#ficlet fridays
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Because I was in the mood for some fluffy goodness, let’s have Valentines day fun with Samiel and Jay. 😉
Title: Then kiss me once again
Warnings: None
Summary: It’s been thirty years since the Songbird Pact
Notes: Title taken from ‘It’s been a long, long time’ (Harry James)
The thirtieth anniversary of the Songbird Pact is not a grand affair.
When Daimion had floated the idea of having the celebrations on Elysium, Jay hadn’t really had the heart to say no. The compromise had been: no media, no diplomats, and friends and family only. It was working surprisingly well so far.
“He’s loving this,” Samiel murmurs in Jay’s ear.
Slowly, Jay leans back into the warm, familiar heat behind him. “I know.”
Because Daimion really is loving it all.
His curls – silver now, instead of gold – are thoroughly visible against the warm stonework of the hall. He’s sitting comfortably, bright-eyed as he talks amiably to Hird and Venndred. One of the neighbour’s children is tugging on his hand, demanding attention, much to the stifled horror of her father.
“I wish –” Samiel adds, then stops to clear his throat.
Jay settles more comfortably against him. “I know,” he repeats. Because he does.
However much Samiel may want otherwise for his father, Daimion is never going to have a gentle retirement; a slow, peaceful decline into rest. He’ll never settle on Elysium; never leave his own lasting impression on neighbours, or live close to them in Kathikas. He’s still far too active, and far too reluctant, to leave Lenia in the hands of someone else yet.
But it feels like time is slipping away from them because of it. Samiel doesn’t see him as much as he wants to, and Daimion fights desperately for every scrap of time he can carve out for his son, sometimes to the detriment of his own wellbeing. It’s an uneasy balance, and not an entirely satisfactory one.
Pyrrhine Medala is being surprisingly patient about it all, though. Especially given that she’s probably serving the longest apprenticeship in history, at this point. Even Jay has to admit that she’s been helpful; quietly taking up more of the strenuous burdens of ruling where she can.
Samiel hooks his chin over Jay’s shoulder, startling him from his thoughts. He wraps his arms around Jay’s waist and hums, contented. They both sway a little, moving with the slow, gorgeous tempo Jay can feel winding through their bond, as Samiel rocks them from side to side.
This feeling never gets old, Jay thinks. The giddying privilege of being here, with this man, in this time, wound so tightly together that they share a heartbeat most days.
Thirty years, and sometimes he still has to blink awake in the morning, scrub the sleep from his eyes and realise that yes. Yes, that is Samiel Athannus staring back at him: a perfect composition of silver-threaded curls, laughter lines and the kind of smile that Jay is never going to be able to stop from breaking his heart, just a little.
“I love you,” he says quietly, as Samiel digs the point of his chin in harder. “But all of this. It’s been so long. Did you ever think we’d make it this far?” He means thirty years, and he means together, and he means as everything.
“Yes,” Samiel says, and Jay feels the utter conviction of it ring through them both. “And we’ve got a way to go yet, mio ades.”
“Says you.” Jay slides a hand down; wraps it around Samiel’s forearm and squeezes. “What if I’ve had enough of you causing me trouble after thirty years?”
“Then you’d better be prepared for the worst,” Samiel says. He drops a kiss, small and a little wicked, to the corner of Jay’s jaw. “Because we’ve all seen what I’m capable of, if you decide to leave me. I’m not sure the galaxy could stand it again.”
“Once every three decades is enough then?”
“Once every lifetime,” Samiel says firmly. “Because my knees may sometimes ache, but it doesn’t mean I’m still not perfectly capable of slinging you over my shoulder, carrying you off to the nearest abandoned outpost and keeping you there, if you get any foolish ideas about running away now.”
“Ah well,” Jay murmurs, and feels Samiel grin against his shoulder. “I suppose if I’ve put up with you for this long…”
The tip of Samiel’s nose nudges against Jay’s cheek. “Then you can keep going. Because you’re stuck with me forever. And be nice: it’s our anniversary.”
It’s not actually their anniversary – not the day they were married, anyway. But… it really sort of is, Jay admits to himself, as Samiel drops another kiss to his cheek.
Thirty years to the day, since he’d been standing there, free-falling and terrified, and Samiel had held out a hand and said, Will you run away with me?
There hasn’t been a moment since, not one, where Jay has regretted saying yes.
“Papa said he got us a present,” Samiel adds. “He wouldn’t tell me what it was though.”
Jay closes his eyes. “Ah.”
“‘Ah’? What do you mean, ‘Ah’?”
“Well, I may already have it.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“It’s…”
Complicated. Difficult to explain.
“…vitrios,” Jay finishes, opening his eyes.
Against him, Samiel stills.
“Vitrios,” he repeats.
And there – there – is the sudden upswelling in his soul that Jay was expecting. It catches under his ribs; winds tight around his heart with a triumph so sweetly painful, that it makes his breath stutter in his throat. Samiel is a burning rush of light, roaring in the atoms between them, as the bands of his arms clutch Jay tighter.
“He’s letting you do this?” he demands hoarsely.
“It’s already been done,” Jay admits.
And it has been. He’d handed the block of vitrios to Venndred this morning, with strict instructions to place it in the Naos next to Samiel’s.
Vitrios is unbending; unbreakable. So when the time comes – when he and Samiel are spread stardust-thin across the galaxy and this is all that is left of them – Jay’s threnodia will sit, carved aeons-deep, with the only words that have ever truly mattered; with the only thing he has ever wanted the universe to know.
“Humans don’t –” Samiel rasps. “I mean, no one’s ever –”
“Your father made an exception.”
“You’ve already written it,” Samiel realises. “What does it –” His hands are frantic, as he spins Jay roughly around. This close he’s bewildered; triumphant. The pounding of Jay’s heartbeat is not his own, but Samiel doesn’t seem to care about the way he’s bleeding desperate, greedy delight between them. “What does it say?”
“Well.” Carefully, Jay reaches out; tucks one silver-threaded curl behind Samiel’s ear. “Not much.”
“Jason.”
