#i was like. maybe it will be a 3k fic

[missjoolee]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Julie and The Phantoms (TV 2020) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Julie Molina/Luke Patterson Characters: Julie Molina, Luke Patterson (Julie and The Phantoms), Flynn Taylor, Alex Mercer (Julie and The Phantoms), Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Reggie Peters (Julie and The Phantoms) Additional Tags: small acts of vandalism, Flirting, Revenge, Minor Alex Mercer/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Eggs, Getting Together, Kissing, awkward julie molina, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies Summary:

They walk in silence for a few minutes. Julie's thoughts bounce between her anger and frustrations, and the boy walking next to her whose eyes burn into her every time they glance over. She has no clue what's she is going to say to Flynn when they arrive. Eventually, he decides to ask the question that's apparently been on the tip of his brain since she exited the store.

"Are you guys having, like, a bake sale or something?"

When the night she has planned almost ends before it starts, Julie recruits Luke (and by proxy the rest of Sunset Curve) to help her and Flynn pull off a revenge scheme of epic proportions.

Hoping to only gain a little bit of vengeance, Julie is unprepared for the memories and relationships that begin to blossom.

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Excerpt under the cut

Julie made a mistake. It happened... occasionally.

Look, Tetris has never been her game. And all of her instruments have custom bags with nice fitted slots for them to go into. So how was she to realize the six dozen eggs she just bought wouldn't fit in the reusable grocery bag she'd brought with her? The cartons were just barely too long to sit properly in the bottom so she couldn't even use the darn thing to carry a couple of them lest a carton open up and eggs start breaking inside the bag. She needs like an egg carton... crate or something. She glares at the store's bags fluttering in the air conditioning, taunting her with their ability to hold a carton of eggs. She doesn't have any cash to pay for them and the store has a minimum for card.

Sighing, she loops the handles of her bag up to her elbow and slowly starts stacking the cartons in her arms. Guess she will have to GusGus her way out of this one. It's going to take her so long to get back to Flynn. Tucking the last carton under her chin, she slowly brings her hand back down to add support to the bottom of the stack. Then slowly, carefully, she makes her way towards the exit of the store.

The doors slide open at her approach and hot summer air hits her, accompanied by the thrumming chords of a guitar from Luke, the guy that likes to busk near this corner shop in Malibu. He was a nice guy, easy on the eyes. Very. Easy. Julie had stopped many times to listen/talk to him when she was in the area to hang out at Carrie's. Anger floods her at the thought of her now ex-friend.

The guitar screeched to an abrupt stop.

"Whoa, Julie. Do you need help?"

She pauses and considers, but doesn't want to impose. She knows he needs the money he makes from busking to get things for his band.

"O-oh, no. I've got it." She takes another step forward, her shoe immediately catching on a parking block, and she's suddenly tilting forward. Of course this is how she is to go. In a pile of raw eggs in a parking lot on a humid night in front of the guy she's been crushing on for months now. Of course.

Hands catch her shoulders, preventing that sad reality from happening. "Are you sure about that, boss? I don't mind walking with you."

Heat flames her cheeks at the teasing tone, but she doesn't have time to let her embarrassment dictate her actions right now. So, reluctantly looking up at him, she relents. The moment their eyes make contact, the corners of his lips lift up in a soft smile. Despite all the twisted emotions running within her, her stomach flutters.

"Yeah, that'd be helpful. Thanks."

"Let me just.." He gestures behind him at his guitar case awkwardly, before rushing to pack up his things. Slinging the case to his back, he steps back up to her. "Alright, give me half."

She shifts her feet. "I think you will have to take them from me. Something is bound to fall if I move."

"Oh, right!" He quickly, but carefully, takes the top three cartons from her. "Lead the way!"

Julie nods her head to the left. "It's that way."

They walk in silence for a few minutes. Julie's thoughts bounce between her anger and frustrations, and the boy walking next to her whose eyes burn into her every time they glance over. She has no clue what's she is going to say to Flynn when they arrive. Eventually, he decides to ask the question that's apparently been on the tip of his brain since she exited the store.

"Are you guys having, like, a bake sale or something?"

She smirks humorlessly, turning onto the street with the gradual hill upwards. Walls now line the manicured lawns instead of a sidewalk, forcing them to walk in the street. The further they travel, the larger the houses beyond those walls gets.

