try-set-me-on-fire

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Thinking about…. Chris is like 16 and Buck and Eddie get married in a friends to married way and they asked if Chris was okay with it and he said yeah because maybe some big Event had just happened and he was caught up in the relief and love of the moment but now it's been a few months and he's having some weird feelings about it that he's not sure he's allowed to have because he already gave his approval. It's just…. He didn't even know his dad liked men. Which is fine! It's whatever! Eddie just never told him about it. And Chris doesn't know if it's just men or just Buck or if he likes girls still too or what that means for his mom or even like. Ana or Marisol. Or Kim. Like what is his dad's problem. Is he going to fuck up and drive Buck away too? But…. He looks so happy. Chris isn't sure he's ever in his life seen Eddie this relaxed and happy and that feels weird too because… was he not enough? And Chris loves Buck, of course he does, but like. As a dad? Buck is suddenly his dad now? And like everyone was clear he doesn't have to call him dad or anything but like that's what all this means, right?

And then like… they're doing a geology unit in school and they learn about tsunamis and of course the LA tsunami is used as an example and Chris says he was on the pier and the teacher says…. Well you must have been pretty little when that happened, I'm sure you're misremembering where you were and Chris is like no Buck threw me in a prize booth. It smelled like popcorn. There was a bright purple teddy bear. And the teacher looks like shocked and disturbed and as they learn more about what happened exactly and the death toll and Chris remembers Buck was on blood thinners back then he's like. How in the fuck did we survive that.

So he’s just… thinking about buck a lot and how he fits into his life and the demonstrable extreme lengths he’d go to for Chris and he’s feeling even more guilty that he’s not just purely happy that they’re a real family on paper now and he's carrying around this gratitude and fear about this event that he lived through but maybe didn't understand the specifics of until now and then he overhears Buck and Eddie having an argument (Buck: just- will you fucking listen to me? How many times do I have to tell you that? God- don't roll your eyes at me-) and is like catastrophizing that it's over and all these mixed feelings were for nothing, and then some of his cool new high school friends have those electric bikes and one of them asks him if Chris wants to ride behind them on the seat and Chris is like. Fuck it. Yeah. But it takes more strength/coordination than he thought even just to be a passenger and he ends up falling off and breaking his arm and at first he's begging his friends not to call 911 and they're like uh dude we're absolutely calling 911 and Chris is like fine just- just don't say my name! And when they get to the hospital he asks them to call Buck and not Eddie (as soon as they got married they got everybody on everyone else's paperwork as much as they could) and the doctor dismisses that request initially but one of his friends who stuck around is like uh hey that's not cool if he's on the paperwork it should be fine right you should listen to him! And the doctor is like well fine I guess and Chris is grateful to the friend but also fucking angry and just. Embarrassed that he didn't get listened to and it's maybe because he's a teenager but probably because they saw a kid who speaks and moves differently and figured he couldn't make any choices for himself. So he's sitting there stewing and his arm fucking hurts and Dad is going to be so so mad at him and it's nice that his friend stuck around but he doesn't even know her that well and she's obviously getting kind of bored and this is the worst day ever and then Buck appears. Hisses air through his teeth. Oh bud, looks like you've had a rough one, huh.

And Chris nods and tries not to immediately start crying and Buck tells the friend he's got it from here and sits with him and asks what happened and like…. Chris has a moment of realizing that Buck knows he was the one who got called because Chris thinks of him as the… not-really dad. And Buck sees Chris having this realization and is like oh kid it's okay, Eddie is your dad first and is always going to be, it's okay that it's different with me, I'm just so glad to be a part of your family in any way I am. And anyway I'm the cool one he's gonna have a fit when he hears about this. And Chris laughs a little and then starts crying harder and Buck's like aw.. Chris, he's just going to be mad because he's worried… he loves you so much….

And they also kind of get into…. Buck got himself hurt a lot as a kid and some of it was intentional self harm but some of it really was just because he was a dumb kid having fun! He thinks that's important! Chris should also get to be a dumb kid who has fun! But says like…. “Any time you're going to do something that could maybe get you hurt I just want you to remember that I love you, and Eddie loves you, no matter what.”

And maybe they talk about the tsunami a little and Chris’ feelings in general about Buck and the marriage and Chris cries again (ugh) because he's realizing… he really does love Buck so so so much, he really is also his dad, a lot of the weird feelings were partly just fear that this was temporary or didn't mean as much to anyone else as it means to Chris, but of course this is forever of course Buck LOVES his kid!! Chris is his kid he loves him SO much!!!!

