born_to_run
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A bitten off sob spills out into the room.
Eddie’s head whips round like a bloodhound that’s caught a scent.
Buck’s in pieces, bent over with his face hidden in his palms, but in between the gaps in his fingers Eddie can see his face is flushed red, tears trickling from his eyes.
Oh god, this is the best one yet.
Buck doesn't know Eddie's been getting off on making him cry. Eddie goes for gold and ends up giving away more than he intended to.
Bookmarked by born_to_run
14 Jun 2025
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It smells like paint fumes and sweat, and Buck couldn’t be happier. His t-shirt is sticking to his back and the sun is beating down with fervor even through the drawn blinds, making it all look even hazier than it feels: Eddie back in L.A., back in this house, back close enough to touch.
Buck and Eddie paint a room, and fall for each other.
Bookmarked by born_to_run
12 Jun 2025
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Eddie doesn’t mean to keep setting out two coffee mugs in the morning. It’s just habit — like glancing out the window for Buck’s Jeep, or cooking too much without thinking, or leaving Buck’s favourite throw blanket folded neatly on the couch, even though it’s been weeks since he last used it.
They say it takes sixty-six days to break a habit.
It’s only been eighteen.
Fuck.Or, Buck moves out, Eddie spirals, and a coffee mug becomes his final straw.
Bookmarked by born_to_run
10 Jun 2025
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Buck kind of liked not jerking off.
Bookmarked by born_to_run
09 Jun 2025
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“You’re going to be a great father someday,” Eddie says eventually, because he’s worse than he used to be and Buck’s reverent eyes make him feel—they just make him feel.
“Eddie, I—”
“You are,” he repeats, firm. “Don’t you think I’d know better than anyone?”
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Bookmarked by born_to_run
08 Jun 2025