#friday ficlet

[onthewaytosomewhere]

Guess ‘hot goddamn mess’ is your type then (Got Weird - dodie)

Firstprince? Please? 😁

Jamie thanks for the prompt - this one was fun :)

Henry is sitting by himself in the corner of yet another party Pez drug him to when he sees Alex across the room, which is no surprise. It’s inevitable that when they’re in the same room, his eyes will find Alex. Something about him lures Henry in, and he can’t resist the lingering looks he knows will someday be discovered by someone he’d rather not. Luckily, Pez is the one to stumble upon him almost literally, as he seems to be well on this way, quite sloshed.

“What are you doing in the corner, Haz? Are you not here to finally have some fun? You’ve been so boring and pining lately.”

“I am not pining,”

“But, you admit to the boring thing?”

“Compared to you, my friend, everyone is boring,” Henry replies, still looking across the room where Alex stands, surrounded by other members of the lacrosse team. That’s part of the reason Henry stays on his side of the room, for a lax bro, someone like Henry would be boring, not that Alex seems to be the typical lax bro. Henry sees Pez follow his line of sight and sees the moment he figures out who he’s looking at. They watch as Alex is bumped, and the drink in his hand is spilled down the front of his shirt.

Pez turns back to him with a shit-eating grin, So I guess ‘hot goddamn mess’ is your type then. Maybe you should take this opportunity to help him out with that mess he seems to be wearing now, help him out of that soiled shirt. Perhaps even offer him the one off your own back. “

“Yes, you’re absolutely hilarious. Make fun of me and my silly crush.” Henry, no longer paying attention across the room, doesn’t realize that Alex has almost made it to their side of the room until he looks up and sees Alex grabbing the roll of paper towels off the counter by where they sit.

“A silly crush?” Henry wants to fall through the floor where he stands or meld into the wall behind him when he hears Alex ask the question. “Surely, anyone you have a crush on would return those feelings.”

Pez beats Henry to reply, which is probably good, as his tongue feels tangled in his mouth. “Alexander, it sucks to see that shirt of yours so thoroughly drenched. Can you use some assistance?”

“Hey, Pez, no, thanks, I’m good; it looks worse than it is, I think.” When Alex turns to him, Henry feels the breath catch in his throat, and the smile Alex sends his way makes his heart soar; he really has become the character in one of the romance novels he loves to read. Of course, those always work out, but he’s not so sure his situation will. He stops himself from getting lost down yet another trail of consciousness but realizes when he sees both Pez and Alex looking at him expectantly that he wasn’t quite quick enough for that.

“I’m sorry. Did I miss something?” The grin Pez gives him makes him nervous, more than he’ll willingly admit. He makes the mistake of looking into Alex’s eyes and nearly gets lost in the caramel pools, which seem as if they hold the secrets to the universe and so much mirth. Henry isn’t sure how anyone can be that happy.

“Our dear Alexander here was just asking what you were doing tomorrow?”

Alex’s head turns toward Pez, and the look of shock on his face is almost comical, “Um … not sure that’s what I said, but I guess … it’s probably what I was heading toward.” Alex runs his hand through his hair in a way that seems to be nervous. Henry’s not sure what Alex could possibly have to be nervous about.

“I’ll be studying in the library since someone decided they needed to drag me out tonight. I have a table I usually use —”

“In the back corner on the second floor. Yeah, I know where it is; if you’re all right with it, I’ll join you there tomorrow.” Alex looks down at the wet shirt still clinging to him, “I should probably do something about this. I’ll see you tomorrow, Henry. Later, Pez.” He does this salute with his fingers that should be anything but adorable, but Henry can’t help but find it just that.

After Alex is out of sight, Pez leans in and whispers, “Now, don’t blow it, or well, maybe you can blow him. He looks like he’d be great fun in bed. I expect to hear all the details. Now I’m off, as I’m sure you’re going to be heading off to dwell on how your study date will go.”

Pez is out of sight before Henry can rebuke the accusation or even counter that it’s not a study date, just two people studying. At least, he thinks that’s what it is. Maybe he needs to go home and think about his after all.

this can also be found on ao3

[artiststarme]

Eddie is completely and utterly broke after his run-in with Hell. The plant is destroyed so Wayne doesn’t have a job, half the town is a shell of its former normalcy, and the places that remain would rather burn than hire one of the “murderin’ Munsons”.

He finally comes up with a plan but even that is shut down with some panicked glances, attitude, and sassy hip-holding on Steve’s behalf.

“Absolutely not, Munson! I will not let you sell any of your organs. What the hell? Why do I even have to say that?!”

“Steve, you only need one kidney and the spleen is basically an accessory organ. It’ll be fine and then we’ll be rich.”

“No! No means no, you deranged weirdo. No organ selling!”

As a plan B, he starts playing shows again with Corroded Coffin just outside of town and luck allows them to be put on a record’s radar. He becomes the frontman of one of the world’s largest metal bands, Steve becomes a novelist with him on the road, and Robin comes along as an ASL interpreter for his shows.

And he maintains ownership of all of his organs (though he keeps the option open for a rainy day).

[senipsenipsenip]

The Pines family sat at the table, quietly eating their breakfast, when Mabel slammed her hands on the table and shouted “KERMIT THE FROG”.

Dipper leapt forward to right his orange juice glass, gathering nearby napkins to sop up the puddle. “What?”

“Kermit the frog! He plays the banjo!”

“Yyyyes?”

Ford raised his hand. “Who’s Kermit the Frog?”

Stan snapped his head up from his plate. “Who’s Kermit the Frog? The Muppets, Pointdexter, you were around for The Muppet Show. They had a movie and everything.”

Ford frowned. “Muppets.”

“Yeah, they’re a riot! There’s this Bear whose got some great puns and this pig who really know how to throw a punch. You’d love it, they’ve even got a scientist!”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were such a fan of children’s television.”

“Children?!”

Dipper stirred his cereal. “I’m just impressed you remember all that. Yesterday you forgot you were married.”

“That’s because The Muppets are forever!” Mabel exclaimed.

“Wait, Stanley you were married?”

“Yep. Actually, unless I’m forgetting a divorce, I might still be married.”

“You didn’t,” Mabel chirped. “I’d have it on my Romance Chart if you did. You’ve missed a lot of anniversaries.”

“So has he!” Stan argued. “I’m not the only bad husband here!”

Ford spluttered. “Husband?”

Dipper frowned. “I think we’re getting a little too far away from why Mabel screamed Kermit the Frog and knocked my orange juice over.”

Mabel nodded. “Right, so, I was thinking of Mr. McGucket -

“Stanley you have a husband?“

“I was thinking of Mr. McGucket,” Mabel interrupted. “And how he could maybe help around the Shack. And he plays banjo! He could play banjo and people could put money in his lil banjo case like a real musician.”

At the mention of money, Stan leaned forward.

“But like, no one knows banjo music,” Mabel continued. “So I was like, maybe pop hits banjo? But then BOOM! Kermit the Frog! People love that frog. He could play the rainbow song. He’d be a hit!”