Enough to soft launch the injury over the phone while Chris gets the cast out on (hellooooo my beloved, my dearest one, love of my life, okay don't freak out there's just one broken bone and it isn't even broken that badly!) and to be a buffer as Eddie comes rocketing in half an hour later, and they all eventually head home together and Buck and Eddie have resolved whatever fight they had and they're both fussing over Chris and Chris and Eddie talk about Buck, and happiness (oh, mijo.. you can’t- happiness can’t come all from one person. You’ve never made me sad, it wasn’t your fault if I wasn’t- I just needed a partner, an adult, someone to, you know, romantically love and be loved by that i wasn’t forcing myself to choose because it felt like the right choice) and Eddie's sexuality and stuff and… I dunno, yeah, I just think Chris has a lot of big big feelings!! He's a teen! He’s got a whole life he’s living with his own thoughts and feelings and problems! He's been through so much!!!! This family all loves each other so much but they're all often kind of bad at explaining that to each other!! They'll get there eventually though!!

[try-set-me-on-fire]

The waxing post…when does Eddie wonder if Buck waxes his asshole and what that would be like? And how he still thinks it’s platonic to wonder what it’d be like to be down there on his best friend haha

sdkfjskdfjlsd this reminds me of one of my favorite niche genres of fic: character A is circumcised and finds out character B is not and becomes obsessed with seeing/touching/experiencing their dick lol. But I can totally see it. Maybe Buck is feeling hard up because he's been single a while and makes some offhand comment about how the most action he gets is from his esthetician. And Eddie laughs with everyone else but then is like, "Wait, is he really getting waxed down there?" But when he thinks "down there" at first he's just thinking pubic hair, but then he thinks more about it and realizes there are other places a mlm might get waxed. And then he just...can't stop thinking about it. And he wants to know if Buck really is completely smooth down there, but he can't exactly ask, and it's not like he has any opportunity to sneak a peak, even in the showers at work or something, because Buck would have to like, bend over, and--nope, not even going there. So he's literally losing his mind about it and the best he can do is like, pretend he's thinking about getting waxed himself and asking Buck what it's like, but when he does, Buck just goes, "Nooooo, Eddie, don't do it, your body hair is so sexy." And Eddie's like ????? "Then why do YOU get waxed?" and Buck's like, "idk I prefer it for myself, but I like hair on other people." And Eddie kind of blushes, but he's also frustrated, because he didn't learn what he really wanted to learn from this conversation. So finally he just bites the bullet and is like, "Well do you get ALL your body hair removed? Like, everywhere?" And Buck looks confused for a minute, and then he realizes what Eddie is asking, and he goes through like seventy different emotions before he finally has that same expression he had when Eddie flipped the tablet in his kitchen and goes, "You really want to know?" And Eddie just nods, his palms sweaty and his heart pounding, and they're staring each other down for what feels like ten years but is only like ten seconds before Buck ducks his head and bats his lashes and looks up at Eddie and goes, "Want me to show you?"

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Ryan Guzman as Eddie Diaz - Battle of the Eddies

[try-set-me-on-fire]

do you like working as a flower delivery driver? i always really like hearing about people's jobs on tumblr because i always go 😯! i didn't know i could be that!

I really do! Almost everyone is delighted to get flowers! Our shop covers 5 different cities so I’m sent all over the place (so much audiobook/podcast listening time) and it’s made me realize how beautiful the place I’ve lived all my life can be! Sometimes they let me help with the arrangements and thats difficult but fun, and I get sent out to set up weddings sometimes which is lovely! And there are strange things too (I’ve put arrangements on open caskets; I leave flowers at graves pretty often and the graveyard has cups in the ground to leave them in that sometimes you have to kind of dig out of the earth and there’s bugs down there and the grave dirt gets under my nails; last weekend a regular customer died unexpectedly and I brought funeral flowers to his wife he sent weekly arrangements to; occasionally someone will behave inappropriately towards me and it will hit me that I am out there alone with no immediate help if I need it) and I do wish the pay was better or at least the hours were more consistent, but it’s both different and predictable enough every day that I could really do this for years without getting bored or overwhelmed. And the owner lets me take home flowers to paint or draw! It’s nice! It’s a nice job!

[try-set-me-on-fire]

[try-set-me-on-fire]

imagine the following:

the central character(s) of the most recent fanfic you completed are summoned into your room, in the physical and mental state they were in at the end of your fanfic. they are made fully aware of the following:

they are a fictional character

whatever happened to them in canon was the result of their original author's writing.

whatever happened to them in your fanfic was the result of your writing.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

how about falling asleep in their arms + taking care of when they're sick, two great tastes that taste great together-

X

“Okay,” Buck says, his voice pale like his hand is pale where it rests in Eddie’s. “You gotta tell me.”

Eddie looks up at him, trying not to react to the full view of limp curls and eye bags and the frightening sheen of sweat, the oxygen mask. “Tell you what?”

