#As soon as I finish writing

[kindlythevoid]

You write so that your favorite actor will one day star in an adaptation of your book.

I write so that an adaptation of my work gets featured on Film Theory.

We are not the same.

[narumi-gens]

dreams aventurine x f!reader

18+ minors/blank/ageless blogs dni, 2.1 spoilers, pregnancy/parenthood

aventurine has never thought of himself as a man who dreams of the future, not beyond a certain point. but there's something about you that makes him doubt himself.

because when he looks at you, when he's near you, when he's inside you, he can't help himself. he thinks about what would happen if he didn't pull out and cum across your ass, your tits, or your stomach, painting your skin in white spurts like he usually does. he thinks about what would happen if he buried himself deep enough for you to feel him in your throat and spilled himself inside of you for once.

what if he didn't climb off of you as soon as he caught his breath. he thinks about what it would be like if he instead stayed there even as he softened, cradled between your thighs, while your arms wrapped around his trembling form to hold him close, your fingers gently running through his sweaty strands, your touch alone doing more to calm his mind than an orgasm ever could.

there are times when he allows himself to imagine beyond even that, but only in his weakest moments when he decides to spend the night, always under the pretense of the late hour, or the bad weather, or how comfortable the bed he bought you is. it's a pretense that you see through, but never challenge him on as you know that doing so would make him leave.

it's only once he's sure that you're deep asleep and he can turn his unguarded gaze to your features in the dark that he dares to let his mind wander beyond the bounds he normally sets. he imagines your stomach swelling as the months pass, of your hand grabbing his to press his palm to your belly to feel the fluttering of new life from within.

he imagines a small bundle pressed to your bare chest, skin-to-skin. you're crying, but so is the newly born infant that you hold so dear. so is he. sometimes, the sunlight shines through the windows of the hospital room, and other times the rain is deafening against the glass.

likewise, sometimes when the baby in your arms opens their eyes to take in the world for the first time, their color mirrors yours. but more often than not, it's his own pink and blue irises looking back at him, promising a life of good luck.

he imagines the feeling of a small palm pressed flat against his own much bigger one, as a young, tiny voice stumbles over the words he tries to guide them through.

he pictures the smile on your face, both adoring and soft, as you watch with tear-filled eyes as he teaches your child the blessing of their people.

as long as you are alive, the blood of the avgin will never run dry.

no matter how many years have passed since he was taken from sigonia in chains, he'll never forget his sister's final words to him. but when he looks at you, when he's near you, when he's inside you, they feel like more than just a memory.

it feels like she's speaking to him across the years, to him now, trying to guide him towards this single future with you instead of any of the infinite other futures he bets everything on.

maybe, if he chose to listen to her, there could be another avgin for gaiathra to bless. maybe, if he ever chose to give in to his weakness, to your warmth, to your softness, to your love, the avgin wouldn't have to live and die with him.

[sableeira]

please humor my self-indulgent artwork for the historical AU I mentioned like half a year ago and finally started writing. Detective Dazai and swordsman-for-hire Chuuya teaming up to solve crime cases during the Meiji period ✨

close-up because after a decade on this website I still haven’t figured out how to get images to look sharp

[popponn]

note: happy birthday fishman. please just come home already. i want to poke this cutie a lot.

you stare in disbelief at the pile of plushies in your hands, then at the empty ever-rotating crane game machine, then finally at the half-fish half-man who you get the pleasure of calling employer and boyfriend.

"...how?" you ask, still dumbfounded.

rafayel—who casually keeps a finger gun pose shamelessly in the middle of a public arcade—smirks even wider, "who do you think you are talking to?"

"someone who always misses the plushies," you answer quickly without a missing beat, before adding an afterthought, "usually. on every turn."

this response immediately makes him drop the finger gun away from his chin. changing it into a childish (and very adorable) hands on the hips pose. as animated as his gestures are, his face morphs into a pout, "hey. that's just me holding back so this place could still have a business."

"..." you doubt it, really.

"what does that face mean?" rafayel's eyebrows frown even further—which serves as enough warning that you probably should start giving him praises or you will have another spiel of how "you don't love him and even the jellyfishes that eat grass agrees with that". no one wants a repeat of that.

and also, you love him enough to think a preening smug rafayel is better than a pouting annoyed one.

