#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

[navybrat817]

Ficlet Friday?

A slightly buzzed Bucky just being the cutest or in love or both. Definitely a fluff-ficlet. Your choice on which Bucky 😉

I tried to make it fluffy, nonnie, but it does have a touch of angst. Sorry!

Pretty Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 700

Warnings: Tipsy Bucky, encouraging friends, slight angst

You were reading a book in the lounge when laughter rang out through the hall, a smile touching your lips. The guys decided to do a “boys' night out” and it sounded like they had a good time. Between being heroes and the trials and tribulations they all went through, they deserved it.

“Hey! Pretty girl!”

You didn't turn toward the sound of Bucky’s voice immediately as much as you wanted to. Glancing around, you were the only one in the lounge, so who was he talking to? It would mean everything for him to call you pretty, but you were just… you.

“Steeeeve. I don’t think she heard me,” Bucky loudly whispered.

“Then say it again with feeling,” Steve loudly whispered back.

“Got it.” Bucky sucked in breath which gave you enough time to cover your ears. “HEY! PRETTY GIRL!”

“Jesus Christ, I can hear you guys,” you confirmed, shutting your book. There went your quiet evening. “I guess stealth isn’t your strong suit tonight.”

You shrieked when Bucky suddenly sat beside you, casually throwing an arm over your shoulders. Okay, he was still stealthy, and he looked amazing in his jeans and henley. “There’s my pretty girl. I missed you,” he smiled.

“Um…” You looked around to find Steve, Thor, Sam, Joaquin, and Clint hovering by with expectant looks on their faces. You tried to come up with something witty, but all you said was, “What?”

Bucky chuckled, his cheeks a bit more pink than usual. “My pretty girl is adorable, isn’t she?” he said over his shoulder before looking at you with hearts in his eyes.

You leaned in to get a closer look at him, catching a small whiff of liquor mixed with his cologne. “You’re tipsy,” you said. How was that possible?

“No, I’m Bucky. And you’re pretty,” he smiled, the dreamy look still in his eyes. “Pretty eyes, pretty smile, pretty voice. Even your name’s pretty.”

As happy as you were to hear those things, even as your heart pounded, you looked to the guys for help because Bucky couldn’t be serious. “How?”

“My apologies,” Thor spoke even louder than usual. “I shared some of my Asgardian liquor with Barnes and Rogers and… Well-”

“Bucky hasn’t shut up about you,” Sam cut in, rolling his eyes. “‘My girl is the prettiest girl there is.’”

“‘Isn’t my girl brilliant? And so kind!’” Clint mocked.

“‘Her smile just lights up the room’,” Joaquin added.

“Guys, c’mon. It’s sweet,” Steve smiled before he said, “‘I’ll bet her kisses even taste pretty.’”

Heat filled your cheeks. Bucky didn’t deny a thing, so they were telling the truth, weren’t they? “But I’m not-”

The former Winter Soldier placed a hand on your cheek, drawing your attention back to him. “Don’t look at them, pretty girl. Look at me.”

You did, and it made you want to cry. Because you weren’t his girl. He was only saying these things because he was tipsy. “Okay. You had your fun, so why don’t you get some sleep?”

His smile fell away. “No,” he muttered, pulling you into his lap in the blink of an eye and putting his face in your neck. “I’m fine right here.”

His lips against your skin had you shivering, and it wasn’t possible to break from his hold. Being this close felt like a dream, but he was tipsy and you had to be the responsible one. “Um… a little help?” you asked.

“Of course.” Thor stepped forward. “Allow me.”

You smiled at the God of Thunder. “Thanks, I…” You stopped when he draped a blanket over you and Bucky. Where did that even come from? “That wasn’t what I-”

“And some water,” he smiled as Bucky nuzzled your neck with a happy moan. You tried not to let that moan turn you on. You had to be good. “Men, let us take our leave.”

“Behave, jerk,” Steve said as Thor shuffled everyone from the room.

