hyruling

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i must not remove my piercings. removing my piercings is the piercing killer

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my beautiful deadbeat life

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when i'm down here on my knees

buck/eddie. explicit. 1985 words. porn without plot. face-fucking. brat buck. (mentioned) cock warming. established relationship.

hilariously inspired by anon hate accusing me of wanting to regress buck's character and wanting him to suck eddie's cock. well EYE think buck sucking eddie's cock is the Growth and Stability he needs and craves actually <3

There's a bliss to this, a belonging, a stillness despite the rough, frantic energy of it. It settles something deep in the marrow of Buck's bones. Everything fading, narrowing down, like a soft vignette. To the ache in his knees, his jaw. The raw-feel of his throat. The sting of his eyes. To Eddie's hands on his head. To the heavy, hot weight of Eddie's cock shoving into him, plugging his mouth. To the wet of his saliva dribbling down his chin. To the way he's rubbing off in his jeans against Eddie's leg with base, desperate need. Like a dog in heat.

tagging a few people: @prince-luffy @redrosydiaz @celestielbeing @bark-barkley @canondiaz @inell @buick118

@spaceshipkat @buckbuckleybegins @butchdiaz @hyruling

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the way the phrase “eddie’s worthless cock” has immediately become part of my lexicon. i literally can’t stop thinking about it and laughing thank you aela’s anon for this gift…

[hyruling]

If you're taking prompts/requests, I would love 30 & 50 🥰 thinking someone attacking buck, protective eddie...medic eddie...sigh

intimacy prompts - being protective + patching up a wound

Buck flinches the moment Eddie’s gloved fingers graze his skin, the citrus from Eddie’s shampoo hits him like a gut-punch, sharp and too familiar, making his stomach flip. Buck tightens his grip on the edge of the bathtub where he sits, tries to breathe through the nausea.

“Are you going to be sick?” Eddie asks.

He’s too close, kneeling in front of Buck in his cut-off gray sweatpants, bare knees digging into the cold tiles.

Buck shakes his head. He doesn’t need to look to know that Eddie's frowning, eyebrows drawn like he’s not buying it.

“How much did you drink?”

Buck shrugs. He stopped counting after the third beer.

“Okay,” Eddie says after a beat, tilting Buck's chin up. “Just try to stay still for me.”

Eddie shifts closer, gently dabbing the damp gauze against Buck’s skin. The sting feels good. Grounding.

“Okay?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Buck rasps.

Eddie’s face is set in concentration, his long lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks under the harsh bathroom light. He looks beautiful. He always does.

“You gonna tell me how that happened?” Eddie says, quiet, still focused on the task, steady hands working across Buck’s face, wiping away dried blood.

Buck doesn’t answer. Just watches him. There’s a tiny freckle on his shoulder, peeking out from under the edge of his tank. Has it always been there? Buck’s never noticed it before. He kind of wants to press his thumb into it, just to see what would happen.

Eddie looks up, eyes meeting his, and Buck’s stomach turns again. For an entirely different reason this time. He drops his gaze, jaw tight.

“Buck?” Eddie tries once more.

“Not really in the mood to talk about it.”

“Well, tough luck, because we are talking about it.”

Buck knows he’s not being fair—Eddie deserves an explanation. Buck didn’t think twice before calling him. Didn’t even consider how it would feel for Eddie to be woken up by his phone in the middle of the night. Again. After Bobby—

His knees nearly gave out when the realization hit. He barely made it to the nearest trash can, stomach emptying in sharp, miserable waves.

He felt stupid. Selfish. He wasn’t even bleeding anymore, he could have called an Uber.

He felt like a kid standing on the side of the road waiting for Eddie’s car to pull up. He felt like a kid sitting in Eddie’s passenger seat, forehead pressed to the cold window, water bottle clutched in his hands like a lifeline. He felt like a kid waiting in the car while Eddie made a stop at the 7-Eleven to pick up some ice for Buck's throbbing, messed-up face.

