In these trying times... let me offer you... my take on Buck leaving the 118...
Love Takes Miles / Rating E / 34k words
Five months after Bobby dies, Buck packs up his life and heads north.
I can't believe this story is finally complete.
Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to interact with the original ficlet and to everyone who tagged me in writing games and left me the best tags + comments to read.
It's been a long ol' journey with a million comfort breaks and I appreciate you all coming along for the ride.
An extra-special ✨THANK YOU✨ to @rcmclachlan for being such an incredible + thoughtful beta reader (and Brit-Picker, too) 🥇💖
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I cannot stop staring at my beautiful new work of art from the always amazing @keivni. If you ever get the opportunity to commission them, you should 1000% take it.
i have semi-recently been tagged by/am no pressure tagging DEAR FRIENDS @sad-girl-hours23 @wee-fuckin-woo @thegingerparty @queermccoy @owlgirl495 @nosecrinklewrites @nine-one-wanton @letsdosciencetoit @chimneyschewinggum @harmless-variety-of-garden-snake @devirnis @firehose118 @sierranovembr @emphasisonthehomo @leashybebes @queerasbuck and @ YOU READING THIS YES YOU if you see this please post something you're working on and tag me in it!!! I'd love to see what you're up to :)
hello friends. back at it again at the "gay" for pay :) barely nsfw under the cut, mostly under a read more for length, really.
"Do you think they make these in your size?" Buck asks, holding up a little French maid costume. He turns to Tommy, expecting a scoff or something, but he's a few feet away, looking at something on a shelf.
Buck sneaks over to see the tips of Tommy's ears looking red, his eyes darting over the store's selection of double-ended stroker toys. He nudges Tommy's shoulder, and Tommy jumps. "I was — uh, I mean —"
"Chill, man, I'm not the sex toy police." Buck turns to the selection, nodding to one made of clear silicone. "That one looks good. You'd see when you or the other dude comes."
Tommy hesitates, his hand hovering halfway to the shelf. "Would you want to —?" He doesn't finish the question, biting his lip and looking anywhere but at Buck.
"Me?" Buck asks, and Tommy nods once. "Huh." Tommy winces, opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Buck interrupts, "Yeah, man, why not?"
A little breathless, Tommy asks, "Really?"
"Yeah, sure. Nothing gay about jerking off with a bro." Tommy raises an eyebrow, and Buck waves his hand. "Whatever, man. Take the fucking fleshlight."
Tommy's a red mess when they get to the cashier, even though she barely looks up from her phone again. "Have fun," She offers in a monotone as they head to the door.
"We will!" Buck waves, calling, "Thank you!"
Tommy practically sprints out of the store. He's in the driver's seat, rubbing his face with his hands, by the time Buck saunters over to his truck. "Was that your first time in a sex shop?" he asks as he buckles in.
"That obvious, huh?" Tommy asks through his fingers.
"Well, most people don't sweat as much as you do when they do their shopping." Tommy groans, pressing his hands harder against his face.
Tagged this week by @corporatebanana and @devirnis - thank you so much for thinking of me! Also stealing open tags from @wearethecyclones and @nine-one-wanton because I enjoyed your snippets this week. Tagging back and gently poking @nosecrinklewrites, @leashybebes, @peppermintquartz, and @dharmaavocado because I am obsessed with your current projects and feeling brave.
Below the cut is the first part of ch 2 of the soulmate shared pain AU. Mwah!
Buck sits in the doctor’s exam room and feels like the walls are closing in on him. He presses his fist into his other palm, trying to feel grounded. He startles a bit when the doctor enters the room. He doesn’t catch the man’s name, but it probably won’t matter.
“What are you in for?”
“Uh, car accident,” Buck starts. “I broke three ribs a few weeks back and couldn’t get a follow up with my GP.”
“Any port in a storm.” The doctor keeps smiling, so Buck returns it.
“What’s your pain level?” He circles behind Buck. Buck lifts his shirt and the doctor presses on his back. “I don’t see any remaining bruising.”
