]

"don't fuck me" - a double drabble for @sherryvalli and a little addition to my deranged tiktok au, An Amateur's Guide to Piping That Cream and Beating That Meat

Look—Alex is a good person, okay? He says please and thank you, treats people with respect, works hard to keep his lightning-fast brain in check, tries not to be too demanding of people's time. 

But, he's standing in the doorway after his run, watching Henry cook breakfast in the kitchen, wearing Alex's nadie me ayuda en esta casa apron. 

And nothing else. 

So, fuck decorum. 

“Baby. What the fuck?”

Henry looks over his shoulder and Alex doesn't know whether to look at his bedhead or his, frankly criminal, ass and thighs framed by the apron. 

“Good morning,” he says with an air of nonchalance as he whisks the eggs. “How was your run?”

Asshole. “Cut the shit, Wales. Are you trying to kill me?” 

Henry turns back to the eggs with a smirk. “Now imagine how I feel scrolling through your ridiculous TikTok page. Thought I'd take a page out of Hips and Salsa’s book.”

Alex plasters himself behind Henry, his thin running shorts doing a poor job of hiding just how much this scene is affecting him. 

“Can I please—”

Henry fills in the necessary blanks. “If you don't fuck me in this apron, then what's the bloody point?”

[dixkens]

You Rebuilt My Car

A double-drabble for fest.

--

“You rebuilt my car,” said Bond, stunned.

“Yes,” said Q. “An interesting technical…”

“I could kiss you,” Bond teased.

“Please don’t,” said Q after a nearly imperceptible pause.

His tone was dry and bored. He’d rolled his eyes and was almost the picture of the disinterested quartermaster­—who dealt with multiple deadly, flirtatious agents on a regular basis—almost.

Bond’s life, too often, depended on him noticing the things others didn’t want him to see. And right now, there was something that Q didn’t want him to see.

So, he looked.

“You didn’t rebuild the car I dunked in the Tiber,” said Bond.

“Please,” said Q. “It’s still drying out.”

“Nor the Jag 004 crashed in Monaco.”

“Unsalvageable,” said Q. “Not worth the effort.”

“I’d assumed this was too,” said Bond.

“Recreating the original modifications was an interesting technical challenge,” Q repeated.

“I’m sure.” Bond took a step closer. Q held his ground though there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“You rebuilt my car,” said Bond, more gently than the first time. “I could kiss you.”

Not a statement.

An offer.

“Don’t,” said Q, eyes moving restlessly, looking everywhere but at Bond. “Not unless you mean it.”

[dallianceangel]

𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 🏍️💗

Might turn this into a multi-chapter fic, so please comment if that’s something you’d like to read😊

👋🏼 comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated 👋🏼

“Don’t even bother, Ope,” you sigh heavily, trying to avoid eye contact with the man you once loved. “You’re married, and I’ve got a life to live.”

“I know,” Opie says, trying not to let his emotions show. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye. Now go home to Lyla.”

Exhaling deeply, he decides to walk away, a stray tear rolling down his cheek as he gets back onto his bike. Just as he’s about to start it up, he hears the roaring of a motorcycle edge closer. Turning around, he notices you jumping onto the back of the bike before it speeds away, the rider unknown but most definitely a Mayan.

A few hours later, you find yourself sitting on the back steps outside of a beautiful bungalow, sipping a mug of coffee as you watch the sun begin to set.

You feel someone caress your back, before they sit next to you. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” you whisper, turning around to look at him.

“But not as beautiful as you.”

Snuggling in closer to him, Bishop presses a loving kiss on the top of your head. Sighing contently, you can finally breathe.

You’re never going back to Charming.

[1u11ablues]

50: “I could never get sick of you.” (Price x Reader)

This was an odd day to begin with. John was home, for once, not in another country or cooped up at the base.

You'd always done errands alone, but today—your older lover decided to tag along.

"We just needed to pick up some milk from the store," you say to him as he drives you around instead, when you were so used to taking the bus. His hand resting on your thighs, and yours, playing with his fingers.

