weewookinkmeme | Kink Meme

Kink Meme

So how does this work?

1. Anonymously post a short prompt. It could be shippy, porny, weird, fluffy, angsty, gen, or whatever else your heart desires.

Remember that a short, open-ended prompt is easier to fill than something highly specific. E.g. "What if Buck and Eddie had exhibitionist sex at the gym?" is more likely to get a fill than "What if Buck and Eddie had sex at the gym, Buck came first, then someone walked in and they never spoke of it again. After a slow burn, they get together while Maddie is giving birth to her and Chimney's third child."

2. If you see a prompt that strikes your fancy, anonymously fill it. Your fill could be 200 words written straight into the comment box, or it could be a multi-part epic. Multiple fills for one prompt are not only acceptable, but awesome.

Note: Deanoning your fic, or posting it to your namespace AO3, Tumblr, Twitter, or any other account, is completely fine, but please wait a week or so to do so, so it can belong totally to the kink meme for a bit. Kink memes are not only for fic, they are also communities; we want to celebrate your fic that you made for this community for a bit before it's released into the wider world.

Second note: Deanoning is NOT required. Your fic can live as an anonymous fill for as long as you please. :)

3. If you post a prompt, try to fill one if you can!

4. Comment on things you're excited about and start discussions. The conversations can be the best part of being on a kink meme! And part of the benefit of being on Dreamwidth is that we are all completely anonymous, so you can deep discuss anything you please without shame.

5. Don't troll, wank, or start discourse. If you don't like a prompt/fill, scroll on past and post something you do like. Treat people well. Harassment will be deleted with prejudice. If you see someone treating people poorly, you can report it here.

Edit: Feel free to post prompts for RPF ships. Let's make sure to only prompt about actively famous people, not relatives or friends of famous people (unless they're famous in their own right), and avoid RPF prompts about real life minors.

Second Edit: Just a reminder to be careful to write out "omegaverse" or "alpha/beta/omega" instead of using the letter abbreviations, as it's a very nasty slur in some parts of the world.

It's that simple! Here is a list of kinks for inspiration, get prompting and have fun!

If anyone is totally new to HTML, I've written up a quick tutorial here; click to expand.

Basic HTML is pretty easy! This is how you make words bold, italicized, underlined, bigger, smaller, etc. You use what are called "tags", and surround the words you want to be affected.

<i>Like this</i>

<b>Or this</b>

<h1>Or this</h1>

That's the raw HTML. When you post a comment, it will change the text. So when you post, the three HTML tags I'm using there would look:

Like this
Or this
Or this

<i></i> = italics
<b></b> = bold
<u></u> = underlined

That's the very basics, and probably all you need for commentfic. Here is a more in-depth guide, and here is the HTML that is usable on Dreamwidth.

You can see new fic in the fills thread, or on Pinboard for clickable links (If you're using a phone, Pinboard will probably be easiest.).

AO3 Collection

~~I'm testing out another journal style, since a couple anons pointed out that the current one is hard to navigate on mobile, don't be alarmed! Edit: ugh, I hate what I've created. Bear with me.~~ Okay, I'm just gonna go with the site default, I think, since it's nice and functional. Apologies to anyone who witnessed the various in-between stages of the journal, lol.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Holy shit yes.

Bobby feeds on Eddie exclusively. Side of bloodkink?

Eddie hires a male prostitute to try to figure out his sexuality. It turns out that Buck never told Eddie about his second job...
Would love for it to be really awkward at first before becoming sweet, but open to however you take it <3

Yup, his dick and balls are out in the kitchen.

Mischievous season 1 Buck at his finest, I laughed so hard, poor Bobby. I bet he has all kinds of conflicting feelings about that. I just love Bobby in this fic.

I mean: Bobby pulls his belt up a little at that. Peacocking. Pea-cocking – he’s gotta rush home the second his shift over. Buck’s waiting on the soup. And his cock.

That line is absolutely the vibe. It's just delicious.

I again love the insight in Bobby's thoughts, his confidence but also knowing he can't shout it from the rooftops because there is a lot of figuring out to do here. And for Abby, you lost out on a very lovable young man.

You are spoiling us with this post! Great job!

Ignoring that they're in different cities, I would love a crossover. It would be great to see the characters from The Pitt being amused and annoyed by the 118's melodrama.

