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jihyoruri · 7 months ago

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❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢BUBBLE GUM kang haerin x reader

↳ warnings yn is a member of new jeans, fluff, haerin being confused with her emotions, soon to be girlfriends, black cat and golden retriever

with all the windows open in the house letting the natural light shine, the air hung heavy with humidity, wrapping around every surface like a blanket, yn reclined upside down on the worn out couch, her body glistening with sweat, the sticky warmth clinging to her skin like a second layer.

she wore a delicate tank top adorned with whimsical flowers and trimmed with intricate lace, it was paired with loose cloth shorts draped comfortably over her legs, offering minimal spare from the relentless heat.

with each exhale, she blew a bubble of pink bubblegum, you’d think she’d grow tired of blowing bubble gum since the group has got here to film the music video but boredom got to her this was the only thing she could think of doing as a distraction from the fact that they had no service.

she gazed upwards, she basked in the gentle caress of the fan's oscillating breeze, making eye contact with the cat like girl who sat across from her with a fan in her hand.

haerin immediately broke eye contact and shifted uncomfortably fanning herself faster,she reluctantly acknowledged to herself that she had been fixating on yn for longer than she cared to admit. despite her best efforts to ignore it, she couldn't deny yn’s undeniable beauty,even when they’re tired from filming over these past couple of days in an unexpected heat wave.

it wasn’t that she hated yn, she just wasn’t a big fan of the girl like everyone else is, yn was a late addition, she was added to lineup for the group only a month before they had to start recording and filming, so haerin never got the chance to get close to the girl.

well, she just didn’t allow herself, all the other girls immediately made it their job to get to know yn, so they can all feel like a family, there was something about yn that always threw her off, she could never pin point what emotion she was feeling so she just declared it being dislike for the annoyingly pretty girl.

and unfortunately to haerin’s luck, the rest of the girls went to go see the water and left the two alone for the day and to be honest it was pretty awkward, yn and haerin are barely left alone and when they are most of the time both girls just stay in their rooms, so this was new.

“it’s so hot.” yn whined as she fixed her self from her upside down position and got up from couch making her way to kitchen, the same kitchen that they filmed in yesterday, she grabbed two bottles of juice and made her way back to where her and haerin were lofting.

“here” she said softly passing the cold drink to haerin who looked up at her from her seat and gently took the bottle from her hand their hands touching for a split second, “thank you.”

“no problem.” they sat in silence they drank their drinks, desperately trying to cool down, haerin was waiting for yn to say something since the girl was always to talkative

“I’m bored.” yn said out loud, haerin only gave the talkative girl a nod in agreement, taking another sip from her drink.

haerin flinches when she hears a loud gasp from yn who darted over to the nearby table, her movements quick and purposeful as she retrieved a box and settled herself on the floor. a sense of confusion filled haerin as she observed yn patting the empty space in front of her, a silent invitation that hung heavy in the air.

reluctantly, haerin rose from her seat, her footsteps hesitant as she approached yn. sitting opposite of yn on the floor, she regarded the box with curiosity, unsure of what to expect. yn’s infectious enthusiasm filled the rooms, her eyes sparkling with childlike excitement as she eagerly explained her idea.

“let’s make bracelets!” yn exclaims flashing a cute smile to haerin who gives the girl a puzzled look, her smile was radiant, a stark contrast to haerin’s lingering skepticism. "I forgot Hyein packed this," she continued, gesturing towards the box with a flick of her wrist. "since there's nothing to do, let's make some."

haerin’s initial puzzlement melted away, replaced by a flicker of reluctant amusement as she observed yn’s unwavering enthusiasm. with a sigh, she opened the box, her fingers sifting through the assortment of strings, beads and cute charms yn’s grin widened at haerin’s reluctant participation, a silent victory in her quest to break through the barriers of their strained acquaintance.

“so, filming has been fun right?” yn says as they make their bracelets, if there was one thing about the girl it’s the she could never not not start a conversation, she loved to talk, she loved to break shells of other people and ever since she met kang haerin that has been her ultimate mission to win the girls heart over.

haerin nodded as she focused on the bracelet, “yeah.” she says quietly, as time went on she listens to yn’s rambles about the filming for the music video over the past couple of days, transition to the girl raving about her favourite character in a new show that she started watching and the girl can’t help but feel at ease at yn’s presence and talkative ways.

it was sweet.

haerin laughed quietly at yn who started a rant about the character that was mean to her favourite character, “I don’t mean to be mean, but I wouldn’t be sad if they kill him off.” yn says guilty causing haerin to shake her head in amusement as she adds the finishing clip to her bracelet.

“oh my gosh.” yn gasps looking at the bracelet, “that’s so pretty.” she says reaching over to admire the bracelet that had a flower charm hanging from it.

“I like yours as well.” haerin responds her cheeks heating up slightly as she admires the bracelet yn made with a star charm hanging from it.

a sense of confidence powers over her and she grabs yn’s wrist and clips the bracelet she made on the girls wrist resulting in yn gasping and giving haerin the biggest smile known to man.

yn then grabbed haerin’s wrist and does the same clipping on the bracelet she made to the girls wrist, “now we’re matching.” she says happily.

as haerin’s hesitant fingers grazed over the vibrant array of strings and beads, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, mirroring the infectious enthusiasm radiating from yn. caught off guard by the unexpected warmth of the moment, she couldn't suppress the soft giggle that bubbled up from within her, caused yn to giggle as well.

their gazes lingered, curiosity and vulnerability meeting in a silent exchange of understanding. for a moment, the walls that had stood between them crumbled, replaced by an unspoken connection of their shared laughter.

the sound of the door opening cuts off their soft moment the sounds of the other girl’s voices filling the house.

“we’re back!”

yn gets up from the floor and stretches her hand out to haerin who looks at it before softly placing her hand in yn’s, they smile at each other when yn pulls her up but watch shocks her is that yn doesn’t let go of her hand.

instead the girl interlocks their fingers and drags the girl along with her towards the door way.

“did you guys bring food?!”

“yn we’re in the middle nowhere, what food are we going to bring?”

#new jeans #kang haerin #kang haerin x reader #haerin #haerin x reader #new jeans x reader #new jeans fluff #girl group fluff #girl group imagines #new jeans imagines

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chobani-flip · 5 months ago

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you know what i think?

i think tommy's gonna take just how very extremely buck is INTO him and run with it

i think he's gonna be walking in sweaty, muscles gleaming, post-morning run, leaning against the kitchen island and gulping down a glass of water, not letting on that he's seen evan stop in the middle of the loft stairs and waver as his knees buckled a little, but he's fucking clocked it and he's living for it and for the good morning greeting evan gives him after

i think when he knows buck's coming over in the afternoon, he's gonna put on his tightest, whitest tank top and dirty overalls in the morning and go work on his car, and then enjoy being jumped in the front yard as soon as evan gets in

i think tommy's gonna let buck take him to his gym, he's gonna spot him and let him show off for him, not taking his eyes off him even for a second, until they have to leave early because evan really likes this gym and wants to be allowed to come back

i think tommy's gonna be flexing when he gets out of the shower, putting on his reading glasses while he waits up for evan and reads the book he told him about, learning how to make his favorite recipe, digging out his old earrings...

you see my vision?

#tommy kinard #bucktommy #bucktommy headcanons #911 abc

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st4rbwrry · 2 years ago

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LUV THIS SHIT | eren yeager.

‍ ‍ ☆. warnings — 3.1k. fem!reader, eren’s pent up from working out, asmr sexting, submissive reader, impact play [ face smack, spanking ] public arousal, indecent behavior, mating press, f!oral, fingering, profanity, established relationship, lots of making out, unprotected sex, eren’s aggressive, floor sex, riding, creampie, artist!reader, pet names, reader has black features, minors aren't allowed!

‍ merry christmas! ♡

eren starts his day the same every morning. the alarm goes off at six o'clock which is never your favorite thing to hear considering you're not an early bird. usually groaning in your state of sleep and tugging the blankets away from him after he kisses you on your forehead and steps out of bed. you always snuggle on his side before the warmth he created grows cold. proceeds to take a steaming hot shower, tilting his neck back to let the heavy beats of water dampen his long hair. lathers his body with african black soap you picked up from a shop while SONDER plays from his speaker, careful not to blast it too loud to wake you up. it's your off day so he's respecting your wishes to hibernate all day.

he honestly hates leaving you alone in bed. sue him but being your little spoon is the best thing he's ever known. he's never slept so good in his life until he met you. never knew it felt so comfortable being in another persons arms. eren’s next step is to dress for the gym, the only reason he's up this early three times out of the week. a dark gray towel is wrapped low around his slim waist, tatted chest and arms running with water droplets as he wipes the foggy mirror clear to see his reflection. washing his face with a kale, spinach, and green tea cleanser along with brushing his teeth, cleaning his tongue with a scraper and gargling mouthwash. he forgets to do this backwards sometimes considering he has to eat first. the taste lingers and makes his food nasty.

afterwards, he’s moisturizing his face with cerave healing ointment and his pouty cotton candy lips with one of your babylips sticks. lathering his body in vaseline coca butter lotion and slipping on a olive green colored sweatpants with a black cropped metallica muscle tank, wrapping a matching black bandanna over the top of his towel-dried chestnut hair. he spritz this cologne you picked up at the mall when thinking of him called art deco amberwood by clive christian. makes you fall to your knees to suck him off every time now that he thinks about it.