Jay laughs at the growl; leans closers and presses their foreheads together. “I didn’t have long stretches of wisdom,” he admits. “And I couldn’t think of anything profound that I wanted to pass on, that might help others. I certainly didn’t have an endless narrative of triumphant deeds.”
“So?” Samiel demands, impatient.
“So,” Jay says. He clears his throat hoping, absurdly, that he’s done the right thing here. “So it actually only says one thing. The only thing, in fact.”
“Which is?”
Jay tells him.
**********
In the depths of the Naos, there are two blocks of vitrios.
One contains a careful, exacting narrative of the life of Samiel Athannus, written in High Maa-Tarekian. No detail is spared; no moment left undescribed. Covered, the vitrios stands as a testament to all that happened, in a time when there was change at the heart of the universe.
The other block is simpler.
Small. Neat. There is only one sentence written on it, in exacting Interior Circle Standard.
Because Jason Lane hadn’t needed to say anything more about his life than this. He hadn’t needed to write history, or pass down wisdom.
Three words were enough.
I loved him.
Nothing else had really mattered, compared to that.
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Newsletter #10: September 2022
Happy National Medical Technology Month!
Actually, we only celebrate MedTech Week but I just want to celebrate my profession for the entire month and no one can stop me! MedTech Week is celebrated in the Philippines every 3rd week of September.
Aside from this, I'm also celebrating the 1.5k reads milestone of my first ever MedTech-related story, which is 576 Hours With You! This story has a special place in my heart (parang lahat naman?) because this serves as my written account of how clinical internship went during a time of pandemic. If you are curious of what clinical internship looks like in a pandemic, you can go and read this story.
Again, thank you for reading Thea and Nico's internship shenanigans. I really hope you enjoyed reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Since I have reached another milestone of 1k reads, I will be featuring them in the third season of Ficlet Fridays! Yes, that's right! Ficlet Fridays is back for another season.
Before my newsletter gets any longer, let me show you the posting schedule of Ficlet Fridays Season 3!
Sep 1: Back-up Plan
Sep 2: Don't Go Unlabeled
Sep 9: Never Gonna Happen
Sep 16: The First of Many Things
Sep 23: Church, Check! Wife, Pending
Sep 30: The Most Precious Thing
See you later for S03E01! If you have any more ficlet/AU requests, go ahead and send them here.
nagsusulat, AM
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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.
#a potential epistolary series! it’s Friday & i want to indulge ❤️#notes from hawkins high school library#epistolary fic#pre steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson
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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 💋
#Fuck it Friday#I genuinely love this one#I poured my heart sjdjdjdksksk#and my entire pussy too SKDKSKDKSKS#buddie#911 fox#911#eddie diaz#evan buckley#911 tv show#evan buck buckley#buck x eddie#buck and eddie#911 abc#buddie fanfic#buddie fanfiction#buddie ficlet#buddie wip#911 buddie
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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.
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“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.
#Dramione#dramione fanart#dramione art#draco malfoy#hermione granger#draco x hermione#fanart#myart#artists on tumblr#draco malfoy fanart#hermione granger fanart#dramione fanfiction#ficlet#fanart friday#kayka#doodleholic
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For FSFS if it's still open:
Anything with Marcus Flint? I love how you write him so much! And the whole concept of house Flint is so interesting. Maybe fem! Marcus?
Thank you for your writing 💛
I've never written female!Marcus before. So, naturally, now that the idea has been put in my head, I had to pick this one next. ❤️
*******************
Heiress Marcella Flint genuinely and truly believes that no one will ever want to bond with her; she's brilliant on a broom, a superb dueller, and excellent at estate management, but she's also very tall for a witch, much more muscular than most wizards in Avalon, and describing her face as "plain" instead of "ugly" would be a generous kindness.
Most magicals consider an appealing physical appearance to be in the top three most important traits when seeking someone with whom to bond, so ... she keeps her expectations realistic, in the hope it'll stave off the worst of the heartache that only deepens with each new engagement announcement in the Daily Prophet when she's never once received a single offer for a preliminary Courtship Date.
So, when Heir Blaise Zabini approaches her at Pomegranate as the cafe is about to close, and extends a Bouquet of Intent to her, Marcella jams the tip of her wand in his throat before he can even speak a word and hisses, "I don't care who dared you to do this, or what bet you lost, Zabini, but if you think I'll let you humiliate me like this, it's the last thing you'll ever think in this life."
Blaise leans closer, not even flinching as her wand digs more deeply into his skin, and says with a smirk, "Zabinis have always been attracted to lethality above all else, Heiress Flint, and I've never met a more dangerous magical than you; I'll offer whatever vow you want to prove my sincerity."
The ice Marcella has spent a lifetime packing around her heart cracks clear through, and only time will tell if that weakness will destroy her utterly or save her from her lonely prison.
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𝚂𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜: 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚜/𝚘 𝟷
i love the thought of big bad murder men being baby. and after all the angsty ones i need something to repair my heart. anyways enjoy some fluffy boys
find part 2 right here
jason vorhees
•oh he loves being treated like this! please don’t stop y/n. call him a good boy and help him clean his mask after a particularly brutal night.
•give the baby words of affirmation. hw loves it when you call him your good boy or praise him for doing something correctly. give him kisses and hugs are a reward
•you will never relplce the special place in jason’s heart that he has for pamela but he loves you almost as much. you have your own place in his still heart.
•it really reminds him of when he was a child and it gives him a bittersweet feeling. he’s just glad to have someone who cares for him like pamela did , it gives him that feeling of being human again.
•gets really scared during thunderstorms so you’ll have to hold him through the night. the loud noises make him jittery. it’s no different than every night, he loves to lay on your chest and relax.
•will come to you with injuries. he doesn’t really need you to fix it he just likes it better when you do it. kiss it better when you’re done of course.