In the end, the trolley had more in it than the milk you promised. He'd moved up front to pay for the month's worth of groceries before you could even look at your bag for your purse.

You tried not to feel guilty. After all, he should be spending his break actually taking a break.

"I'm sorry," you apologised, watching as he carried everything within a single trip. "I'm sure you're tired. I would get sick of driving myself here and there, too." You scoffed.

"I could never get sick of you, doll," he shook his head as he replied, brows knitted in that stern expression you love. "If I had it my way, I would take you everywhere you wanted to."

[cephalog0d]

Bat Drabble - "Confessions

((Day 23 of @fluff-cember, Steph learning about some YJ shenanigans for @roseandgold137))

“So how does Santa work anyway?” Steph asked around a mouthful of popcorn. “Like, does he just hibernate under the ice like a cicada? Or is he like a ghost who only manifests at Christmas?”

“I refuse to speculate,” Tim said emphatically.

“Seriously?” Steph glanced at him and raised her eyebrows. “You? Mr. Here’s-a-complete-timeline-and-bibliography-of-Bigfoot-theories?”

“He’s just mad about that time we had to deliver the presents,” Bart said without looking up from his game.

After a moment’s thought, Steph decided that yes, she had heard correctly, but that didn’t mean she had any idea what that meant. “What?”

“Well, after Santa exploded someone had to do it, and it took forever, and we maybe got a few of them wrong, and Tim was pretty mad about it,” Bart elaborated completely unhelpfully.

“Timeout, pause, what was that about Santa exploding?” Steph demanded, but Tim was already talking over her.

“I’m just saying if he’s functionally immortal he could have regenerated or resubstantiated or whatever and taken care of it himself.”

“Timothy, did you blow up Santa?”

“No!”

“The evil alien energy blast did,” Bart said matter-of-factly.

“Sure. Of course.” Steph stared fiercely at Tim until he sighed and started explaining properly.

((Crossposted to AO3; direct reference to YJ 98 #40 for the actual story!))

[airas-story]

Tony wears Stephen’s clothes fluff? Maybe someone notices it and he forgot he put it on?

Clint drowned his coffee. The last mission had been exhausting; he couldn’t wait to go home to Laura and the kids. 

A nudge to his side pulled him from his coffee haze. He glared at Natasha whose elbow dug into his ribs a second time. “What?”

Natasha tilted her head to the door.

Clint shifted forward to see what had caught her attention. Tony. “What?” he asked again. “It’s Tony.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re Hawkeye, aren’t you? Notice anything?” she asked.

Clint stuck his tongue out at her. Yes, he was Hawkeye… he also hadn’t slept in days. Still, he looked back to where Tony shuffled around on an early morning call.

It took half a second to pick it out. Tony’s pants dragged slightly on the ground. Tony, who had everything, up to and including his pajamas, tailored. Okay, that was maybe an exaggeration.

Still, Tony’s pajama pants normally fit. These ones belonged to someone several inches taller than Tony.

There was only one possibility. He grinned at Natasha. “Strange made a move?”

She smirked. “How long do you think we can hint we know, before the two realize we know?”

Those two? Absolutely oblivious. “Six weeks. Minimum.”

[whimsicalmeerkat]

#17 - to distract (Sterek or Steter, your choice)

Thanks for asking! I somehow just accidentally wrote a perfect double drabble.

Send me a ship and a number!

"Oh god, please forgive me if we both survive this," Derek heard Stiles mutter.

"Wait, Stiles, don't—"

Derek is still trying to get Stiles to think through his plan when he realizes that Stiles' plan started with kissing him.

He realizes a few seconds later the question of them surviving it isn't entirely exaggerated in his case when he hears the distinct voice of Sheriff Stilinski saying, "Good evening, Mr. Hale."

"Get out of there, now," he hears Stiles whisper.

Derek very carefully unwraps Stiles' arms and steps back with his hands raised. Behind him he hears his pack scuttle out of hiding and race for the woods. In front of him, the sheriff stands with his arms crossed.