by then it's near seven and he's down in the kitchen with his black airpod max’s over his ears listening to jazz while he blends his smoothie with spinach, kale, strawberries, blueberries, and pineapples. he gulps that down after filling a mason jar completely. and for further consumption, he makes avocado toast topped with chia seeds, himalayan salt and pepper and two strips of bacon each.

before he leaves he makes sure to run back up the stairs to double check on you to see if you needed anything before he left such as picking up a coffee from dunkin or anything from the art supply store. he peaks his head through the door to see you sprawled out, mouth open and snoring peacefully, cuddling his pillow. he smiles to himself, mumbling ‘my pretty girl’ before quietly tiptoeing close to the king-sized bed with satin sheets to give you a kiss or two before heading out, moving your bonnet aside to whisper that he loves you.

he's got his gym bag and his car keys when he leaves, taking the elevator down the parking lot of the loft you two live in, three years now. he finds his car parked directly next to yours. cute. the pretty wolf gray kia k5 besides his onyx lexus rc 300. there's a gym located in the building but he prefers the one your brother owns a few minutes out of the area.

it's around ten o'clock when you fully wake up, missing his presence already and pouting about it before heading to the shower yourself. sitting in a towel for a full hour stuck on tiktok and getting a craving for samyang carbonara noodles and rice cakes. it's really the only thing that made you leave the house today, throwing on a pair of eren’s gray nike shorts you had to roll up to properly sit on your hips, and a black tank, jewelry remaining on your skin everyday from layered necklaces to multiple bracelets.

you're sitting in the starbucks drive thru which has an incredibly long line but you're not minding the wait, craving a pink drink suddenly. the sun was hitting nicely into your car so you decide to take photos to pass a little time, thumb slipping and accidentally opening the voice memos app with only four recordings, one of them fairly new. created about two weeks ago and you vaguely remember that night. it's about an hour and fifteen minutes long

'luv this shit <3’ is what it's titled. not remembering exactly how it went. you and eren only used this app whenever you're having sex, meaning those four audios were strictly nsfw. you bite your lip in curiosity, deciding to press play to hear it, flinching when you hear how loud you were screaming on top of forgetting that your phone is connected to your cars bluetooth. you swallow in panic, turning it off and sitting back in silence, twiddling your fingers, becoming impatient with the line now because you wanted to hear it. it had to be something the two of you made when you were intoxicated. or else you would've remembered it.

you've retrieved your pink drink, and now it was time to park, too impatient to wait and hear this. sipping your drink, you get comfortable, holding your phones speaker to your ear and pressing play yet again. there's music playing in the background, luv this shit by august alsina in specific, now you knew where the title came from. probably eren’s doing. a rush of heat swarms your cheeks and gut as you hear your boyfriend’s voice, deep and stern as he talks to you while skin connects and your moans overshadow the music. the sound of you kissing wetly makes you shift in your seat, feeling his soft lips on yours at the moment. you loved kissing him.

it lasts for about two minutes before eren’s voice becomes louder than yours when he's fucking you hard, your voice muffled by your hand you assume, doing that a lot since you think you're too loud. “let me fuckin’ hear it,” there's his voice again, unconsciously whimpering along with yourself in the audio. eren’s whining with you, the two of you gasping and listening to how wet you were. a loud smack erupts and you're crying his name, the memory slowly coming back. he smacked your face. the jewelry on his wrist prominent when he does it again, this time it's the outside of your thigh.

“rennnnnn! fuh-uuck.”

“i hear you, baby. come on, come on, come on, cum, cum, cum.” with every thrust he gets louder, hissing as your pussy constricts around his dick. “that's it, pretty. yeah.”

you nearly spill your drink over your lap, the cup slowly slipping from your grip after you zoned out, catching it quick and collecting yourself, setting it in the cup holder. you need to leave. actually, you need to send this to him. he has to be done at the gym by now. then again, you're never sure with him. the man could work out all day if he wanted.

being risky, you grin, pulling up his contact and sending him the audio, following with a text that said . . .

NEW MESSAGE

kuromi princess hello kitty baby star ♡

don't we sound pretty? <3

follicles of eren's hair stick to his sweaty forehead, putting it up before he started his workout, going on for about three hours now. RICH FLEX blasts in his headphones. the neckline of his top is doused with sweat, removing the boxing gloves off his hands to sit down and gulp a full bottle of water. checking his phone, he sees your message. lifting his brow at the audio you had sent, reading your response, and clicking it without hesitating. immediately when he hears your desperate pleading and skin smacking, his pupils dilate, clenching his jaw and checking his surroundings. not many people were in this area of the gym.

“fuck me, baby. fuck me, baby. fuck me, babyyy,” eren listens with wide eyes as he hears your pretty moans, skipping through the audio to hear bits and pieces.

“yeah, speak to me like that.”

eren grows shamelessly aroused from what he's hearing, swallowing hard and shifting his dick back in place, breathing heavier. he's mad at you. mad because you know he's in public and he gets easily turned on by anything regarding you. whether it be your scent, your smile, your eyes, or your fucking voice. when you talk, or scream his name. it's all the same. he's triggered by it all. and you know this, so why test him? not to mention the two of you haven't been sexually active because you've been caught up with work and painting and he's been working doubles. the only time you spend together is brief mornings in bed or one day weekends, usually sleeping all day or being lazy.

all he can think of this moment is fucking you rough and raw. gathering his belongings without another thought and sending you a brief text.

pretty boy ren <3

yea, okay.

it's so stressful walking with a hard dick, and eren really can't wait until he gets home to fuck you up. such a dirty girl needing to be put in place. he forgets his headphones have noise cancellation, so when he's speeding home like a dummy, music continues to thrum in his ears, acting like a complete madman. exactly five minutes before he enters the apartment, you're sitting in your usual corner of the loft where you've made your art station. sitting on the ground while incense flows and sza’s new album plays soundly. a canvas laying on the ground where you sat on a cushion, finger painting a collage of the weeknd’s discography since it's the 11th anniversary for echoes of silence. unaware of the message you received.

that is until you hear the familiar sound of keys jangling and in a matter of seconds, the front door flies open, there standing a big, tall, visibly irritated man. your eyes go wide from seeing him, eren kicking off his shoes, heavy feet stomping towards you and you sit up with curiosity, trying your hardest to hide your devious smile. you knew it'd have that effect on him. eren’s hot hand grabs your jaw fervently, clenching his before yanking your face close to his to connect your lips in a heated kiss. smacking his lips roughly over yours, moaning into his mouth, his eyes focused on your face as you close your eyes too comfortably for his liking. as if you're not in trouble for the shit you pulled.

your hands kept to yourself on either side of his wide shoulders, eren dragging you down to lay on your back onto the cushion you previously sat on, slipping off the black panties covering your neglected pussy, weeping, and waiting for him to get home to do exactly this. staring up at him with glee in your eyes, it's the opposite in his. he can't hear a thing you say because of his headphones, not bothering to toss them off because the only thing on his mind is sliding his dick inside of you and getting his nut off.

raising your knees without his help, he's pushing them further up to your chest, folding you still before arching his neck to release globs of spit onto your cunt three times max, each one emitting a ‘puh’ sound. you clench from his dirty act. his big body hovers over yours, heavy dick practically drenched in precum resting on your mound before eren angles his hips to slip into you. he doesn't give you time to brace yourself, gasping as he groans and thrusts his hips fast, your skin clapping and body jerking under him. beautiful green irises switching darker as he stares into your soul, your moans faintly being heard.

“think you fuckin slick, baby?” eren rasps, your mouth agape, his grip on your thighs harsh. “did that shit on purpose just so i can fuck that pretty pussy stupid on my cock, right?”

“y-yess,” he watches you nod drunkenly, your hands digging on your sides into the rug beneath you. every pound into your slick pussy vibrates into your throat, following his rhythm. happy tears brim your eyes.

“s’okay. ‘cause i got something for you.”

his pace hastens, heavy balls slapping against your ass as he drills deep, jackhammering almost, like a needy, inexperienced boy. your cunts squelching loud, hand pressing at his abdomen in attempt to slow him down but he only fucks you harder, air knocking from your lungs. it's so fucking hot the way he's handling you right now, like he's been so deprived of you for so long he couldn't stand it. couldn't even take his clothes fully off, keeping every piece on because he needed you that badly.

“ooh, i'm fucking cumming. ssss, fuck,” eren moans. you squeal as eren takes both your arms and crosses them over your tummy, holding them there while he puts his weight on you and grunts in your face. sweat dampening his bandanna, breath mixing with yours as he cums inside you. coating your walls with thick spurts of white. your knees buckle from the feeling, his lower halve twitching from the rush.

eren licks his lips, stilling his movements to take a breather, knocking back one of the ears to his airpods to hear how desperate you sound, slowly pulling his dick out, still hard.

“eren, i didn't cum,” you whine, squirming with an attitude.

“i think i knew that.”

you put your middle finger up to him for his smart ass tone, eren arching a brow and scooping you up without another word. smiling, you cling to him as he moves towards the couch, deciding to stay seated on the floor, lifting you so you sit on his lap. his cock resting on his stomach where you're able to see toned abs and a dark, neatly trimmed happy trail to match your cute brazilian strip all cause of that slutty, grunge crop top he has on. his back rests against the furniture. you take the initiative to remove these stupid headphones so you could put your hands and mouth around his neck.