•picks flowers and brings dead animals to you as gifts. you convince him to leave the animals outside but the flowers are a sweet gesture
•he feels safe enough to take his mask off around you ! he wants to feel it when you kiss his face
michael myers
•he starts out as cold and indifferent to the entire idea , but he cannot resist being held after a rough night
•wants nothing more than someone to care for him. his childhood wasn’t exactly easy so you being there for him and not resting him like a monster is honestly the best thing in the world for him
•loves it when you cook for him!! just small meals it doesn’t even need to be anything too fancy. the way to this man’s heart is through his stomach. and if you bake don’t plan on having it in the house very long because he will eat them all.
•since he has a major sweet tooth you will probably have to scold him when he has too much sugar
•”michael ! what did i say about eating the entire batch of cookies in one go ? you have to leave some for later or else you’ll get sick”.
•you’ll have to brush his hair and bathe him once in a while since he refuses to do so on his own. he will put up a fight at first but with enough convincing he’ll give in. your hands are so much more gentle than his , he just loves the feeling
•ask him to take off his mask and he will. not for long but he will do it for you. don’t touch him though , he doesn’t like that
•when he’s in a mood he will follow you around everywhere with your hand in his. it makes him feel important protecting someone
thomas hewitt
•yes yes yes. thomas is so into it , he will love you a million times more if that’s even possible
•having someone who will stand up to hoyt when he’s too scared to do so is such a plus. any time he tries to cut slick with thomas you butt in and air him out. ever since you’ve come around he’s a lot quieter
•touch his face please! he will lean into your touch just like a puppy. it’s a good way to get him to calm down after an episode
•he is such a sucker for praise. tell him his mask looks stunning or the patch work on the blankets is exquisite and his heart will just melt. having someone actually appreciate him is a welcome feeling
•doesn’t like to worry you with wounds and things so he will usually try to hide them away from you. when you find out he’ll feel so bad. seeing the worry in your eyes is heartbreaking.
•lays between your thighs a lot. it’s how he prefers to get comfortable before nap time.
•will do his best to make sure any of the harder chores do not go to you. he doesn’t want to see you work harder than you already do
bubba sawyer
•he needs a motherly touch in his life so of course he’s into it. living with a bunch of men can be hard sometimes
•picks lots of flowers for you and makes the cutest bouquets out of them. lots of gift giving (just like the other nonverbal slashers). he always feels so happy when he sees you wearing a necklace he made you
•makes you masks as well !!! don’t worry bubba won’t be offended if you don’t want to wear it , he gets that his lifestyle is not for everyone. but if you do happen to wear it oh my god he will melt.
•when he’s hurt you’re the first person he goes to. your hands are so much gentler than the ones of his or his brothers. just like jason he’s going to want you to kiss it better
•he finds your voice soothing. read to him during bed time or just talk. he loves hearing you ramble on about things you’re passionate about
•good night kisses are a must in this household.
vincent sinclair
•he is now putty in your hands. your wish is his command
•he’s going to want you to stay with him in his special space. he’ll show you his art throughout the day, sketch you and just sort of vibe with you. your presence is just calming for him it helps him stay in the right headspace
•little spoon! he loves it when you hold him in your arms. let him lay his head on your chest so he can hear your heartbeat and he’s happy
•he has a lot of trouble maintaining his hair some days so of course he’s going to ask you for help. wash it , comb it , braid it do whatever you’re want vince is happy either way
•compliment his art!!! he feels his heart burst with pride when you tell him how amazing his skills are.
#slasher x reader#slasher x you#fluffy ficlet#fluff headcanons#fluffy slasher headcanons#slashers with mommy issues#slasher writing#jason vorhees#jason vorhees x reader#michael myers x reader#thomas hewitt x reader#bubba saywer x reader#vincent sinclair x reader#friday the thirteenth#friday the 13th#halloween movie#texas chainsaw massacre#house of wax 2005#esha writes#on this episode of#esha simps for slashers
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spn 1.09 // lana del rey - pretty when you cry
#happy dadfucker friday#i had a ficlet in progress that i was going to post today#but i likely won't get time to finish it#so I contribute this instead hehe#johndean#at his side and drunk on pride
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Hi Amber!! Happy sequel announcement!!! 🥳🥳 seeing the boys together again got me craving RPF too so:
4. 'God, you're fucking delectable.' For Taynick?
💖💖💖💖💖
hi friend!! happy sequel announcement <3 I'm so happy! Here's prompt 4 for you!
“God, you’re fucking delectable.”
Taylor’s words pierce right through Nick to his center, hit him almost as hard as the fog of arousal that’s clouding his head. Taylor’s face is buried in his thighs, his stubble scraping the sensitive skin there, a mark blooming from where he’s recently sunken his teeth in, and Nick can barely think. The word ‘delectable’, though. It gets through.
“Shut up, I’m not delectable,” he breathes out, tangling his fingers in Taylor’s hair–it’s so long right now, he fucking loves it–and tugging on it.
“You are, Nicky,” Taylor says, voice muffled slightly, and before Nick can protest any further, Taylor’s mouth is on him and he loses all ability to do anything but buck his hips and scream.
After, Nick has collapsed on the pillows behind him, Taylor has wiped the corners of his mouth, the room is silent. Taylor climbs up the bed and tugs Nick closer to him, presses a kiss onto his temple. Nick hums in contentment.
“You’re perfect, exactly as you are,” Taylor says softly, and in his post-orgasm haze, Nick shakes his head subtly.
“Look at you, you muppet. You’re perfect,” Nick says, trying to keep the envy out of his voice. Taylor’s body is chiseled and sculpted and the envy of everybody; Nick is…not. He has always felt this way about his body, has always felt like it never quite measured up.
Taylor takes a moment, runs a hand down the length of Nick’s body. “That’s good to know that I’m perfect for you, because you…are perfect for me.” He caresses a thick thigh. “I love your thighs. If the bite marks weren’t indication enough,” Taylor says with a wide grin, moving his hands north. “I love your hips. Your arms. Your pecs. This,” he says gently, running a hand across Nick’s soft tummy. “Everything about you is perfect. I know you haven’t ever felt that way about yourself before, but I’ll be here to remind you.”