"it means—" you poorly try to hide your smile, "—that i am very thankful that a really handsome guy gets me all of this. so much that i couldn't believe it."

predictably, the air around rafayel soon matches a peacock more than a fish. "hmph! good!" he says, in a manner that sounds like he will demand some spoiling the moment the two of you get home. or so you think, before he opens his mouth again and eyes the other machine a few steps behind you, "why don't you let this handsome guy get another round of plushies for you then?"

(five minutes and eight rounds later, the plushies in that other machine remain untouched.)

[feroluce]

I think Hoyo should announce in-universe that they will allow one singular "fuck" in Honkai Star Rail.

Boothill: Finally, finally! F-

Dan Heng: Fuck.

Boothill: FORK!!!

[laxxarian]

Instead of Danny joining the JL, its Dan who joined

It was to redeem himself and bring back his protective obsession instead of massacre

Danny liked the idea and let him go off on his own while Vlad who is in underway of his redemption arc by talking out with his parents, Vlad had also adopted Dan in his care.

And Vlad, who has Batman's in his radar, is wary of Dan Phantom because the kid said he's a ghost living in a clone's body. It wasn't really alive, it was just a body for Dan to live without a problem.

Vlad was seen as a villain after seeing his past actions before. Yes, Batman knows about Plasmius.

But since the day Dan came, Vlad stepped down and started to go on a redemption arc. Batman is still wary though, it's still good to have Dan here so he could monitor both the "son" and Plasmius.

Batman doesn't know about Danny being Dan tho, because Dan said his true age that is somewhere around 20's or something and his ghost half could prove that.

Unless this is another one of those time travelling but Batman will soon find out.

[jimlingss]

Three years!

Hello, everyone and happy Jimlingss anniversary! Woohoo! It has been three years since my official retirement and eight years since I’ve began this blog. That’s absolutely crazy since it all feels like yesterday. Time flies when you’re having fun.

First and foremost, thank you to all who still send me messages and give me feedback on my stories! I do check back once in a while and read everything, so nothing goes unnoticed. Your kind words always make me miss the simpler days of writing. :’) It really gets me nostalgic.

Second, here is my yearly update!

I’ve finished my second year of law school! I finished off this year with a bang and did quite well, if I do say so myself. There’s one more year left to go and that’s insane since I remember the first day so vividly. I’m a bit sad for it to be all over — I never thought I’d ever feel this way. But I’ve made so many friends and created so many memories. When it’s all over, everyone will be going their own path. Luckily, I’m sure we’ll remain connected and be close friends no matter what.

I don’t think I’ve had such a positive experience quite like this in all my years of schooling. I’ve always been the type to just scurry on home, never liked what I was studying, and never had too many friends. So this change has been unexpected yet very welcome.

In terms of career, I’ve been working this summer and I have something lined up for when I’m finished school! So soon I’ll be racking in the dough, wooooooo!! Let’s get it!

My family is also doing well — and I feel very fortunate for that. 

Third, and most important, I am happy to announce that I have a boy I absolutely adore! We’ve officially been dating for four months? That seems so short on paper, but we’ve known each other for close to two years! I’m living out one of my friends to lovers fics, I swear (lol).

He’s been a close friend since the start of law school and somewhere along the line I gradually caught feelings (of course I did lmao). I was sure rejection was on the horizon and I wanted to preserve our dear friendship, so I was trying to get over it for months by myself. This included online dating and going on a string of dates (hahaha). I ended up cracking and calling him on the phone one night, but then aborted mission. Thanks to the advice of a friend, I stopped avoiding him and being an embarrassment, and I finally confronted him. He said we should give it a shot, and here we are!

He has brown, curly hair that reminds me of a poodle. And he made me realize why love is so loved — why it’s so revered — talked about — imprinted in each other’s minds. Everywhere. I’ve written countless love stories but never truly experienced the feeling before, and yet, he’s made the heart of my stories come to life. He’s let me live them in real time. 

I really hope it works out! LOL

Anyway, I’m always happy to do these updates and for all those who may be just a bit curious enough about me to check in. Although this is a very positive update (and I hope it continues to be), my life isn’t without its ups and downs either. It just seems to be in a general upwards trajectory. 

Thank you to everyone who still remembers me, and who may still read my stories! I definitely haven’t forgotten about you all, so I hope you haven’t forgotten me either.

Here’s to another year! See you again!