“i don’t think you understand how much i thought about fuckin’ you today. you really fuckin’ don’t.” eren lands a heavy hand on your ass causing you to jump and scoot forward from leaning back on his knees. “could barely fucking focus. all because you sent me that shit.”

“and because you miss me,” you whisper, delicately skimming your lips over his, arching into him as he spreads your ass cheeks apart after smoothing over them. spanking you hard on either side until you gasp into his mouth and he could kiss you again.

“sink on it real slow,” eren taps your clit with the tip to say he wants it done now. sucking on your lip, you raise yourself till he's kissing the entrance and gently easing down, indenting crescent moons into his broad shoulders momentarily. dragging your hands to your waist, you rub over your body, hissing and throwing your head back, feeling a storm of euphoria fuel you. eren hums in fascination as you lose yourself in the bond.

“g’na say sorry with your pussy, baby?” eren taunts in a baby-like tone.

“mhmm,” what eren wants, eren gets. and if he wanted you to ride his dick you were going to. getting up on the tips of your toes and rode only on the tip first, eren choking on his spit with brows furrowed and praising you. soon, inching lower to bounce yourself up and down to his liking, being sure to clench your walls a little tighter just to hear him whine. when eren gets really feral he gets really loud. unable to control what his vocal cords let out. he used to think it was embarrassing, but the two of you have shared enough time together to dismiss judgment. he sounds so pretty when he's getting fucked good.

“shit, you keep fuckin’ me like that m’ not gonna last,” ignoring him, you continue to clap your ass down, skin interaction picking back up, eren’s hands on your hips just for leverage. he never needs to guide you. a few squeezes occasionally since he's so sensitive. painfully aroused it makes no sense.

“i can't last long,” you warn, pawing at his chest as you raise your ass and fuck him faster, eren moaning and helping you out by pounding up into you. you fall forward into his arms, yanking you down each time you'd rise back up. smacking your ass just to hear your voice pick up. “eren, fuck baby!”

“unh huh, keep goin’,” eren’s face scrunches up, whining in your ear while keeping one of his tatted arms wrapped around your backside. your thighs begin to burn but you know stopping isn't an option when he sounds that good in your ear. eren gets aggressive and hits into you harder, same time ass you drop down with more force, tugging at his hair and he whimpers your name. “keep that shit up, baby. yeahh.”

it feels so good you start crying, missing this so much. holding onto him for dear life as he somehow moves quicker, slouching in his spot so his neck settles back onto the couch, slipping his right hand under your right thigh and raising his hips to fuck up into you, lifting you like you're one of his weights at the gym. you watch as he mumbles ‘fuck’ with his eyes scrolled back and mouth wide open, jawline sharp, and adam’s apple in his throat prominent. he looked so fucking good right now you just had to kiss his neck. eren hitting that spot so good you can't control yourself from screaming, mouthing at his neck and leaving hickeys. he smells good, hints of musk and that damn cologne you love, feels good, looks even better. then wonders why you act the way you did. he’s made a monster.

“you fuck me so good, ‘ren. love you so much, missed you so much,” at this point you're babbling, saying anything that comes from your brain mindlessly. it's enough to make eren bellow streams of curses before hiking your ass off and nutting over your back, eren releasing a high-pitched gasp as he stares up at the ceiling in a daze. vision blurry.

before you complain, eren’s lifting you higher and scoots further down to sit you on his face, hot mouth munching on your soaked cunt with puffy lips. your eyes cross and you scream into the air, gripping the couch as he slides two fingers, middle and pointer, deep into your hole, thrusting while his fat tongue laps at your clit, silver cuban link on his wrist cold on your stomach. he's swallowing your arousal like he's drinking a glass of water, moaning into your pussy and spanking your ass with his unoccupied hand.

“oh my . . . god,” you're breathless as you cum, legs twitching and squealing from the intensity of your orgasm, losing balance and falling forward. eren smirks and smacks your ass one last time before moving from below you, sitting on his knees behind you and pushing your back down to fix your arch, turning your head to face him, fucked out face staring at him like he was crazy for putting his dick back inside you. you already feel so sore.

eren arches his brow. “oh, you thought i was done?”

#eren x black reader #eren yeager x y/n #eren x y/n #eren x you #aot eren yeager #eren yeager x you #aot smut #snk smut #eren smut #eren jaeger x black reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren x reader #𝜗ৎ ˚⋅ 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖜𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖘.

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butchdiaz · 8 months ago

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ask for essays on tommy's nerves have essays on tommy's nerves delivered directly to your doorstep!!! sorry in advance for the length and incoherency of this ask because lou's acting choices genuinely make me feel deranged, we are so lucky to have him.

exhibit a: the hand on the chin when buck opens the door. he's thought about this so carefully you can tell from the moment he enters the scene. and i don't even mean the kiss. i don't think tommy knew that was going to happen until approx. five seconds before it did. but he wants to get this conversation right.

exhibit b: the fucking breathlessness when he says "we can talk" (yes we're still not even in the loft yet). like that is the breathlessness of a man seeing whom he assumes is his emotionally unavailable big boy crush and realising he's going to have to smooth things over between him and the man most likely making him unavailable to tommy. (it's also just tommy seeing big beefy tank buckley and getting a little flustered methinks)

exhibit c (moving actually into the loft now): obsessed, deeply deeply obsessed with the way buck removes the obstacle of the kitchen island between them and tommy immediately crosses his arms over his chest like he's trying to put it back between them subtly because he still doesn't think he's allowed to Want.

exhibit d: the way he literally cannot look at buck as buck starts moving in closer quite literally makes me want to rip my hair out. like baby, you're allowed to look i promise, i swear.

exhibit e: the breakout of the laugh to full seriousness as he commits to the "i'm renowned for my fake mouth static" is so special to me because. i have done that. i have committed to a bit that was perhaps a bit too revealing/suggestive with my heart pounding as a way of testing the waters. and then the relieved amusement of his "cmon hey" when buck plays into it.

exhibit f: the way tommy looks at buck when buck's giving his little "threw in with us no hesitation" speech is so. that man is ANCHORING his eyes to buck's eyes. he's still not allowed to look, he is being respectful, he is overcompensating, he is FIGHTING for his life.

exhibit g: his tiny little smile when buck mentions the tour. you wanted to see me? 🥺

exhibit h: the fucking recoil when buck says he wanted to get to know him. the disbelief. the oh. the maybe i can have this.

exhibit i: the slow drop of his smile the more time buck spends mentioning eddie (which btw why is that line so long fuck off buck stand up!!) thinking oh never mind.

exhibit j: "i could teach you" with that bashful little shrug of his shoulders. i could teach you if you'd let me.

exhibit k: the realisation that sinks in after buck says about flying lessons. he wants to spend time with me, he's moving closer. oh shit, i'm allowed, i'm allowed, i'm allowed. the seriousness. the i have to make him understand i want him. the first time he lets his eyes drop to buck's lips.

exhibit l: my attention? one last check. one last check just to make sure. i can want this, i can want him.

exhibit m: his little kind of glassy-eyed smile between "i did maim my best friend" and "my sister". he is not listening to a word buck says. he is making a decision. a terrifying decision, but he's already made it.

exhibit n (typed through tears lol): the way he squeezes his eyes shut as he pulls away. buck is opening his but tommy squeezes his shut harder. he doesn't want to see the disgust on buck's face. he's bracing for rejection. he's hoping, hoping, hoping.

exhibit o: the breathlessness of "like that?" please tell me that was okay, please tell me that's allowed, please please please. the clench of his jaw as he waits for buck's answer, the slight nod like he's confirming something to himself.

exhibit p: the smile when it sinks in that buck wants this. the smile before the immediate "so that was okay?" just needing that verbal confirmation for buck, yeah, but also for himself.

and then for me it's the complete shift in tommy's demeanour after buck confirms it's okay. he goes from this quiet, hesitant, reserved tommy to this confident, flirty, little bit sensual tommy the moment he's allowed. cross town traffic 🫦 came in a car this time 😏. it's just such a wild switch up but it makes so much sense because the nerves have gone. he's allowed to want. (jesus got halfway through the alphabet sorry)

SAMI IM GONNA SCREAM BRB TIME TO WATCH THIS SCENE SIDE BY SIDE W UR ANALYSIS THIS IS SO FUCKING GOOD !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#i love u endlessly #im absolutely OBSESSED #answered #sami

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hometoursandotherstuff · 10 months ago

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Today, we have a bunker for sale. It's not as interesting as a decommissioned missile tower. "Originally constructed in the 1960s at a cost of $4.5 million, an equivalent value today exceeding $34 million, this bunker represents the pinnacle of security and resilience." Located in Polo, Missouri, 35 min. from Kansas City, it has 4bds, 2ba, $2M.

The entrance hall has an industrial look, but they tired to make the home look elegant.

It has 2 massive 3,000 pound blast doors, 2.5-foot-thick concrete walls, additional layers of earth & EMP-resistant copper shielding, plus an emergency escape hatch and a towering 177-ft communication tower.

it's roomy- look at the size of the living room. One must wonder why people decorate these with traditional furniture. It needs colorful, modern stuff.

There's a bar for entertaining.

One of the bathrooms.

This is a soundproof room- it's not as if there are any neighbors around, though.

They have a home office here.