Nick doesn’t say anything, just pushes his shy smile into Taylor’s shoulder. His smile gets even bigger when he hears Taylor’s final words of praise for his body: “And your ass is fucking incredible. Roll over.”
#ficlet friday#taynick#my fic#if anybody likes this i'm already working on a longer fic about it#fluff and smut my favorite meal#taylor would never let nick feel inadequate and you can't change my mind
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About 300 million years ago, @fairflimsyficklefairy talked of a scenario where Hess ends up adopting a dog (and wreaking vengeance on its previous owner). I loved this idea an awful lot, and promised a ficlet. At last, it’s finished! (And @fairflimsyficklefairy I’m so sorry it’s taken so long.)
Title: Worse than his bark
Summary: Hespherus Jones: dog dad.
Warnings: Usual Hess shenanigans; non-descriptive mention of animal neglect; surprisingly fluffy
“You’ve…got a dog,” Hess says, blinking at Dan.
He’s standing in the living room, shirtsleeves rolled up, hands on his hips as he stares at the bundle Dan’s holding in his arms. He looks disturbingly normal – just another doctor, finished work for the day. A little rumpled and tired, and staring bemusedly at the stray his partner’s picked up.
Were this any other time – any other man, Dan thinks dryly – the whole situation might almost be true.
“He’s a rescue,” he says, and watches the way Hess tilts his head. “We got a call this afternoon from a concerned neighbour. They were going to phone the RSPCA to come and collect him, but –”
“You brought him home instead,” Hess finishes. He blinks again. “And you thought this was a good idea?”
“It’s my house. I can get a dog if I want.”
“You can,” Hess says slowly. “I’m just not entirely sure why you’d want one, but –”
“Because sometimes it’s nice to have someone around who isn’t you!” Dan snaps, a little more viciously than he’d meant to.
The tone of his voice makes the pup in his arms shiver. Guiltily, Dan holds him a little more gently, rubbing his side reassuringly with a thumb. It’s not the poor thing’s fault that he’s been dropped into the middle of a typical Wednesday afternoon meeting of the Hespherus Jones Jealousy Club.
Hess raises an eyebrow. “And does he have a name?” he asks, and for one ridiculous moment, Dan thinks he’s got away with the whole thing.
“Angus.”
“Angus,” Hess repeats. He takes three steps forward and plucks the dog from Dan’s arms, before Dan can stop him.
“No, wait –”
Hess holds the dog up high over his head, face tipped back to look at him. From this angle, the size of Angus’ paws, and the sturdy block of his body are more pronounced. Dan’s not entirely sure what breed he is – a mix of many – but the softness of his big brown eyes had tugged at a part of himself he’d thought long buried.
“Angus,” Hess says again, and this time it’s much gentler. In his grip Angus wriggles a little, smashing one hefty paw down onto Hess’s forehead.
“Give him back,” Dan says. “Don’t you dare –”
The look Hess shoots him from under Angus’s paw is scornful. “Don’t be so bloody ridiculous,” he says sharply. “I’m not going to hurt him.” Carefully, he lowers Angus until he’s cradled against his chest. “He needs a bath.”
“He needs a…”
Oh God. This is it. Dan has finally lost it, hasn’t he? He’s actually standing here, in his own living room, with a man who has so many issues that he’s prepared to murder someone for looking at Dan in the wrong way, and he’s –
Talking about giving the dog a bath.
Dan swallows back a tiny hiccup of hysterical laughter. “Are you going to bathe him?”
“Of course.” Hess drops a small kiss to the top of the dog’s head. “He needs flea treatment too, and a wormer. Is there a vet local to us?”
Yes, Dan’s finally lost his grip on reality. It’s the only explanation. He’s standing here, and the Beast is talking to him about flea treatment. Good God. It really is the end of the world.
“I’ll see if I can find out,” he says, hopelessly wrong-footed.
“If you can’t find anyone, ask Abi,” Hess says absently. “She’ll be able to look someone up.”
“Right,” Dan says, dazed, as Hess makes a gentle little cooing noise at the dog. “I’ll look now.”
He watches as Hess wanders out of the room, talking softly to the bundle wrapped up in his arms. The whole thing is bizarrely normal, to the point it’s making Dan’s head hurt.
If he’s honest, this wasn’t at all what he expected when he brought the dog home. He’d half anticipated a flat-out argument, and Hess banning Angus from anywhere that could be considered shared space at all. Worse, he’d had the worrying thought that Hess might get rid of the dog altogether.
“I’ve fucking lost it,” Dan says quietly to himself, as he hears Hess coo something in the kitchen.
Then he goes to find his phone, so he can look up a vet.
********
“You’ve…got a dog,” Abaddon says, blankly horrified.
The look on her face is priceless, and Hess takes a moment to revel in it.
He’s got Angus perched on his desk, letting the pup gnaw at his fingers. His sharp little baby teeth are wickedly painful whenever they catch a knuckle, but it’s worth it for the lack of destroyed paperwork and Abaddon’s expression.
“Dan found him,” he says with exactly the right amount of cheerful menace to have her frowning. “He wanted to keep him.”
“And you let him?”
“There was no ‘let’ about it. I wanted to keep him too.”
Abaddon eyes Angus dubiously. “You wanted to keep a puppy.”
“No, not just any puppy. I wanted to keep Angus.”
“You’ve named it?” Her expression sours even further. “Now you’ll never get rid of it.”
A particularly vicious nip to Hess’s thumb has him wincing. When he looks down, Angus has his oversized paws wrapped around one of Hess’s wrists. He’s gumming away happily, the look on his blunt little face suspiciously content.
“I’m not planning to get rid of him,” Hess says, softer than he meant to. He hears the small, stifled noise of alarm that Abaddon lets slip, and jerks his head up to look at her.
“Is that a problem?” he asks coldly.
“It’s not really in keeping with your image, is it?” she says. “I mean, having a puppy here while you’re working sends out the wrong message.”
Angus grumbles to himself as Hess pulls his fingers away. He scratches behind the pup’s ears, and raises an eyebrow at Abaddon. “I think it sends out precisely the right message.”