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky snarled, nuzzling you again. The lights dimmed, too. It was almost romantic. “Not you, pretty girl. You can say whatever you want.”

You had to laugh. Laughter was better than worrying about what would happen in the morning. “So, I’m your pretty girl?”

“Yep,” he said with a smile. “All mine.”

“Okay, Sarge,” you smiled sadly. “I’m your pretty girl.”

Relaxing in his hold, you could pretend until he was sober that you were.

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️ And this one may be fun to continue.

[unopposablethumbsao3]

Julian getting a little too enthusiastic in the gym after everybody finds out he's an augment.

He's never been able to actually push himself while working out in public before, he's always had to hold back to avoid attracting too much attention. So, horrific and traumatic as it was to have his secret revealed like that, to hold on to his career and his life and everything he cares about by the skin of his teeth, there are things he's looking forward to now, things he just couldn't do before.

All of which adds up to Julian in the gym at 0500, figuring out his absolute max deadlift, dropping it down to his 90% and doing set after set until he simply can't lift it anymore. It takes fucking ages, he's even stronger than he expected, and he's having such a good time...

Until about two hours later, right at the start of his shift, when he feels himself start to stiffen up. He tries to push through it, tries to just keep moving and get rid of all the lactic acid that's building up in his glutes, but there's only so much you can do when you've put your body through that and by lunch time, he's locked in a chair in his office and he doesn't think he can stand up anymore, actually.

Which, of course, is when Garak shows up to ask if he still wants to have lunch. And Julian would really like to say yes, but if he can't even stand up then walking to the Replimat is right out, so he just tells Garak that he's got to catch up on some research, actually, and can they take a rain cheque? And he adds his most charming smile for good measure, but now Garak is just *looking* at him, one of those inscrutable looks, with his eyes squinted and his head tilted to the side.

"My dear doctor, are you quite alright?"

And Julian could just tell him! He could just say 'no, actually, I worked out far too hard and now I can't actually stand up to go and get the muscle regenerator I would need to fix it, let alone to join you for lunch!' But that would require *admitting* that he'd overdone it, which of course is exactly what Garak warned him about that morning as he was leaving their quarters at 0430. 'Don't push yourself too hard, my dear, genetically engineered or not, human spines are simply structurally inadequate in some respects..."

And of course he was right, and of course Julian can't let him *know* he was right, and so they're at a stalemate. And Garak just keeps *looking* at him, and then he walks into the room and around the desk and he just stands there, looking down at Julian until Julian is just like "...yes?" And Garak's like, "oh, I just thought I would give you a kiss, since you can't join me. Because of your research." And Julian's like "...okay?" And Garak's just like "so why don't you stand up so I can kiss you properly?" And Julian knows he's fucked but of course he can't admit it so he just stares at Garak until Garak starts smiling and says "you can't, can you?"

And that's how Garak ends up carrying Julian out of the infirmary in the middle of the day to drop him in an Epsom salt bath while he lectures him on the importance of *moderation*, my dear, you really must learn *moderation*

[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. Twice. 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...

[leilohsstupidgaystuff]

Single dad Erik au

Erik and Charles had a few casual dates, which pretty much only involved sex because Erik doesn't wanna date because he wants to concentrate on his kids (Lorna, Wanda, Pietro/Peter) and also doesn't want to introduce them a lot of new people. With Charles, he already went on more dates than usual, but on his fifth date, he gets sick, and he texts Charles to cancel it, but then Charles stands in front of his door with soup, medicine and a book for children. Erik is too weak to protest, and nobody else is there to help with the kids, so he lets Charles in. Charles is great with the kids, and he makes dinner while talking to Lorna about books, and to Pietro about music and to Wanda about animals, while also taking care of Erik, and Erik hopes it's the medicine, but he's really close from kneeling down and proposing. Erik passes out to the bedtime story Charles reads the kids. The next morning, he wakes up to the sound of his children giggling and the smell of waffles and coffee, so he walks into the kitchen to see Charles making breakfast for him and his kids while listening to Wandas rambeling, while watching Lorna and Pietro in the living erea, and Erik is sure in this moment that he's gonna marry this man.