“Tell me-” Buck coughs, and Eddie tenses. After a moment Buck breathes again. The air crackles into his lungs, crackles back out of them. He frowns like he was annoyed at the interruption, focuses back on Eddie. “What’s got your goat?”

Eddie can’t help the laugh that stutters out of him. “What’s got my goat?”

Buck shrugs, smiling under the plastic. “You seem pretty goatless, is all.” His thumb rubs at the back of Eddie’s hand. “What’s bothering you?”

Eddie shrugs as if to say everything, everything about all of this, but Buck stares him down until he sighs and blinks away towards the wall. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you possibly have to be sorry for?”

Eddie laughs again, more of a scoff this time. “Buck, I- this is my-”

Buck’s grip is so weak. “S’not your fault.”

“Buck. If- if I’d just been faster-”

“Eddie.” Buck somehow manages to sound both kind and exasperated. Eddie looks at him again. It’s always so bright in hospital rooms, his blue eyes shine. “I’d have drowned in that fucking-”

“I-”

“Eddie.” They both breathe. Crackle, crackle. Eddie wipes his eyes. Buck squeezes his hand again. “I’d be dead without you.”

Eddie’s lungs hurt for a moment, sympathetic. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Baby-”

The door opens, a nurse comes in. Eddie wipes his eyes again and makes himself let go and step back so she can check everything she needs to check. Buck lets himself be maneuvered around, poked and prodded. Eddie tries to remember when the last check in was and if the interval between them is growing or shrinking, and then giving up because time has stopped making any sense in the few days after the bridge rescue and he doesn’t know which option would mean good news anyway. When the nurse is finished she nods at them both and doesn’t linger. Eddie tries not to read anything into that, either. Hospitals are busy. She just has other patients to see.

Buck looks exhausted in the aftermath, just that small amount of movement wiping out what little reserves he had. He’s slumped back into his pillow, face miserable and ill. He tries to smile as Eddie sits back down and takes his hand again, but the trying is dreadful and obvious.

“Buck,” Eddie near-whispers, feeling helpless. “What can I do?”

Buck — crackle in, crackle out — tries to scoot himself over on the bed. “C-can you- can you just-” his arm shakes so badly where it’s braced on the bed and he looks from it to Eddie, unhappy. “I’m cold. I’m uncomfortable. I-I-I just want you to hold me.”

Eddie glances back towards the door. “They won’t like this,” he says, but of course climbs into the bed anyway. The shivering, the new boniness, the struggle for oxygen- it’s all even more obvious, pressed together like this, but Buck relaxes into his arms immediately and Eddie is so glad to have him there, the bulk of him even now familiar and comforting. The doctors have thrown out so many possibilities about the future, tossing around frightening words like “recurrent” and “progressive” and “managing symptoms” and, of course, wait and see, wait and see, wait and see. If he closes his eyes and ignores the beep of machines and ignores the sudden noise of something going wrong for somebody else down the hall, he can pretend they’re at home. He bends to kiss the top of Buck’s head. “Better?”

Buck nods, movements slow. The mask digs into Eddie’s chest, but that’s okay. “I love you,” he says, “Please stop beating yourself up.”

Eddie kisses his curls again. “I love you. I’ll try.”

Buck curls in even closer, his breathing never quite evening out even as he drops into sleep. Eddie keeps holding on, as long as he possibly can.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

would love to see your take of prompts 7 + 52 if you want to share with us <3

kissing scars + crying into their shoulder

Despite the name of the job, only about 20% of their calls on average are actually responding to fires. Some weeks they go full shifts without ever turning on a hose. This week, though, they couldn't seem to catch a break, every call ending with everyone sooty and damp and Chimney making jokes about trenchfoot.

Buck's always thought it was an annoying fact of the universe that more water means drier skin. At the end of this week-long fire season, his fingertips are a stiff, cracked mess. He pushes open Eddie's door when they finally get home and his pointer finger splits open at the light pressure, hand coming away bloody. He holds it up for Eddie to see, hey, look.

Eddie makes a face, “Hold on,” and heads towards the bathroom as Buck goes to the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel to press to the wound, such as it is. It's really not that bad, the active bleeding stopping almost instantly. Eddie comes in with the first aid kit and a battered green tub. He takes over Buck’s half-assed cleaning attempt, efficiently and gently with a medic’s practiced hands.

“I’m not sure if you’re supposed to put this stuff on open wounds,” he mutters, unscrewing the tub and slathering some on without checking the instructions. Buck laughs. So much for medical professionalism. Eddie makes brief eye contact, flashes a little smile, and then returns diligently to his task, carefully massaging the cream onto first the wounded finger and then the others, any dry patch of skin.

“How come your hands aren’t fucked?” Buck mutters, looking down at Eddie’s perfectly moisturized skin as he works.

“Because I remember the lotion before it gets this bad.”