[uglypastels]

okay there is this video on pornhub that i can’t stop thinking about with modern!eddie. it’s a minecraft redstone tutorial where this guy is getting head while showing how to make a daylight sensor lamp and automatic doors and it’s so funny but also i can’t stop imagining like eddie fucking reader while giving a tutorial on something so pleaseeeee i beg i beg i beg

it is 10 am and when i read this i could not stop laughing (bc it was quite unexpected) so obviously i had to go do some research and holy shit. that's all I'm gonna say. thank you for the request <3

warnings: smut 18+ only MDNI. oral (m receiving). slight bored and ignored vibes. sex work/on camera sex. pwp - we're getting straight to the point here.

Eddie sat the camera up over his desk, so when he sat down in his chair, the angle would pick up on most of his naked body and you sitting between his legs, hand already slowly moving across his length.

He shot you a quick smile and blew you a kiss before he leaned over to pick up his guitar. sliding a bit back in his chair, he placed the instrument over his stomach, strumming it a few times before looking up at the camera.

'Hey everyone, so today I thought I'd teach you how to...' As he began to explain, you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock. As usual, when it came to these kinds of videos of his, Eddie barely reacted to the touch and just kept on talking about the kind of guitar he was holding, but a trained eye might just notice the flex in his thighs.

'So, what you gotta do...' he placed one hand on the neck of the guitar, showing the camera the placement of the fingers to play the right chords. Meanwhile, his other hand swiped gently over your hair, petting you encouragingly as you took him deeper into your mouth.

You both continued doing your own thing, enjoying the simple presence of each other's company practically. To you, the camera was long forgotten, and his words were just a low hum in your mind, the sound of it always putting you at peace.

At certain moments, Eddie would readjust his position in his chair, using it as an excuse to thrust into your mouth. You would mewl around him, exactly at the moment that he tried to play one of the more difficult parts of the song, and it would be one of the few moments he acknowledged you in the video.

'Shh, baby, not so loud.' He pushed some of your hair back, 'trying to film a video here.' You mouth a 'sorry' to him and continued on. As the video went on, you began to move faster, taking him deeper. It got sloppier, and any time he would thrust into you, he hit the back of your throat, resulting in a moan that went almost in sync with the melody he played.

'So, yeah, that's about it,' Eddie finished up the song, and from his indifferent expression, you wouldn't be even able to tell that his cum was sprayed all over your mouth and tits.

Just before he turned the camera off, he put the guitar back down and leaned down to kiss you, licking himself off your lips. 'You did so fucking good, baby. I love you.'

But that part wouldn't make the final edit. That was just for you and him.

[raineandsky]

#83

“[Hero],” the villain opens with smoothness they haven’t shown the hero in a long time. “I have made a terrible, terrible mistake.”

Ah. Seduction for a favour. Of course. “Well don’t keep me in suspense, [Villain]. I could use a good laugh.”

The villain pulls a face, distantly offended. Their lips twitch uncertainly. “[Supervillain]’s lab is… made for [Supervillain].”

“Who’d have thought. You’ve been in there?”

Another twitch. “Yes,” the villain says shortly. “Yes, I was in there. [Supervillain] doesn’t label anything either. Their little concoctions could be anything—and I… drank one.”

The hero snorts. The villain scowls. “You drank an unlabelled liquid?” the hero asks from behind a laugh.

“Yes.”

“Intentionally?”

The villain’s scowl somehow deepens. “Yes.”

“What, are your hours numbered? Are you hoping I hold a secret cure?”

“No.”

“What was it, then?”

Another twitch. The villain doesn’t seem to want to answer at all. “It was a truth serum.”

Oh. Now that is interesting. “Truth serum? So you can’t lie?”

“Yes.” The villain smirks, and suddenly the seductive hopefulness is back full force. “Go on, test me. Ask a question.”

The hero stares into the distance as they think. It’s a lot of opportunity dumped on them with no warning. The villain slinks across the room towards them, curious, tantalising. “Do you actually enjoy being a villain?”

“Yes.” The villain’s smirk upturns even more. “I wouldn’t even have to lie for that. Ask something I wouldn’t usually answer, dumbass.”

The villain closes the space between them. The hero gives them a suspicious squint. “Where’s your evil lair?”

“In the basement of the old school downtown,” the villain says immediately. They groan disappointedly as soon as the words are out. “God, of course you’d go for something about work. What, is looking for us getting boring?”

The hero can feel the villain’s breath on their face now. They look away to avoid the heat rising to their face. “You want me to ask something… personal?”

The villain smirks. Their arms snake up to sit on the hero’s shoulders, their fingers brushing idly through their hair. “Sure.”