Oh my god, yes, such a good prompt! The Pitt characters would be so baffled about all those near death experiences with no lasting impact and 9-1-1 would be like, wow, you follow protocols and there's consequences!? lmao.

*sets up camp under this prompt*

god this would be so good, especially if part of the reason eddie does this is because he might have feelings about buck.....

lol it's not getting weird about it to ask that someone put 'cannibalism' in the header, jesus. most of the noncon stuff IS mentioned in the header. If I had seen 'cannibalism' in the header I could have scrolled on.

oh my god, that is EXACTLY what dead dove means, google is free.

A/N: ngl this is... sad. I hope it's not too sad for your purposes, OP! thank you for the idea!!
---

At first, it’s just a little support.

Eddie brings Chris over and they keep Jee occupied for a few hours to give Maddie a break. Maddie makes them meals because it’s easier to stomach food when they do it together. They carpool to work some days, so the silence isn’t quite so deafening.

It’s been weeks, and neither of them has any idea how much longer they’ll be waiting. If they’ll ever stop.

Somewhere along the way, they start visiting the hospital together, too. The staff moved Buck and Chimney into the same room anyway once their comas stretched on and their vitals stayed stable. Now they’re on a long, quiet ward filled with old people and young people and the family members that haunt them, refusing to let go.

Eddie can’t let go.

He doesn’t remember much about that call, anymore. It’s lost to memory, to trauma, to all the times he’s tried to recall the details and figure out what he could have done differently to prevent this. In reality, there’s nothing. As much as Eddie knows that, he can’t stop trying.

Maddie cries every time.

She’s brave while they sit with their partners, telling them everything Jee does, weird things that have happened at work– anything she can think of. Eddie stays silent, like his mouth is full of cotton and he can’t get a word in around it. Maddie tries to pull him in, prompting him to add to a story she’s telling or asking him to tell Buck about Chris because Eddie obviously knows better than she does.

He tries. It should come easy. Just like talking to Buck always has. But whatever he says turns to ash in his mouth and falls flat. He can’t even look at Buck. Can’t bear to see him like this.

The second they leave the room, Maddie’s tears start falling. Eddie hates himself, knows he’s making this worse for her. Making her feel alone in this horrible uncertainty and fear and self-loathing. It’s what he always does, apparently. Another trip around the sun. Another example of Eddie fucking Diaz letting a woman he cares about down because he can’t bear to face it.

Maddie’s silent on the drive home. She doesn’t even turn on the radio, and Eddie doesn’t know what else to do except sit there and keep quiet for her. There’s nothing waiting for either of them. Chris is at a friend’s house for the night, as he is more often than not these days, and Jee is with the Lees for the weekend. It’ll be nothing but empty rooms and dark halls at home. It’s what Eddie deserves, but Maddie doesn’t give him the chance. “Inside, now.”

He follows her sheepishly, a dog on a leash. “Maddie–”

She whirls around on him. “He needs to hear your voice, Eddie! You can’t just– just waste away! He needs you!”

Eddie wishes he was angry, that Maddie’s words filled him with something other than empty, grey despair. He can’t bring himself to say anything, even now. Even as Maddie turns big, wet brown eyes at him, begging him to do something. React.

“Eddie!” She yells, finally, and it–

God fucking help him but it sounds like Buck. The pitch and timbre are different– of course they are– but the tone. The way her voice curls around his name. It’s so close.

She’s the closest thing to Buck that’s still breathing on their own. It burns. It chokes Eddie, rouses that horrible part of him that still believes one day Buck will wake up. It propels him across the room, raises his hand without his consent to touch the corner of Maddie’s mouth.

Would she taste like him? Would she sound like him? Would she respond like him?

“Please.” He whispers. “Maddie, please–”

She’s kissing him before he gets the rest of his plea out. She does, Eddie finds, kiss like Buck. At least in this instance. Hungry and hopeful and self-assured. Like they know the skill they’re bringing to the table. It’s close enough. It’s enough. It has to be enough.

Eddie’s hands find her jaw, anchoring her when he pulls back to rest his forehead against hers. “This is so– I know it’s so fucked up, Mads, I’m–”

“Shut up, Eddie.”

He obeys.