“Oh, fine,” Buck snorts at the teasing grin Eddie aims down at their hands.

“Bobby never-” Eddie pauses for a moment, fingers still where they’re wrapped around Buck’s. He clears his throat. “He gave me that,” he nods at the tub. “Never got on your ass about good-sense firefighter skin care?”

Buck smiles. “No, yeah, he did.” He’d been complaining about it — the cracked skin — back in the early days when Bobby had no reason to care about him beyond the duties of a fire captain, and when he’d given Buck the moisturizer Buck had been so bowled over by the gesture he hadn’t had the heart to tell him Yeah, I worked construction, I know what O’Keefe’s Working Hands is, I was complaining just to complain. Eddie takes a little more out of the tub and works more into the worst patches, and Buck thinks about years later waking up in the dry hospital air after the coma, skin soft and a little green container on the bedside table. He sighs, and it’s a little wet, and Eddie hums and pulls his hand up to kiss his finger tips.

“Don’t think you’re supposed to get that in your mouth,” Buck says, lips pulling into a smile at Eddie’s eyeroll and soft laugh.

“Honestly that shit might be expired,” he admits, grabbing a bandaid out of the first aid kit. “He gave it to me ages ago.”

Buck laughs as Eddie secures the cut and then pulls his hand back up for another kiss over the bandage. Buck pulls his hand out of his grip and wraps his arms around him, burying his face in his chest. His cheek brushes the raised texture of an old scar through Eddie’s t-shirt and for a moment- he can’t remember which side is which. Desert or LA street, right or left? It feels impossible not to remember. It feels impossible that Eddie’s been shot enough times to have to remember. It feels impossible that an expired tin of hand cream exists in the world and Bobby does not. The future seems dreadfully long and terrifyingly short. He turns his head forward, mouth to cloth and the warmth of skin.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

Buck’s lips drag against cotton. “Can you remind me again not to be scared?”

Eddie’s chest expands against him as he breathes deep. One of his arms wraps around Buck, the other slides up into his hair. He kisses the side of his head. “Don’t be scared, Buck.”

Buck breathes deep, too, and pulls back, blinking in the sudden light. “Okay.”

Eddie nods like that settles that and drags a thumb over Buck’s cheek, wiping away the wetness there. He kisses him — once, twice — and gathers the supplies on the table as Buck stands up to start dinner.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

how about falling asleep in their arms + taking care of when they're sick, two great tastes that taste great together-

X

“Okay,” Buck says, his voice pale like his hand is pale where it rests in Eddie’s. “You gotta tell me.”

Eddie looks up at him, trying not to react to the full view of limp curls and eye bags and the frightening sheen of sweat, the oxygen mask. “Tell you what?”

“Tell me-” Buck coughs, and Eddie tenses. After a moment Buck breathes again. The air crackles into his lungs, crackles back out of them. He frowns like he was annoyed at the interruption, focuses back on Eddie. “What’s got your goat?”

Eddie can’t help the laugh that stutters out of him. “What’s got my goat?”

Buck shrugs, smiling under the plastic. “You seem pretty goatless, is all.” His thumb rubs at the back of Eddie’s hand. “What’s bothering you?”

Eddie shrugs as if to say everything, everything about all of this, but Buck stares him down until he sighs and blinks away towards the wall. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you possibly have to be sorry for?”

Eddie laughs again, more of a scoff this time. “Buck, I- this is my-”

Buck’s grip is so weak. “S’not your fault.”

“Buck. If- if I’d just been faster-”

“Eddie.” Buck somehow manages to sound both kind and exasperated. Eddie looks at him again. It’s always so bright in hospital rooms, his blue eyes shine. “I’d have drowned in that fucking-”

“I-”

“Eddie.” They both breathe. Crackle, crackle. Eddie wipes his eyes. Buck squeezes his hand again. “I’d be dead without you.”

Eddie’s lungs hurt for a moment, sympathetic. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Baby-”

The door opens, a nurse comes in. Eddie wipes his eyes again and makes himself let go and step back so she can check everything she needs to check. Buck lets himself be maneuvered around, poked and prodded. Eddie tries to remember when the last check in was and if the interval between them is growing or shrinking, and then giving up because time has stopped making any sense in the few days after the bridge rescue and he doesn’t know which option would mean good news anyway. When the nurse is finished she nods at them both and doesn’t linger. Eddie tries not to read anything into that, either. Hospitals are busy. She just has other patients to see.

Buck looks exhausted in the aftermath, just that small amount of movement wiping out what little reserves he had. He’s slumped back into his pillow, face miserable and ill. He tries to smile as Eddie sits back down and takes his hand again, but the trying is dreadful and obvious.

“Buck,” Eddie near-whispers, feeling helpless. “What can I do?”