"Not exactly." Her reply hangs between them. She knows she should offer more explanation than that, but maybe the less he knows the better. Instead, she asks, "What have you been working on recently?"

An elated grin spreads across Luke's face before he jumps right into talking about the latest songs he's been working on. It's actually quite pleasant. The last vestiges of the sun setting, a cool breeze offsetting the heat radiating from the pavement of the street. The attention of her crush smiling down at her. It would be perfect any other night.

The curve of the street eventually reveals a figure with a large package waiting out front of one of the mansions.

"Jules!" Flynn's figure steps out from the shadows of the property's wall. "What took you so long? What's Luke doing here?"

Luke answers before Julie can. "Hey! I insisted on helping after Julie almost immediately dropped all these eggs in the parking lot."

Flynn shoots Julie an unimpressed raised eyebrow. Julie shrugs her shoulders, minding not to jostle the eggs too much. While the girls are silently communicating, Luke's gaze seems to have registered the package at Flynn's feet is an 18-pack of toilet paper and begins to bounce back and forth between it and the eggs. The toilet paper, then the eggs in his arms, back to the toilet paper, to the eggs in Julie's arms, comprehension registers on his face.

"Whoa. What did someone do to piss you two off?"

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Masterlist l Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[annebd]

winter warmers, day 17: public sex/hot cocoa ~2700 words. this fic is based loosely off the pics and my tags on this post.

“Final grades are already submitted, mate. The time for bribery has come and gone.”

“Very funny, Daniel.” Max places the cup of hot cocoa on Daniel’s desk. A little bit of the whipped cream has sputtered out of the hole at the top. He swipes at it and licks the foam off his finger. He watches Daniel watching him. “Extra whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon, like you like it. And anyway, it’s not a bribe because you are not my teacher anymore. That’s the point."

Max slouches off his backpack and dumps it in a heap on the floor in front of the threadbare armchair next to Daniel’s desk. He throws off his jacket, too- slings it over the back of the chair- before slumping to sit, his legs spread wide. He’s spent the better part of the semester in this exact position, big blue eyes staring raptly at Daniel across the desk, counting down the minutes until this moment. Now it’s Daniel’s turn to stare.

“Max…” he warns.

The door to Daniel’s tiny, cramped office is wide open, but it’s quiet. It’s late into the evening on the last day of the semester. The university is almost entirely deserted by now. All of the students abandoned campus the moment they finished their last exams over the week, and the professors have all gone home for the day, leaving their TAs to put together the final touches on grading for the end of the semester.

Daniel’s office is at the end of a long corridor in the dingy, mostly unused section of the English department. There’s a janitor’s closet next door that contains nothing more than a single mop and a broken plastic bucket. The empty office across the hall has a bigger desk than his and an actually functioning window, but when Daniel asked if he could move over there instead, his advisor had thrown around words like “seniority” and “tenure” and “paying his dues.” So he’s been stuck in this shoe closet for the past two years, while a perfectly good office lies empty just a few steps away. He likes to complain to Max about it when he’s feeling particularly resentful about some university bullshit or other. Max just likes to listen to him talk.

The office is, as usual, empty. As is the janitor’s closet. As is every other office or storage room down the hallway, all the way to the elevator bank, where the lone lightbulb is flickering intermittently, casting dancing shadows along the wall. They’re alone in the building for now. No one else is around.

Max tells Daniel this.

“No one else, huh?” Daniel leans back in his own chair, matches Max’s slouching posture. He takes a sip of the cocoa. Savors it. Takes another. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with that information?”

“You know what, Daniel. You are not my teacher anymore. This stupid class is over. No more Beowulf, thank god. And now I can have you. You said.”

“You can have me?” Daniel cuts himself off. “Jesus, Max. That’s definitely one way to phrase it.”

“Always you and your phrasing. I still am upset about when you took points off my essay for that, by the way.”

Daniel laughs.

Max doesn’t. He glances at the open door, which offers a clear view down the hallway. Still empty. Not so much as a faint footstep click-clacking in the distance.

He stands and turns Daniel’s swivel chair outwards a little so that he has enough space to kneel down in front of him. 

“Max,” Daniel warns him again, but his voice is softer this time. He’s not protesting. He’s looking down at Max, who��s already sliding his hands up and down the soft, worn denim encasing Daniel’s thighs.