Her mouth is insistent against his, tongue pressing past the seam of his lips. He sucks on it greedily, thinks that she does taste a little bit like Buck. Or maybe it’s just been so long he can’t remember anymore.

The thought makes him wild, desperate. He tangles his fingers in Maddie’s hair, his free hand fisting in the fabric of her shirt as she backs him toward the bedroom. His brain feels swimmy, his hands shaking. He’s grateful Maddie seems to know what to do, where to go.

Someone’s cheeks are wet with tears. Eddie can’t tell whose. Maybe it’s both of them. Maddie brings his hands to her waist, and it’s close enough– soft, warm, smooth skin. Suddenly, Eddie can’t remember the last time he touched Buck’s skin like this. Maybe it was the morning of the accident? The night before?

If he wasn’t crying before, he definitely is now.

Maddie groans against his mouth, and Eddie can’t stand it anymore. He has to know.

He sinks to his knees, fingers brushing her knee just below the hem of her skirt. “I need– Maddie, please, can I–”

She nods. “You can, it’s okay,” she soothes, fingers sorting through his hair. “It’s okay, go ahead.”

Eddie groans in relief, ducking under her skirt and burying his face between her thighs. Her skin is a milky pale, just a shade warmer than Buck’s, but it’s so soft. Her thighs are dusted with soft hair, and even if it’s not as much as Buck has, it’s enough to spark the memory– the feel of Buck in his hands.

She’s so warm here, his face pressed against her fabric-covered cunt. Alive, breathing, here.

He grasps Maddie’s hips, guides her back onto the bed so she can relax while he kneels between her legs. Maybe this way she can close her eyes and feel Chimney. She deserves to feel as good as possible. It’s what Chimney would want. What Buck would want. Eddie can do that.

This was one thing he was always good at. The only thing he could always offer Shannon. Even on their worst days, he could put himself to work for her like this, make her come over and over until she was spent and sated and he’d done something right by her for once.

They work together to get Maddie’s panties off her legs, and Eddie massages her calves in his hands while she sits up to get rid of her top. She seems to like that, easing back down onto the mattress with an appreciative hum. It makes Eddie feel something other than empty, to know he’s giving her something when she’s done so much to keep them all together.

Maddie sighs, pleased, as he licks a soft stripe up her cunt, circles his tongue over her clit. So far, she just tastes like warm skin. Eddie needs more.

He ducks his head down a little further, buries his tongue inside her, thrusting it in and out. She seems to like that, rewarding him with a rush of wetness. She tastes good— not as salty as Buck, but with that same earthy quality that always made Eddie feel grounded when Buck would feed it to him. Although, maybe he’s imagining that, too.

He draws his tongue back up, focuses gentle, quick flicks of his tongue over her clit. “Baby,” Maddie moans, her legs wrapping around his shoulders.

Eddie stays quiet, doesn’t want to ruin this for her.

She comes on his tongue, hips jerking against his face as she rides out the orgasm. Eddie keeps it up until she squirms away, making sure she gets every second of pleasure out of it. She moves like she’s about to peer down at him, so Eddie moves faster, gripping her hips and flipping her over.

Maddie squeals, genuinely surprised, but she doesn’t tell him to knock it off. Instead, she strips her skirt off and wiggles her ass back at him, and god is it a beautiful ass. “Are you gonna—“ she starts, gasping when he spreads her. “I want you to.”

Eddie kisses one full ass cheek, then sets his tongue to her hole. It feels closer, if dirtier, but Maddie seems to be enjoying herself, pressing back against his tongue as he spears it inside her. If it were Buck, he’d be making sure his three days of stubble were scraping his ass. Eddie would be pulling back and telling him what a gorgeous ass he has, what a good boy he is.

Maddie isn’t Buck.

Eddie swirls his tongue over the furl of muscle, sinks two fingers into her dripping cunt to find her sweet spot. He wants to do it right when it’s time, after Maddie lets him have this for a few minutes. She’s generous, keeping her own noises muffled into her arm. Eddie appreciates it, even if it makes his stomach roil that she would think to do so.

That feeling gets worse when he pulls back to dig through the nightstand for a condom and she whispers, “there’s lube in that drawer, too, if you want— Eddie, if you need—“

“Shh,” Eddie soothes, kissing the back of her shoulder. “No, just enjoy yourself. That’s what I want.”