Thinking isn’t the hero’s strong suit right now. They know they should push the villain away, but something’s stopping them. It almost feels real. It’s a little too comfortable. They can feel every bit of the villain's body against theirs. “I, uh… are you… seeing anyone?”

“No,” the villain whispers with a cocky grin. “Not yet.”

And the villain presses their lips to the hero’s.

Something of a surprised squeak tumbles from the hero’s mouth and straight into the villain’s. The villain hums a laugh, their fingers tightening in the other’s hair. The hero is caught up in the shock of it for a moment, but once their brain kicks in and screams its victory they remember to actually kiss them back.

The villain’s mouth is soft, gentle, their lips moving against the hero’s with a novel carefulness. The hero lets their arms slide around the other’s waist, pulling them in a little more, almost lightheaded with the exhilarated buzz. They can feel the villain smile against them as they deepen the kiss. The villain’s lips are almost salty, crisp, moreish. The hero doesn’t think they could ever get enough of their taste on their tongue.

The villain pulls away after a moment, much to the hero’s dismay, though their arms stay locked possessively around their neck. They throw a smirk at the hero again, entirely too proud of what they just pulled. “How many heroes are on the roster right now?”

The hero’s mouth is forming words before they can even register the question. “Twelve.”

“Damn.” The villain’s eyebrows shoot upwards, and the hero suddenly realises what’s happening. This bastard. “That’s not a lot. We have more than that.”

“How many?”

“Thirty-six.” The hero’s eyes widen slightly in horror, and the villain scowls at them. They still haven’t let go. “Fuck you.”

“What is—”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No.” Damnnit. The villain’s smirk turns playful at the hero's answer. “What’s—”

“Do you like me?”

“Yes.” The hero’s feelings aren’t stopping the rising desire to strangle the villain for making them do this. “You asshole.”

The villain’s smirk turns into a grin. “Aww. See, you can be—”

“Do you like me?”

“Yes.” The villain’s smile is gone in a second. “Oh, who’s the asshole now, huh?”

“This is so stupid,” the hero points out with a scowl. “How long does this stuff last?”

“I don’t know.” The villain grins again, entirely too knowing. “Why don’t we find out? We have all day.”

The hero frowns in faint annoyance, but the villain easily wipes it off their face with another taste of truth serum.

[ancient-romes]

Finding the panel where Miles acknowledges that Tucker was taken advantage of by Crunchbite and Burnie refuting it by saying Tucker "can't be taken advantage of" and then seeing how Tucker was treated in restoration like......i am connecting the dots and i do not like it

[hungharrington]

Your last ask’s tag shfjfkdk BYEEEE. Giving Steve a handjob in the theatre, (bonus points if it’s a super fancy one byeeeee)

ALSO giving him a handy whilst staying at your parents’ house for the holidays because you both know you are way too loud to do anything else discreetly. He’s such a good boyfriend, and he really is acting like the model son in law, but you just want to ruin him ❤️😮‍💨 kissing his face, cooing at him, lifting your top and bouncing your boobs around his face, just doing the most so that he’ll whine

you 🤝 me  obsessed with giving steve a handy in places you absolutely shouldn’t hehe

at your parents house oh my god yes - and look, steve’s known to be respectable enough around town, with his parents name and all that, he really shouldn’t be too worried but it’s undeniable how sweet it is that he is worried :) he just wants this weekend away with your parents to go well, okay? he’s been forbidden to date a girl once before and while you’re certainly worth the scraped hands from sneaking in windows, steve’s not sure his knees can handle it— so, yeah, he wants this weekend to go as swimmingly as it can. you, however, are feeling devious. you’re not outright with it, you know better than to do that especially around your parents but you certainly are pulling out the stops that you know drive steve mad — like those sweet short summer dresses he drools over every time, but forgoing a bra of any sort this time. it’s a lethal combination and you know it. best of all, is the like unspoken ban on sex between the two of you; even if your parents were trusting enough to put you in the same room, it’s only because they share a wall with it, meaning unless you figure out how to bounce on his cock without wrecking your vocal chords, sex is out the window

steve knows this- so really, he should be anticipating a little bit of tomfoolery from you — but it doesn’t cross his mind when you come and meet him out by pool. in fact, nothing crosses his mind at all when he see you in the sundress, rucked up in your hands, showing off a dangerous amount of thigh as you wind around the pool loungers to his. you smile down at him, shirtless and stretched out to soak up some sun. “budge up,” you say, knees leaning into the cushion and steve obeys without a word, scooching over so you get sit beside him— there’s not quite enough room for two people so you end pressed against him, head leaning against his shoulder as your hand comes to rest on his chest. steve curls his arm around you with a content hum, keeping a generous distance from anything too touchy — his hand firmly on your shoulder. 