“You have to say yes. You already said we could, but you have to say you want this now.” Max sits back onto his heels, and immediately feels colder being even six inches further away from Daniel. “Will you say yes, for me? Say that I can have you?”

Daniel runs a hand across his stubbled cheek, lets it cover his mouth for a moment. Max watches the light catch on his gold rings and dance across the wall. Daniel pulls off his glasses (an affectation, he’d once told Max. His prescription is so weak that he can get by fine without them, but they help sell the look. PhD student in English Lit, rather than tatted bogan) and looks at Max with wide eyes. Max looks back.

“Yes,” he says. “All right? I’m saying yes. You can have me.”

“Okay,” Max agrees and pushes Daniel’s grey sweater up so that he can lean in and suck a bruise into the center of his chest. He pulls back to look at it. His own mark on Daniel’s skin. Daniel has told him about some of his tattoos, and he’s seen some, of course, but he knows that there are others yet to be discovered. He’ll find every last one with his eyes and then his tongue. For now, he’ll add a few more of his own.

Daniel groans when Max sets his teeth against Daniel’s nipple. “Fuck, babe. Not even a kiss first? Right to the nipple play, huh?”

Max pulls back. Daniel’s right: they should kiss. He lets the sweater fall out of his hands and pulls Daniel by the back of the knees so that he slides lower in the chair. Max pushes into the space between Daniel’s spread legs so that they’re chest to chest.

Daniel looks soft like this, vulnerable, as he looks up to where Max hovers slightly taller than him. Max is used to Daniel taking up so much space: big laugh, big personality, big hair. But here, underneath Max’s hands, he’s small. His baggy sweaters hide a narrow waist, tapering to bony hips- delicate wrists extending to long, nail-bitten fingers. Max wants to cover him completely, hide him from the world, keep him for himself. That wouldn’t be fair, though. The world would be so much smaller without Daniel in it.

He cups his hand around Daniel’s cheek, his beard prickling ticklishly against Max’s palm.

“Hi,” Daniel says, quietly.

“Hello, Daniel,” Max says and then leans in for a kiss. It’s softer than he’s expecting, given the stubble situation. Daniel’s lips are warm against his, and they press together for just a moment before Max pulls away to look at him. He never gets tired of looking at Daniel.

He moves back in, harder this time, Daniel’s mouth opening for his, and he licks his way inside. He sucks on Daniel’s tongue, where the taste of cocoa and cinnamon is still lingering. Daniel kisses back- biting, bruising kisses that send a shock of pleasure direct to Max’s cock. He could spend hours here, days, years, just feeling the pressure of Daniel’s mouth on his.

But he has plans that extend beyond just a few heated kisses.

He has wanted this since the very first day of the semester, when he walked into that stupid Brit Lit classroom with his stupid copy of Beowulf and saw the hottest person he’s ever seen in his life sitting cross legged on the desk upfront, waving him in and telling him to grab a seat, that they’re just getting started.

He’d sat in the closest seat to the front, dead center, and spent the next three months contributing minimally to the in-class discussions that Daniel led, and instead, daydreamed about bending him over the lectern and fucking him until he cried. He did fine on exams, wrote marginally passable essays (phrasing issues aside), but couldn’t be bothered to contribute to the inanity of the conversations around him when he could spend that time imagining the taste of Daniel’s golden honey skin if he licked him all the way from his collarbone to his cock.

Soon enough, he’d started showing up to Daniel’s office hours twice a week, and then inviting himself to sit in the office whenever he knew Daniel would be there. He’d plop himself in the armchair and tap away at his homework for other classes (“the ones that matter, Daniel”) while Daniel worked on grading essays and occasionally tapped away at the doc that will eventually become his thesis.

And in that time, Max’s fantasies turned from the desk in the lecture hall to the desk right here in this cramped office. He’s spent many an afternoon sitting in the ratty armchair and watching Daniel work, while picturing doing exactly what he’s doing now: pressing his lips against Daniel’s and sliding his hand underneath his sweater to pinch a nipple, drawing out a low moan.

Daniel had always said no. Not until the semester was over; not while he was still in a position of power over Max.

And now they’re here. The semester is done, Daniel is no longer his TA, and Max can live out every last one of his fantasies.

Without breaking the kiss, he grabs Daniel around the waist and levers him up and out of the chair so that he can spin him around to sit on the edge of his desk. He leans around Daniel’s side to close the lid of his laptop and set it on the chair, which frees up the space he needs to lay him out flat on his back and start pulling at his clothes.