Maddie nods, sitting up while Eddie strips and crawls up on the bed with her. He rolls the condom on and ignores how foreign it feels after years with Buck. How foreign fucking Maddie is going to feel. But she said she wanted this, and Eddie can’t keep failing her.

It feels like relief when she shoves at his shoulders and puts him flat on his back. He knows how to do this, too. She turns her back to him as she swings a leg over his hips, lining herself up. From this angle, she looks especially majestic, long hair spilling down her back in dark waves, the moonlight catching her pale skin and making it glow almost ethereal.

Maddie moans low and guttural as she lowers herself down, and he wonders if it feels close enough. He’s only ever seen Chim soft in the showers or the locker room, so he can’t know for sure. He hopes it’s not so different that it shatters the fantasy for her. He knows his hands are too big, so he tangles one in her hair and trails the fingers of the other over her skin so it’s not too obvious. She shivers at the light touch.

Eddie lets her set the pace, rolling his hips up into hers once he understands what she likes. He shifts a bit, looking for the spot he mapped out with his fingers earlier, flushing pink and pleased when she gasps and grinds down harder. She’s so warm and silky-soft inside, clenching down on him tight as she gets closer. It’s not the same, but it’s all they have.

Maddie’s fingers fly to her clit, her pace slowing to a filthy grind until she freezes, her head dropping back as her second orgasm hits. Eddie fucks her through it, holding her steady. Her groan turns into a high whine as she rides the edge of overstimulation, tapping his thigh when she’s done.

He did right by her. He did good. He misses his boyfriend so badly he can’t breathe.

Her thighs are trembling as she pulls off, turning around to face him. “Close your eyes.”

Eddie does, a little startled to find that he doesn’t really care what she’s going to do to him next. She wraps one hand around his cock, and brings the other to his lips, pressing against them with two fingers. “Just pretend.” She whispers.

Maybe what should be startling is just how much Buck seems to have shared with his sister about their sex life, but all Eddie is right now is grateful. The shape of her fingers isn’t right– they’re too thin, and her nails are far too long and smooth, but he can pretend. With his eyes closed and a sure hand around his cock, he can imagine.

He sucks desperately at her fingers, tries to convince himself. When he comes, he’s crying again, but that, too, feels like a release. Maddie disappears briefly, coming back with a pack of baby wipes. They clean up in silence and get dressed again before Maddie crawls into bed and holds back the covers for Eddie to join her.

He hesitates, but there’s something familiar in her eyes he can’t deny. That’s what this entire night has been about, after all. He thinks about what she said, how Buck needs to hear him. Eddie would do anything– move heaven and earth, trade places, anything– to make Buck wake up.

Maddie lets him hold her while she cries herself to sleep, and he dries her face with the sleeve of his shirt whenever the tears start to drip off her jaw. Once she’s well and truly out, he slips out of bed. As quietly as possible, he writes out a message on a sticky note to let her know everything’s okay and where he’s going to be. He’s a coward for leaving her, he knows, but he needs this.

The nurses sigh and shake their heads at him for skulking around after visiting hours, but they let him be as he makes his way down the hall. Buck and Chimney’s room is quiet but for the ventilators hissing, the heart monitors beeping. Eddie kicks his shoes off so he doesn’t dirty up the white waffle blanket, then crawls up into the bed. He snakes his arm under the breathing tube, winds it around Buck’s chest. He can feel it rise and fall under him, and when he closes his eyes and tucks his face into Buck’s neck, he can almost believe it.

Eddie broke the dam tonight, and tears come too easily now. “Baby,” he sobs into Buck’s neck. “I’m so sorry. Please come back. Please, I need you.”

Buck doesn’t stir. Eddie cries himself to sleep.

For the prompt: Chim and Buck are out of commission for a while (I'm thinking comas, but go darker if you want). Eddie and Maddie lean on each other. Things get physical.

https://weewookinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=182748#cmt182748

Oh, this is STUNNING!!!

Eddie and Father Brian have confession booth sex. Celibacy? Don’t know her.

it's so good, the way they both try to help the other person pretend a little bit, how much they so obviously care for each other, the way they both deal or don't deal with the situation.
the sex is so full of love in a way, and like. yay!