“Interesting,” Stan muttered. “Preying on people’s nostalgia to milk them for cash. I love it!”

Ford hummed. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea, Mabel. Activities like playing musical instruments have been proven to help patients with Alzheimers and dementia. Not that Fiddleford’s condition has the same root cause, but it may prove beneficial to memory recovery.”

“Eugh, don’t ruin this for me.”

“If playing an instrument helps with memory loss, maybe Grunkle Stan should learn an instrument,” Dipper suggested.

“Ooo!” Mabel squealed. “What about guitar? Or the piano? OH!” She clutched Stan’s arm with a fervor. “The triangle!”

Ford grimaced. “Maybe not that one.”

“Sorry, kid. I’m not exactly a music guy,” Stan shrugged out of Mabel’s grasp. “Let’s leave that to the professionals.”

Mabel frowned, but let the topic go.

Ford stood from the table. “Well, I happen to be visiting Fiddleford this afternoon. I can broach the topic and see what he thinks.”

Fiddleford, as it turns out, loved the idea. To the surprise of everyone, Fiddleford admitted that he had always wanted to play in a jugband when he was younger, but could never get over his stage fright enough to audition for the local band. Then he went off to college and then…everything else.

“Maybe I zapped away that scared bit enough to play!” he had cackled, knocking at the side of his head with his knuckles.

It was settled. “Fiddlin’ Fridays at the Mystery Shack with Fiddleford McGucket”. Dipper tried to point out the title didn’t make sense since it was a banjo, not a fiddle. Stan argued that “customers are suckers for alliteration”. The set up was just Fiddleford dragging an old rocking chair onto the porch and opening up his banjo case. Mabel had made a large glittery banner, but it was quickly absconded by Fiddleford’s raccoon.

“Tell your wife to give me back my banner!” Mabel had yelled, chasing the raccoon into the bushes.

“Ex-wife,” Fiddleford sighed sadly. “Apparently I was too emotionally available.”

Ford pulled at his hair. “Did everyone get married without telling me?”

“Excuse me?” A voice piped up. Fiddleford and Ford turned to see a little boy standing at the bottom of the porch. He was dressed in hiking clothes that were obviously new. In the distance, a young woman was unstrapping a baby from its seat in an SUV. Obviously city folk coming to the “wilderness” for the first time.

“Are you a real hillbilly?” The boy asked. Suddenly the door slammed open, Mr. Mystery striding through, eyepatch in place.

“Sure is!” Stan grinned. “Our very own genuine hillbilly just waiting to play you a tune! All you gotta do is put some of your mom’s money in his case there.”

The little boy’s eyes widened, turning around to race towards his mother.

“Stanley,” Ford admonished. “Fiddleford isn’t some show monkey to throw money at.”

“During work hours he is.” Stan turned to Fiddleford. “So, did Mabel teach you that song she was so excited about?”

Fiddleford sat frozen, watching the little boy yank at his mothers pants to try and get her attention, the baby beginning to fuss.

“Well…” Fiddleford cleared his throat. “Some good news and bad news fellas.”

Ford furrowed his brows. “What is it?”

“Good news is, my mind ain’t all broken.” Fiddleford hugged his banjo and turned to look up at Ford. “Bad news is I knows it ‘cause I still got stage fright.”

Stan scoffed. “Stage fright? C’mon it’s one kid and a couple o’ city slickers who would probably think you playing three wrong notes and spitting is ‘authentic’.”

“Stanley, be supportive.”

“I am! Look I’ve been at this job forever. All you gotta do is smile and if something goes wrong, you blame a ghost or something. They eat that up.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “But this is music. If’n I mess up music, ‘specially somethin’ they know. Music is real special to people, I can’t spoil it.”

Ford knelt down next to Fiddleford’s chair. “You don’t have to play that song Fiddleford. You don’t have to play at all.”

Fiddleford looked anxiously between Ford and the family. It seemed the little boy had finally gotten his mother’s attention and was excitedly pointing toward the porch.

“I…” Fiddleford shook his head. “I can’t let the little ‘uns down. ‘Specially not those ones.” As he said this, he gestured with his chin towards the other end of the porch where Dipper and Mabel sat bickering in lawn chairs. Mabel had returned from her raccoon chase covered in twigs and holding a surprisingly docile raccoon. Dipper was leaning away from the pair while trying to convince Mabel to stop feeding it gummy worms before it developed a taste for human food and tried breaking into the Shack.

Ford's gaze drifted to the twins. "Alright," he relented. "But you still don't have to play Mabel's song."

Fiddleford bowed his head.

"Yet!" Ford offered. "Not yet. She'll understand I'm sure."

Fiddleford frowned, looking unconvinced.

"Of course not yet!" Stan interjected. "You can't go playing the grand finale right out of the gate! You gotta warm 'em up first, keep 'em wanting more." Stan slapped his hand on Fiddleford's back. "If you give 'em what they want right away, they won't come back! Hold that one off until tomorrow or...uh...next week. Tease it or something."

Stan had started rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand as he spoke, a tell Ford was quick to recognize. It was the same one he did when he would "begrudgingly" let Mabel choose the movie for movie night or let Dipper rope him into another game of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons. Covering the most vulnerable part of his body while he let his emotions go soft.

Fiddleford seemed to perk up at Stan's words.

"Well," Fiddleford offered. "I do know some proper jugband music. Only, it don't have the same ring to it without a jug."

"We've got a jug!" Mabel cheered from the other side of the porch. It seemed the raccoon argument had reached enough of a truce that the twins were once again paying attention to the concert. "I used to keep pond water in it, it's in the kitchen!" She hopped off of her chair, lugging the racoon along with her like it was a rather expensive lap cat.

Dipper followed her. "Why did you have a jug of pond water?"

"Because, dummy, if I met a frog prince he would need something in the shack to remind him of home."

"Aren't you supposed to turn him into a person though?"

Whatever Mabel's retort was to be was cut off by the door swinging shut.

"There ya go," Stan grumbled. "You're getting your jug. Just in time too." He gestured toward the SUV. The mother was walking toward the Shack, one hand holding the baby, the other gripping tightly to the little boy's hand. The little boy gripped a few dollars in his fist, eyes alight with excitement.

Fiddleford looked frantic. "I can't sing and play the jug at the same time!" He gripped at his hat, pulling it down over his ears.

Ford sighed. "Then don't play the jug."

"It won't be the same!" Fiddleford shook his head. "A jugband without a jug that's...that's like a body with no heartbeat!"

The door swung open and Mabel emerged with an old ceramic jug.

"Here it is!" she exclaimed. "And it only sort of smells like pond scum."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Ford smiled gently. "It seems Fiddleford can't play both simultaneously."

Mabel frowned. "But it's a jugband. It's in the name!"

"How about we wait another day," Ford offered, patting Fiddleford awkwardly on the back. "Maybe someone in town will join you."