“Off,” he says, and shoves the hem of the sweater up so that Daniel will remove it completely. He reaches down to take off Daniel’s boots and then unzips his jeans and pulls them off. Between the two of them it’s quick work until Daniel is naked, save for his socks and the gold chain around his neck. He’s on his back with his ass at the edge of the desk and his thighs already falling open for Max to fit perfectly between.

Max takes a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him. Daniel’s tan is still a perfect golden, even now in the startling cold of mid-December. He’s lithe, deceptively muscled for how slender he is, further camouflaged by the baggy sweaters and hoodies he’s usually draped in. But like this, all of him on full display for Max’s pleasure, he’s a perfect specimen of toned muscle.

There are more tattoos even than Max expected- his thighs especially are a quilt of color. Max ignores them for now. There will be plenty of time for them to become more intimately acquainted later. For now, Max has other issues to attend to- like licking that stripe across Daniel’s torso. Collarbone to cock, and then back again.

He must stare for a hair too long, because Daniel starts to curl in on himself, shy in a way that Max has never seen him before. That can’t stand. Max leans down to kiss him again, pressing his hardening cock, still trapped inside his jeans, against Daniel’s, which forces his legs wide again. He wraps them around Max’s back and tugs him in closer.

They kiss lazily for a while until Max is so hard that the press of his cock against his zipper is a physical ache. He unzips and pulls himself out, immediately thrusting into the hollow where Daniel’s hip meets his thigh, precome slicking the way.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, no beating around the bush.

He makes quick work of sliding on a condom and then slicking his cock and Daniel’s hole with a tiny packet of lube, both of which he’d tucked into his pocket earlier this evening.

He pushes in and feels the warmth of Daniel surrounding his cock. Daniel’s eyes widen and he gasps when Max bottoms out. He’s not huge, but his cock is thick, and he can feel Daniel’s hole fluttering around him to accommodate his girth. He moves slowly, letting him get used to the stretch.

“Fuck, Max,” Daniel chokes out as Max thrusts in to the hilt again. “More, please.”

“So polite for me. Of course, Daniel. I’ll give you everything you want.” And he does. For long minutes, he focuses on nothing more than the connection between their bodies, Daniel’s entirely naked and Max’s still fully clothed. He’s insane with the sensation, the knowledge that Daniel is giving himself over to Max so completely, letting Max take care of him.

He’s on the verge of coming when Max feels Daniel still beneath him for a moment, his gaze focused over Max’s shoulder. “Max, the door.”

“Yes. It’s still open. Anyone could walk past and see us. They could see you all spread out for me. For my cock. They could hear you, too, of course. Because you’re being very loud with your moans, Daniel.” He pushes in deep, makes sure to stroke firmly across Daniel’s prostate. He waits for him to moan and then does it again. “Just like that.”

Daniel shudders and clenches down around Max’s cock. It’s Max’s turn to moan out loud. He can feel Daniel starting to tremble beneath him. He reaches for Daniel’s cock and starts jerking him roughly.

“Now, Daniel,” he says. “Come for me now. Please.”

Daniel closes his eyes and pulls Max down over him, presses their mouths together. He licks across Max’s teeth as he comes. Max follows immediately behind, filling the condom and wishing they could do this bare. Imagines the feeling of filling Daniel instead, spurting deep inside him. He groans again as his hips kick up reflexively. He adds that to the mental tally for next time. There will absolutely need to be a next time.

They take their time cleaning up. Max grabbed a stack of napkins when he brought Daniel’s hot cocoa earlier. They don’t make for the most glamorous post-fuck clean up, but they’ll do.

When their clothes are back in place and they look mostly presentable again, Max tugs teasingly at the chain around Daniel’s neck, pulls him in for a kiss.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” Daniel tells him softly.

Then, he grins big for a second. “Oh, and for the cocoa, too. Delish, mate.”

Max just rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome. For both. Now, come. I need to take you home and fuck you some more. On a big bed, where I can take my time.”

He waits for Daniel to gather his things and turn out the lights in the office. He’ll finish his last bit of grading over the weekend, he tells Max.

They walk down the hall to the elevator, Max with one hand wrapped around Daniel’s hip and a thumb tucked through his belt loop.