Absolutely crazy and soooo intimate. I loved it so much—Eddie’s vulnerability, Buck’s total devotion to him. Like…there each other’s guys!! And you’ve rendered this so well here :’)

character bleed, yes!!!

this made me think that if i didn't know what celibacy meant i would think it was a very pretty old fashioned name. anyway seconded.

Oh holy FUCK. This is absolutely delicious. I love the push-pull of Buck wanting more, then getting nervous, and Tommy helping him through it and Buck getting greedy again. Nnngh. Thank you for this!!

A/N: i'm not the anon who said they'd do the fill, so hopefully we'll have a two cakes situation here :)
cw for selfhate, shame, internalised transphobia, unvoiced suicide ideation
---

You wake up exhausted and you force yourself to get up and start the day. You make yourself look into the mirror, and you don’t wince, instead you make do. You have to. (The moustache is a joke with yourself, you tell yourself, even though you’d never admit it out loud.)
You make and eat your breakfast mechanically and maybe you pick the boring choices, because it doesn’t matter, and your son’s favorite cereals go stale in the pantry but you can’t bring yourself to eat them alone and like, it’s fine, this one has more nutritions anyway, and it doesn’t matter.
You go to work and you act normal, sharing jokes with Hen and Chim and clapping Buck’s shoulder and you try to ignore Gerrard who does you the favor of returning the gesture. If you are more distant lately mostly everyone understands, gives you space, it’s okay. Everyone else got their own shit going on. Things between Hen and Chim are awkward, with Hen’s kid living at Chim’s house and like, you understand, but you can’t listen to it right now.
You’re good at your job, competent, capable, your hands are sure and they do exactly what they should, your head is clear and focused, your body primed for this and it works. At work you function, a perfect mimicry of normal. At work you don‘t feel wrong, because at work, you are in control. At work you manage to perform miracles.
You come home to an empty house and you can’t even cry. You can’t make yourself do anything, so you just sit there, like a puppet with no strings. You’re tired again, but you can’t bring yourself to go to bed. There is just so much nothing ahead of you.
And you keep remembering today, how your hands were steady and sure on the boy. No shakes to betray the nerves. Even though there were some nerves, you can admit that much now, it is a difficult procedure even under ideal circumstances, with so much that can go wrong. The human body is a fragile thing, so much more so when it’s a kid’s. You keep remembering the way Hen looked at you. Then that perfect moment when the kid’s pulse steadied. Elation and relief hitting you like a punch. And then that hazy voice. That word. Dad? But the boy didn‘t mean you, you know, you know. But the word still shocked you, reminded you just how much you miss that word coming from another voice, another boy, and normally it doesn’t hit you that much at work.
But it doesn’t leave you alone. You don’t always take your work home, but you can never help it when it’s kids. You feel like you have to do something, anything, some insane urge to…
You tell yourself you just want to help, and that it isn’t a compulsion to fix something because you‘re too scared to fix your own situation. Because obviously you‘re not scared. But you are not entirely successful with it.
So you dig and call in some favors until you have a name, an address, and you just leave.
You find a father who is ashamed of his son and because of that he won’t even be close to his kid when said kid needs him most. Always sons and fathers. Of course, of course. It‘s not the same, of course, nothing could ever make you ashamed of your son, the fierce pride you feel for him every day is only maybe matched by how much you miss him now. You miss him so much you feel like you‘re losing it. You can’t imagine not wanting to be close to your son. And still, he is 800 miles away because you—
You use the pain to build a bridge.
You know it’s not the same. But still, the story is familiar. Your father‘s eyes are in your head, all seeing, the way you could never measure up, could never reach the goal he set for you. And you know your father falls short too, that he was wrong to set it in the first place, even. It doesn‘t matter. Because something about you is wrong. Always has been.
You step into the shower and here you close your eyes and wash yourself with almost mindless efficiency. Military habit you’d say, water conversion, something people can nod at should they ask—which of course nobody ever does, but it feels better to have that reasoning, just in case—in truth you just hate lingering on it. The body.
You don‘t know why it started again now, but you shouldn‘t be surprised. It always comes when you feel least in control. Always when you‘re at your worst. That fault in you pervades everything and you can never rid yourself of it.
~~~
So maybe it‘s not so surprising that after your shower you walk to your closet, carefully not thinking about what you will pick out. Carefully refraining from using a word for any of it.
(After Shannon died you inherited all her things. Books, pictures, assorted odds and ends, clothes. All her clothes. It took you a while to deal with all of that, figuring out what would be the few things remaining of her in the world or just your lives. You donated or tossed out most of her clothes. You should have donated or thrown out all her clothes. But you couldn‘t. It was like a compulsion that was stronger than you, an unspecified need.)
So now you’re alone in the dark of your house, naked, touching a sundress with shaking hands and you can’t do it. You want to, but you can‘t. Shame coats you inside and out.
Maybe Kim was the divine punishment for keeping the dress, for wanting it. (If you were the sort of person to believe in that sort of thing, which of course you aren‘t. Because that feels like a cop out, like making excuses.)
Three months ago, your life was almost entirely on track. A job you loved, the best kid in the world, a fun girlfriend who was easy to be around. Of course you ruined it.
Your hands are still trembling, the dress is getting wrinkled up but maybe the fabric forgives that sort of thing, you don’t know. It‘s so nice to touch. Kinda textured, airy, soft. You‘re almost nauseated with want.
(Shannon knew. You don’t know how or what or how much but you know she knew, you saw it in her eyes and you’re not thinking about it, but you keep remembering the look in her eyes and—)