Buck — crackle in, crackle out — tries to scoot himself over on the bed. “C-can you- can you just-” his arm shakes so badly where it’s braced on the bed and he looks from it to Eddie, unhappy. “I’m cold. I’m uncomfortable. I-I-I just want you to hold me.”

Eddie glances back towards the door. “They won’t like this,” he says, but of course climbs into the bed anyway. The shivering, the new boniness, the struggle for oxygen- it’s all even more obvious, pressed together like this, but Buck relaxes into his arms immediately and Eddie is so glad to have him there, the bulk of him even now familiar and comforting. The doctors have thrown out so many possibilities about the future, tossing around frightening words like “recurrent” and “progressive” and “managing symptoms” and, of course, wait and see, wait and see, wait and see. If he closes his eyes and ignores the beep of machines and ignores the sudden noise of something going wrong for somebody else down the hall, he can pretend they’re at home. He bends to kiss the top of Buck’s head. “Better?”

Buck nods, movements slow. The mask digs into Eddie’s chest, but that’s okay. “I love you,” he says, “Please stop beating yourself up.”

Eddie kisses his curls again. “I love you. I’ll try.”

Buck curls in even closer, his breathing never quite evening out even as he drops into sleep. Eddie keeps holding on, as long as he possibly can.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

would love to see your take of prompts 7 + 52 if you want to share with us <3

kissing scars + crying into their shoulder

Despite the name of the job, only about 20% of their calls on average are actually responding to fires. Some weeks they go full shifts without ever turning on a hose. This week, though, they couldn't seem to catch a break, every call ending with everyone sooty and damp and Chimney making jokes about trenchfoot.

Buck's always thought it was an annoying fact of the universe that more water means drier skin. At the end of this week-long fire season, his fingertips are a stiff, cracked mess. He pushes open Eddie's door when they finally get home and his pointer finger splits open at the light pressure, hand coming away bloody. He holds it up for Eddie to see, hey, look.

Eddie makes a face, “Hold on,” and heads towards the bathroom as Buck goes to the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel to press to the wound, such as it is. It's really not that bad, the active bleeding stopping almost instantly. Eddie comes in with the first aid kit and a battered green tub. He takes over Buck’s half-assed cleaning attempt, efficiently and gently with a medic’s practiced hands.

“I’m not sure if you’re supposed to put this stuff on open wounds,” he mutters, unscrewing the tub and slathering some on without checking the instructions. Buck laughs. So much for medical professionalism. Eddie makes brief eye contact, flashes a little smile, and then returns diligently to his task, carefully massaging the cream onto first the wounded finger and then the others, any dry patch of skin.

“How come your hands aren’t fucked?” Buck mutters, looking down at Eddie’s perfectly moisturized skin as he works.

“Because I remember the lotion before it gets this bad.”

“Oh, fine,” Buck snorts at the teasing grin Eddie aims down at their hands.

“Bobby never-” Eddie pauses for a moment, fingers still where they’re wrapped around Buck’s. He clears his throat. “He gave me that,” he nods at the tub. “Never got on your ass about good-sense firefighter skin care?”

Buck smiles. “No, yeah, he did.” He’d been complaining about it — the cracked skin — back in the early days when Bobby had no reason to care about him beyond the duties of a fire captain, and when he’d given Buck the moisturizer Buck had been so bowled over by the gesture he hadn’t had the heart to tell him Yeah, I worked construction, I know what O’Keefe’s Working Hands is, I was complaining just to complain. Eddie takes a little more out of the tub and works more into the worst patches, and Buck thinks about years later waking up in the dry hospital air after the coma, skin soft and a little green container on the bedside table. He sighs, and it’s a little wet, and Eddie hums and pulls his hand up to kiss his finger tips.

“Don’t think you’re supposed to get that in your mouth,” Buck says, lips pulling into a smile at Eddie’s eyeroll and soft laugh.

“Honestly that shit might be expired,” he admits, grabbing a bandaid out of the first aid kit. “He gave it to me ages ago.”

Buck laughs as Eddie secures the cut and then pulls his hand back up for another kiss over the bandage. Buck pulls his hand out of his grip and wraps his arms around him, burying his face in his chest. His cheek brushes the raised texture of an old scar through Eddie’s t-shirt and for a moment- he can’t remember which side is which. Desert or LA street, right or left? It feels impossible not to remember. It feels impossible that Eddie’s been shot enough times to have to remember. It feels impossible that an expired tin of hand cream exists in the world and Bobby does not. The future seems dreadfully long and terrifyingly short. He turns his head forward, mouth to cloth and the warmth of skin.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

Buck’s lips drag against cotton. “Can you remind me again not to be scared?”

Eddie’s chest expands against him as he breathes deep. One of his arms wraps around Buck, the other slides up into his hair. He kisses the side of his head. “Don’t be scared, Buck.”