"Oh for Pete's sake, give it to me." Stan snatched the jug out Mabel's hand, sniffing at the top and giving a grimace.

Fiddleford stopped pulling at his hat, peeking out from under the brim. "You'll play?"

Stan grunted. "I'm not missing out on good money just because you have a case of the heebie jeebies. Besides, how hard can it be? It's like blowing on the top of a beer...er...I mean soda bottle."

Dipper crossed his arms. "Grunkle Stan, we know what beer is."

"Not from me you don't."

Mabel squealed. "It's happening! Grunkle Stan is learning an instrument!"

"It's not an instrument, Pumpkin. It's dishware."

"It's a scrapbookortunity!"

Mabel dashed into the house once more, leaving Dipper to grin at their Grunkle Stan.

The family was only a few yards away now. Fiddleford looked between Stan, Ford, and Dipper, and straightened up in his seat.

"Alright. Alright!" He clapped his hands together. "Stanley, you get down here with me, otherwise your feet are gonna get mighty sore from standing." He yanked at Stanley's hand until he sat beside the rocking chair with a grumble.

"Now when I tap my foot," Fiddleford instructed. "You blow on the jug. One short note at a time." Fiddleford tapped his foot in demonstration. "You got that?"

Stanley rolled his eyes. "Gee, I don't know. Seems pretty complicated for the guy without a PhD."

Mabel burst through the door, camera clutched in her hands. "Got it!"

"Excuse me?"

The little boy stood on the porch, approaching the banjo case with far more trepidation than before. Eyes darting between the assembly, he dropped a few dollars in the case.

"Is this enough to play a song?"

Fiddleford didn't bother looking at the money. He turned his gaze to Stanley, who shrugged and raised the jug to his lips.

Fiddleford grinned. "You know ‘Boodle Am Shake’?"

The little boy shook his head.

"Well you're about to!" And with that he was off.

By Fiddleford's standards, it wasn't a horribly complicated tune. Ford had heard him pluck out more complex riffs while waiting for the coffee pot in their dorm room to brew. But Fiddleford was smiling. His shoulders had dropped from around his ears, and he was nodding at the little boy to tap his feet along with him. Ford hid his smile behind his hands as he watched Stanley, eyes focused on Fiddleford's bare foot with as much attention as one would give to diffusing a bomb. Next to him, Mabel was snapping pictures of the pair. Dipper stood on his other side, wearing the small smile he tended to get when feeling introspective. Ford laid his hand on Dipper's shoulder, and Dipper leaned into the touch.

The mother was smiling at her little boy, her baby having finally stopped fussing. Maybe it wasn't the grand attraction Mabel had planned, but Ford thought it was worth far more than those few dollars anyway. Nothing could be worth more than his family standing around him, his closest friend singing again.

I know this song, it don't mean a doggone thing. Just do that good old Charleston swing. When you sing...

[typicalopposite]

Bucktommy 🌞

🫡🫡🫡 I picked watch a sunrise. And it spiraled into this! I hope you like it

<3<3<3

They both have the next day off, but Tommy’s shift ends late. So Buck insists Tommy needs to get some sleep, so he should go home, and then Buck can come over in the morning. Tommy is reluctant but finally agrees. 

The sun has long been set. Buck has cleaned his entire loft, and packed a bag for the morning. His belly is full, he has bathed, and he is… wide awake. Nothing he wants to watch on TV, no new book he is interested in enough to start reading. He doesn’t even feel like scrolling the internet for the next insane fact rabbit hole he can tumble down, then fill everyone in about later. All he can think of is everything he wants to do with Tommy, and for Tommy, and to Tommy, once he is over there. 

He lays back into his pillows and tries to just force his eyes to stay closed. Then his phone rings. It’s Tommy.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Buck says, barely able to contain the smile on his face (he wonders if Tommy can hear it in his voice). “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Mmm, I tried… but I just couldn’t stop thinking of you.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah. It’s really becoming a thing, you always being on my mind,” Tommy says, and Buck’s heart skips a beat. “Wouldn’t really be a problem if you were here…”

Buck laughs, “You just worked a 48,” he says. “And i can’t promise either of us would be getting much rest if I was there right now.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Tommy replies. Buck rolls onto his side and wraps his free arm around himself, pretending it is Tommy’s arm. He sighs. “Hmm… are you thinking about me, now?” 

“Maybe.” Buck feels his cheeks heat the slightest bit; he feels the smirk on his lips. 

“And what about me are you thinking of?” 

“Right now? Just your arms wrapped around me…” Buck says, tightening his hold on himself. “I love when you hold me.” 

“I’d love to be holding you right now…”

“You need to sleep.”

“I know, I know,” Tommy sighs. “But first, is there anything else?”

“Anything else?” 

“That you’re thinking about?” 

Buck laughs: “Not really…” 

“Come on, I’m sure there’s something,” Tommy presses. 

“Going to bed, like you should already have done,” Buck teases. He hears Tommy scoff, like he knows Buck wasn’t about to be able to fall asleep either. “I'm thinking about what we’re going to do tomorrow.”

Tommy hums, Buck can just picture his soft smile, and his tired eyes… he needs to sleep. “What are we going to do?” 

“You will see when I get there, tomorrow.” 

“But I just want an idea on what to expect… please baby.” And that’s all it takes for Buck to melt into the mattress. God he’s so gone on this guy. He tells Tommy about his plans to take him to this little farmers market Bobby showed him. How he wanted to get the ingredients for a new dish he found, and how he wants to buy Tommy his own apron… How he wants to see him in it while they make dinner together… maybe just in that. “Hmm sounds like you have a lot planned…” and okay, to be fair, he does. He tries to fit in as much together time as he can when they get days off together; tries to make as many memories. “What about after dinner?” 

“Tommy… go to sleep!” 

“But I’m so curious,” Tommy says, and he sounds so tired. “You said you want me in just an apron… and you're not going to tell me where that might lead?” 

“Oh I think you know where that’s gonna lead…” 

“I’d much rather you tell me… in very explicit detail.” Buck rolls his eyes, his cheeks now burning from how long he’s been smiling. He gives Tommy what he wants… maybe he secretly wanted to linger on that thought a little more himself. “I don’t know if I can wait until tomorrow for that…” Tommy sighs through the phone. 

“You’re gonna have to, cause you’re going to bed now…” Buck tells him. 

“What if I wanted to know about how your day went, first?” 

“I can tell you tomorrow…” Buck groans. “It was boring anyway.”

“Then tell me, and maybe you’ll bore me to sleep.”

Buck turns his face into his pillow to muffle his laugh. “Or you could just go to sleep!” There’s a silence, and Buck knows he’s being long distance pouted at. “Fine…” 

This continues—the back and forth of Tommy convincing Buck to share some random story, and Buck ultimately doing so. “What can I say, I love the sound of your voice,” Tommy says, and Bucks insides erupt into butterflies. “Hey Evan?”

“Yeah?” 

“Look outside…”

Buck does and he laughs. Through the buildings, in the small section of the horizon visible from his bedroom window, Buck can see the very beginning of the sunrise. 