Laundry and stuff. The self-sufficient home has a private water well, a pump, and a 10,000-gallon stainless steel water storage tank, all connected to a Water Filtration System.

And, here's your new hobby- it's a glass blowing studio. I wonder if the owner would teach the new owner how to use it.

Looks like a massive air system.

Above the workshop is a large loft area.

There's a family room- notice the windows above, they are for some of the bedrooms. There's also supposed to be a home theater room, but it's not shown.

On the 2nd fl. is the 2nd bath. Not liking the hole in the wall behind the toilet.

This is the kitchen.

This is an odd place to locate the kitchen w/all this other equipment.

Through the kitchen you can see the upstairs living room.

You can see that the kitchen is on the other side.

The bedrooms are off a hall off of the living room.

The bedrooms.

This area serves as a closet.

The plot of land is 10.5 acres and the real estate description suggests that you can built your dream home on it, over the bunker.

#bunker for sale #desert property #unusual homes #house tours #houses #home tour

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imtheiliad · 2 years ago

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touchstones to another life +

[image description: 8 large gifs and one small from 911. gif 1: from season 6 episode 11 , a close up of Buck examining the model plane on the counter. gif 2: from season 1 episode 4, in black and white, a wide shot of the plane crash site burning in the water. gif 3: from season 6 episode 11, Buck picks up a toy ladder truck that was laying on its side, the camera spins as he picks it up right, he looks confounded. gif 4: from season 2 episode 18, in black and white, A wide shot of the ladder truck bombing. gif 5: from season 6 episode 11, a close up of a model ferris wheel in Buck’s loft, the camera pans up and Buck is looking at it curiously. gif 6: from season 3 episode 2, in black and white, a wide shot of the Santa Monica pier Ferris Wheel halfway submerged in the ocean after the tsunami. gif 7: from season 6 episode 11, Buck walks towards a model train upended on a record player as he talks to Chimney off screen, he places his finger on the end. gif 8: from season 3 episode 18, in black and white, a wide shot of the upended train car. + gif 9: from season 3 episode 15, in black and white, a small toy tank lays in the gravel, Eddie’s boot enters the frame followed quickly by his gloved hand to pick it up. /end ID]

#911 #911edit #tuserksn #janielook #userceecee #userbon #tuserjw #911verse #useroliii #alielook #singinprincess #*911 #*ajgifs

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jumboqualityproducts · 2 years ago

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Thumb Rules for Cleaning and Maintenance of Loft Tanks in Kenya

#tank #water tank #Loft Tanks manufacturer in Kenya #loft water tank

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penguin-tank · 3 months ago

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#loft water storage tank #plastic water tanks

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carlos-in-glasses · 6 months ago

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Thank you for the tag lovely and gorgeous @honeybee-taskforce @tellmegoodbye @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @heartstringsduet

@paperstorm @goodways @bonheur-cafe @lemonlyman-dotcom

@ladytessa74 @whatsintheboxmh @alrightbuckaroo @reyesstrand

This is from my chapter (chaoter 2) of The Wonder Of It, a collaboration with Lemon and Tessa for @thisbuildinghasfeelings birthday 🧡

Chapter 2 coming tomorrow! You can read Lemon's chapter 1 here on Ao3 now :) and a snippet from Tessa's chapter is here.

“Is this what you need?” TK had asked outright. He’d meant to say want but need just came out.

“So much,” Carlos answered, “Do you? Is it okay if we–?” There was a tremor of fear in his voice – and sweetness. “Because only if you want to?”

Carlos is everything and everywhere, sometimes. At once the most innocent person on Earth; at once someone who is going to screw TK’s brains out.

“Yes, I need you too." TK whispered into a kiss. "I want you to come inside me.”

Their first sex since Gabriel was killed. Their last sex before they’re married.

Now, in…what time is it?…TK is too covered in Carlos to check his phone…but in roughly six or seven hours, he will be whisked off by Owen and together they will get ready for the wedding. Carlos will stay here at the loft, alone with his thoughts and his grief and his excitement for half an hour before Andrea arrives. She will help him with his bowtie and his cufflinks. With a steady hand, she will fold his plain white pocket square just-so.

After a couple of minutes of TK hushing and nuzzling Carlos, Carlos extracts himself and heads to the bathroom for a washcloth, leaving TK to sprawl naked and sweaty on top of the bed, staring up at the darkness of their ceiling that their single lamplight can’t reach. He hears Carlos manage a post-orgasm pee and then potter around in the bathroom, presumably finding a clean washcloth in the caddy, which he runs beneath warm water. He returns cleaned up himself, but sniffing like he’s still trying to hold back tears. As if too exhausted for his usual level of tender aftercare, he hands TK the washcloth and starts getting back into the pajama pants and tank top he’d flung to the floor.

Usually he’ll sleep naked after sex. They both do. Carlos didn’t grow up in a naked house and prefers something on his bottom half as a rule, but sex makes him feel bolder in that way. Putting his pajamas back on straight away is a sign of vulnerability that TK recognizes. In solidarity, he puts his PJs back on too, and suddenly it’s more like a slumber party. What happens next after their very adult ‘pillow fight’ is a game of truth or dare.

Sitting on the edge of the bed on TK’s side, Carlos slumps a little, breaking his usually good posture, and drums his fingers together in his lap. He’s antsy. It makes TK antsy. Feelings pass between them so easily these days.

Carlos’ voice breaks. “You still have a chance to get out now if you need to.”

“What?” TK sits bolt upright. “Baby, no. No. I’m serious. I told you I understood about Pablo. You weren’t in your right mind and nobody got hurt in the end. And I don’t believe for a second you’d have actually pulled the trig–”

“Not that,” Carlos cuts in, “I mean the kids thing.”

Open tag and tags below

@eclectic-sassycoweyes @nancys-braids @captain-gillian

@safeaswrites @literateowl @kiwichaeng

@fallout-mars @carlos-tk @vineofroses

@three-drink-amy @orchidscript @mikibwrites

@herefortarlos @fitzherbertssmolder @sugdenlovesdingle

@theghostofashton @freneticfloetry @chicgeekgirl89

@sanjuwrites @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @liminalmemories21

@never-blooms @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @strandnreyes

@lightningboltreader @thisbuildinghasfeelings - if you want to share/ haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

#wip wednesday #The Wonder of It #Cig fic #my fic #tarlos fic #tarlos fanfic

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idabbleincrazy · 18 days ago

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Sapere Qualcosa a Memoria

Fandom: Smallville

Rating: M

Pairing: Clex

Word Count: 3122

Warnings: s3 au, 3x19: Memoria au, canon divergent, hurt/comfort, shower comfort, Lex knows, angst, Protective Lex, sick Clark, longing

Summary: Lex saves Clark from Summerholt and gains more memories. Memories that will change everything between the two young men forever.

A/N: This is a mix of two prompts: (1)a scene gap in Memoria between Lex breaking Clark free from the tank, and Clark up in his loft that night, (2) an au where Lex tells Clark he remembers what happened leading up to his shock therapy. Title translates to 'to know something by memory'. Written for @lexkent and @leatafandom (I may or may not be persuaded to continue this)

Squares filled: Too Weak ( @hurtcomfort-bingo ), Barely Conscious ( @badthingshappenbingo )

“Lex, help me.”

“I'm gonna get you out of there.”

Lex watches for another fearful moment as Clark slumps back onto his side, twisting away from what remains of the meteor-laced water that gushed out around his shoes. Retrieving the discarded pipe, he smashes out the remaining glass, heedless of an undisturbed shard along the side that scrapes his hand as he reaches through to grasp onto Clark. He isn't sure how long it will be before someone is sent down here to assess the disaster and start on damage control, and he knows he needs to get Clark out of this room, out of the building, before that happens.

Clark is barely conscious as he tugs the large-framed boy out of the memory tank, only a whimper of pain every so often letting Lex know the teen is still awake. It takes two minutes just to maneuver him those ten feet out of the tank, and away from the cold water that pools on the floor of the room.

A shudder racks through Clark's body as Lex leads him to sit on the metal table, and Lex forces his attention away from the miles of bare skin in front of him; skin that should be tan and glowing with vitality but is instead wan and sickly, almost green as though the water had stained him. Lex looks around for Clark's clothes, finds only shreds of red cotton and faded denim. Rushing to the room he used to change during his own sessions, he grabs a few towels. A spare lab coat is salvaged on his way back to the main room, and he quickens when the blaring claxons of alarm suddenly stop.

“Lex?”

Clark is gripping tight to the edge of the table, knuckles white, eyes barely open as he struggles to hold himself upright. Still shivering and pale, and Lex can't remember if he's ever seen the boy this weak. It's not something that he ever wants to see again.

“Clark, can you stand?” Lex doesn't wait for an answer before helping Clark down from the table, pushing away the flutter in his chest as his hand grips around soft flesh; flesh that he had thought would be beyond-human warm instead of clammy-cold. Bears the weight of the over-large teenager as he drapes a towel over Clark's head and hands him the other.

Clark wobbles slightly, but straightens more as he wipes away the slightly slick residue the water always leaves behind, and Lex towels the boy's hair as dry as he can get it. The room is chilly under normal circumstances, and Lex knows from experience how much the memory tank can take out of you even if it doesn't come tumbling down around you. “We have to get out of here, Clark, before my father or Dr. Garner's staff come looking. I take it you weren't in there willingly?”