Buck breathes deep, too, and pulls back, blinking in the sudden light. “Okay.”

Eddie nods like that settles that and drags a thumb over Buck’s cheek, wiping away the wetness there. He kisses him — once, twice — and gathers the supplies on the table as Buck stands up to start dinner.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

difference between buck and eddie during the el paso arc is that buck is acting like eddie is his newly dead wife haunting the narrative and eddie is acting like buck is his loving husband of three decades off on a three to five day business trip.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

INTIMANCY PROMPTS !

( feel free to request for characters on my masterlist )

a palm kiss

laying atop each other, kissing shoulders

touching foreheads

kissing their temple

holding hands, kissing the back of it

teasingly kissing the tip of the nose

kissing scars

interrupting with a kiss

watching movies / tv shows

going on a date

sharing secrets

hugs

cuddles

sharing drinks

talking

touching noses

laying your head on someone’s shoulder

playing with hair

back scratches

a hand written note

listening to someone’s heartbeat

nicknames

wearing someone’s clothes

teasing

falling asleep in their arms

play fighting

hugs from behind

pulling someone in by the waist

kisses when they’re mad

being protective

holding someone by the waist

neck kisses

lingering hugs

glancing at lips

running your finger down their spine

being pushed against a wall

smiling while kissing

delightful smiles

falling in someone’s arms

missing them

washing each other’s hair

doing each other’s hair

falling asleep with their head in your lap

head scratches

running hands through hair

making a blanket fort

cuddling under blankets

offering the other your coat

caring for them when they’re ill

patching up a wound

slow dancing

crying into their shoulder

cheek kisses

reading a book together

shoulder rubs

playing with their hair

secretly dating

being locked in a small space

a height difference

sitting in their lap

[try-set-me-on-fire]

i love that eddie loves a bit. and sometimes buck riffs back, like when eddies pouring the water and says “he you go sir” in his waiter voice and buck says “oh well thank you, can you list the specials tonight?” and eddies looks up DELIGHTED and he’s like oh! of course let’s see. we have our house favorite, kissing in the kitchen. and bucks like mmhmm ☺️ chin in hands, and eddie continues. and we have chefs special: Take Out, and buck laughs, and eddie continues. and we have our Friday special which is. only for our exclusive guests. (and he’s leaning in) and bucks eyes start to look darker while he leans in too smiling “yeah?” and eddies like “yeah the Friday special is. me going on break and getting to know my hottest customer better..(they’re inches from each other) and buck, closing the gap btwn them says, “remind me to give this place a 5 star review” and then they kiss yay.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Hello! Would love to request 35 and/or 26 form the intimacy prompts if you are so moved!!! Your writing is incredible, btw!!! 💖

intimacy prompts - play fighting + running your finger down their spine

“Do you think I'm making a mistake?”

“Mistake?”

”This.“ Buck waves a hand around them. “This place, this house. You don’t think I—”

The light in the kitchen flickers. Eddie winces. Buck sighs, tipping his head forward.

They’re sitting on the floor in the middle of the empty living room, trading slow sips from a half crushed water bottle. Eddie can feel his t-shirt sticking to his back despite the AC humming uselessly in the corner. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and fresh paint—evidence of their long day’s work.

The light flickers again. Buck lets out a quiet sound of defeat.

“Hang on.” Eddie braces a hand on the floor, ready to push himself up to stand. “Let me see if I can—”

“No, don’t.” Buck swats his arm gently. "I’ll, uh, I’ll check it again tomorrow,” he says. “But this is exactly what I’m saying. You don’t think I—I don’t know, rushed into this too quickly?”

Eddie shifts, the floorboards beneath him creaking.

Truth is, he does think Buck rushed into this. Hell, he didn’t even tell Eddie before signing the lease. But he gets it. It's not like Eddie’s been the master of communication lately. And it was a good deal, objectively speaking. Eddie didn’t really catch the details, just that the owners were desperate enough to overlook Buck’s disaster of a credit score and rent the place out for him for half its worth. The catch being that has to fix everything up himself.

And yeah, there’s still a hell of a lot to fix, but this is exactly the kind of place Eddie can see Buck making his own. It’s a little old, a little small, but it’s charming—big windows, nice hardwood floors. There’s even a small garden in the back he’s sure Buck will take care of, coax it into something alive and beautiful.

And if Eddie’s chest aches a little remembering the way Buck lit up when he first told him he’d found himself the perfect place—well. Some things you just have to carry quiet.

“Why do you think that?” he asks, realizing Buck is still waiting for an answer.

“Just something Maddie said.”

“Maddie said it’s a mistake?” Eddie frowns.

“Not in so many words but I think she thinks—I don’t know. It just feels like it’s what I’m supposed to do, you know? The next big step. Except now it’s starting to feel a little like—like one step forward two steps back with this place.”