[quintessenceofdust88]

🍯 for the ficlets pretty please 🤗💖

"Honeyyyyyyy”

“Evan, I said no." Tommy says exasperatedly for what has to be the eighteenth time, but he has to admit the 'honey' almost had him caving.

“But, Tommyyy, honey. Please?" He says with a small pout, and Tommy turns to him.

“Evan. You do realize it makes no sense for us to get another dog?! We already have one that's worth five regular-sized dogs!" He tries to reason, pointing to where Chewie, their 100-pound Bernese Mountain Dog, is resting his head on Evan's thigh, his body occupying half the couch.

“But why not??? Chewie gets lonely!!” Evan says, and then smiles at their dog, running his hand on Chewie’s fur. “Don't you, baby? Don't you get lonely when your daddies are not home?”

It shouldn't be so endearing, to see his boyfriend talking like that to their giant of a dog, but it is. And Chewie responds just as enthusiastically, wagging his tail that pounds strongly against the couch. He climbs over Evan's legs and then plops himself over both of their legs, huffing happily.

“See? Chewie agrees” Evan says cheekily, and Tommy scoffs, crossing his arms.

“I think Chewie likes being an only child” He snarks, and Evan gives him an unimpressed look. Tommy shrugs, stroking Chewie's head. “Evan, I'm serious! It'll be too expensive, and a lot of work!”

“But, Tommy.” He says, looking earnestly at Tommy's eyes. “Twice the love. Come on?”

“I…” Tommy sighs, but he already knows it's a lost battle.

“Honey” Evan says, knowing full well the effect the word has on Tommy. “Please?”

Tommy looks down at Chewie, who's now sleeping and drooling on his thigh. And then back at Evan, whose eyes are shiny with expectation.

“Fine!” He exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “But it has to be smaller than Chewie. And you're taking care of it!”

He can tell Evan's not listening from how widely he's smiling. He bends over, pressing a sloppy kiss to Tommy's cheek.

“You're the best, honey” He says, and Tommy chuckles, bringing him closer and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“I know”

----

I hope you like it, my darling!!! Love you 💕💕💕💕

[weewoowings]

🫣 for tevan? 🙂❤️

New experiences, Rated G, 452 words

AO3 Link

Splash of Color

Tommy sat cross-legged on the couch, carefully applying the last coat of deep blue polish to his pinky finger. The coffee table in front of him was scattered with tiny bottles, cotton pads, and remover, evidence of his usual routine.

Buck, lounging beside him, watched with open curiosity. “So, how’d you get into this?”

Tommy didn’t look up as he twisted the cap back onto the bottle. “Started messing around with it in high school. My cousin was obsessed with nail polish, had a whole drawer full. One day, she dared me to let her paint mine. Figured, why not? Turned out, I liked it.” He flexed his fingers, checking for any uneven spots. “Kept doing it after that.”

Buck hummed, nodding slowly. He’d seen Tommy with painted nails plenty of times, usually dark blues, greens, sometimes deep red or black, but he’d never thought to ask about it. Until now.

“You ever paint someone else’s?”

Tommy’s brow arched. “What, are you volunteering, Evan?”

He wiggled his fingers. “Why not? I’ve got three days off. If I hate it, I can take it off before my next shift.”

Tommy huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t hesitate. “Alright. Pick a color.”

Buck scanned the bottles, then tapped one. “That green.”

Tommy rolled the bottle between his palms, warming up the polish. “Good choice. Hold still.”

Buck stretched his hand out, resting it on Tommy’s knee, and watched as his boyfriend worked. His touch was precise but gentle, each brushstroke smooth and deliberate. Buck found himself watching Tommy’s face more than his own nails, the quiet focus, the way his lips pressed together slightly, the faint crease between his brows.