Clark grimaces and shakes his head, the movement making him groan.

“Lex, I need - where's my clothes?”

“Looks like they cut them off you. You'll have to make do until I can get us to the penthouse.”

“N-no. Need..ugh...need to go home.”

Lex bites back the long sigh of frustration building in his throat.

“What you need, Clark, is to put this on”, he pulls the towels away and shoves the lab coat into shaky hands, “and let me get you out of here without a fight. Then you need a hot shower and some dry clothes before your body goes into shock or you catch a cold. I don't know why the treatment has affected you so badly, and I'm not going to push, but you can barely stand, and you're not even speaking in full sentences. Obviously your body and mind have gone through a great ordeal, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you drive three hours back to Smallville.”

Though Lex highly suspected Clark didn't arrive here in the Kent family truck. He suspected a great many things about this whole fiasco, but now was not the time for his more curious instincts. He had to make sure Clark was safely out of Lionel's clutches before he could even stop to wonder at how this mess even happened.

Clark struggled into the lab coat, buttoning it up fully to hide his undressed state. He was still groaning every few seconds, and Lex felt his worry grow. Wrapping an arm around Clark's waist, he led them carefully back through the wreckage of the lab, back down the hall to the lobby.

Looking around, he saw Lionel leaning against the receptionist’s desk, talking on his cell, and an EMT team just starting to trickle in through the door.

‘I need you to act like you're alright, Clark. Just thirty seconds, okay?”

Clark must've understood, because Lex felt him straighten up against his side, pulling away minutely. Lex schooled his face with the look he always used when he needed to keep his father at bay, and hoped it was enough. Lionel looked up and caught sight of the two young men, features calm as ever as he watched the pair stride surely past him. The gleam in his eye informed Lex he wasn't fooled, but the older Luthor held his tongue. Not that Lex had really expected Lionel to challenge him on this when there were others around. Too many questions he wouldn't want to answer.

Thirty-five seconds, and they were out the door, past the paramedics, and on their way to the parking lot. Clark slumped back against him the second they were out of view, skin even greener in the light of day.

“Lex…”

“Just hold on, Clark. My car is right here.” Lex tightened his hold around Clark's waist and fished out the key fob with his free hand. A cursory glance around the lot confirmed the lack of dusty Ford pickups. “I'm taking you to the penthouse, you can call your parents when we get there.”

Lex bundled Clark into the small passenger seat of the Ferrari, wishing he'd taken the Mercedes if only for the extra leg room. As he closed the door on the ailing teen, anger began to replace the fear and worry that had overcome him the moment he'd seen Clark so helpless in that tank. Anger at his father, anger at Clark, for the lies, the betrayal. He started the engine and shifted into reverse, forcing himself not to squeal out of the lot in a burst of speed as he backed out of his spot and shifted back into drive.

Clark was slumped against the door, curled in on himself, silent and still sickly green. If not for the grimace of pain on his face, Lex would've worried he'd passed out. Hands tight on the steering wheel, Lex kept his voice controlled and free of the anger burning inside.

“Why, Clark? Why did you go to my father? Why were you at Summerholt?”

“Needed”, Clark's voice was weak, cracked and hesitant, a shudder and a groan rumbling through him as he tried to straighten up in his seat. “Needed to protect you. From Lionel. Only way, Lex.”

“I can handle my father, Clark. A far sight better than you can. That's why I'm trying so hard to get those seven weeks back. Christ, look at what happened to you.” Lex felt his stomach roil at the image burned into his mind of Clark so helpless in the tank, the sight of the shreds of cloth. “He handed you right over to Garner, didn't he? What were you thinking?!”

Dead. Both of them, dead. He could flay Garner alive for daring to lay a hand on Clark. And Lionel…

The stoplight blinked to green and Lex gasped, knuckles white on the wheel as images flashed through his mind, deaf to the blaring horns sounding behind him.

“Oh, Clark.”

Lex shook himself free of the barrage of memories, and sped through the intersection, his heart pounding in his chest at the revelation. He ignored Clark's questioning moan of his name, needing to get home, now, to get Clark bundled into the relative safety of the penthouse, into the shower to wash away what he now knew was causing his young friend's prolonged weakness. Needed to get the traces of meteor rock off him.

Agonizing minutes later, Lex pulled into his reserved spot at the back of the LuthorCorp parking garage and killed the engine. He climbed out of the car and hurried around to help Clark out and up, barely thinking to shut the door before half-dragging the brunette over to the private elevator. Shifting Clark in and against the mirrored wall, Lex keyed in the access code and cursed the speed of the car as it rose up to the top floor.

“Lex.”

“Shh, it's okay, Clark. It'll be okay.” God, so much made sense now. “It's okay.”

The car dinged, and the door slid open, and Lex shuffled Clark out of the elevator and through the entry room of the penthouse. Down the too-long hallway to the master bathroom. Staggering into the large, gleaming, glass and steel room. Urging Clark out of the lab coat, eyes firmly on Clark's face as he peeled down the still-damp shorts.

Tossing the soiled materials out the door, Lex eased Clark into the glass-doored shower, leaning him back against the wall.

“Can you manage on your own?”

“Why? Wh-what…”

“I know, Clark. I remember.” Lex ignored the soft gasp and plowed on, grip tightening on Clark's arms as the teen tried to flinch away. “You need to shower. The memory fluid, it's still on you. Can you manage?”

Clark's body answered for him, knees nearly buckling as another shudder wracked through him. Lex cursed and hurried out of his own clothes, steeling himself against the zing of arousal at the thought of being naked, with Clark, in his overly-large, perfect-for-sex, shower. Clark needed his help, Clark was hurting. Clark wasn't human, and he had let him see, and he had tried to save him.

“I'm sorry.” The whisper was so soft, Lex almost didn't hear it, almost mistook it for another shiver of pain. “I'm so sorry.”

Lex stepped into the shower, turning the tap on and making sure the water was hot enough before maneuvering Clark in front of him. The clammy, slick feel of Clark's skin quelled any thoughts his cock may have had of mutiny, as he held the teen against his chest and directed him under the spray of water.

“Shh, Clark, it's okay”, Lex repeated his earlier mantra, watching as the green-tinted water swirled around their feet. “I'm not mad, Clark, I'm not. We'll talk, when you're better. Right now, we need to get this stuff off you. It is what's making you sick, right? Like that day, with Edge, and the beads. Meteor rock?”

Clark let out a quiet sob of concession, lifting his hands to scrub at himself as the effects of the Kryptonite slowly lessened. His mind was racing as it cleared, the events of the past few hours colliding into the here and now. Lex knew. Lex remembered. Oh, God. Even through the fear and pain, his body fought to register the feel of Lex, pressed up warm and smooth against his back. He knows. He knows and he's still here. Still helping me. Clark wanted to cry, felt his heart clench at the fact that Lex hadn't tossed him away, hadn't dragged him down to some cold laboratory while he was still so weak.

Instead, he was here, his chest supporting Clark's weak frame, arms encircling him, trying to help rinse away the residue of Kryptonite that seemed to be continuously leaching out of his skin, like he had absorbed it while floating in that horrible tank. He was wrong, so wrong. Never should have gone to Lionel.

“I'm so sorry, Lex. I…I faltered. Should have. Kept my trust. In you.” His words were stilted, quiet, his throat still so raw from screaming out his mother’s name. “I…I just wanted. To keep you safe. To keep myself safe.”

Lex turned Clark around in his grasp, realization hitting him. He found Clark's green gaze, still hazed with pain.

“He has something on you, doesn't he? What does he know, Clark?”

Clark let out a groan. Tried to look away, but Lex gripped his chin and held firm. His stomach rolled at the knowledge that under normal circumstances, it would've been impossible to restrain the teen so easily.

“What does he know?”

“He. He knows you found out my secret. Before. Belle Reve. The security tape. Would have hurt you again to find out. Or if you remembered about his crimes.”

Lex closed his eyes briefly, calming his rapid heart, needing to focus on Clark instead of the anger welling back up. He pulled Clark back to him, chest to chest, heedless of their nudity. Reaching out to grab a bottle of soap from its tiny alcove set into the wall, Lex let Clark sag forward, leaning on him, head on his shoulder, as he poured out a copious amount of the liquid into his hand.

“I won't let him hurt you, Clark. Never again. He can't have your secrets, or you.” You're mine. Lex felt tentative hands rest lightly on his sides as he set the bottle aside and began lathering the soap over miles of skin. Skin that was finally starting to warm, losing its sickly tinge. “Let me keep you safe, this time.”

Clark let out a wordless, almost plaintive, keen, nose burying into the hollow of Lex's throat, another shiver running through his body. Lex reached around Clark's back, working his soapy hands over the flesh, wondering just how much of the green fluid was left for the boy's system to purge. Felt immensely grateful for the giant water heater that had been installed a few years back.

Hands sliding from back to front, and back again, Lex cleaned Clark for a silent stretch of minutes, cataloging the slow return of the brunette's strength and vitality. Felt the surer grip of warm fingers on his waist. Bit back a gasp of surprised arousal at the twitch of Clark's cock against his hip. This close, Lex could smell the hint of Clark's typical scent, hay and apples and sunshine, beneath the lavender of the soap and the metallic tang of the meteor-water that seemed to be seeping from his pores. It was heady, and Lex fought against his body's instincts, keeping his own ardor at bay, not wanting to spook the traumatized young man in his arms. He's been through enough, he's scared and confused, and his physiological responses are not the sign you've been looking for.