You hide the dress back in your closet and get dressed quickly. Then you go and sit in the dark kitchen and wonder if this is it. If you really need to stick around. But you have a kid who already lost his mother and you‘re never gonna do that to him. Not that you were thinking of anything, because you don’t get to do that.
You‘re handling it.
~~~
Most of the time you’re not thinking about it. You built your life and it’s fine, most of the time. But when you do think about it your heart starts racing and it’s almost like a panic attack, and it feels like your brain is trying to devour itself with want and dread and shame and this all encompassing sadness—you’re so scared of going insane. Of this being it for the rest of your life.
And you can’t even put it into words, not even in the privacy of your own head, you just know you’re wrong.
It’s not just because of Christopher. It should be. It feels wrong to be sad about something that isn’t about him, it feels selfish.
~~~
You wake up exhausted the next morning. And the next. And the next.
Bobby comes back. Hen and Karen get their kid back. Buck brings a corpse to work. Hen and Karen almost lose their other kid, and it’s horrible. And you put the Halloween decoration up by rote and take it down by rote.
You can’t imagine doing this for the rest of your life.
~~~
You don’t know why you step into the church. How you ended up in the confessional. Only, maybe you hope you’ll get your punishment and it will be—
You don’t know. But you don’t receive a punishment and it doesn’t help. You can’t find the right words to explain how fucked up you are anyway. So you just leave.
You weren’t supposed to see Father Brian outside the confessional, that wasn’t the plan—you can’t just talk about this out in the open, you can’t—
He tells you your mustache is handsome and arches his eyebrow when you tell him it’s a disguise, you meant it as a joke, wanted to make some quib about a mountain man’s beard maybe, but the words die in your mouth because he looks at you—he looks at you like he sees you. Like Shannon did. And you can’t do this but you also can’t move. He tells you to do a small frivolous thing, to find joy. He sees something in you—sees this in you—and he tells you to do something nice? It’s incongruous with everything you ever knew.
It’s almost on autopilot that you leave, that you walk into the drugstore and buy some things and you notice that nobody looks at you weirdly, but it doesn’t make sense, that there isn’t some kind of siren going off. You go home still on autopilot, still almost in a thrall. You shave the mustache off. And then you keep going. Close shave for your face. You keep going. Your pits. Your legs. You’re almost shaking with it. You don’t even know if it feels right or wrong. You stop looking into the mirror as you put lotion on your skin, something neutral, but you bought it from the women’s section, and it’s—nobody will know, but you know.
It’s an act you’ve seen your mother do often, and then your sister, then Shannon. Neither Ana nor Marisol did that sort of thing in front of you, but you still remember. You also still remember your mother looking at you strangely, whenever she noticed you watching. She wasn’t happy about it. Neither was your sister, she’d call you a freak. But Shannon never minded, she had a morning and an evening routine and you sat and watched and the two of you talked, joked, and she even let you massage the night cream into the skin of her face. It’s weird the way you remember all of this now.
You still don’t look into the mirror. But you notice how soft your skin is, hairless, how nice it feels when you rub your legs together. Silky. It feels so good—it’s everywhere in your body, going off like little fireworks. You still don’t look into the mirror but you put on music, loud. So loud it drowns out your thoughts. And you go to the closet and you get the dress out. You breathe in, centered, aware, you breathe out, calm, but with anticipation. Brave, brave, be brave, you whisper to yourself, be brave, nobody can see you. You put it on. The dress feels divine where it touches the soft skin of your legs. Little sparks of joy. The music is full of energy, with a strong rhythm, and you can feel your body’s need to move, to dance. But first, you need to see, you need, you need—
You thought maybe it’d be ridiculous, a man in a dress, you thought it would be horrifying, wrong, disgusting. It isn’t. It isn’t.
You can’t stop looking at yourself in the mirror. It almost makes you cry. There you are, you think it, which should be nonsensical, but it isn’t.
You breathe in and something settles in you, something good, something so much like joy. You stop fighting the smile that wants to break out. You breathe out. And then you dance.
You dance around the house. Fun little steps you didn’t know you still remember, little flourishes that should feel wrong but don’t, hip movements, hands, it’s not the way you learned how to dance, but you’ve seen it all the time done by girls at the studio, at parties, in music videos your sisters tried to recreate. The music is loud, your heart pumps, your body moves weightlessly and you are smiling, laughing, moving, you can’t remember ever feeling like this.
You never hear the doorbell, or the knock. But you hear the front door opening and reality returning. You whirl around to face Buck. He stares at you. His mouth is open in greeting, but now it just hangs open. In surprise? Shock? The music continues but you stand there, rooted to the spot. You stare at each other.
Slowly, still staring at you, Buck closes the door behind him. His eyes flicker up and down your body. He has a six pack of beers with him. You still can’t move.
“Ed—Eddie?” You can’t even really hear Buck over the music, but you can read it on his lips.
It’s enough to snap you out of it, at least enough to stop the music. Instant silence. Your hands shake. Your entire body shakes. You are flushed, with both exertion and shame, and you feel cold. You want to run. You want to flee to your bedroom, barricade the door. You want to run out the door and never stop running.
Brave, brave, be brave, you can still hear yourself, be brave, it’s okay. It will be okay.
Buck still stares at you, but his face is open, no judgment, no disgust, some confusion, but. It’s okay.
“Eddie?”
Be brave, you tell yourself as you swallow the fear, your heart’s still pounding in your chest and your hands are trembling, but you take a breath, and you shake your head. Be brave, you tell yourself when you start crying and Buck almost jumps the couch to hold you. Be brave.