“What, ‘I’ll look after you, if you’re cute enough’?”
“Abaddon.”
It’s the limits of what she can get away with, and they both know it. She scowls, and huffs out an exasperated little sigh. “Fine. Don’t blame me when you push more subordinates in the direction of the rebellion.”
This time he smiles at her, and it is all teeth. Abaddon is too careful to flinch – she knows better than to show such weakness – but she stills. And for a moment, Hess is positive they are both thinking about the last time he was wrists-deep in her, and how she very nearly didn’t walk away after her own little attempt at insubordination.
“If you hear any suggestions that the other side are gaining more of our people,” he says, “then you will tell me immediately. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” she says curtly. Angus lets out a soft little yap, disgruntled now he has nothing to gnaw on. Abaddon’s gaze flickers down to him. “And the… animal?”
“He stays.”
Her mouth very pointedly doesn’t curl into a sneer.
“Fine,” she says. “Just don’t ask for help when it pisses on the carpet.”
********
“You… got a dog,” Raum says, surprised.
The Beast had called him into his office. That hadn’t been a shock – the boss likes to touch base with any demon that’s been Above for a long stretch – but the sight of an oversized mutt gambolling its way across the floor to chew on Raum’s shoelaces is definitely not what he was expecting.
“Is it a problem?” the Beast asks, without looking up from the papers on his desk.
It’s not. But even if it were, Raum isn’t stupid enough to say so. Absently, he reaches down to run a thumb over the fur on the little menace’s head. Its coat is short, but surprisingly soft.
“Not a problem,” he says. From the corner of his eye, he sees the boss glance up, and for a moment he seems to pause. But when Raum looks at him, he’s already shuffling through his papers again.
“Good, because I have a job for you.”
“Oh.”
There’s an odd swelling of something like pride, sitting in Raum’s chest. The boss doesn’t pick just anyone for jobs. There’s only the chosen few: trusted. Loyal. Until now Raum hadn’t even been sure the Beast really knew who he was.
“Paul Stafford. Forty-eight years old. Arrested two weeks ago on a charge of animal cruelty.” The Beast’s lips thin, and Raum feels a frisson of unease. “The arresting officer was PC Daniel Waters.”
Ah. It’s starting to make sense.
Raum has met the Beast’s Consort before, although he doesn’t think the man remembers. Daniel had fished him out of a fountain, saving him from fighting some drunken idiot in Trafalgar Square. Raum hadn’t particularly wanted that fight, and luckily for him he’d been saved in time by a stern-faced handsome man, who hadn’t treated him any differently to anyone else.
It had been… something of a revelation.
“Raum,” the Beast says patiently, and Raum blinks at him.
“Boss?”
“You’re not to let Dan know about this. Do I make myself clear?”
There’s no threat to his words – mostly because there doesn’t need to be. The Beast’s gaze is perfectly level; his expression neutral. He has his hands folded on the desk in front of him, as he watches Raum.
“Not a word,” Raum agrees. He looks down at the puppy still chewing on his shoelaces. “So, when you say a job…”
“I want him dealt with.”
“Painfully?”
A flash of teeth, white and sharp. “Slowly,” the Beast says. “And as messily as possible.” He leans back in his chair, still watching Raum. “I’ll deal with the necessary paperwork in the meantime.”
Humans, Raum has learnt over the last couple of years, do love their paperwork. So it’s generous of his boss to cover that for him – to leave him with the tasty parts of a job, without the tediousness that usually comes with filing for an extraction from Above.
“I’ll get it sorted,” he promises.
He pats the puppy on the head, and carefully removes his shoelaces from its mouth. He gets a sharp little nip in retaliation, but he’s had far, far worse. Besides, he knows it was an accident.
Raum’s got his fingers on the doorhandle, when the Beast clears his throat.
“Oh, and Raum?”
He looks over his shoulder. The Beast is still watching him; still perfectly calm and level. But there’s something sharp in the way he tilts his head; in the small, sly curve at the edges of his lips. He’s human, Raum knows, but nowhere human enough.
“Yes, boss?”
“Be creative.”
********
It’s not so much movement that wakes Dan, as its absence.
Hess has always been a twitchy sleeper. He tosses and turns, digging elbows into Dan’s sides and generally making a nuisance of himself, unless he’s wrapped around Dan so tightly it feels like their heartbeats are pressed together. He talks sometimes, too: muttering to himself in his sleep, in tongues that make Dan’s ears hurt.
Which is why, at half past midnight on a Wednesday, Dan is woken up by a decided lack of restlessness.
When he slides a hand across the sheets, the mattress next to him is warm. It means Hess can’t have gone far. For a moment he contemplates getting up to go and find him. But Hess is unlikely to be causing chaos at this time in the morning, and anyway Dan is half-certain he can hear him moving around in the next room.
He’s almost dozed back off to sleep, when Hess pads back into the room.
Dan cracks an eye open. In the darkness, he can just make out the broad width of Hess’s shoulders; the bowed dip of his head. He’s cradling something in his arms, careful and gentle as he slides back into the bed, settling on his side with his back to Dan.
“There,” he whispers quietly, and there’s a soft little thump as he deposits his burden down too. “Now, stop fussing.”
A little whuff of satisfaction has Dan blinking further awake. He could have sworn that sounded like –
“No,” Hess says softly, and not at all sternly. “Settle down now. You know the deal.”
Another little grumble, and Dan hears the unmistakable sounds of Angus scuffling around, as though he’s looking for a place to collapse. Even with the room so dark, Dan’s almost sure he can see a small little head pop up to look at him from over Hess’s hip.
He watches, and eventually there’s a yawn and the snap of sharp little puppy teeth clicking together. Another soft whump and then everything goes still again.
“He was crying in the kitchen,” Hess whispers, and it makes Dan jump guiltily, caught in the act of watching the pair of them.
“Yeah, but he’s still meant to stay in the kitchen.”
“He was crying,” Hess repeats stubbornly.