“It’s morning,” Tommy says, sounding very proud of himself. “And you should have an Uber there for you in about— now. They're about to pull up.”

“You sent me an Uber?” 

“Couldn’t have you driving here on no sleep,” Tommy says. 

Buck feels the strain of his smile in his cheeks again and throws his blanket off, grabbing his bag and slipping on his shoes. “I’m on my way,” he laughs, pulling his door closed behind him.

[loveinhawkins]

A series of notes passed during private study periods in Hawkins High School Library, circa January—May, 1985.

A page from a notebook, shoddily torn.

—Hey. Is this seat taken?

—Nah, it’s just empty for no reason.

—Ha ha.

—Admiring your dedication here, Harrington, but I’m pretty sure the librarian isn’t actually a dragon. You can talk.

—Nope. If I start talking, I won’t stop. Gotta do homework now or I never will.

—Ooh. Didn’t know I was so distracting.

—Don’t flatter yourself, Munson.

-

Written in another notebook, underneath a paragraph of red ink that ends ‘See me after class, Eddie Munson.’

—Here, use this if you need to. No way I’m going back to that damn class.

—Dude, don’t you need it to graduate?

—What’s it to you?

—Nothing, jeez. You’re gonna rip a hole in the paper if you keep leaning that hard.

—Well, maybe that’s the kinda mood I’m in.

—For what it’s worth, O’Donnell hates everyone. It’s nothing personal.

—No.

—?

—She really hates me. Like, really. Truly. I’m fucking self-aware, Harrington, I know when I’m being annoying, but I’m quiet as a goddamn mouse in her class.

—I’m sorry. That sucks.

—Yeah. I was really trying, you know?

—I get you. Can you, like, appeal when she fails you or…?

—Do you really think I’d still be here if that worked?

—Fair. Okay but what if you had… I don’t know, character testimonials, or something.

—Why, Harrington, are you offering?

—If you want.

—My uncle tried something like that last year. Was on the phone for hours. No dice.

—Shit.

—Appreciate the thought, though.

—Hey. I’ve got candy. Want some?

—You’re a brave, brave man. What kind?

—Reese’s.

—Okay. Thanks.

—No problem.

—HARRINGTON! LIBRARIAN, THREE O’CLOCK!

—Jesus Christ! I thought you said she wasn’t a dragon.

—Fine. Correction: she’s not always a dragon.

[watchyourbuck]

Hello! For the writing prompts, either “So, this is what you do when I’m not around?” or “is this turning you on?”… or both combined 👀

Buck doesn’t mean to spy on Eddie. It’s wrong. He knows that, but the sounds he’s making are… unmistakable.

He pushes the door open ever so slightly, with the silentest of creaks. Eddie doesn’t notice. How could he?

It’s a little dark, but the shine from Eddie’s phone lets him see enough.

His head is laid down on the pillow, where tiny drops of sweat are gathering under his neck. Eddie’s sweating, he realizes.

The man still has his shirt on, but his pants are unbuckled and unbuttoned, opened wide and lowered a little under his hips. Through the gap of his zipper, he has his hand wrapped around his own cock, moving it up and down. It’s prompting delicious little moans out of him.

It’s hard to distinguish what Eddie’s watching. Buck assumes it’s porn, but the screen doesn’t change colors. No, it’s- it’s a picture.

Buck squints, forcing himself not to step forward. It takes him a minute — really, it does —, but then his sight clears. He has to suppress a gasp.

It’s him.

Eddie’s touching himself to a picture of Buck.

The picture is relatively new, from a few months back. It’s one that he posted on his story, flexing his muscles and all that crap. He didn’t know he had such an audience.

He bites his lip, marveling in the scene that is his best friend about to come undone for him, like a whiny little bitch. He himself is hard. How could he not?

Buck smirks. He wants nothing more than to watch Eddie finally fall over the edge, but there’s a better option.

He pushes the door and walks in. “So, is this what you do when I’m not around?”

Eddie moves with the speed of a cartoon. He stands up so quickly, Buck loses him for a second.

“What- what, oh my-,” Eddie tries, juggling between pulling his pants up and locking his phone. Neither works.

Buck smiles cockily, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe. This is gonna be good.

Eddie squats down, hiding himself and all he has on display behind the bed. He gets to the phone, throwing it to the floor almost brutally. It’s too late, though, Buck knows what’s in it

“C’mon, you’re gonna shy away now?” Buck taunts, staring at Eddie with a raised eyebrow. “After you were calling my name?”

Eddie blinks, swallowing. “I- I wasn’t- I wasn’t calling- you’re- you’re not- I wasn’t-.” His hands move in indecorous little circles, trying to get his zipper up and his cock down. It’s amusing.

Buck nods, rolling his eyes playfully. “I must’ve imagined that part, then. I guess I was just, uh-,” he mutters, walking closer to the bed and kneeling on top of it. “Excited to see you so excited.”

Eddie seems to shrink down. It’s a mixture of fear and deep regret. Buck doesn’t know what he’s so regretful of. “I’m- I can explain,” he whispers in a single breath.

Apparently, he’s finally got his dick under control. Wish he could say the same about the blush on his cheeks, though.

“I don’t see the need for that,” Buck says, sitting on his heels and leaning forward, grabbing Eddie’s shirt and pulling him up. “It’s a shame, though.”

Eddie’s body becomes weightless under Buck’s hands. Eddie himself is taken aback. He hasn’t met single a man that can manhandle him like that. He blinks, looking up. “What- what do you mean?”

Buck tilts his head to the side, depositing Eddie on the bed, where he lands on his elbows. “When you’re hungry… do you go to restaurants to stare at the cook?”

“Ex- what?”

Buck smirks, moving Eddie so he’s right on the center of the bed. The man gulps and his eyes widen, staring down Buck’s face and body.

“Or do you sit down and eat the damn food?”

It sounds like a trick question, but Eddie doesn’t understand how. It’s not like he can hear very well over his own heartbeat blasting the beat of ‘We will rock you’ in his eardrums. “I- Buck- what? I… I can- I swear-.”

“Stop talking,” Buck orders, his voice deeper now. With one single movement, he straddles Eddie, pinning him down with his body. “Why would you settle for a picture of me, when you can have the real thing?”

Eddie makes a strangled noise, his jaw hanging open. He closes his eyes, inhaling short — redundantly breathless — little breaths.

Buck licks over his front teeth, sticking his tongue out and circling his lips with it. “Don’t you want the real thing?”

It’s a handful of incomprehensible little words that he mutters, and Buck’s amused, but he’s also done. He grabs Eddie’s hands, which are suspended in the air, and puts them on his hips.

He places his own palms on top of Eddie’s, making sure that they stay in place.

Eddie looks like he’s been tortured, and Buck raises both eyebrows. He waits for a second, but Eddie seems incapable of doing anything, simply staring at him in plea.