“Clark”, a whisper, head turned to nearly touch his lips to the other's ear, hands slowing their mindless trail over skin. “I need you to straighten up. We have to wash your hair.”

Clark breathed a sigh against Lex's throat, and the older man felt the brush of his lips across his skin as Clark hefted himself up. His grip didn’t loosen as he stood straight, and Lex couldn't decide if that made him happy or not. He tipped Clark's head back briefly to wet his hair thoroughly before pulling him back out of the spray.

Letting Clark use him to keep his balance, Lex grabbed the bottle of soap again, pouring out a measure of it directly onto Clark's head. It had been over fourteen years since he'd had hair of his own to wash, and he'd never had anyone in his life he had wanted to do this for. Before Clark. He'd spent countless daydreams just imagining what it would be like, running his hands through Clark's hair, wet or dry. Never pictured it quite for this reason. With Clark still kitten-weak in front of him, not quite back to his normal tan coloring, intermittent moans of pain breathing out of him.

Nothing for it but to do it. Lex put the soap back and reached both hands up to rub the soap into the thick, dark hair, thankful that their height difference wasn't unmanageable. It wasn't what he had imagined, the residue of the meteor-laced water having stiffened the typically luxurious locks. But it wasn't an experience to scoff at. At the first carding through of his fingers, Lex heard the moan of pain transmute into a sigh of contentment.

Clark bent slightly at the knee, leaning his head into the touch of Lex's hands and providing better access to the rest of his hair. Lex, regrettably, let his gaze stray as he worked the hair into a sudsy lather, and nearly bit his tongue in half at the sight of Clark's rosy cock stiffening visibly under his ministrations. His own thickened despite all straining of his control. He would not take advantage.

“Lex. Feels good.” Clark turned his head slightly and Lex felt his lips graze over the inside of a wrist, his hands faltering. “Don't stop. Please.”

He just likes the feeling, Lex. It's nothing to do with you, it could be anybody's hands and he'd react the same. Just another physiological response his weakened mind can't control. Lex forced his fingers back into action, massaging the soap down to the scalp.

By the time he had the lather thick and deep through all of Clark's hair, Lex was breathing quick and shallow, cock aching against his stomach.

“Tip your head back.” And, thanks so much, voice, could you sound any huskier? “We need to rinse the soap out.”

Clark leaned back, the movement thrusting his hips forward just enough to make groin to groin contact. Lex couldn't hold back the grunt of arousal as a lightning rush of desire coursed through him at the feel of Clark's cock against his own. He heard Clark's quiet gasp muffled through the water running over his head.

“Clark. Fuck. I'm sorry.”

“No. Don't be. So long, Lex. I've wanted you for so long.”

Lex met Clark's gaze through the mini-waterfall streaming from his bangs, his fingers unconsciously falling back into action, working the soap out of the slick mop of hair. Clear green sparkled back at him, the hands on his hips squeezing briefly before sliding up higher, as full, red lips pulled into a tentative smile. Rose tinted sloping cheeks and perfectly straight nose scrunched up in hope.

“Clark?”

“Is my hair clean yet? Cause, I feel a lot better now and I really want to kiss you.”

Blush deepened and, oh, God, how can he be so unbelievably sexy and unbearably adorable at the same time?

Lex nodded mutely, throat tight, chest hammering.

“Good.”

#clex fic #clex #smallville #smallville fanfic #lime

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eddiestightywhities · 2 months ago

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BetterSleep™

buddie flavoured buck-centric fic, rated T, sleep/sound apps, pining!buck, 1586k words. (also found on ao3 HERE)

there are a few of my buddie fics i haven't posted here and i wanted to remedy that, so. here's the first of a few xp

I will fall asleep quickly, and stay asleep, and will sleep soundly, all night long.

Buck tells himself this on repeat, hoping his preparations mean the mantra won't be rendered fruitless as all the other nights spent alone in his bed chanting words of self-affirmation in his head.

Unlocking his phone, he squints at the too-bright light that's like a warm breath on a winter's day here in the muted darkness of the loft. He sets an alarm for the morning, then goes to neither Spotify to find a playlist to try relaxing to, nor Pornhub to find something to get off to (he did that already in the shower by feeling bad about picturing golden forearms and a dazzling smile of perfectly pearly whites), and instead heads straight to the download he acquired in a Q-word period at the firehouse earlier in the day. He swipes his thumb over the screen and taps it a few times till he's found the sounds section of his new BetterSleep app.

Thing is, Buck loves his apartment, okay? He does. It's a totally sick space with cool industrial-style exposed brickwork and a balcony with a killer view of downtown. It has a great kitchen with a gas oven and an island big enough to comfortably entertain guests. The bathroom is a gorgeous fully tiled affair that boasts not only a double power-shower, but both heated towel rails and flooring. He always gets compliments on the tasteful polished wooden floors it has throughout, which he loves, and it's honestly just a great place all-round. Like, seriously great. Really, really great.

It's just that it—it's so deathly quiet.

The loft is absolutely nothing like Eddie's house, for example, where in stark contrast there are all these quirky little noises you get to listen to at nighttime—the treasured times Buck lays on Eddie's crappy couch with his whole world sleeping in the rooms just off the hallway—which, as a collective, is kind of like some sort of slightly irritating domestic lullaby.

Buck fucking loves it.

There is the fridge, with its too-loud low hum that has this pattern of a creeping, stuttering sort of squealing noise which gets gradually more and more high-pitched and increasingly whiny, until it sounds like the whole unit is gonna just break down and give up the ghost entirely—before it stops and goes back to the start and the whole process starts up again, ad infinitum.

Then there is the soft drip-dripping from the cistern into the toilet bowl that echoes around the bathroom and out of the doorway, which is left with its door swung open to make it easier on Christopher in case he needs to get up during the night, and it's sort of barely there yet constant, and kind of like Buck's very own Zen water feature if he's in a generous mood—which he always, always is.

There's also the water that sits in the old pipework, which sort of glugs every so often and reminds Buck of the tanks at the Long Beach aquarium where he and Eds will take Chris sometimes on weekends, only the glugs are muffled slightly by the gloriously soft-underfoot Zapotec patterned Mexican rugs that Eddie has laid out all around the house.

Can't forget Mrs Gorski’s beautiful nine-year-old German Shepherd, Elsa, from two doors down to the left, who always yips once at each and every passing car and whines like a pup whenever there's a thunderstorm. Buck thinks she's wonderful (and kinda knows how she feels).

Oh, and there's the ticking hallway clock, of course, that Buck hated the first night he spent on Eddie's couch yet felt nothing but familiarity and affection for by the next. That one quickly became such an integral part of the Buckley-Diaz sleepover experience that the one time it stopped and Eddie didn't have the right size batteries to make it work again, it meant Buck had to pretend he could hear the tick-tocking in his head just so he could settle enough to close his eyes—which didn't work at all, by the way, and he fell asleep that night clicking his tongue inside his mouth as a pitiful and piss-poor substitute. He now makes sure to keep the third drawer down in Eddie's kitchen supplied with enough AA Duracell's that they will never run out ever again.

Some of the very best sounds, though, are those of Eddie and Christopher moving around in their beds; sheets and comforters rustling as they try to get comfortable enough for a good night's sleep. God, Buck hopes that kid always falls asleep knowing just how much he is loved by everybody who knows him. Especially Buck, who lives to make the little dude happy and loves him like he's his own, loves him so, so much. And he's of course loved more then anything by his dad who is the greatest father in the whole wide world with zero competition, and who Buck loves loves loves just as much, kind of like how the sun loves the moon so much it gets up every morning just so the moon can rest it's beams for a stretch; every morning of every day of forever.

And the cicadas! Man, Buck loves the cicadas. In the loft, you can't really hear them over the ever-present bustle of the city. Buck's apartment is a little further towards downtown then Eddie's house, plus his building is just too tall for the sound to carry properly. But at 4995 South Bedford Street you can hear the raucous little fuckers perfectly. They're so brilliantly constant in their role as backing singers to the soundtrack that is Eddie and Christopher's House, that Buck can't help but now associate them with feelings comfort and safety, and when he can't hear them, he misses them almost as if they're members of the little family he tells himself he's a part of on the days Buck is being generous with himself. At the loft, it's just too far up to hear the sound of the cicadas’ tymbal organs that contain a series of ribs which buckle one after the other when one of them flexes its muscles; every time a rib buckles, it produces this clicking noise that collectively creates the insane chorus we humans hear, which can be anything up to a 90 dBA, i.e. the decibel reading that the sound resonates at—he learned that watching a documentary on insects with Christopher a while back, as research for a school project.

Whenever Buck gets back to his apartment after a night or two or three at Eddie's, where the little critters and their tymbal organs have been a blissfully annoying and wonderfully integral part of the Casa Diaz Bedtime Orchestra—in that moment he suddenly realises he can't hear them anymore, can't hear any of it—it's just such a devastating blow for the paling replacement to be only the cruel loudness of Pure Silence.

Buck fucking hates it.

The hush has always been hard for him to handle, in other times and places, too—his hyperactive tendencies mean he's never been all that good with stillness—it kind of reminds him a little too much of when Maddie left Hershey; when she left him.