“what are you up to, hm?” he asks, pushing his sunglasses up atop his head. your fingers start to stroke lightly, soft touches along his chest as you think about your reply. “just missed you,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder. your hand on his chest shifts a bit, swirling little patterns down across his tummy, which tenses for a moment beneath you. “miss touching you,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to his skin, adoring the way steve’s sucks in careful breath. his hand on your shoulder gives a light squeeze and he smiles, leaning over to brush his lips against your temple, “me too, honey,” he assures, voice low, “but we can’t—“ he swallows a bit as your hand wanders about, fingertips teasing along his v-line tantalisingly, just enough to get him interested. “your- your parents.” he reminds you, voice a bit shakier this time— his eyes are glued to your hand, muscles rippling under the skin wherever it scratches over. 

“just be quiet then,” you counter, a teasing smile toying on your lips. “and be quick.” this time, when your hand travels back down, you follow his v-line all the way down to his cock, which twitches the moment your hand nears it. steve is protesting in an instant, a little ‘wait, wait, wait’ but it dies off when you palm against his cock and shit, the couple days apart must be getting to him because just one touch is enough to have his head dropping back, giving a raspy exhale, “fuck, honey.” his hardness grows beneath your touches quickly, cock pushing up against the fabric of his shorts but he’s still got that niggling worry in the back of his mind, “baby,” he pants a bit, his hips shifting about under your touch. he doesn’t try pull your hand away, just fixes you with a pleading look, “your- your parents could…” but his sentence trails off when your hand snakes up to tug on the front of your dress, letting your tits peak out and steve full on groans, lust clouding his gaze as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. your spit in your hand and resume, slinking your hand back down his body, this time you sneak your hand into his shorts, fingers curling around his hot, leaking cock and steve stammers out another breathy moan— bringing his fist up to his mouth to try quieten himself. 

you pump his cock, starting slow, purposefully ignoring the head of it and instead starting to press more kisses into his shoulder and along his collar. steve’s breaths come a little heavier, coming out with a hint of a whine to them. you pull him out of his shorts, hidden behind your own body and greedily stare; his tip so pink and the vein down the side you always want to drag your tongue along. “missed this cock,” you hum sweetly, beginning to twist your hand, stroking him faster. steve’s tummy clenches, hips chasing your hand instinctively and when you finally thumb over his sensitive tip, steve whimpers loudly. “and your noises,” you say, almost teasingly, nosing along his collarbones and dragging your tits against his chest. “but you’re being too loud, stevie,” you pout, purposefully rubbing along his slit repeatedly in that way you know makes steve fall apart— he whines, jagged sweet little noises that accompany every harsh breath of his. “baby,” he whimpers again, pleading. “please, please, please,” 

you pick up the pace, the slick sound of your hand on his cock getting louder and louder as you try bring him to the edge. steve lets out another soft moan, his volume climbing in his desperation. “christ, fuck, honey, y’gotta- ah, y-you feel so good,” and his eyes switch between clenched tight and staring hungrily at your tits. “c’mon, baby, gotta be quiet,” you insist in a rasp, “you can be good and quiet right? or else i’ll have to…” you change your pace, slowing til you’re barely  stroking him and steve is hips buck up against you in an instant. “no!” he cries, too loud, then lowers his voice, brown eyes finding yours as he begins to plea. “no, please, i- fuck, i’ll be quiet and— oh my god, uh,” and his voice breaks off into another whine that he smothers into his fist as you work his cock faster again. steve tilts his head back, baring his throat, mouth open as another whiney warbles out, mixing with his whispered curses, “fuck, fuck, ah, fuck,” and it’s not until you speak with a tone of faux-innocence, nodding down to his cock and coo at him, “y'gonna let him cum? :( he just wants to cum, baby” and steve just falls apart, hot cum spurting from his tip and you just keep stroking him, teasing out those pathetic whimpery noises as he writhes in pleasure, all hot and bothered- he’s so noisy too, little, “thank you, ah, fuck, thank you” slipped between his moans as he fucks your hand through his orgasm, coated in his own cum. you actually consider stroking him through to another one, with his cum as lube, when there’s a faint call through the house for lunch and you just grin, releasing his cock and licking up what’s on your hand. steve’s chest is heaving, eyes still cinched shut as he tries to reel himself in — already thinking of ways to get revenge on you for making him sit through a lunch with you parents with his cum-stained shorts, especially considering you seem to enjoy his blushing face far too much 

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 7

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))

Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.