Which, yeah, it’s exactly what fixing up an old, broken house feels like. Eddie could have told him that earlier, if Buck had bothered—

Doesn’t matter.

Eddie reaches for the water bottle and takes a long gulp, tries not to think about his lips being right where Buck’s were mere minutes ago.

“I think,” Eddie starts slowly, testing the words as he says them. “I think if this is what you want, it’ll be good for you.”

Buck is quiet for a few moments, eyes fixed on the wall in front of them, quite literally watching the paint dry.

”I don't know what I want,” he admits finally, voice small.

“You don’t?”

Buck exhales—something between a sigh and a humorless laugh. “No, that's a lie.” He flops back onto the floor, covering his eyes with his forearm. “I know what I want,” he says. “I just thought it would feel different, that it would be easier somehow, you know? But it’s just me, moving into another place that doesn’t feel—“

Doesn’t feel like home.

Eddie opens his mouth, but Buck speaks first.

“Living in your house felt easy.” He shifts his legs like he’s trying to get comfortable but can’t quite manage it.

Eddie’s eyes catch on a smudge of paint on Buck’s inner thigh—light green, right under the hem of his shorts. His fingers itch to scrub it clean, reveal that extra bit of skin. He takes another long sip of water instead.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“I mean not at first, but I think that was mostly about—“ Buck exhales, sharp through his nose. “About missing you guys.”

Buck curls in slightly, arms folding around his middle and something clicks. Buck doesn’t want this. Buck just doesn’t know he’s allowed to want anything else.

And Eddie—Eddie needs to tell him. Needs to say something.

He leans back on his elbows, close enough where he doesn’t need to speak too loud. “We really missed you too, you know,” he says, before lying all the way down next to Buck.

“You did?”

“Of course we did,” Eddie says, then adds, “I did.”

“I didn’t know that.“

Eddie breathes out a short laugh. “Jesus, Buck. Were the twenty FaceTimes a day not enough of a clue?”

“It’s not like we never FaceTimed before Texas.”

Eddie laughs again. “You know I hate to stroke your ego—“ (A lie. He absolutely loves stroking Buck’s ego.) “But I was kind of a mess. I was already a mess before, as you’re well aware, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be—not seeing you. And I should have told you that but—“

“Why didn’t you?” Buck asks, like it's that simple.

Eddie shrugs. “Could ask you the same thing.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“I—“ Buck pauses. “I don’t think I can tell you that.”

“I think you can. Think you can tell me anything,” Eddie says. And he means it. There isn’t a single thing in the world Buck could tell him that he wouldn’t want to hear.

Buck shifts a little closer, nudging Eddie’s arm. “How about you tell me something first?” There’s an unexpected challenge in his voice. It makes Eddie feel light, all of a sudden. Giddy almost.

“Okay, I—okay.” Eddie bites back a smile, mouth twisting as he searches of something to say. “Remember that time my car was at the garage and I had to carpool to work with you?”

“Of course I do. You should really find another mechanic, by the way. Changing a tail light should not take a full week.”

“It didn’t.”

Buck frowns, brows drawn together in confusion. “What?”

“They fixed it the next day. I just…kept delaying picking it up. I liked it. You driving me around.”

Buck looks at him like he’s trying to make sense of a puzzle that doesn’t add up.

“You’re lying,” he says, squinting a little. It’s cute.

“Am I?”

“Eddie. You realize that’s insane, right? You could have just asked me to drive you.”

“Hey, at least I let you pick the music,” Eddie grins, propping himself up to reach for the water bottle.

Buck reaches for it at the same time. Their hands collide and the bottle tips, water splashing across the floor.

“Oh, come on,” Buck laughs. “Look what you did.”

“What I did?” Eddie shoots back, brows lifting. “Pretty sure it was your grabby hands.”

“What, these?” Buck wiggles his fingers before lunging straight for Eddie’s ribs.

Eddie jerks, laughing. He tries to squirm away, but Buck is right there, jabbing at his sides. He catches Buck’s wrists and pushes him back. Buck tries to wiggle free but Eddie just holds on tighter. He rolls half on top of him and pins both his hands to his chest.

“Your turn,” he says, breathless and grinning.

“My turn?” Buck asks, watching the way Eddie’s fingers curl around his wrists.

“Yes. Tell me something.”

Buck shakes his head, laughing a little. “Oh, is that the game we’re playing now?”

“He’s finally catching up.” Eddie lets go and lies back down beside him, closer than before.

“Dick.” Buck punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Okay, let me think…”

Buck drums his fingers on his chest, deep in thought, and Eddie thinks this feels a lot like being a teenager—young and in love, lying in the back of his dad’s old pickup truck. Sweaty palms, racing heart, telling himself to just kiss her already.