Buck hums and drifts a hand over his breastbone. “It’s actually more localized in the front of my chest. And an eight. M-maybe even a nine, for the pain level.”
The doctor frowns, and swings around to the front of the exam table. “Well, no bruising here either. Was it just broken ribs? I can’t imagine you’d be sitting upright at this point if you’d had damage to your sternum that recently.”
“Ribs were the only thing broken on the x-rays.”
“Can you describe what it feels like in more detail?”
Buck sucks in a breath and tries to focus. If he were honest, the true answer is it feels like guilt. He doesn’t get it at all, he knows that he hadn’t ended up permanently hurting Bonnie or her ex-husband in the mess in New Mexico. But despite all his logic, the feeling is sitting in his chest, wrapped around a ball of pain that doesn’t seem to budge. No amount of medication or easy stretching has been able to break up the weight in his chest. But that’s not why he’s here. He’s here because the physical ache is starting to interfere with his ability to work. He does his best to describe it, but he can see the doctor isn’t buying it.
They go back and forth about where the accident took place and then the doctor accuses Buck of being drug-seeking.
“No, that’s not what this is! I’m not some kind of drug-fiend!” Buck is starting to get heated. He tries to bring his voice down. “I haven’t even finished the first prescription I got! They haven’t done anything since the first few days. And - and I know there’s reduced efficacy, but I haven’t been on them long enough.” He stops, trying to get his breathing back under control.
“Were you prescribed opioids?”
Buck nods. “I’m a f-firefighter. I can’t do my job if I’m hurting. There has to be something else.”
“There are other medications we could try, but they are pretty powerful and you wouldn’t be able to do that kind of work while on them anyway. Also, if your first prescription was working and then stopped…” The doctor trails off and stares at him from across the tiny exam room. He opens his mouth, hesitates for a moment, and then asks, “Mr. Buckley, are you bonded?”
The question hits him right in his aching sternum.
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I’m not sure if this will be helpful to anyone, but you literally do not have to be a good writer to write and post fan fiction. Yes you will naturally get better at writing and finding your voice the more you do it but you do not have to be or become a professional level writer to enjoy writing and sharing fics. It’s common to hear people praise fic writers by saying their work is better than published books, and while I think this comes from a good place, that’s not the norm or expectation. There is also a sentiment that fic writing is “good practice” for becoming a better writer or doing something else later, but if fic is the only creative writing you ever do that is literally okay. Your technical skill does not mean you cannot have fun and build community with your writing, or that other people cannot love and find meaning in your work.
coming this friday to an ao3 near you! (not this specifically, as it's from chapter 2) let me know if you want to be tagged in updates :3
Evan flags down the same maid from earlier to order more ale. When she arrives at their table, the woman gazes at Evan with poorly-disguised longing. Normally Evan is attuned to women looking at him thusly; any other night, Tommy has no doubt that Evan would have already disappeared with her. But tonight, for whatever reason, Evan seems content to share a drink with Tommy.
The maid leaves again, a delicate pout of disappointment on her lips.
Evan grabs Tommy's tankard and tilts it to see the contents. "You've got some catching up to do, it seems," he declares, mischief replacing the melancholy in his eyes.
"Someone needs to keep a clear head to get us back to the castle," Tommy says, but he takes another drink.
Evan grins triumphantly at him, and Tommy has to try very hard to ignore the way it makes his heart flutter.
No good can come from entertaining such thoughts.
tagging @princessfbi @rcmclachlan @queermccoy @thegingerparty @firehose118 @tizniz @sierranovembr @beanarie @adiprose @leashybebes @ambernotember @politenotice and anyone else who wants to join!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Someone asked me a while ago if I still had a photo of the worst sink I had ever seen while apartment hunting in Los Angeles. I assumed I deleted it so I didn't answer the ask and now it's gone, but as it turns out, yes, I do still have a photo of it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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T shirt that says “I ❤️ getting laid” & then on the back it says “to REST” with a photo of a coffin + the name & phone number for a local cemetery. Please follow for more advertising ideas