As they near the elevator bank, they both freeze. Just a few doors down from Daniel’s office, they see light streaming out from Dr. Lambiase’s office, light that definitely hadn’t been there when Max showed up earlier.

They turn to look at each other, their eyes huge. Slowly, they walk towards the open door and freeze again when a familiar voice calls out from a familiar face. “Evening, boys. I thought I was already done for the day, but I had to come all the way back to campus to grab a couple of folders before break. You two all done for the evening?”

Neither of them says anything. Dr. Lambiase raises an eyebrow at them.

Max nudges Daniel to answer; he’s the TA. Not Dr. Lambiase’s TA, of course, but still. Max is just a student.

Daniel hurries to spit out, “Yeah, yep, we’re all done. Max just had a couple questions from the final exam, but we’re all good now, so we’re gonna go, have a good night, see you later.” He waves, prompts Max to do the same, and then speedwalks them down the rest of the hallway, where they wait in silence for the elevator to arrive.

“Oh my god,” Daniel says as soon as the elevator doors close. “Oh my god!”

“Well,” Max intones. “I guess we can check that one off the fantasy list, then?”

They look at each other silently for a second and then collapse into each other in a pile of giggles. Yeah, Max is definitely going to cross that one off the list.

[vandalistverdict]

There’s three types of symbiosis; mutualism, commensalism, and parasitism.  Tyler pats my chest twice, a quick tap tap, and, sigh, we’re not connected anymore. He’s sitting up, lighting a cigarette, smoke curling from his mouth. He holds the cigarette to my lips and I suck, the smooth, acrid smoke sliding into my mouth and filling my lungs. Tyler doesn’t need nicotine. I do. Tyler doesn’t get attached to things the way I do. He’s free from all that. Mutualism. It’s when both species benefit from the relationship. Think bees and flowers. Think clownfish and anemone. This is not what Tyler wants. Commensalism. That’s when one species benefits and the other derives nothing—neither harm nor benefit. Think barnacles on whales. Think fungi on trees. This is not what Tyler wants either. Tyler would never settle for indifference. Parasitism, though—you already know. That’s when one species thrives, and the other suffers. Think ticks on dogs. Think tapeworms feasting in some poor kid’s intestines. Think cysticercosis, brain parasites, in some rotting, skeleton of a person's head. Okay, fine. Maybe it is all that bad. Maybe this is exactly what Tyler wants.

- - -

[daffi-990]

WIP Wednesday 📝

Tagged by @tizniz

It’s nice having something to share ☺️. Here’s something that’s not angsty from my secret buddie wip

Eddie smiles at him, all warm and bright like the sunrise slipping in between the curtains. His fingers caresses Buck’s cheek as they travel up to card through his hair, his thumb gently stroking over Buck’s birthmark before pulling Buck towards him for another kiss.

Their lips move languidly against one another’s, the soft sounds of their kisses and content exhales filling the room.

“I love you,” Eddie says, burying his face into the crook of Buck’s neck.

He’s heard Eddie say those three words countless times over the past year and a half, yet he still feels them ignite a warm sensation that spreads throughout his body like he did that first time.

Like there’s a star in his chest bursting with colour and light, its shimmering particles embedding themselves into Buck’s bloodstream until he’s glowing with Eddie’s love.

No pressure tagging: @diazsdimples @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @hoodie-buck @the-likesofus @wikiangela @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @wellcollapse @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sibylsleaves @steadfastsaturnsrings @rainbow-nerdss @exhuastedpigeon @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @queerdiazs @spagheddiediaz @devirnis @dangerpronebuddie @diazheartsbuckley @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @captain-hen @bekkachaos @neverevan @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @giddyupbuck @honestlydarkprincess @homerforsure @kitteneddiediaz @lover-of-mine @lonelychicago @disasterbuck @inell @smilingbuckley @bucksbignaturals @ladydorian05 and as always, anyone who has something they’d like to share -> consider this your offical tag 🏷️

[reading-writing-dying]

Finished editing next chapter of the Hotguy/Cuteguy Love-square fic, now the question is do I post now or wait until my original planned date of Friday/Saturday?

[hidey-writes]

wip wednesday

The team drifts obediently over to take their seats around the table. Ding Guozhu shoots Gu Yiran a worried look that unsettles him. Gu Yiran sits down with something tight and anxious in the pit of his stomach. Even after they’ve gathered, Zheng Bei stands alone at the head of the table, hands clenched, hands bowed. “Captain Zheng,” says Director Gao, voice going uncharacteristically firm for a moment, “could we get started?” 