He’s not so sixteen anymore. And instead of gazing up at the stars, they’re staring at a flaky, water-stained ceiling. But everything else hits just the same.

He glances over at Buck. “Thought of something yet?” he asks, voice softer now.

Buck nods. “I uh—“ He clears his throat. “I stole your laundry detergent.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, running his hands over his face. “You what?”

“I’m sorry, okay? We were packing your stuff and I—I panicked and I sort of…hid it.”

“You hid it,” Eddie repeats, delighted. “Was there… a reason for this?”

“Yes! No. I don’t know. I just—I like how it smells.” Buck has gone completely pink. “And I didn’t think you’d notice if I took it, which—you didn’t, by the way.”

“Uh huh.”

“I thought it would be nice, you know? If I could keep that smell around the house.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Eddie says.

“Yeah? You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Oh, it’s weird as hell, man.” Eddie shifts a little closer, presses his shoulder against Buck’s. “But who am I to judge?”

They’re both quiet for a moment, just breathing together.

“Hey, it’s your turn,” Buck says eventually. And if they weren’t lying so close together, maybe Eddie would have missed the way his voice cracks just the tiniest bit. But he doesn’t.

He takes a deep breath and starts talking. “Remember that day we made plans to go hiking but it was like—” He chuckles softly, “the universe had other plans?“ He shifts onto his side to face Buck.

Buck catches the movement, mirrors him.

“I thought you didn’t believe in The Universe,” he mocks.

Eddie rolls his eyes and continues. “We kept getting distracted and then it started raining and then Chris’s school called to tell me he was sick…”

Buck nods, smiling at the memory. “You went to pick him up and I went to get pizza.”

“You ended up spending the whole day on the couch with us. I think Chris forgot he wasn’t feeling well by the end of the night.” The kitchen light flickers again, but Eddie doesn’t look away. He’s too busy watching the blue of Buck’s eyes. “That was the first time I realized I wanted to kiss you.”

Buck draws in a sharp breath. “That was over a year ago.”

“I know.”

It’s terrifying. Too big. Life altering. But it’s also so, so incredibly easy.

“Do you still want to?”

“Kiss you?” Eddie chuckles, low and a little breathless. He can’t help the way his gaze flickers to Buck’s mouth. “Every day.”

“You should.”

“Yeah?” Eddie murmurs, voice dropping. Their knees knock together as he shifts closer.

It’s Buck who leans in first. The kiss starts slow, searching, soft lips moving together. Then Eddie groans into his mouth, and something shifts. His hand slips under the hem of Buck’s shirt, fingers spreading over warm skin. Buck pulls him in harder, lips parting like he’s starving for it. Like he’s been waiting too.

Eddie pushes even closer, knee wedged firmly between Buck’s thighs, their hips nearly flushed. He runs a hand down Buck’s spine, nails dragging just a little bit, making Buck shudder.

“I want to share my detergent with you,” Eddie mumbles between kisses.

Buck huffs out a laugh, dazed. “What?”

“Break your lease.” A kiss to Buck’s jaw. Another to the corner of his mouth. “Move your stuff back, come live with us.”

“Eddie, I can’t just—“

“You can.” Eddie cups the side of Buck’s face, forces him to meet his eyes. “Buck, you can. If you want.”

Buck looks at him for a long beat.

“I want.”

Eddie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, presses their foreheads together.

“Good.”

[try-set-me-on-fire]

*smirking* you couldn't waterboard that out of me, but even if torture was an effective method of information extraction and not a futile display of state-sanctioned sadism, the high percentage of false confessions it produces would mean that even if you could waterboard it out of me, could you even trust the veracity of my statement?

[try-set-me-on-fire]

[try-set-me-on-fire]

I have come to admit that my own toxic trait is that i DO hold a quiet disdain for people who think that putting flatpack furniture together is hard. Why is IKEA furniture in particular regarded as some Ultimate Test for Couples - "If you build it without killing each other, he's the one, haha!" ???? Like, listen, I get it, i've got a fuck'd wrist nowadays so I DO find that hammering peg A into slot B is considerably more difficult than it used to be, but the task ITSELF? It's like building lego, y'all. Except that at the end of it, you end up with not just some sort of miniature spaceship (admittedly very cool, if not particularly useful) but a functional and stylish side table. It's the perfect enrichment. I smashed together three Billy bookcases last summer with nothing but a screwdriver, a pencil, and the love in my heart, and I had the time of my life. Do you, too, not feel a thrill in your heart at the satisfying feeling of a cam lock twisting into place? Do not the tiny little crinkly bags of screws remind you of candy wrappers to be torn open and piled gleefully upon the floor, like a child at Halloween emptying your haul onto the living room carpet? Am I the freak, or are you? I am willing to accept the former but i die on this hill regardless