Buck clicks his tongue, putting his own hands on Eddie’s chest. He impulses himself to grind on him, making their bulges bump. Eddie moans, Buck smiles. It’s clear now, it has to be.

He opens his eyes, realizing that he had them closed. Huh, interesting reaction. He looks down at Eddie, and plays with his shirt absentmindedly.

It’s a second later, but it feels like an hour. Buck stares at him with a small grin, and it’s only when Eddie’s grasp on Buck’s hips tighten that he knows.

“Please,” he says.

So Buck gets to work.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Please take this as my Fuck It Friday!

Tagged by my lovely @thewolvesof1998 @wikiangela @lover-of-mine @disasterbuckdiaz @callmenewbie & @daffi-990 thank you so much!💗✨

Tagging in return @wildlife4life @housewifebuck @honestlydarkprincess @loserdiaz @hippolotamus @jamespearce9-1-1 @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @your-catfish-friend @butraura @cowboy-eddie @giddyupbuck @smilingbuckley @mattsire @eddiebabygirldiaz @eddie---diaz @eowon @evanbegins @honestlyeddie @king-buckley @fionaswhvre @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley & @bucksbirthmark 💋

[emmalostinwonderland]

I'll ask for DinLuke skinny-dipping because Din deserves to get that armour off 🤭

Thanks for the ask! I haven't written DinLuke since last Christmas, and I've never dabbled with GFFA fic, but a bit of Prince of Naboo Luke/Manda'lor Din honeymoon style just sounded right. There's not a lot of water time involved, but Din does get his armor off! I hope you like sappy shit lol

Din watches wide-eyed as Luke first steps out of his shoes then begins undoing the clasp of his gown. “Luke? What… what are you doing?” The lake is beautiful, lit only by the moons in their various states of waxing and waning in Naboo’s sky. Luke is beautiful like this too – though he always is – with the moonlight draped about him like a veil. He is every bit the bride today, and Din is quick to file this memory away alongside their ceremony earlier today. He admires the slope of his riduur’s shoulders, the strength in his back and his legs as he takes a few steps into the water… his ass. Curvy. Bare. Biteable. Din swallows hard and hopes the vocoder in his helmet didn’t pick up the sound. “Aren’t you coming?” Luke turns to look back over his shoulder, laughter tucked into every part of his face and dancing in his beautiful blue eyes. “There’s no one around to see us, you know. The servants are in bed, and my family has gone back to Theed.” Din stands stiff as a board, unable to tear his eyes off the young prince. “I… my beskar’gam– my armor…” “Oh… do you not want to take it off? They said it’s allowed–” “It is. And I… I do. I– it’s just–” Luke nods and turns fully to return to shore. He doesn’t try to cover anything, and Din’s thoughts come to a screeching halt. He knows he’s staring, but he just can’t bring himself to stop. “May I help you?” Luke asks, speaking softly now that he’s close enough to touch. Din hesitates only a moment more before nodding dumbly. Luke’s hands are gentle when they touch him, first lifting his helmet and holding it out of the way with one hand so he can stroke Din’s cheek. “Hello again,” he teases. “Ner riduur. Right?” “‘Lek. Yes. Your pronunciation has improved too.” “Whatever it takes to impress you, sweetheart.” Din doesn’t say that he’s impressed with everything about Luke. He knows it’s all over his face anyway; wearing a helmet every day for most of one’s life isn’t conducive to learning to control one’s expressions. He takes a deep breath of fresh air and helps Luke carefully remove each piece of beskar until he’s standing there in just his flight suit. “There,” Luke says, stepping back. “I think you’ve got it from here, wouldn’t you say?” All Din can do is simply nod again. “Perfect. Meet me in the water when you’re ready. I want to kiss you under all the stars.”

From the ficlet friday prompts

[tailsbeth-writes]

Prompt 6 FirstPrince!

I figured if anyone requested this, it would be for FirstPrince. Henry would have definitely read the book & seen the film of Holding the Man (I couldn't recommend enough but remember the tissues!). Find this on Ao3!

TW: Depression, dark thoughts in general - look after yourselves! ❤️

When Henry rolls over in bed that morning, he knows it's going to be a bad day. The sheets are cold next to him, the clock tells him it's 6.03 so Alex is out on his run. Henry can't think of anything worse right now, the mere thought of sunlight is painful.

His hand stretches to the bedside table, tapping momentarily as he finds his phone. He sends 🏴 emoji to Percy, a symbol system they set up a while ago so that Percy gets a heads up he won't be at the shelter but it takes minimal effort for Henry. He scrolls out of some sick curiosity to see when the last one was. It was a month ago, after a trip to London. Serves him right for trying with his grandmother, he thinks.

He puts his phone on the table and rolls himself over. The duvet envelopes him as he shuffles further into it. It smells like tea, coconut moisturiser, coffee, sweat, cologne... It smells like them. And yet, all of that brings no comfort to Henry today. His mind is trapped in a dark vice, and while that may be the case far less frequently these days, it still fills him with the endless questions of why.

Why am I like this?

Why does Alex even stay?

Why won't this stop?

Henry has never been hugely spiritual but days like this make him worry for his soul. When the numbness hits him so hard, he can barely believe he even has one. It is like it has been swallowed whole by a great fog overnight. Henry feels stranded, to simply watch his essence vanish.

'Baby, Hen, can you hear me?'

Henry blinks and he can now see Alex's face. He can smell Alex's grapefruit shower gel that he keeps in the downstairs bathroom so he doesn't disturb Henry with his post workout shower.

'Alex, I... I can't...'

Henry barely recognises the strained tone that escapes his lips. He can feel the bed shift as Alex moves closer and kisses his hair before backing away, Alex is saying something but he can't take in the words. It's like he's stuck at the bottom of the ocean, everything blurred and muffled. Henry wishes he could swim to the top but he knows he wouldn't make it.

'I got you, can you drink this for me?'

There's a sports bottle at Henry's lips, he tips his head back a little as Alex guides him. The water is cold, it stings Henry's gums a little.

'Pills next, okay?'

Henry manages a nod this time and Alex starts to put his pills in his mouth and guides the water bottle again. Henry can't help but think they seem pointless. If he can't leave bed, then they can't be working, can they?

'They're not a cure all Henry, you know they help.'

'Stop reading my mind.'

'Stop thinking out loud then sweetheart.'

Alex put the water and pill bottles to the side and lies down next to Henry. Henry lets himself study Alex's face; the slight eye bags that he'll never get rid of any time soon, his perky lips that Henry wishes he yearned for and the stubble that he'd been leaving for the past few days. His eyes look so hopeful, as if Henry is going to offer him the world. That's when it all hits Henry. The tears fall down his cheeks.

'I'm so sorry, Alex.'

Alex pulls him in tightly, the warmth of his skin anchors Henry to something solid. His salty tears touch his mouth as he sobs into Alex's neck. Alex is whispering in Spanish and Henry feels oddly soothed, despite not having a clue.

'I will love every inch of your soul even when you can't see it. Okay, Hen?'