“Not bad,” Tommy murmured after a few minutes, inspecting his work. “You’ve got steady hands. Makes this easy.”

Buck smirked. “Steady hands are kind of a requirement in our line of work.”

Tommy rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he picked up his other hand, carefully starting on the next set of nails. The silence between them was comfortable, filled only with the occasional clink of a bottle against the table top.

When Tommy finally pulled back, Buck examined his hands, turning them under the light. The green was rich, dark enough to almost look black until it caught the glow of the lamp.

“Well?” Tommy asked, capping the bottle.

Buck grinned. “I kinda love it.”

Tommy smiled, wiping a stray dot of polish from Buck’s knuckle. “Told you. Suits you, Evan.”

He flexed his fingers, then nudged Tommy’s foot with his own. “Guess you’ll have to keep doing it, then.”

Tommy just shook his head, but the small, pleased smile on his face said he didn’t mind one bit.

[screamlet]

fuck it friday!!!!

and friday's almost gone!!! tagged by @rcmclachlan ❤️ here's single dad tommy and some alternate universe basketball date. (context: shawn is tommy's son and robbie is shawn's bff)

In the end, the dream team can't be defeated. Tommy and Eddie run around collecting high fives and chest bumps from the other guys and Shawn and Robbie. Howie slaps Tommy's chest with a "great game, guys" that drips with sarcasm. It sounds like Howie and Eddie are going to start a quick 2-on-2 with the kids, so Tommy heads over to Evan at the other side of the court. Everyone else is chatting and packing up their stuff while Evan's sulking, really sulking, and doing free throws by himself.  "Good game, you guys played great," Evan says, sinking another basket. "Serious dream team material." "I gotta tell you, I'm around preteens a lot and this?" Tommy motions to him up and down. "This is some prime Grade A sore loser material right here." It makes Evan smile a little, just a little; the sulk lightens up that much, too. "Tell me you had a kind of good time, at least." "I did, I did," Evan says, a liar through and through.

[salty-autistic-writer]

🫶🏻 Solo date e.g. going to the movies by yourself

Whatever character sparks joy ☺️

Tommy likes to go to the movies alone. When he's by himself, he is in total control of the situation. He can pick the movie. He can eat his snacks. He can focus on the movie. He doesn't have to pay attention to a million social cues and try to figure out what to say or do. It's neat. He never thought it was strange like some people do. After all, you can buy a ticket for one person. And you can pick a seat for one person. So what's keeping him from watching a movie he wants to see by himself? Right. Nothing.

After the failed date with Evan, he goes to the movies alone too.

But this time ... Something is different. His mind is drifting back. Back to that smile. To those eyes. And those lips.

No, Tommy tells himself, aggressively throwing a handful of popcorn in his mouth. No. You are not going to fall for this guy. You're better off alone. Haven't all those years and relationships taught you anything?

"Maybe it's too late. Maybe I already lost my heart," the woman on the screen says with a sigh. "And maybe, this time, it's going to be different? Who knows what the future holds anyway?"

Fuck, Tommy thinks, his stomach sinking. Fuck!

His phone vibrates in the pocket of his jeans.

Thanks for asking! <3

(AO3 Link)

[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.

[navybrat817]

Prompt for your Ficlet Friday, whenever you have time!

Steve Rogers + "grabbing the other’s hand in big crowds".

Thank you. 🩷

I love this, Stella! Hope you like it.

True North

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 400

Warnings: Established relationship, slight anxiety and insecurities, fluff

Steve hadn’t expected the sidewalk to get crowded so quickly for the parade, but he should’ve anticipated it. That was one of the reasons why you insisted on getting there early. You picked out a good spot and he brought enough chairs for the gang to camp out. But instead of hanging out, he insisted on getting you a necklace from one of the vendors a block away and now he had to find his way back to you.

He tried to smile when a few heads turned his way. He still wasn’t used to standing out in the crowd. Being small and invisible for the longest time, he was able to blend in easily. No one cared enough to look for him, save Bucky. With his new body, it wasn’t so easy for him to hide now. And having spent most of his life being the smallest person in the room, he still felt like a stranger in his own skin.