"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.

"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).

"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.

"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.

Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.

Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.

He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.

Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.

Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."

Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.

"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.

"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.

"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.

"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"

Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.

Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."

Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.

Actually, he probably can.

"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.

"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"

"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.

Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.

Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."

When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."

A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.

With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.

Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.

Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.

Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.

That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.

Fuck. FUCK!

He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.

Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.

He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.

"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.

"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.

"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.

"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"

Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.

"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."

If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).

It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.

"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."

"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."

"You good, though?"

"Uh, I will be."

Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."

He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."

Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.

Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."

"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."

Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.

A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.

Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.

His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.

"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"

That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."

Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.

Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.

Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.

He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?

Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.

He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.

"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.

Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.

"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.

There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.

This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-

Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"

He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!

He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.

It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"

"What?"

"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."

"Dude, slow down, what's-"

"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."

"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."

Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.

"Eddie. What is goin' on?"

Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"

"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"

Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."

[pdalicedraws]

And there was much rejoicing (until they notice they hate each other)

[1] [2] [3] [4/?] [5] [6] [7]

[index]

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard 💖

a different wip again, bc I'm trying to finish this one before I continue with all the others lol - so, a 7x10 bucktommy coda or whatever

___

“I wanted to.” he just says, then sighs, burrowing his face further into Tommy’s neck, nuzzling against his skin. He feels like his boyfriend’s strong arms are the only thing holding him upright, and he thinks it’s not fair, because Tommy just got off a twenty four hour shift and is probably tired. But Buck needs this comforting, amazing hug to last just a couple minutes longer.

“Rough shift?” Tommy asks eventually, one hand still moving soothingly over Buck’s back, the other settling in his hair and massaging his scalp gently. Buck could fall asleep right here, while standing up.

“You have no idea.” Buck responds, and something in his tone must give away that something worse than a usual bad call or a busy shift is going on. He feels Tommy’s arms tighten around him, and would bet that there’s a concerned look in his eyes.

___

no pressure tags: @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @bucks-daddy-issues @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend @dangerpronebuddie @loveyouanyway @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @kinard-buckley @the-hoziest @tizniz

[linkcities]

in a year or two (i'll take care of you) | gojo satoru/reader

“Do you have a favorite flower?”

You ask him this moments before the two of you begin your journey home, dragging along your worn out suitcases and the individual white plastic bags filled with dirty laundry. You ask him this and you’d come to realize later on in your life that it’s a question he found himself thinking of whenever he hears your name.

He places his head against yours gently. “I do.” He whispers, “sweet peas, if you know them.”

You hum. “What do they mean?”

Geto Suguru and his jet black irises gleam under the light of the vernal sun, his hair dancing along to the music of the leaves from before. Through the corner of your eyes, you caught a glimpse of the way he smiled at you so softly that day—it’s one you’ll grow to never forget, regardless of how many years pass you by.

“I’m a bit unsure, but,” he tells you, his index finger tapping the tip of your nose. “It’s ‘thank you for the time we spent.’”

or,

Snippets of your grief after Geto Suguru's betrayal, spread throughout the course of thirteen years; alongside the only person who could understand even just a crumb of your pain.

—

pairing | gojo satoru/reader

note | this is a preview of the current 'fic i'm working on. not sure when i'll be posting it, but the projected word count for this piece is around 17,000 words, subject to change. enjoy! :]

—

The day after that, Shoko went on to pretend as if nothing happened. She continued her routine. Medical check-ins, training, mission updates. The day after that, from Satoru, you heard that she blew through an entire pack of cigarettes in under six hours. You think this must be her way of repenting. Irrational penance for something she knew she wasn’t accountable for.

In the present, Satoru hops up to sit on the metal bar posing as the only hurdle between you and the running stream. His hands are in his pockets now, your bag discarded safely next to the railing. Carefully, just as he averts his stare elsewhere in the distance, he brings out an old and tapered pack of cigarettes.

You watch him intently.

“Stop staring at my hands.” He grumbles underneath his breath, loud enough for you to get rightfully annoyed by. “I don’t want to hear whatever you have to say.”

Your heart drops to your stomach after that. You say nothing in response.

Satoru tugs out his lighter from his other pocket cautiously, as though he was testing out your reaction first, and when he realizes that no protest would be sprinting towards his direction, he takes a stick from the box and he brings it close to his lips. You watch everything through the corner of your eyes.