"I guess you can be gay dressed like that," he says dryly.

As Stiles begins to sputter something about hoodie bis and plaid bis, Derek wonders if they're going to get away with this. His phone buzzes and Derek hopes it means the pack is clear. Now he just has to get out of this other, possibly larger problem.

He decides to put off wondering if Stiled would be willing to kiss him again until after he stays out of jail.

[infiniteeight8]

Steter: Stiles gets doused with some magic dust which makes him some equivalent of stoned/high/drunk. Peter is just trying to keep him out of trouble.

“Oooh, pretty!” Stiles exclaims, eyes wide and delighted by the soft, floating lights. Peter has to lunge to catch him when he slips out of the jacket Peter has been hanging onto and follows after the Will ‘O the Wisp.

“‘Just get him out of the preserve,’” Peter quotes Scott, dragging Stiles back onto the path. “As if that’s easy.”

The preserve isn’t normally this supernaturally active. Maybe the minor fae that are occupying the rest of the pack stirred things up, or maybe the beasties can tell that Stiles is vulnerable and they’re targeting him.

Stiles bumps into Peter, pushing right up into his space. “You’re pretty, too,” Stiles assures him.

“Thank you, Stiles,” Peter says, tucking Stiles close against his side. “You are also pretty.”

“Prettier than her?” Stiles asks, pointing.

Peter follows the line of his finger and spots a wraith drifting between the trees. Damn it, they needed to be moving faster. “How do you feel about a piggyback ride?”

Stiles squeals and climbs him like a tree, delivering a handful of none-too-gentle kicks in the process. 

Peter hangs onto Stiles’s legs and breaks into a run. The sooner they’re barricaded into his apartment, the better.

[starryeyedjanai]

It takes Steve three days to notice it.

“What in the hell am I looking at?” Steve asks, expression flummoxed.

“That, my dear, is my newest creation,” Eddie says proudly, looking from the yellow painted dachshund/banana figurine back to Steve's face.

He hid it on their bathroom counter, half-obscured by the face wash Steve uses at night. He’s been waiting with baited breath for Steve to find it, lingering by the doorway while Steve washes his face.

Steve picks up the figurine Eddie painstakingly made and holds it in his hand, marveling at it.

“I love him,” Steve says, biting back a grin. “What’s his name?”

“Banana Dog,” Eddie says and Steve wrinkles his nose.

“You can't name a banana dog ‘Banana Dog’. That’s so lame.”

“You name him, then,” Eddie says, crowding closer, wrapping his arms around Steve, kissing his temple.

Steve hums and looks at Eddie’s reflection in the mirror. “He looks like a Jerry.”

Eddie snorts. “Jerry? Okay. Jerry, the banana dog, it is.”

“Tell me about him?” Steve asks, leaning back into his embrace.

Eddie tells him about how the party will meet Jerry and Steve listens on with adoration in his eyes the whole time.

[furashuban]

Fairy Memories

Words: 200

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57228424

Summary: Johanna remembers being a kid and meeting Hilda in the Fairy Isle.

Curled up cozily on the sofa, Hilda kept herself busy with her sketchbook over her lap and a pencil on hand. She drew herself and Twig strolling along fairy country, and beside her was a younger girl, staring and grinning back at her as they held each other’s hands and pressed on.

“Aww, Hilda, that looks lovely,” Johanna admired, taking a seat beside her daughter.

“Thanks, mum,” Hilda held up her artwork for her and Johanna to behold, “it’s been helping me relax drawing our time at the Fairy Isle. Well, all the good parts about it, at least.” She carried on putting the finishing touches on the gargantuan mushrooms and overgrown shrubs surrounding the girls as her mother watched closely.

“I still have memories of that day, you know,” said Johanna, “You finding me alone while I was crying, exploring fairy country together, yet somehow, it really feels like that happened so long ago for me. I always realize one thing whenever I look back on it, though.”

Hilda looked up at her mother curious, and Johanna grinned softly, caressing her cheek in return.

“It’s that you aren’t just my daughter, Hilda, you've always been my best friend, too.”