Craning his head, his heart raced when he realized he wasn’t even halfway down the block. He could’ve pushed people out of the way, but he couldn’t be rude. Swallowing, he tried not to feel overwhelmed at the feel of bodies pressing against him, their conversations too loud in his ears. A few whispered his name. Some snapped his photo, like they had the right.

He wished he would’ve asked you to go with him. It was silly. You didn’t need to look out for him. You didn’t-

“Steve.”

He blinked when you grabbed his hand. He had your touch memorized, the way your hand fit perfectly in his. “Hey,” he whispered, the sound of the crowd fading away.

“Thought you got lost there for a second,” you said lightly, but your eyes conveyed that you sensed how much he needed you.

“Almost did,” he said, letting you lead him through the crowd, refusing to let you go. “But it was worth it to find you the perfect necklace.”

“Oh, yeah?” you smiled over your shoulder. “You know, you really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” he smiled gently. “Thank you for finding me,” he said, his voice thick because he wasn’t just talking about today. And you knew that.

“You found me first, Steve,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’m just returning the favor.”

Later when he put the compass necklace around your neck, he’d explain that you were his true north. And if the two of you were ever separated for any reason, even in a crowd, he’d find his way back to you. Always.

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️

[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.

[meraki-yao]

Happy Ficlet Friday! I'd love a Payneland fic please 🥰

Thank you for the request my dear! Have some Lover Boy Charles Rowland:

Does Charles love Edwin? What a stupid question. Because what else can you do? What else can you do for a stranger who offered kindness before he uttered a word to you, who gave you warmth when your body was turning to ice, who stayed with you and talked and read to you until you passed, who made dying feel like falling asleep to a bedtime story? What else can you do for someone who has had the worst kind of injustice the worst of mind could ever fathom inflicted upon him, yet still find the strength to fight, to help and to heal? Who had so little in his afterlife that could be called comfort yet still put your worries before his own? What else can you do for someone who built a home and a purpose with you, who goes on the wildest and most fulfilling adventures with you, who gives you the care and validation that no one else ever has? What else can you do for the boy on the staircase to hell, barefooted and bloodshed, tears in his beautiful eyes, so vulnerable yet so brave, and offers his heart to you? What else can you do for someone who has made death miles better than your life ever was and ever could be? What else can Charles Rowland do besides love Edwin Payne with every fibre of his being?

[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 💋

[tailsbeth-writes]

*Britney Spears voice* it's been a while…

So Ficlet Fridays went on a bit of hiatus & I do want to bring them back but with some changes.

I love how much enthusiasm & ideas came out of it but sometimes people were overwhelmed with requests, I saw a lot of ‘sorry this is late’ when realistically there's no deadline (I was guilty of this too btw!). So I've decided Ficlet Fridays will be fortnightly (every other week).

I'm also adding a word count of 100-500 words. I get when ideas get flowing so this is a loose rule. I'm just hoping this will encourage more people to join in and again help with the pressure thing.

In 2 weeks, prompts will be back (please send theme requests!) but this week to ease us back in, I'm going to ask you to request just your character/pairing/fandom of choice & I'll see what I can rustle up for you ���

The Rules: Copy the following prompts or make your own, post what fandoms you write for & your followers can request one of the prompts with a ship, character or fandom for a ficlet. Have fun!

My fandoms: Red, White and Royal Blue, Bridgerton, Dead Boy Detectives, Doctor Odyssey, Heartstopper & The Pairing.

Tag You're It: @onthewaytosomewhere @thighzp @judasofsuburbia @taste-thewaste @run-for-chamo-miles @suseagull5914 @royal-chandler @porcelainmortal @luainthewild @seths-rogens @firstprincehornyramblings & open tag 💛 [Also even if you're not participating, I'd really appreciate the reblogs to get the word out that we're back babyyyy! *bisexual finger guns*]