Dan’s lost this argument before it’s even begun. He sighs and rolls over onto his side too, staring hard at the bare curve of Hess’s shoulder. “And what happens when he grows? He’s going to be too big to fit on the bed.”
“We’ll get a bigger bed.” Hess says simply.
Of course we will, Dan thinks tiredly. Of course.
Because that makes perfect sense. The Beast, soft over nothing except a mistreated pup who is – apparently – going to be coddled like a little emperor.
“You’re washing the sheets when he moults,” he says to Hess, instead of half the things he’d like to.
“I wash them anyway.”
He does. Dan hasn’t got a leg to stand on, in this not-really-an-argument. “Fine,” he mutters. “But just remember who takes him out for walks when you’re…working.”
“Are you jealous?” Hess asks, sounding amused. He doesn’t roll over to look at Dan, but he shifts, fumbling a hand back until he can pat blindly at Dan’s thigh. “You’ve got nothing to be jealous of, sweet thing. He loves you too.”
Dan sighs. Almost in spite of himself he tips forward a little, resting his forehead against the top of Hess’s spine, near the nape of his neck. The tips of his hair tickle a little, but Dan ignores it. Hess runs hot – he always has – and the warmth of him is surprisingly pleasant. He drapes an arm over Hess’s hip and holds on.
Hess stills at Dan’s touch; then the lines of him relax all at once. “I love you as well,” he adds quietly into the darkness.
It doesn’t sound false. Or untrue. It might be a little unkind, given that he knows Dan’s at his most vulnerable right now – here, in the dark, with no pretence between them – but it doesn’t make it any less sincere.
“I know,” Dan says eventually. The back of his hand bumps into soft fur and a warm body. Under his knuckles he feels Angus chuff out a little grumble, but the pup doesn’t really stir.
Hess hums sleepily. He settles down further; lets Dan press close and hold him tighter. There’s something satisfied in him; something content. Like he’s got everything he needs here, in this moment, with nothing and nobody to gainsay it.
And Dan –
Dan’s got them too, hasn’t he? Both of them. An odd pair of creatures held safe in his arms, even at the risk of sharp teeth and bloodletting. It should be an uncomfortable realisation, and it’s not.
Oh hell, he thinks, resigned and a little soft, as he lets Hess wrap long fingers around his forearm, absent and fond.
We’ve got a dog.
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Newsletter #7: June 2022
What's up, fam! For today's video newsletter, I am back for another season of Ficlet Fridays! *insert confetti here*
First of all, I just want to say thank you to everyone who read The Adventures of You and Me. I forgot the exact date when it reached 1k reads but nevertheless, thank you for reading Felicity and Ethan's story. This was my very first novel that I finished and my very first entry in Wattys so this story will always have a special place in my heart.
Just like what I promised that when this story reached 1k reads, I will feature them in Ficlet Fridays. Before I proceed with the posting schedule, I just want to give a proper introduction of the series of ficlets I will be posting.
This series of ficlets will serve as an alternate universe of The Adventures of You and Me. According to Wikipedia, Alternate universe "is a setting for a work of fan fiction that departs from the canon of the fictional universe that the fan work is based on." In short, what if only.
Ficlet Fridays Season 2 will feature Felicity and Ethan as ex-lovers wherein Felicity has to conduct an interview of the famous Filipino travel blogger for her to be promoted in her job. This is highly inspired by Jadine's On The Wings of Love. I was obviously watching this show when I thought of this AU. (I know. It might not be the best idea.)
Also, quick fun fact only! My story idea of The Adventures of You and Me actually first sparked when I was watching the same show, On The Wings of Love.
Anyway... without further ado, here's the posting schedule of Ficlet Fridays Season 2!
Jun 3: That's What She Thought
Jun 10: (Don't) Say My Name
Jun 17: Someone
Jun 24: Maybe It's Time
Jun 30: For A Lifetime
Once again, thank you for all your support! If you have any more ficlet/AU requests, don't hesitate and send them here.
nagsusulat, AM
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I just wanted to imagine a world where Trent writes a completely under-the-radar article for Colin’s hometown newspaper to address the rumours of him being gay without making a big deal about it.
Full article text under the cut:
At 28 years of age, Colin Hughes is something of a late bloomer. After a mediocre start to his career saw Cardiff City relegated to the Championship, the Barry native was transferred to the struggling AFC Richmond, a harsh environment for any young footballer trying to make his mark on the world. But after years of flying under the radar, Hughes is finally making himself known at both national and international levels, and one can’t help but marvel at how far this young man has come.
Hughes’s love for the sport was nurtured from a young age, here in Barry, and despite his recent success it is clear he hasn’t forgotten his roots. The modest yet respectable history of Welsh football is something that Hughes could lecture on at the drop of a hat (and indeed needs to be stopped from lecturing once he gets started), and even his favoured position as a left winger was chosen in homage to Welsh footballing legend Gary Speed, a man who still acts as an inspiration for Hughes today.
“He did wonders for our national team. He was the one who made us all believe that Wales could hold our own against the rest of the world. I don’t think we’d be where we are today without all the work he put in: now that I can, I’m doing my best to continue what he started,” Hughes says.
Hughes’s ‘best’, in this instance, has been to fund a new development program throughout Wales, offering summer bootcamp scholarships to children from underprivileged areas. One can’t help but feel that were Speed still with us, he’d be proud of what Hughes is trying to achieve, although perhaps a little bemused at lending his name to an indeterminable breed of dog that Hughes affectionally refers to as ‘Gazza’.
“Me and my boyfriend got him from the shelter last week,” he says, showing a picture of a large but scrawny dog being embraced on both sides by Hughes and his boyfriend, one Michael Chen. “We got him to celebrate Richmond’s second place in the Prem.”
Buying a dog is perhaps an unusually tame way to celebrate for most footballers, but unusual is rather how AFC Richmond operates these days. Whilst most teams would be disappointed with losing out on winning the Premier League by the slimmest of margins, many often claiming that third place is preferable to second, both Hughes and AFC Richmond are treating their status as runners up with dignity, and no small amount of delight.
