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He’s so close. But Buck’s face sways even closer, eyes laser-focused on Eddie’s mouth, like he wants to ensure that what he whispers next make its way inside:
“The quiet, closeted catastrophe of Edmundo Diaz—performed nightly for an audience of none.”
Eddie flinches like the words hit skin. For a second, all the noise in his head goes silent, leaving gaping awareness and the awful, naked feeling of being seen.
“W-what—” Eddie’s voice cracks and he’s trying to frown, trying to be mad, but he feels exposed, so his words come out broken, quiet and confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
or: buck fights back during the kitchen scene in 8x17 and it sends eddie spiralling
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“Did you know that kissing is good for you?”
Buck asks the question out of absolutely nowhere, and Eddie blinks as he tries to process the words. To be fair, it’s barely seven in the morning — on their day off, after Eddie’s night on the couch — and he’s yet to have the coffee that typically kicks his brain into action.
Also, what?
“Buck,” he says, rubbing at his eyes. “What?”
Or: Eddie and Buck start platonically kissing.
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when you look at me like that, my darling (what do you expect) by Sungodlou
Fandoms: 9-1-1 (TV)
31 Dec 2024
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This summer has had some subversive effects on his very definition of what it means to want.
He’s always been good at not wanting too much or too recklessly. But these days, it seems like he’s insatiable, wrought with hunger and pillaging to consume.
Maybe it's because this kind of wanting feels offensive—something he thought he’d snuffed out decades ago, made benign.
He’s always been so good at beating it down, down, down into submission whenever it reared its ugly head; he had a handle on it.
Now, it’s all gone to shit.
or; Buck and Eddie have sex, Eddie freaks out. Wash, rinse, repeat.
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Buck thinks Eddie is disgusted by the extra weight around his stomach.
Eddie’s really, really not.
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buck: hey, who's the guy from your story
ravi: what guy?
buck: the one with his arm around eddie
buck: hahahaHe adds the ‘hahaha’ like it will somehow disguise the fact that he's two seconds away from flinging his phone into the sink and following it. Then he sends the screenshots. All of them.
Wide shot. Cropped. Zoomed in. Then zoomed in so tight it barely looks like a human neck anymore. In a few of them, he even circled the offending hand or added sad little arrows pointing to where the real problem was, like he thought Ravi might somehow miss it.