The crushing quiet of his own apartment when he's home alone, though? That makes it severely and unnervingly feel less like a home than his best friend's house does. In fact, his loft doesn't really feel like a home at all.

Which sucks majorly depressing ass, actually.

Buck glances at his phone clock which tells him it's now past bedtime for what is suitable by his standards on a work night.

He lays back fully and turns onto his side, pulling the comforter up to his chin and trying to get comfy, before reaching across for the henley Eddie left here a while ago—that still smells faintly of Eddie's body spray and his musk and something that's so completely Eddie it makes Buck want to cry—shoving it under his nose and inhaling deeply as he pictures himself laying on the shitty awesome Diaz couch he now thinks of as his own…

Legs dangling from one arm, head nestled in the permanent dent that it's made in the other; the ever-present thump-thumping of his own heart in his ear where it's pressed to the soft blue fabric, in tune with the other grumbly sounds his body makes that vie for dominance over all the wonderfully calming sounds of Casa Diaz.

…and he creates his first sleep soundscape via his new app:

Cicadas

Bed Sheets

Grandfather Clock

Barking Dog

Water Ripples

Water Dripping

Refrigerator

Then, making a mental note on his brain's clipboard checklist to buy a nightlight just like the one Eddie has for Christopher in the hallway that will hopefully enhance the whole experience, he names the playlist ‘Home’ and saves it before setting up a shut-off timer of thirty minutes, breathing slowly and deliberately as the sounds wash over him from his phone speaker, like he's a starfish that got stranded on a beach and the tide is finally coming back in.

Buck shuts his eyes with a small smile on his lips that is both inordinately happy and a little sad, and quickly falls into dreams of Jenga towers and blanket forts and beers on the patio with his best friend whom he's madly in love with, and sleeps soundly, the whole night through.

also on ao3 HERE

#buck fic #even buckley #buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #911 #bettersleep #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #queer fic #queer writer #qww writes #queerweewoo

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renecdote · 2 years ago

Text

the tide comes (and goes and goes)

yes this is my third fic in two days. no I am not okay.

@nymika-arts this one is for you 💛

It’s almost funny that Eddie brought him to the beach today. To the ocean. He doesn’t know—can’t know, Buck hasn’t told anyone—but Buck feels unbearably seen by it anyway. He almost wishes Bobby was here too, so he could let his captain wrap an arm around his shoulders and say, “See? It didn’t take either of us.”

(That’s not true though, is it? It took them, it just didn’t keep them.)

Buck, Eddie, the beach, and conversations about okay.

For BTHB: hyperventilating

[Read on AO3]

The water is calm. Too calm for surfing, Buck thinks, not that he’d be allowed to do that anyway. He’s pretty sure surfing comes under the no strenuous activity rule. Swimming, too, so he’s not really sure why Eddie dragged him out to the beach this morning when all he can do is sit in the sand and watch the water creep closer.

“Relax,” Eddie tells him, reaching up to poke at his shoulder. He’s lying on his back, eyes closed behind his sunglasses, and Buck has been trying and failing not to look at the way his tank top has ridden up slightly over his stomach, or the glow of morning sunlight across his skin, or the way his swim trunks stretch over his thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination.

So no. He can’t just relax.

He’s telling himself that the Eddie of it all is the only reason why.

“Why are we here?” Buck asks, dragging a finger through the sand. He draws a heart, then another, then another, then sweeps them all away with a flick of his hand.

“It’s a nice day.” Eddie doesn’t shrug, but Buck hears it in his voice anyway. “Why not?”

Buck frowns down at the sand between his fingers. He wonders whether he’ll ever be able to say, “you know, I’m pretty sure you jinxed me that day when you said you hoped the lightning wouldn’t strike twice,” without the joke falling flat.

“Why didn’t we bring Chris?” he asks.

An eyebrow raised over Eddie’s sunglasses. “It’s a school day.”

“Yeah, but…”

This is starting to feel like an ambush. Buck glances over his shoulder, half expecting Bobby to come walking down the beach towards them. Maybe Maddie and Hen and Chimney as well. He’s barely had a moment alone in the ten days since he was released from the hospital, someone always at the loft, someone else always calling or texting to check in. It’s unnerving that his phone is so silent now. So unnerving that Buck has to pull it out of his pocket just to check that it’s still on (that it’s still real).

Out over of the water, a seagull swoops down to the surface and arcs back up with a fish gleaming in its beak.

“Relax,” Eddie says again, quieter, and his hand is flat against Buck’s back this time, the kind of steady pressure that makes him take an automatic breath and lean into the touch. Eddie smiles. “There we go. Will you lie down now? You’re blocking my sun.”

Buck huffs. “Well if I’m blocking you sun…”

He lies back on the towel, legs stretched out in the warm sand, so close that he can feel the heat of Eddie’s body next to his own. His turns his head, watching his best friend’s chest rise and fall as he breathes, imagining how easy it would be to reach out and feel it.

I didn’t dream about you, he thinks about saying. I dreamed about everyone else but I think I was too scared to dream about you.

He takes a slow breath and holds it, holds it, holds it. Lets it out in a gust. He hasn’t told anyone that he wakes up in the night sometimes, the memory of feeling like he couldn’t breathe so visceral he thinks his lungs have stopped working again. Maybe he should, that seems like the kind of thing Maddie would tell him a doctor needs to know, but if he talks about it, then he has to talk about all the other shit going on in his head as well.

(That’s not true though, is it? It took them, it just didn’t keep them.)

Buck props himself up on his elbows, watching the waves race up the sand, then just as quickly retreat back to sea. He doesn’t know what time high tide is, but it’s pretty high now, surely it can’t get much higher. He glances down the beach, both directions, a crooked line of seaweed and driftwood dark against the sand.

(“It’s called a wrack zone,” Monica told him long ago, Virginia Beach bathed in golden sunset around them. “It marks the high tide line, where all the seaweed and other crap from the ocean has been washed up.”

“Why is it called wrack?” Buck asked, tracing a finger down her spine, drawing shell patterns on her suntanned back.

She laughed, a surprised kind of sound, like she couldn’t figure out why he would ask. “I don’t know, Evan. It just is. Why is anything called anything?”

He went to the library the next day, looked it up in a book and came back with the answer, and he told himself it didn’t sting when Monica didn’t care.)

“You’re thinking.” Eddie’s voice cuts through his eddying thoughts, his eyes still closed. “Stop it.”

Buck flicks sand at him. “I’m not allowed to think?”

“No.” Eddie opens one eye to look up at him. “I know what you’re like.”

Buck isn’t sure why that makes his heart stutter the way it does. He almost presses a hand against his chest, just to check that it’s still working right, but stops himself at the last second.

“Did you know that seagulls mate for life?” he asks, the first thing that comes to him, because he’s pretty sure Eddie is going to ask him if he wants to talk about what’s bothering him if he doesn’t say something, and Buck really, really doesn’t want to talk about what’s bothering him.

“Yes,” Eddie answers, surprising him. “You shared all your seagull facts after that call with the hang glider a while ago. They also have excellent memory.”

Buck barely remembers that call, it must have been… two years ago? Three? He can’t believe Eddie remembers it so well.

“What else?” he asks, curious.

“They’re omnivores,” Eddie recounts. “They fly in erratic patterns to avoid predators. They drink both salt and fresh water. And they’re symbols of healing and tranquility.”

Buck rolls his eyes, slumping back down on the sand. “Yeah, okay, I get it. Healing and tranquility.”

Eddie’s teeth poke out of the corner of his smile. “You’re the one who asked.”

He did. And he kind of wants to ask Eddie to keep talking forever, his voice drowning out the sound of the waves, but Buck bites his tongue and holds the words inside. Asking Eddie to talk to him now feels too much like the start of a slope, steep and slippery, ending in a rocky why didn’t you talk to me while I was in the coma?

The sand under his back is lumpy, something hard under his right shoulder than might be a shell, or an ocean-smooth rock, or just the nub of stick buried in the sand. Buck shifts to get away from it and ends up closer to Eddie.

“Sorry,” he mutters, starting to move away, but Eddie’s fingers brushing against the back of his hand stops him.

“’S’okay,” he says, and when Buck settles back down, he doesn’t move away. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

Getting there.

Buck closes his eyes, and doesn’t reach out to hold Eddie’s hand properly, no matter how easy it would be to do.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

Wakes with a start to Eddie shifting beside him, his heart suddenly pounding, his breath sticking in his chest.

“Sorry,” Eddie is saying, his shadow cast across Buck’s face. “Sorry, I was just—Buck?”

Buck swallows, and tries to breathe, and finds that he can’t do both those things at once. Should he be able to? He can’t remember. He can’t remember how his body is supposed to work. He shoves himself up to sitting and tries to suck in more air, but his lungs burn like they’re full of smoke, suffocating him from the inside out. There’s a part of him that always thought he’d die in a fire. That he’d die doing something reckless to save someone. It wasn’t supposed to be lightning. Wasn’t supposed to be a freak fucking accident.

“Hey,” softer, closer, Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, “you’re okay. We’re at the beach, remember? Can you breathe with me?”

He takes Buck’s hand and holds it against his own chest, skin and cotton both warmed from the sun, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. Inhale, hold for one, for two, for three, and exhale. Inhale, and hold, and exhale, and hold.