The lighter clicks, and then you wince. Smoke flows out through his mouth in seconds, three coughs following suit. He tests it out repeatedly, a few more times, more and more times; waits for his body to get used to the smoke.

Halfway through his first stick, he coughs violently after a long puff. You wince again. “I’ll leave if you don’t put that out.” You mutter, displeased, waving away the cloud of gray enveloping your surrounding area. He doesn’t budge.

Deep breath. You know better than to try and tell him what to do. I know better than this. There was no rational conversation to be had when it came to Satoru. They were only ever frustrating and indignant and brutal and upsetting. “It’s bad enough that Shoko’s smoking more and more each day.” You try to bite your tongue, but the metallic taste of your own blood only makes you want to keep speaking, “why are you doing this to yourself, now, too?”

Ash falls from the burning end of the cigarette. He hangs the stick loosely between his index and middle finger, turning around to rest his elbows against the silver railing. Satoru does not offer you anything but an unconcerned shrug.

More and more ash falls atop the grass beneath your soles. When he coughs for the last time, you push yourself off the barricade and turn to the direction of the subway station.

“This isn’t mine.”

You pause. Satoru exhales deeply behind you.

“Shoko and I cleaned out Suguru’s old room three days ago,” he tells you, quietly, overdosing on the wave of uncomfortable air. “We were supposed to clean it with you, but your mission was extended and Yaga said we can’t keep putting it off.”

At this, you clench your fists. You take it upon yourself to look back at Satoru, who was now standing straight—overlooking the flowing river, watching the currents pass by and turn orange. You dissolve into a puddle of many, many regrets. You circle in on the lingering emptiness that has been tormenting you for weeks, and the conclusion strikes you like lightning again, almost as though you were realizing it for the first time: We had all lost something so terribly important when Suguru left. It all happened so quickly, you think to yourself. Suguru left quickly, too. Just three weeks ago. The wound was recent and fresh and the higher-ups didn’t even give you enough time to let it scab first before ordering you to search through Suguru’s things. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

This isn’t mine.

That’s what Satoru said. So it must be Suguru’s. It couldn’t be Shoko’s; she never liked to share. You and Satoru never smoked as often as they did. No, incorrect, the two of you never smoked at all. You walk closer back to the railing, laying your left hand on top of the bar.

“Did you find anything?” You ask him. “Anything worth keeping?”

You see him struggle with looking for an answer for your question. Satoru was never subtle with what he was feeling. “I took some of his clothes,” he starts, “I kept a bunch of his shoes, too. We’re the same size. Shoko took his lighters and books.”

There’s a lump in your throat filled with words you know you’re not allowed to speak into existence. You want to tell him, though. Put it back in his room. I can’t handle seeing someone other than Suguru wear his clothes. You argue with yourself, inwardly. You asked him the question, yes, but truthfully you were hoping he’d answer no. No, I didn’t find anything. It’s equally as devastating, but at least that way you’d carry no reminder of his leaving.

(But is that what you really want? To forget? To erase all traces of Geto Suguru from your brain?)

It’s a horrible thought to have. It’s a horrible thought to have. Satoru and Shoko were more than welcome to grieve the way they wanted to grieve, and the lord knows you weren’t significant enough to the universe to ever be given the right to police them.

A single cough. He disrupts your thoughts, loudly stomping over them, almost as if he knew what was running through your head. You know he does. “I don’t know why I decided to keep them.” Satoru directs his stare down to the ground, his hair nestled in front of his eyebrows. “They’re in boxes on top of my closet. If you want some of them, just let me know.”

Your mind goes numb. You don’t know how to respond to that. Satoru’s saying all the right things right now and you’re unsure of how to handle his being rational—it’s not like he hasn’t been this way in the past, it’s just that usually Suguru was the one who was often rational enough for the both of them. Your mind goes numb. You hear nothing but an incessant ringing. Ultimately, you understand what Suguru’s abandonment entails; you know that his leaving necessitates numerous adjustments and relearning of previous lifestyles. If Yaga were here, he’d say something along the lines of Good. If it took him leaving to get Gojo to straighten up, then good. You could honestly hear his voice saying that. But you know he never would. He’s high strung, but he’s not heartless. You’re projecting something.