He swallows. “It wasn't a big deal, alright? Just some guy being an asshole.”

Eddie eyes him carefully. His jaw ticks, kind of like he wants to punch someone. “Did he… say something to you?”

Buck laughs—an ugly, bitter sound. “Not to me, no.”

”You were with someone?”

“Jesus, Eddie, no I wasn't with anyone. Not that it’s any of your business.” Eddie swallows, then nods, pulling something out of the first aid kit. “He was bothering some girl, okay? She was clearly uncomfortable and—“

“And you had to step in,” Eddie says, there’s an edge to his voice, it’s not angry or scolding, mostly he just sounds tired. “Since when are you the guy who gets into bar fights?”

“I’m not!”

Eddie raises his eyebrows as if to say are you sure about that, bud? He cups Buck’s jaw, angling his face to get a better look at the split skin on his cheekbone. “I don’t think you’re gonna need stitches for that,” he says, covering the cut with a clean bandage before taping it down.

“Good,” Buck says.

“You are gonna get a pretty decent black eye, though.”

Buck nods, mouth pressed into a line.

Eddie brushes a careful thumb over the bandage before clearing his throat and letting go of Buck’s face.

“Hands?” Eddie questions.

“All good,“ Buck mutters, fingers twitching. “Just a few bruises.”

Eddie hums, not entirely satisfied. He pulls off the gloves and tosses them in the bin.

“What were you even doing at that place?” he asks.

And Buck is—irrationally angry.

He knows he’s not being fair again. It's just—he didn’t actually plan to get himself punched tonight, despite what Eddie might think. He just needed to go out, clear his head. Wrong place, wrong time, or whatever.

But he can’t really blame Eddie for not knowing that sometimes his brain gets too loud in his all too quiet apartment. Except he kind of does. Because if Buck had told him, Eddie would have just told him to come over. And Buck would have done it. Would’ve folded, crawled to Eddie's doorstep like a pathetic little dog.

And that’s the whole fucking problem, isn’t it?

His chest feels tight. The alcohol in his system is dragging everything up—higher, higher, until it’s right there in his throat, burning.

“Why do you care?” He bites out.

Eddie blinks, taken aback. Like he didn’t expect him to snap at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you care where I’m going? Who I’m with?”

“Of course I care, you’re my—“

”Your-your what, Eddie? Your friend?” Buck’s voice cracks. “Please, tell me what I am to you because I honestly have no idea.“

It took him a while to see it, but he sure as hell sees it now—how much he depends on Eddie. How much he craves his attention, his light.

And Eddie—Eddie indulges him. Lets him get away with it. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal.

Eddie doesn’t say anything. Just looks at him with those big, shiny eyes. Buck kind of wants to cry.

“Got it,” Buck mutters bitterly, pushing himself up to stand.

“Buck, stop.” Eddie’s hands land firmly on Buck’s thighs, holding him in place. “Ask me again in the morning.”

“What?”

“Please.” Eddie’s fingers tighten, pressing deeper into the muscle. “Tomorrow. When you’re sober. Ask me.”

Buck’s chest aches. His face aches. Everything aches. Eddie’s hands are still on him, steady and warm. Gentle. Always so fucking gentle.

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m asking now.”

“Buck—“

“You know how many nights I spent sleeping at my new place in the past month? Eight. Eight nights, Eddie. Because I’m always here. Every time you call. I’m here. Do you think that’s—“

“Yeah, well, who the hell asked you to move out?” Eddie cuts him off, loud enough for the words to echo, bounce off the walls until the room feels like it’s shaking with their gravity.

Buck freezes.

“What?”

“I came back and all your things were gone. Didn’t even bother telling me. How’s that fair?”

“I-I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would I want that? Why would I want—“ He rubs the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, frustrated. “Jesus Christ, Buck. You want to know what you are to me? You’re—You’re the air in my fucking lungs, man. I want you to be here all the time. You’re the reason why I—” he grabs a fistful of Buck’s shirt, exhaling heavily. “Fuck it.”