Zheng Bei jolts, then masters himself. “Director Gao,” he says, “thank you for joining us today.” His voice is strangely solemn. He sounds like someone else, like he’s reading from a script. His gaze is fixed somewhere above everyone’s head. “It’s been my honor to lead this task force for the last two and a half months, and now that this case has closed I’m grateful now that this task force can be disbanded.” Gu Yiran stops listening. It all makes sense now — how reluctant Zheng Bei had been to bring up anything about the case whenever he was visiting in the hospital, how tense Zheng Bei had been this morning, why he’d been drinking last night. They’re staring down the barrel of the end of everything, and again, Gu Yiran is the last to figure it out.  Gu Yiran doesn’t hear anything else for a while, not until Director Gao comes around the table to stand beside Zheng Bei at the head of it and says, “— and Gu-laoshi’s expertise in these new drug products, and all the hours he’s put into analysis —” To the side of Director Gao’s clasped hands, there’s one last pile of unfiled paperwork, with a blue folder peeking out of the middle.   Gu Yiran jolts back into his body, and somehow he’s already standing. “Director Gao,” Gu Yiran hears himself say, unnecessarily, because Director Gao is already staring at him. “The case can’t be closed yet.” He’s speaking too loudly. “Gu-laoshi?” Director Gao asks, frowning. “Is there some kind of problem?”

from the fourth draft of this fic! things are finally getting tense :)))))))))))))))))))

[antspaul]

decided i needed to completely restructure this fic that i’ve written 3k of… and they’re not even in the bedroom yet

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

tagged by @honestlydarkprincess (welcome back bb! <3) @buckaroosheart @spagheddiediaz 💖💖

this is so close to being done istg 😭 i just want to finish it and get back to my other wips lol

prev snippet

___

Just as Eddie is about to suggest joining Chris in decorating, their kid’s voice reaches his ears.

“Ew, are you guys gonna stop making out and help, or do I have to do it all by myself?” he sounds half-annoyed, half-amused, as he looks at them with a scrunched up nose and a pointed look he definitely learned from Eddie. It's like looking in a mirror.

“We’re not making out.” Buck mumbles and moves away from Eddie, cheeks bright red, looking all sheepish, like a teen caught by their parents – when really it’s the other way around, which makes Eddie laugh loudly. Buck just shoots him a look, but a smile breaks out on his face anyway.

“Of course we’ll help.” Eddie just says, walking towards his kid, putting the hot chocolate on the coffee table as he walks by. “Where do you want us, boss?"

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @giddyupbuck @exhuastedpigeon @king-buckley @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @hoodie-buck @spotsandsocks @jeeyuns @daffi-990 @callmenewbie @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @jamespearce9-1-1 @weewootruck @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @steadfastsaturnsrings @malewifediaz

[hideyseek]

bravely did my writing for today ... time to eat five million bowls of butter chicken :3

[jade-of-mourning]

the problem with mako is that once you realize just how many insanely Layered Issues™ the guy has, you realize that you cannot shove them into a single oneshot like you'd planned and that you may possibly have to write about him for a very extended period of time to expand on all the many ideas that are rotting your brain.

(he's just so. so easy to give Fucked Up Brain Things to.)

[jacaerysgf]

once i get this 2k celebration out i will open up my requests again i swear i just cant be getting distracted from this fic i need this put before i hit 3k

[lovinglin]

See, the reason I haven't posted the anniversary art is bc uh... is bc uhm.... I haven't finished it

[echoes-lighthouse]

I’m writing my Hazbin Hotel s/i as a reader insert story with different chapters for different characters and I think I’m going to make it a readers request things on AO3 kind of deal, like you choose who hires the ‘reader’ next as a domme and then you get to read about it

I’m 11,000 words in and I started with Angel Dust because it made the most sense for my character’s starting point, and I’m having a ton of fun honestly (and also kind of traumatized myself but it’s ok that’s part of fanfiction writing)

I’m going to post the first chapter tomorrow: should I link it here as well or just post it on ao3 and see what happens?

[possamble]

this is.... an unreasonably long chapter.......

[sophiethewitch1]

www reader showing that she has brain cells for once in her life. good going girl have a drink as a reward or something