haihearts
Fandoms
- 9-1-1 (TV) (1)
- Helluva Boss (Web Series) (1)
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Summary
The cat's description reads:
"Meet Perdita, not for the faint of heart. LIKES: staring into your soul all day, the song Cat’s in the Cradle, the movie Pet Sematary (Church is her hero), jump scares (her specialty), lurking in dark corners, being queen of ALL territories, outranking her subjects, fooling shelter staff into thinking she’s sick (vet agrees… she’s just a diva) DISLIKES: the color yellow, rainbows, kittens (yuck they are so chipper), dogs, vacuums, Christmas, and last but NOT least... dogs.”
“I… can also appreciate Pet Sematary?” Buck contributes valiantly. He’s scared of Perdita. Perdita knows things. She’s seen things. She’s also, through a phone screen, managed to remind Buck of every single person in this room excluding himself with looks and posture alone. He supposes that’s talent. “Geez, she looks like sunshine incarnate, Eddie. You really know how to pick 'em. Well done, five stars.”
or: Buck adopts a cat. She might be the thing he never knew he always needed.
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Summary
At the end of every day, after every bloody hit, all Blitzø wants to do is go home to Stolas. At the end of an extremely grueling and time-consuming day, well, that desire increases tenfold.
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Summary
"What— what do you see?"
"I see," Eddie says, measured, careful, "someone who looks like he wanted somebody to see him like that."
Buck's whole body goes hot.
"And I'm trying to decide," Eddie continues, slower now, his breath heavier, "whether I'm allowed to be that somebody."
The hand on Buck's thigh has migrated upward. He notices it three seconds after it happens, his palm now resting flat against his own stomach where his shirt has rucked up, fingers splayed across the skin. The touch of his own hand on his own body in this context is sending a current up his spine that he is, evidently, helpless to stop.
"Eddie." Buck's voice cracks. "Are you— are you jerking off to my photo?"
The pause is brief but loaded, and when Eddie answers it’s barely recognizable, every word landing somewhere in the south of Buck's body with a measurable physical impact.
"You send me a picture like that, Buck. What am I supposed to do?"
Or,
Buck wins a boudoir photoshoot giveaway. Eddie reaps the benefits.Or,
Buck accidentally sends his nudes to Eddie.Bookmarked by haihearts
15 Jun 2026
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Summary
The bruises mottle Buck’s skin, like paint splattered clumsily on a canvas. Except—the artist behind this, whoever they are, clearly went about it with intent and precision. A curator of hickeys; Buck’s pale thighs like the walls of a gallery. A thriving one, at that. It’s… a lot of marks.
Eddie wonders if it hurts. Well—he knows that part already, at least based on what Buck told him a few minutes ago. So instead, Eddie starts to wonder if it hurt. The procedure behind the photo; the act of being marked up so irrefutably.
Buck reacts to Eddie’s thumbs up message with a thumbs down.
Buck: I just accidentally sexted you dude
Don’t 👍👍👍👍 meOr: Eddie receives an unintended photo. Then he bites some thighs about it.
Bookmarked by haihearts
15 Jun 2026
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Summary
Someone exclaims in the background, but Buck’s voice cuts through louder when he asks, “You… you want to borrow my…?”
“Flashlight,” Eddie supplies with patient emphasis. It is not, strictly speaking, a leap of faith to assume Buck of all people would have one, but he did move recently, so— who knows what’s still lost in Packed Box Limbo. “Please tell me you have one I can use.”
“I…” there’s a lengthy pause on the other end, Buck’s voice weak and tapering off at the end. “Y-Yeah, okay.”
Or: Eddie just needs to borrow some tools. Fleshlight, flashlight, what’s the difference? The distinction has never been more illuminating.
Bookmarked by haihearts
14 Jun 2026
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Summary
"You, uh, you ever heard of—of a prostate massage?" Buck asked. He had his hand resting on Eddie's shoulder now, with Eddie still holding onto his wrist.
Eddie huffed out a laugh best he could. "Don't tell me you learned that in, uh, in Peru." He said, trying to keep his voice light and joking as if it would dispell the tense air lighting up the room. As if it could hide the way he felt himself twitch in his briefs hearing Buck say prostate massage.
Buck smiled, not quite laughing as he replied. "No, that one is from other sources." He said. "Really good for stress relief, though. Tried and true."
Eddie shifted underneath Buck, feeling the stiff flagpole tucked away in his pants. He was leaking steadily now, the front of his underwear damp and sticking to him uncomfortably. He let go of Buck's wrist, bringing his hands up to sit underneath his head while he arched his back ever-so-slightly up towards Buck.
"If you think it'll help." He says, hoarse and much more sultry than he meant.
OR
the platonic prostate massage fic
Bookmarked by haihearts
13 Jun 2026
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Summary
Buck is silent on the other side of the curtain. Eddie wonders if maybe he’s given up, if there was enough bite in Eddie’s words to send him the other direction. He takes a trembling breath and watches water where it’s beaded on his lips and nose and lashes before it falls breath-stoked towards the shower floor. Eddie thinks, a little wildly, that this would be the view of the god he prayed to that night in the chapel. The thing that watches everything and answers, that sends the rain and the hurt and the death. The thing his abuela so desperately wanted Eddie to find.
He thought he had when he got that text, in that one breath before the knife. He was so sure he’d figured it out, but water droplets can’t look up, and gods weren’t made to be found.
~
Eddie gets a pair of wings that may or may not be terminal.
Bookmarked by haihearts
10 Jun 2026