Henry nods into Alex. He can only wait and wonder now.

[ellorypurebloodculture]

May I request a Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley ficlet?

Master Harry Potter's chest burns as he chases Miss Ginny Weasley through the trees, dodging over protruding roots and ducking under leafy boughs in the process; she's the last person he has to catch to win the game, but she's as elusive as a Thestral to those who have never witnessed a death.

"Catch me if you can!" Ginny challenges over her shoulder, her deep red braid whipping through the air with how fast she runs, the sunlight seeping through the leaves to kiss her freckles.

He almost trips over his feet as he realizes that he's jealous of the sunlight.

Ginny is a rarity among pureblood witches, never afraid to try new things, willing to become dirty and disheveled for fun's sake without caring what anyone thinks, always willing to laugh loudly and smile brightly and--Merlin, Harry wants her.

Knowing she'll despise him if he treats her like she's fragile, Harry tackles her into the leaf litter and gasps against the arch of her neck, heart pounding, "Caught you."

[thighzp]

Happy Friday! I'd like FirstPrince & 🍪 please 🥰

Hello great originator! I'm gonna do something SUPER ooc for me and write a canon compliant ficlet (have I ever written non-AU? i'm not even sure)

Here's Alex having a late night sweet treat because it's what he deserves.

Of course Alex was grateful for every night Henry was able to spend with him at the White House. During his mom's first term, he spent most nights in his palatial bedroom alone and staring at the ceiling, wondering what he would've been doing if he lived on a college campus like most students his age. Now, in her second term and his relationship public, he no longer had to stare at the ceiling but could stare instead, at Henry. Tonight was one of the rare nights where Henry was fast asleep and Alex was the one tossing and turning. He was worried to wake him and risk spoiling the only restful night he's had in months. But Alex's mind was racing and all he wanted to do was wake Henry up and ask him to just tell him everything would be okay. No. Nope. He was not waking him. He looked too angelic. Instead, Alex slipped as carefully as possible from under the covers while he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He opened and closed the bedroom door behind him nearly silently and began shuffling down the hallway toward the White House kitchen. Upon entering, he decided it best not to turn on the light so he didn't alert anyone. He pressed on his phone flashlight and opened the fridge. Scanning the shelves which were fully stocked as always, nothing struck his fancy. Curse daytime Alex for insisting on only healthy options in stock. But then he remembered. He pulled open the large freezer door under the fridge and dug to the back. His hand landed on a box covered with a light dusting of frost, but not yet freezer burned. Hell yeah. He pulled out the box of helados that he kept for emergencies. Or late night munchies. Just as he tore into the new box, the kitchen light flicked on and scared the sleepiness out of him. "What the fuck?" Alex shouted. Henry stood leaned against the doorframe with a smirk. "You better have been planning to bring one to me, love." "You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to wake you," Alex said and pulled out two of the sweet treats. "No matter, I knew where I'd find you anyway," Henry grinned and strode across the kitchen and sat on the counter, taking the helados Alex had unwrapped for him.

this was meant to be just Alex but I simply want them in every room together okay!!!

Ficlet Friday!!

[firawren]

For ficlet friday - Henry Tilney telling Catherine ghost stories, maybe shortly after they're married would be so cute

Thanks for the ask! Great idea!

Ficlet Friday: newlywed ghost stories

"Now that you are mistress of Woodston, I can no longer hide its greatest secret from you, Catherine," Henry said in a grave tone.

Catherine moved closer to him in the bed. "Oh! What is that?"

"Did you not notice the old garden shed when I first took you about the grounds?"

"Yes."

"And yet I have never shown you inside it."

"Surely that is just because it is an ordinary shed, nothing of importance."

He shook his head against his pillow, still wearing the same grave expression. "No. It is because it is haunted."

"Haunted! Oh no, that cannot be true."

"It is quite haunted," he insisted. "The spirit of the old, murdered gardener lurks within its rotting walls."

"Oh! How frightful!" She shuddered against the sheets, and he threw an arm over her waist to draw her closer against him. "Well, and what if I was to go inside?"

"You would take a lamp with you, creeping slowly through the creaking old door, but as soon as you were inside, the door would slam itself shut"—he threw the blanket over both of their heads—"and your lamp would snuff out, as if an invisible hand had extinguished it, plunging you into complete darkness."

Catherine trembled within the dark cocoon her husband had put them in, reveling in his horrid tale.

"You would try to pry the door open, but find yourself utterly trapped—but not alone. No, the hairs on the back of your neck"—he stroked his fingertips there, making her shiver—"would rise as a cold presence made itself felt in the dank air behind you."

"Oh! Henry! This is too horrid!" She snuggled against him. "What then?"

👻

[meraki-yao]

Dropping in to say your crying at the vows Payneland was SUPERB! Is it too late for 🤬 Payneland? If so no stress at all! Your writing is awesome!

Hi! Oh my God, thank you so much! I'm glad you liked the last one! Thank you for the prompt and sorry for this being late!

🤬Argument with a family member

This is a human/alive AU by the way!

TW: Paul Rowland being a homophobic, abusive asshole, homophobic slurs

Charles freezes, his fiancé’s hand tightening on his arm. Standing in front of their wedding venue entrance, arguing with the security, is his father who he hasn’t seen in years. After struggling through university on his own and meeting Edwin Payne, he took off and ran far away from home, cutting all contact with his parents while building a new home with the love of his life. A few years down the line, he and Edwin created a cipher to communicate with his mother. But throughout all of this, they have deliberately steered clear of his father. His father, who beat him senseless; his father, who locked his lanky teenage self in the basement that he lived in since he was five; his father, who nearly ripped his pierce off his ear, calling him homophobic slur years before he came to terms with his bisexuality. After Charles confessed his trauma after a particularly violent nightmare, Edwin had held him and promised that he would never let Paul Rowland near him ever again. Charles had gripped his boyfriend’s waist and promised the same: he cannot ever let his father lay a hand on sweet, gentle, loving Edwin. But he’s here now, at their rehearsal dinner, and he can’t help but freeze at the sight. Why? How? What is he doing here? How did he find him out after so long? What do I do now? Charles’ eyes meet his dad’s and the next thing he knows, Paul Rowland is pushing the security guard to the ground and comes marching their way, the rage on his face horrifyingly familiar. He has to move, he has to leave, he has to protect Edwin— But he can’t move. He’s frozen in place, legs turned to jelly. He wants to scream and cry but only quick puffs of breaths come out. Just before his dad can shout a curse at them, Edwin suddenly steps forward, pushing Charles behind him. “Excuse me, sir.” He says eerily calmly, which is a sign that he’s actually angry. “I don’t believe you’re invite to this function. You are trespassing right now, please kindly leave the premise before we have to call the authorities.” “Move out of the way, you fag. I’m here to talk to my son.” Paul Rowland growls, and Charles flinches, he wants to grab Edwin’s hand and run. “As you can clearly see, Charles does not want to talk to you. Now, leave.” Edwin continue, not phased by the slur. “CHARLES! YOU FUCKING USELESS PIECE OF SHIT, HIDING BEHIND A FAIRY?” The familiar roar rings in Charles’ ear. He can’t fucking breathe oh God oh fuck— BAM! Edwin, his sweet Edwin who has always gravitated to words, who he has tried to get into boxing without much success, punches his dad square in the jaw. Both Rowlands stare at him in shock. “YOU FUCKER! HOW DARE YOU—” “No, you listen here.” Edwin states, a dangerous edge in his voice. “We have given you multiple warnings. I will not allow you to come here, ruin our joyous occasion and do any harm to my fiancé, physical or otherwise. The police can deal with you now, we’re done here.” He lays a hand on Charles’ back, gentle despite the situation, and leads him away as the police who have finally arrived come and pull his dad away for questioning. They’ll need to provide their recount too, but Edwin insisted that they’ll deal with that later. They enter the dressing room of the venue where Charles collapses onto a chair. Edwin kneels before him, hand cupping his cheek, thumb swiping under his eyes. “Charles, please tell me what’s going on.” “No, it’s nothing, I’ll be fine I— Holy shit, Edwin, you punched my dad!” “Yes well, I very well couldn’t stand there and let him cause you even more distress, and he was clearly not going to listen to a word I say, sometimes actions do speak louder than words.” Charles pulls Edwin into his lap and wraps his arm around his waist, nose buried in his neck, breathing the familiar scent. Edwin’s hand goes to his curls as he presses kisses on to the top of his head. God, how lucky is he, to have such a wonderful person to call his? “We’ll be alright, my love,” Edwin whispers. “I promise, we’ll be alright.” Charles has never doubted him.