You’re projecting something because everything feels either wrong or excessive. Satoru is being rational and quiet and Shoko is avoidant and even more jaded than before. You don’t know what you’re supposed to be; and yet Satoru stares at you, finally, for the first time in a while, with wide blue eyes and chapped and parted lips, staring so expectantly almost as though he’s tethered to your reactions. The sheer weight of his eyes alone is too heavy for you to carry.

“I don’t.” You say, finally. After several agonizing minutes of only trickling silence. “Keep them, it’s fine. I wouldn’t have a place for them in my room, anyway.”

In the blink of an eye, the weight dissipates when his pupils slant themselves back towards the gushing river. The tension is thick, and so is his nearly tangible disappointment, but you convince yourself it’s out of your control. Gojo Satoru is a god among mortals and if his sorrow cleaves the world in half, the burden of stitching it all back together shouldn’t fall on one as miniscule as you.

“Alright.”

He throws the worn out pack of cigarettes to the steep downhill curb near the river, and then he turns around to walk to the direction of the subway station. His footsteps echo loudly in your head. It disrupts the incessant ringing from before.

An exhale escapes your throat. None of the air you’re trying to keep inside is staying inside. You lean against the barricade. We had all lost something so terribly important when Suguru left.

When the silhouette of the young god’s retreating form no longer appears in your peripheral vision, you descend down to the river and you pick up the pack of cigarettes before the wind blows it towards the water. The sun sets in the horizon, and you feel an ache inside your chest, a thrumming in your head; the ghost of a migraine looms over you, and yet you think it couldn’t possibly feel any worse than this.

[daffi-990]

Fuck it Friday 💋

Tagged by @tizniz @spotsandsocks @dangerpronebuddie and @wikiangela. Thanks friends for the tag! Mwah! xx

Have some more from the last chapter of Rival Firefighters 🚒 . This may be the last snippet I share cos well, I don’t wanna share it all plus she’s almost done! Thinking of posting Chapter One next week sometime but am debating whether I should get a beta reader or just fuck it and ball 😅

Prev snippet here (btw snippets aren’t always in order. I post whatever tickles my fancy)

They make it to the bedroom and Eddie pushes Buck onto the bed, quickly stripping off his pants before removing his own clothes sans underwear. He turns to Buck, drinking in the sight of him lying on his bed in nothing but his come stained underwear, waiting for Eddie. It takes his breath away, his heart swelling with love and adoration for this man he is now lucky enough to call his own.

Without wasting any time, Eddie climbs onto the bed and straddles Buck's hips. He looks down at his best friend as he runs his hands over Buck's chest, feeling every muscle beneath his fingers. Buck is big and strong already, but he’d mentioned to Eddie that he wanted to get bigger. The thought of more Buck has Eddie almost salivating.

He leans down to capture Buck's lips again in a deep kiss while grinding against him, feeling their cocks rubbing together through the thin fabric of their boxers. Buck moans into the kiss and reaches up to tangle his fingers in Eddie’s hair, pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss even further. Their bodies move together creating sparks of pleasure with each dirty grind.

“Fuck. I want to take you apart slowly,” Eddie says, the words tumbling out in a rush, his voice low and rough with desire, “spend an agonising amount of time showing you just how much I love you.” His gaze locks with Buck’s as he continues. “But right now I feel like if I don’t get inside you soon, I’m gonna die. I just,” he licks his lips and ducks his head feeling heat beginning to bloom high in his cheeks, “I want our first time together to be, I dunno, special.”

“Hey,” Buck brings a hand up to caress Eddie’s cheek, his fingers scraping along stubble, “it doesn’t matter if our first time is slow and missionary style or rough and dirty against a wall,” Buck replies, Eddie’s cock twitching at the mental image, “you could bend me over the kitchen counter and fuck me until I can’t stand and it’s still going to be special because it’s you and me.” He leans up to kiss Eddie softly on the lips.

No pressure tagging: @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @exhuastedpigeon @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @epicbuddieficrecs @evanbegins @rainbow-nerdss @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @try-set-me-on-fire @sibylsleaves @steadfastsaturnsrings @the-likesofus @princessfbi @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @athenagranted @shitouttabuck @devirnis @bidisasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @fiona-fififi @giddyupbuck @goforkinard @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @hoodie-buck @jesuisici33 @neverevan @spagheddiediaz @sunshinediaz @loserdiaz @lover-of-mine @ladydorian05 @nmcggg @captain-hen @bekkachaos @missmagooglie @monsterrae1 @mellaithwen and as always, anyone else who wants to share something -> consider this your offical tag 🏷️