They’ve done this before. It was Eddie, then, wild-eyed and gasping after a nightmare, his back pressed so far back against the wall that Buck had to crawl onto the bed, practically on top of him, to pull his hand away from clawing at his chest and press it against Buck’s own instead. He’d been terrified, then. Is something close to terrified now. But this time it’s not Eddie he’s afraid of losing, it’s himself.

He makes himself take a breath. And another. And another. He focuses on the movement of Eddie’s chest, the beat of his heart under Buck’s fingertips, the warmth of his fingers around Buck’s wrist.

“That’s it,” Eddie murmurs, and his voice is low and steady, but when Buck meets his eyes, there’s a wild edge to them that he wasn’t expecting. A blurriness that he thinks is his own tears for a moment, until he blinks and they run down his cheeks, and he finds the blurriness still there.

Buck takes another breath and it trembles, rippling through his chest, his legs, down his arms. A gull caws and he flinches. The sun flashes bright on the water. A lightning flash. Half a memory. Sea mist like rain on his face. Eddie squeezes his wrist, pulling him back before he can get lost in it.

His other hand is tight around his phone, Buck realises, three numbers typed out on the screen ready to hit call: 9-1-1.

He takes a deep breath.

Another.

“I’m okay,” he makes himself say. “Sorry, I’m—I’m okay.”

He has a sudden surge of memory:

What’s wrong with him? Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?

Because he wouldn’t let me, so I called you.

And he’d thought then—must have thought, because Chimney said—

Maybe he’s just having a panic attack.

“How do you feel?” Eddie asks, and Buck knows he doesn’t mean emotionally, although they’ll probably get to that later. He means it the same way he means it on calls: what are your symptoms? where is the pain? what do we need to treat?

Irritation licks up Buck’s spine. He’s so sick of being a patient. Sick of resting, sick of everyone being worried all the time, sick of not being fine. He tugs his hand free of Eddie’s grasp to scrub roughly at his face.

“My lungs are fine,” he says, and it comes out more shaky than sharp. “My heart is fine, my—my hands, and my knee, and everything else is all fine. You can stop looking at me like that now.”

“Like what?” Calm. Even. Always so in control.

“Like I’m going to fucking break,” Buck snaps, and the rush of anger steals his breath again, makes him cough, one hand pressed against his chest, the other held up to hold Eddie back.

It doesn’t matter. Eddie doesn’t reach for him this time. He doesn’t let go of his phone either, though, 911 one finger tap away.

“Fuck,” Buck manages, when he has caught his breath again. He squeezes his eyes shut, curls over his knees and grips his hair, like maybe he can hold himself together. Maybe all he needs to do is hold, and hold, and hold. He wishes desperately that Eddie would touch him and is absurdly grateful that he doesn’t.

Somewhere down the beach, a child shrieks. Another laughs. A parent calls for them to come out of the water and Buck feels a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. It’s so sudden and visceral he thinks he’s going to be sick, the world tilting on it’s edge, reality spiralling away from him. He has to put a hand down in the sand, warm and almost-smooth and real real real against his skin, to try and steady himself. Fuck. Why the hell did he let Eddie bring him to a beach?

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Eddie says eventually. “I promised your sister I’d have you back for lunch.”

Lunch is still hours away, but Buck only thinks about fighting it for a second.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and he’s suddenly too tired to care how tired he sounds. “Okay.”

They’re silent as they pick up their towels, shaking the sand out before throwing them over their shoulders, the cooler bag Eddie brought hanging from one arm, beach umbrella tucked under the other, flip flops carried to the grassy edge of the beach before they put them on. Buck’s skin feels itchy, gritty from more than just sand, and the water from the makeshift shower at the edge of the carpark does little to rinse the feeling off.

“Your hands are shaking,” he realises when they’re sitting in Eddie’s truck, the engine on but the car still in park. He reaches out, but Eddie pulls his hands away, wraps his arms around his chest and tucks them under his armpits, out of reach.

Time stretches, the engine ticking, cold air blowing through the vents. Buck shivers, then shivers again, and when gritting his teeth doesn’t work, he gives in and reaches under his seat for the hoodie he abandoned here earlier.

“I’m okay,” he tries again, fiddling with his cuffs, watching Eddie out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Eddie opens his mouth, probably the start of an automatic denial, then closes it again, his jaw tight.

“You don’t have to apologise,” is what he finally says, and Buck hears you’re right, you did scare me. It leaves a strange, almost salty aftertaste in his mouth.

“Do you want me to drive?” he offers.

It gets Eddie to look at him. Whatever he sees makes him frown and he reaches for the fan dial to adjust the AC. Then he sighs, looking back at Buck while he slowly stops shivering, and the last thing Buck expects him to say is, “Maddie is going to kill me.”

“Maddie likes you,” he protests, even though he’s not sure what he’s really protesting. “Why would she kill you?”

Eddie gestures, up and down and then up again, as if to say look at you, you’re a mess. Buck glares, and hugs himself a little, and tells himself it’s not sulking.

“I knew you were conspiring,” he mutters, because this whole trip was definitely an ambush.

“We weren’t—” Eddie starts, and then he bites off with another sigh, frustrated this time. “How long have you been having panic attacks?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, taking his own turn looking out the window to avoid his best friend’s gaze.

“What happened to ‘you need to talk to me’?” Eddie pushes. “I’m pretty sure that goes both ways, Buck.”

“Because you’re so good at talking,” Buck shoots back, and he hates himself a little for the way that Eddie flinches.

He used to argue with Bobby like this too. Used to push them right to the edge, right to the cliff top of regret, and wait to see if Bobby would throw them both over it.

He waits now, braced against the free fall, adrenaline sharp at the back of his tongue.

“You died,” Eddie says abruptly, and it’s not the push Buck was expecting but it almost sends him into free fall anyway, the ground taken out from under him. “You were dead, Buck, for seven fucking minutes before we got your heartbeat back, and it almost killed me too. Is that what you want to hear?”

No. The recoil presses Buck back into his seat. He’s got a hand against his chest before he realises it hurts, pain sharp and sudden, his heart screaming and his lungs seizing. There’s wind whistling in his ears. Everything has narrowed to dead and seven fucking minutes and the smell of ozone in his nose.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, and then he’s unclipping his seatbelt and throwing open the car door.

Wait— Buck wants to say, another surge of panic sweeping through him, but then Eddie is circling the front of the truck and pulling open his door as well.

“You’re fine,” he says, stumbling through the words like he’s trying to reassure both of them. “Deep breaths, Buck, come on.”

Fingers around his wrist again, hand on Eddie’s chest. It turns Buck towards him, sitting sideways in the seat with one leg almost on the ground, Eddie pressed in close while he coaches him to breathe. Inhale, hold for one, for two, for three, and exhale. Easier this time, but that might just be because Buck’s lungs are too tired to keep up the panic. He feels greyed out and rubbery by the time his breathing is evening out, exhaustion rushing in where the panic drains away. He sags, forward instead of back, and Eddie catches him in a hug before he can slide right out of the car.

“I’ve got you,” he says, almost a whisper, the words muffled against Buck’s hair.

Buck lifts his arms just enough to wrap them around Eddie’s back and return the hug, and then he’s just—done. Can’t fight it anymore. Doesn’t even know what it is he’s supposed to be fighting. All he can do is hold on and hope that Eddie doesn’t let go. He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until Eddie is pushing him gently back and wiping the tears away.

“I’m gonna take you home,” he says. And when Buck makes a half-formed sound of protest, he adds, “My place. I’ll tell Maddie you’re not up for lunch.”

“No,” Buck tries, and god, is that his voice?

“Sorry,” Eddie apologises, and Buck knows it means you can’t get out of telling your sister about this. Probably also I’ll be calling Bobby too.

He wants to fight it. Wants to insist that he’s fine—that he will be fine—but.

But.

Buck gives in. Lets himself be driven home—to Eddie’s house—and shuffled from front door to shower to couch. He’s starting to hurt, even though he doesn’t feel like he’s done anything that should make him hurt, but that’s pretty much situation normal these days. He doesn’t say anything about it, but Eddie knows him well so he doesn’t really have to.

“Here,” he offers, holding out Tylenol, then water. “Do you want tea?”

“I want coffee,” Buck grumbles, swallowing the painkillers. A headache is setting in and it shows no sign of letting go easily.

Eddie shakes his head, more fond than exasperated. “When the doctor clears you for coffee, I’ll be the first to buy you a cup. Is that no to tea?”

Buck shrugs, hunching down in his corner of the couch. “Tea is fine.”

He closes his eyes, then opens them again a moment later because Eddie hasn’t moved. He’s still perched on the coffee table, worrying at his lip while he watches Buck.

“What?” Buck asks, rubbing self-consciously at his birthmark

A slight head shake: nothing. Eddie stands up, takes half a step towards the kitchen, then turns back.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he says, and Buck feels the words in his chest, lodging somewhere around his heart. An affirmation. A promise. A fuck you to the universe and whatever it wants to throw at them next.

“Yeah,” he agrees, offering Eddie a smile. “‘We’re gonna be okay.”

And when he’s alone—when he’s lying back on the couch with the muted sound of the boiling kettle like a shell held up to his ear, the ocean rushing through him—Buck takes a deep breath—and another and another—and finds that he believes it. Not today, not tomorrow, but one day—whenever one day comes—they’re gonna be okay.

#Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #911 Fox #911 Spoilers #fic #badthingshappenbingo

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