Eddie kisses him. Swallows the tiny sound of surprise that escapes from the back of Buck’s throat.

“Shit,” Eddie pants. ”Sorry. You’re drunk. And hurt. We should—”

Buck’s head is clearer now, still throbbing but focused. Sober enough to know exactly what he’s doing. He cups the back of Eddie’s head, pulling him in.

“I'm not that drunk,” he murmurs against Eddie’s lips before capturing them in his once more. He tangles his fingers in Eddie’s hair, gives it a light tug, just hard enough to make Eddie’s breath catch.

Eddie’s hands find a place around Buck’s ribs—soft, steady. Holding onto him like he’s something worth keeping.

“Feeling better?” Eddie asks when they pull away to catch their breath, carefully brushing a few curls from Buck’s eyes.

“I think my face hurts more now, actually,” Buck admits, but he’s smiling.

“Shit. Sorry, did I—“

Buck kisses him again.

“Worth it,” he whispers, because he’s a sap.

“Yeah?”

Buck hums. ”I'm the air in your lungs?” he says, biting back a laugh. ”Who talks like that?”

Eddie rolls his eyes at him, fond. “You’re lucky you’re injured. I’d hate to make you sleep on the couch.”

“Hey, I happen to like the couch.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna love the bed then.”

Buck does.

[hyruling]

those fics bobby adopts buck as a kid hit different now 🥲

they'd probably dream about it

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Is Eddie's baby back with him? YES! Eddie & Chris hugs - 9-1-1, S2-S8

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Daily Eddiestache day 29/♾️

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wip [day of the week]

tagged by lovely @spaceshipkat <3

this isn't really a wip. just something i started writing for no reason and it probably won't grow into anything else but anyway, here it is:

this isn't something that's a part of their hang-out routine. they touch, of course they do, probably more than even the closest of friends are platonically supposed to, but not like this. never like this. not with this kind of purpose and not when it's just the two of them sprawled across the couch in their sleep clothes with nothing but a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table to judge them. eddie's— eddie's left hand is tucked between buck's knees, and he's not quite pushing them apart, not quite fondling anything, but it still feels monumental, his fingers wrapped around the angle of buck's knee. buck likes his hands; he keeps staring, has been getting distracted by them for a while now, and eddie hasn't been trying to use it to his own advantage, not really, but it still makes him weirdly proud to know that buck's absolutely bound to sputter and blush and grunt (and sometimes even adjust himself in his pants) whenever he sees eddie lick some butter off his thumb or suck melted ice cream away from the groove of his palm. only now eddie's hand is squeezing buck's surprisingly bony knee, and then moves on to pinch the softness of the fat on the inside of buck's massive thigh, and eddie's hard. eddie's hard in his stupid basketball shorts because his hand is making its way up his best friend's thigh and into his loose cut-off sweats like it has a mind of its own. he thinks of thing from the addams family; maybe he's losing his goddamn mind. eddie wishes he could blame it on alcohol or weed, but he can't because they've been cutting down on beer ever since eddie and chris have moved back in. the overpriced craft sodas buck keeps buying instead are alcohol-free, and they don't even manage to provide a sugar high. as far as weed goes, it's not their once-in-a-month 'night of chill' as buck likes to call it, so eddie can't blame it on that, either. eddie is stone-cold sober and so hard in his pants that it's starting to ache, and his best friend keeps flexing his legs like he doesn't know whether he should spread them apart or lock them together, so eddie's horny hand can't make it further up his loose pants and straight into the guts of the most important relationship they've ever built. eddie doesn't even know how it happened. one minute they were watching that stupid nicolas cage movie, and the next eddie's been tugging on the fair, wiry hair on buck's leg. he wants to suck them into his mouth and find out if buck's pubes look and feel and taste the same, and isn't that a thought to have about one's platonic best friend.

tagging: @cranberrymoons @hyruling @holocrone @shitouttabuck @llovely @thatbuddie if you feel like it <3

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Oliver Stark for Nineteen92 magazine.