[weird-an]

Billy doesn't ever shut up. Talks Steve's ear off. All the time.

It's always trash talk. How Steve can't win against Billy, how Steve is such a bitch and Billy is so much better than he is. That Hawkins should be glad that Billy is there now, because that town needs some fucking style and no more polo shirts.

It's getting worse every practice. Steve is going crazy. It's so annoying. Billy needs to shut up.

He talks and talks and talks and Steve waits until they are alone, takes his time to shower, because that guy needs to be taught a lesson and apparently no one dares or wants to, all too blinded by his tanned abs and pink lips.

"Shut up, Hargrove," Steve says, voice already shaking from anger.

Billy laughs, tilts his head back. "Oh, don't be such a prissy little -"

Steve doesn't think. He just pushes Billy.

Billy doesn't see it coming. His back knocks against the tiles and his eyes widen. There is a gasp escaping his mouth and it's a glorious sound. It gives Steve an idea.

"Didn't expect to you to-," Billy starts.

"Shut. Up." Steve cuts him off. Presses his lips against Billy. It's not a kiss. It's a fight. It's a bite, pain, teeth, too much tongue, but it works.

Billy moans. A small, needy noise, nearly washed by the shower's water against the tiles. He bucks his hips and ruts against Steve's thighs. He's hard. Billy Hargrove is fucking hard and Steve's got the upper hand and it makes him dizzy.

"Harrington," Billy hoarsely begins again and there's a sparkle in his blue eyes. What a fucking brat.

"Shut up," Steve says. He pushes Billy against, this time Billy goes down. So easily. Sinks on his knees and stares at Steve. Opens his lips and licks them.

"You know what to do." Steve isn't exactly sure how they got here, but he's not going to stop now. Not when Billy looks like that, cock red against his belly and eyes dark.

Billy's gaze flickers from Steve's hardening cock to his face and back.

"Billy." Steve raises a brow. His heart is racing.

Billy's lips wrap around his cock. Licks the tip and then swallows him right down. He's struggling for a moment, choking a little. Steve can see the stretch of his lips.

But then he relaxes around him. Steve presses his hips forward.

Billy's mouth is hot and wet and a fucking dream.

He buries his hand in Billy's wet hair, tugs it. He groans around him.

"I like you way better like this," Steve pants. "Finally you use your mouth for something good."

Billy rolls his eyes. Steve maybe fucks into him a little harder at that. This is a lesson after all.

[doodleholic]

“Draco?” The name left her mouth before she could think better of it, but it was him. His hair was longer than she had ever seen it, tied up in a rather dashing fashion. He cut a rather nice figure all around in that armor, if she were being frank.

“I am afraid you are mistaken, mademoiselle,” He said in impeccable French, his pronunciation ever so slightly off for the period. “My name is Armand.”

Hermione pressed closer, crowding him to the wall, away from prying eyes and ears.

“You look the part. I’d almost believe you, Malfoy, but I’m on assignment from the Time Division. I’ve been sent here to rescue you.”

Draco’s eyes widened, and if she’d had any doubts before, now she was absolutely certain it was him.

“Now, let’s go, before we accidentally change history. You’ve clearly been here too long as it is.”

“Granger, I can’t leave,” he said, dropping the pretense and switching to English. “As far as I can find, Armand Malfoy- my whateverty-eth grandfather- he doesn’t exist.”

…. Art for a fic I will never write because there’s this whole bootstrap paradox thing I’d have to resolve, and then I’d have to do research on the Norman Invasion. Sorry, my dudes, but I’m lazy and my attention span says ‘no’. And all I really wanted was to draw Draco with a high-pony wearing armor.

[typicalopposite]

🍓 Fruit picking for bucktommy if it inspires you 💙

Welp! I was very inspired 😂🫶 hope you like it!!

<3<3<3

Evan loves kids. 

It’s nothing new. Tommy has known from the very beginning. How he brought up how cool Chris would think Tommy’s job was during the tour. How he absolutely adores his favorite girl (Jee). How he deserts Tommy with Hen and Karen to go see what Denny and Mara are up to. 

The kids love Evan, too. 

There’s very little—if any—doubt he is the favorite. He is the first person they ask about when they come around. He is the one Jee requests her bedtime stories from when she spends the night. He is the one Chris comes too with his issues he doesn’t want to tell Eddie about. He’s their Buck, and he means the world to them… and them to him. 

Tommy loves this for Evan.

Mostly because with both of them being firefighters, the topic of kids of their own feels either very far off (and some days not even in the realm of possibility). One day, he hopes, and he knows Evan hopes so too… but for now, he gets to be wrangled into the role of fun uncle with Evan, while he just tries to keep up. And if he’s being honest, he loves that for himself. 

***

It’s Evan’s birthday… and in true fun uncle fashion he was going to rent a water slide for the kids (himself too, but mostly them) to come over and spend his day off having a blast. Instead… he wakes up with a fever and a sore throat and a cough. He’s devastated… his pout pulling down so far it’s almost comical. 

“Got you some medicine,” Tommy says, sitting down next to Evan’s warm body. He gives him a little cup of NyQuil and a bottle of water. 

Evan sighs and takes the medicine, wincing as he swallows it. “Thanks…” he sighs, the pout immediately coming back. “Just gonna… go back to sleep now. Sleep my whole birthday away knowing I disappointed all the kids.” 