“I’m not being funny, right, but if you’d told me a year ago that Richmond’d avoid relegation, let alone make it to second place, I’d’ve said you were full of ****,” Hughes says, then apologises after a gentle reminder not to swear. “It’s gutting to miss out on winning the whole thing, of course, but we’re proud of what we’ve done. And besides, it gives us something to aim for next year.”
Hughes succinctly brings us to the elephant in the room: the recent departure of Coach Ted Lasso. Whilst Lasso himself has always maintained the humble adage that Richmond’s recent success wasn’t wholly his doing, the fact remains that the club have never before performed so well over a single season, nor so swiftly reversed their declining fortunes. One can’t help but wonder what a future without Lasso looks like. Hughes, for his part, remains optimistic.
“Coach Lasso made a real difference. Not just in how we play as a team but in how we think, how we work. That kind of change is here to stay,” he says, before adding, “plus we’ve got facetime and all that **** so it’s not like he’s properly gone. I mean I could call him right now if you want?”
But what of Hughes’ future as an international player? After making his debut for Wales a little under a year ago, and with a surprise win against Uruguay under his belt from April, surely his prospects on the world stage are looking encouraging? With Gareth Bale announcing his retirement, is there a possibility for Hughes to follow in the steps of childhood hero Speed and take over as captain of his national team?
“****,” Hughes says, once again forgetting the request to forgo swearing. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I mean that’s the dream, isn’t it, but I know that any of the lads on the team’d do a great job in the role. Any one of us would bring something different to the job, so who’s to say?”
It’s modest, considered statements like these that give weight to Hughes’s earlier words of change: Lasso may have moved on, but his impact on the team is here to stay. I, for one, cannot wait to see where Colin Hughes takes it from here.
#yes this is very self indulgent but its friday and im treating myself#colin hughes#ted lasso#ted lasso spoilers#trent crimm#ficlet#kinda#my fanfic
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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 💗
#fuck it Friday#idk how this turned kinda angsty sjdjdjdjsj#it truly just escaped me#I hope y’all enjoy it anyway sjdjsjs#buddie#911 fox#911#eddie diaz#evan buckley#911 tv show#evan buck buckley#buck x eddie#buck and eddie#911 abc#buddie fic#buddie ficlet#buddie wip#buddie fanfic
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Fuck it Friday 🏖️
Two snippets today because... fuck it, right?
First! from the unnamed Lutalia ficlet (it is not coming as easy as I'd hoped) [pun fully intended because, yeah, it's probably gonna get spicy] prev snippet here
It’s not like Natalia should even get emotionally invested, or worked up over the message. She and Lucy aren’t anything meaningful like partners or girlfriends. Lovers would be a generous description. They’re… something with benefits. Not friends, exactly. More like acquaintances. That term feels awkward as she turns it around in her brain. But saying ‘acquaintances who met through a guy they have in common’ is even moreso. So, yeah, something with benefits.
She chuckles to herself thinking about ever needing to introduce Lucy. Oh, Lucy? She’s nobody really. We just fuck sometimes. Somewhere in the afterlife her grandmother is probably cursing up a storm because Natalia didn’t marry a nice Catholic boy and have a houseful of kids. Sorry, Nana.
Second! From a published work, my baby, whatever may come (your heart I will choose). I heard the song this chapter was named for and I was overwhelmed with gushy emotions. So, from CH 21....
Eddie has been alone long enough to know he doesn’t want to always be that way. There’s a part of him that still equates romantic love with effort and disappointment, but he’s seen enough to know that some people get it right. Christopher is his priority and anyone he would even think to consider would have to feel the same - they’re a packaged deal, can’t have one without the other.
Much like Buck, Eddie has his fair share of women — and men — try to get his attention on calls. Someone might argue he’s missing out on a meet-cute opportunity, but a person who’s throwing themselves to see which firefighter will catch them isn’t what Eddie is looking for. Honestly, he’s not sure what his type is, or if he even really has one. He’s also not sure if it’s a surprise or not when the person he might want is his best friend. Buck, who became part of Eddie and Christopher’s lives so seamlessly Eddie didn’t realize it had happened until he almost lost him.
When Eddie comes home from his 24, it’s… different. It’s good, he thinks, but there’s definitely something new crackling in the air around him. Eddie had arrived at the station yesterday morning, and gone immediately into his usual routine, barely getting changed before the bell went off. He didn’t have time to think about leaving Buck behind. In his bed. Now that he’s home, however, there’s really no choice.
Buck is just walking out of the bedroom — out of Eddie’s bedroom — stretching so just a sliver of skin peeks out above the waistband of his joggers. There are still pillow creases on his cheek, and his hair is adorably sleep-mussed.
When Buck relaxes the stretch, he notices Eddie, giving him a soft smile before he says good morning. A warm, golden glow builds in the center of Eddie’s chest, filling up the usual beige of coming home to a quiet house. Eddie’s hands twitch at his sides, wanting to reach out, to pull Buck close. Just to see. Just to know. What it might feel like if Buck was his. Buck, oblivious to Eddie’s internal struggle, walks past, brushing their shoulders together.
He asks Eddie questions like ‘How was your shift?’ and ‘I was going to make eggs when Christopher wakes up. Want some?’. Buck prepares regular coffee for himself and decaf for Eddie, because he knows Eddie always wants coffee when he comes off a morning shift and the full strength keeps him too jittery for sleep. Nothing has changed and everything has changed. For Eddie anyway. He’s still Buck’s best friend and this is how they are together, how they’ve always been. Eddie is the only one that can see there might be more. He accepts the mug Buck sets down in front of him, and pretends not to notice when Buck’s fingers seem to linger under Eddie’s longer than they probably need to.
It’s easier once Christopher is awake and joins them in the kitchen. Mostly. Sort of. Because he gives Eddie a hug first then shuffles over to give one to Buck, wrapping his arms around Buck’s waist like it’s an everyday thing. Like it could just be that simple that Buck has been here for two nights and that’s just the way it is now.
(…)
Buck beams and gives Christopher a high-five. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Yes!”
“Me, too. Go wash your hands and I’ll start getting it ready.”