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and well i did open the weewookinkmeme in the middle of a jiffy lube today. and there’s a nonzero chance the guy working on my car absolutely saw the words “buddie psychic jerking off” so that’s an interesting development between me and the guy who always gives me discounts on my car maintainence

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EDDIE DIAZ 8.04 | No Place Like Home

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shift’s over and Buck can’t wait💕

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“he saved my life,” eddie chokes out.

fuck. he didn’t want to end up here, not like this. not while they can barely even look at each—

“i saved your life, too.”

when eddie’s head snaps up, buck at least has the decency to look surprised by his own words, but he doesn’t take them back. “i know, buck,” eddie hisses. “you think i don’t know that?”

he closes the distance between them, out of anger or fear or something else. buck’s brow is still set, but he’s all tense now, and that’s—that’s not right. he’s not supposed to do that.

fine, if buck doesn’t want to talk, eddie’s not above pushing a little. “what the fuck is your point, huh? what, is it a competition?”

buck just tenses more at that, face falling in something like devastation. he's pressed himself back against the corner, leaning on it like he needs it to remain upright, and eddie is resisting the urge to yank him forward by the sweater when buck’s voice, thin and wavering, cuts through the silence.

“what do you want from me?”

the fuck kind of question is that? “i don’t—i don’t want anything from you.” you don’t have to be anything for anybody. he meant it, and he means it now. eddie doesn’t want buck to do something for him, he just…he just wants buck.

but eddie isn’t allowed to ask for that. it wouldn’t be fair.

so he just watches as buck’s face shutters with resigned hurt. and really, it serves buck right, it had to happen eventually; someone had to tell him that there wasn’t anything he could do, that this wasn’t something he could fix, and that person had to be eddie.

buck’s lip is trembling now, and fuck if that doesn’t make eddie feel like a dick.

aw, you made him cry, his mind taunts.

someone has to, he snaps back.

as much as he hates it, it’s true. buck hasn’t let himself feel a damn thing, hiding behind everyone else, and eddie needs to get this through his thick skull before he has to—before friday. so he reaches for him, hands grasping at his shoulders, almost at his neck, and he doubles down, almost pleading. “buck. i don’t want anything from you.”

buck looks back and forth between eddie’s eyes, as if committing something to memory. “yeah,” he says finally, a rasping little mutter in their quiet kitchen. “yeah, i—i know.” he’s letting go of eddie’s shirt where his hand had come up to clutch at it, eddie doesn’t know when, he hadn’t noticed. “goodnight.” and he slips out of eddie’s hold, through the doorway, and he’s gone.

eddie blinks down at the wrinkles that buck's fingers left in his shirt.

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about to put $200 on my credit card again despite being over $1000 in debt on it lol. sure hope there are no consequences for this 😂

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thinking about Father’s Day and maybe chris asks buck to help him plan a little surprise or something for eddie. so buck sends eddie out on pointless errands and he’s running all over los angeles and kind of annoyed bc why isn’t buck with him but he’s happy to do it anyways but ugh buck the traffic is so bad im stuck on the 405 why did you send me out this is wild meanwhile buck and chris are cooking up a storm in the 4995 bedford street kitchen until finally FINALLY thank god eddie made it home and he comes through the front door with idk the bag of soil buck sent him to home depot for (the plants, eddie, the plants need it!!!) and a bag of tortilla chips and and

there’s chris and buck standing in the little entrance to the dining room and they’re both giggling with their somehow matching curls on display and the table is set and there’s a massive spread of food and everything smells so wonderful and chris got his dad a gift and

when did buck start crying!!! because now eddie’s a little choked up and this is his family and god he’s so in love with buck AND HE NEVER WANTS TO LOSE IT