“Baby… you can rent the slide, and invite them back over, as soon as you feel better. They understand.” Evan buries himself in the covers mumbling something about it not being the same. Tommy tries to not smile, he’d hate for that pout to get aimed directly at him for teasing. He sits with Evan until he falls asleep, then slips out of the room so he doesn’t disturb him. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket; it’s Maddie. “Hey,” Tommy says quietly, moving across the house to the front door and going outside. 

“How is he?” 

“His feelings, or his health?” Tommy snorts. “Because both have been greatly impacted by this cold.” 

“Poor thing,” Maddie says, and Tommy can just picture her face pulling a similar Buckley pout to Evan’s. He walks out to the mailbox, grabs the mail, and the paper from the sidewalk. “Well tell him Jee sends her love and she hopes he gets better soon,” Maddie says… but Tommy is sidetracked. On the front page of the newspaper is an article about a strawberry field… Pick Your Own Berries! FUN For Everyone! The gears in Tommy’s head are starting to turn. 

“Hmm…” he hums out loud. 

“What?” Maddie asks, confused. 

“Hey, do you mind if I take Jee out for a bit… I think I thought of a way to cheer Evan up.”

***

He gathers all the kids, loads them into his truck and heads off to the strawberry field. 

Each kid gets a little basket, and Tommy sends them off. “Pick the best looking ones,” he tells them, taking Jee’s hand and letting her pull him down the row in front of them. She picks the strawberries and holds them up for Tommy to inspect before dropping them into the basket. 

When they are through, all the kids show off what they got. Their mouths red from the ones they ate along the way. 

“Now, we have to be quick, and very quiet!” Tommy says when they arrive back at the house. He goes in first to see if Evan is up wandering; he’s not so he sends the kids into the kitchen with their baskets. Tommy goes to their room, cracks the door and sees Evan still curled up under the covers. Then he goes to the kitchen and helps the kids wash their berries. He gets to work on slicing them, while Christopher and Denny go around the kitchen hunting down the rest of the ingredients Tommy says they need to bake a cake. 

An hour later the timer dings off and as soon as it’s cooled he quickly tops it with some whipped cream, more chopped strawberries, and a single candle they have been reusing as opposed to hurting themselves with buying the number candles. 

They just get it perfect when they hear movement from the bedroom and Tommy puts a finger up to his lips, and the kids all mimic him. Jee giving a little “Shh,” for good measure. The door opens and Evan comes trudging out towards the kitchen. Tommy can hear him sniffing the air. “Babe… what’s that—”

“Happy birthday!” They all scream as he rounds the corner, and Evan nearly topples over jumping from it.

“What the…” 

“Keep your distance,” Tommy instructs. “I don’t wanna return any of them sick… on top of being hyped up on cake.” 

“Cake?” Buck repeats, looking from Tommy to the cake on the counter. “When did you…”

“We made it!” Mara says proudly.

“From scratch!” Denny adds. 

“We picked strawberries!” Jee holds up the one she is currently eating. 

“Do you like it?” Christopher asks. 

Tommy smiles over at Evan, who is already a little misty eyed. “You didn’t have to…” he says. 

“I’m sure that’s not the answer he was looking for, baby…” Tommy teases. 

“I love it!” 

Tommy has to give it to the kids, and himself, the cake is pretty good. They only find a couple pieces of eggshell, and a single strawberry stem, as they devour the majority of the cake. “You feel better?” Jee asks around a mouthful. 

“Much!” Evan smiles at her, then up and Tommy… mouthing a thank you to him.

[watchyourbuck]

hey~ no10 from the prompt list, if you feel like it~ 💛

Eddie knew Buck like the back of his hand.

No, that was an understatement. He knew him like his own heartbeat.

Every single look, or stance, or smile. Every single thought. Buck could bend over backwards trying to hide something from him, but he could only ever do it unsuccessfully. Eddie knew Buck. The real Buck.

So, truly, it shouldn’t have been such a shock.

“Who is he?”

Buck seemed taken aback, momentarily stunned by three simple words. “E-excuse me?”

“The guy,” Eddie continued, his body on automatic and his thoughts far. “The one leaving hickeys on your neck. Who is he?”

The indifference of it all made the firehouse cold, sending a chill up and down Buck’s spine. His eyes turned to Eddie, who kept stacking supplies.

It’s not that he didn’t have an answer. A name, more accurately. But still, how did he know?

Silence invaded their space, like a drama scene from a movie where the backgrounds blurs. It was uncomfortable, a hollow little piece of dialogue he wasn’t aware he was assigned.

It must’ve been too long. Eddie’s arms went down, the pile of bandages forgotten, just mere inches away from his face. “Who is he, Buck?”

“No one,” he replied, much more centered this time.

The change in tone made Eddie purse his lips, suddenly aware of the fact that he was being pushed off. Buck didn’t wanna tell him.

He nodded, a minor scoff creeping up his throat. His mouth bent downwards. “No one you wanna tell me about.”

The implication was broad, and pointy. Buck was dating, or he wasn’t. He was in love, or he wasn’t. The only safe haven was that he was fucking. Eddie would put his hands to the fire on that one.

Ironic, innit?

“Could be a she,” Buck said, avoiding his stare.

“No, it couldn’t.”

“How do you know?”

Because I’d mark you like that, too.

Eddie sighed, running his hands through his hair. The rest of the firehouse was running smoothly, completely oblivious to them, or their words. How could anyone not notice Eddie’s heart bleeding into its own?

“Forget it,” he mumbled, short of biting his tongue. There was a moment in time where the beggar had to stop begging; where the needy had to stop needing. It was time. Time to let him go.

Buck’s reached for Eddie’s shoulder, stopping him in place. He added no pressure, so if the man wanted to bail, he could. “You don’t get to do that, Eddie.”

This time, the scoff did come out. Angry and bitter, and all the bad feelings you’re supposed to swallow. “Do what, exactly?”

“Run away.”

“What?”

“He’s no one,” he said rashly, running his tongue over his front teeth. “He can be no one.”

It was tough to follow. Buck’s eyes gave away his feelings, but not the meaning of his words. Eddie frowned, taking a step closer. Buck’s hand fell to the side, brushing along the skin on Eddie’s wrist. “What do you mean?”

Buck blinked, his breathing heavy. It was now or never. He grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him.

Sharp. Fast. Telling.

“If you want me, he can be no one.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Please take this as my Fuck It Friday!

tagged by @daffi-990 @giddyupbuck @wikiangela @loserdiaz @lover-of-mine @fortheloveofbuddie @callmenewbie @eddiebabygirldiaz & @eowon thank you so much! College’s beating my ass rn but it’ll get to your works shortly!✨💗

tagging in return @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @malewifediaz @housewifebuck @bucksbirthmark @your-catfish-friend @butraura @cowboy-eddie @buckleyobsessed @disasterbuckdiaz @honestlydarkprincess @honestlyeddie @evanbegins @jamespearce9-1-1 @smilingbuckley & @wildlife4life 💗