Christopher obediently walks toward the bathroom, while Buck washes up in the kitchen sink. Buck makes scrambled eggs and bacon, and Eddie sets the table. Eddie listens to Buck and Christopher tell him about their trip to the Cabrillo Marine Aquarium yesterday and how excited they both are to go to the Heal the Bay and Roundhouse aquariums later in the week.
“Dad, there was a kelp forest inside! Did you know kelp can grow two feet in a day?”
Eddie doesn’t have a chance to answer before Buck is telling him some other fact.
“Yeah! And Eddie! There are these starfish called bat stars. If they bump into each other they have like a slow motion arm wrestling fight.”
“And,” Christopher adds, “they can turn their stomachs inside out.”
That information may have been a bit much for breakfast time, but he’s happy to listen. Buck and Christopher continue to banter back and forth, calling out every fact or exhibit they remember between sips of juice and bites of toast.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Eddie asks when he’s finally able to get a word in.
“I thought we could take it a little easier, maybe go to the beach? It would get us out and still let you sleep.” Buck looks at Eddie, his blue eyes bright and hopeful. “Unless you wanted to come with us? I can drive.”
Eddie is tired from his shift, but not so exhausted he’s ready to collapse like some days. And with Buck looking at him like that – Eddie doesn’t know how anyone could possibly expect him to say no.
tagged by @callmenewbie @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck @wikiangela @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @spotsandsocks @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @lemonzestywrites thank you loves 😘
no pressure tagging @thewolvesof1998 @steadfastsaturnsrings @weewootruck @malewifediaz mi amor @disasterbuckdiaz @thekristen999 @loserdiaz @heartshapedvows @underwater-ninja-13 @fortheloveofbuddie @eowon @jesuisici33 @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @shortsighted-owl @stereopticons @elvensorceress @spagheddiediaz @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @buddierights @911onabc @the-likesofus @honestlydarkprincess @spaceprincessem @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @pirrusstuff @messyhairdiaz @gayedmundodiaz @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @evaneds @maygrantgf @buckbuckgoose @statueinthestone and anybody else who wants to share 💖
#fuck it friday#lutalia ficlet#fic: whatever may come (your heart i will choose)#btw#chapter is named for#sink in by amy shark#it’s one of my favorite chapters#its packed with yearning and Buckley-Diaz family feels#slaps roof of fic#this baby can fit so much angst and pining#enough rambling#hippo writes
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BBC Sherlock.
It is what it is
"I cheated on Mary," said John, as his eyes welled up, and in came the monologue to a non-existent person, presumably Mary.
Sherlock followed John's gaze and stopped at an empty corner of the sitting room of their flat. Well, his flat, technically, because John wasn't here anymore.
All he could conclude was that John was not okay.
"Who you think I am, is the man I want to be," John continued.
Sherlock turned to look from the empty corner to John's face, pressing his lips together with utter heartbreak. Sherlock had always admired John's medical skills, his combat skills, his sense of authority, his sense of humour, and the list could go on forever.
Mary was not even in the picture when Sherlock began to look up to him and admire him.
Was that not enough?
The image of John punching and kicking him in the ribs flashed before him. Of course it wasn't enough, thought Sherlock and chuckled mirthlessly in his mind.
Probably because he wasn't a woman, or not human enough for John's liking.
However, anyone with half a brain would laugh at the second possibility, given the fact that he wouldn't have been sitting on this chair if he hadn't revived himself that day, after getting shot by John's own wife.
When John buried his face in his hand and burst into tears, Sherlock thought it didn't matter anymore. He got up as carefully as he could with his wounded back to approach John slowly across the room.
Sherlock felt as though he was in a lion's den, and any wrong move could prove to be fatal. Still, mustering enough courage and physical strength, he approached John and carefully placed his right arm around John's shoulder, and rested his palm on John's nape. He placed his left hand on John's other shoulder and held him gently in his arms. Surprisingly, John not only allowed himself to be hugged, but he also placed his head on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock didn't care about his shirt getting wet because of John's uncontrollable tears.
As Sherlock continued to hold John like he was the most precious thing in the world, he came to a conclusion: perhaps he was wrong to put John on sort of a pedestal for all these years. John had a plethora of qualities, but seeing him through a rose-tinted lens most of the time had been an imperfect sign. An imperfect way of viewing this man.
Ironic, for someone who was a professional detective.
John wasn't perfect; he had a dark side too. The thought was oddly comforting.
Sherlock just wished he hadn't found this out the hard way. But his love for John was far too much to waver, even after everything.
Sherlock pulled John even closer as he buried his nose in John's hair, inhaling his natural scent. Their breathing rate had become in-sync.
Sherlock reluctantly let go of John after some time. John gazed up at him with his beautiful, deep blue eyes, dampened with tears.
Sherlock decided to share his conclusions with him. "It’s not a pleasant thought, John, but I have this terrible feeling, from time to time, that we might all just be human."
John raised his eyebrows at that with a faint smile. "What, even you?"
Sherlock was not amused at this taunt. "No."
John's smile faded and he just blinked at Sherlock wordlessly.
"Even you."
A moment passed. "Cake?" asked John, all of a sudden.
"Cake." Sherlock nodded.
As he walked across the room to grab his coat to go out with John, Sherlock decided that being John's friend again was the next best thing. The other option, the unthinkable one, was completely off the table now. It never was on the table for John.
Sherlock sighed heavily and wistfully.
Probably for the best, he thought, as he and John walked out of the apartment building to have some cake for his birthday.
Tags: @a-victorian-girl , @lisbeth-kk, @helloliriels , @topsyturvy-turtely , @keirgreeneyes, @totallysilvergirl , @jamielovesjam, @peanitbear, etc.
#johnlock#bbc sherlock#john watson#sherlock holmes#sherlock x john#bittersweet#flash fiction friday#ficlet#fic writing#johnlock ficlet#the lying detective#pov: sherlock holmes#introspection#unrequited love#pining sherlock holmes#angst#platonic friendship#FFF233#imperfect sign
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