---
i'm very open to constructive feedback/criticism, especially since i'm not trans fem, in fact, not even fem, but i hope i did it justice and that someone likes it :)

oh no, it kinda fucked my formatting, all my paragraph breaks :((

for the Eddie as a trans woman prompt

https://weewookinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=185052#cmt185052

This meme really needs some structure or guidance to posting prompts, just something as simple as listing character/couple and kink in the subject line would make it easier to navigate but mods said no as to encourage newbies to post so here we are, unfortunately.

father celi-brian-cy!

Seconding this—in previous kink memes I’ve participated in, anonymity is optional. If fills have to be posted anonymously, there’s not much protection against someone swooping in and claiming they wrote someone else’s fill. If we could post our fills to an ao3 collection simultaneously, even hidden or anonymised for an initial period, that would be proof of who the real author is if someone tries to plagiarise fills.

Seconding this. If not as a rule, then at least as a best practices recommendation. How are noobs supposed to know, otherwise? I embrace this space as one where you read at your own risk, but even as a one-time regular kink meme participant I'm struggling to remember the best way to use this. Like, should I post multi-part as responses to the previous part or as separate responses to the original prompt? Should I just put pairing and main kink in the subject line and go with God, or should I take the time to put all the vibes/summary at the top to entice or warn people off? I know these are my choices to make, and that's fine. And people following their bliss is fine too. But it would be nice to have a standard that people could either use and not have to think about, or choose not to use it all. YMMV.

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Page 28 of 48

Kink Meme

Or this

Re: Buck/Eddie Wrestling Watersports

Vampire!Bobby EddieBobby

SexWorker!Buck / Cilent!Eddie

Re: FILL: Anyone in the world and you’re here? part 2 - OP

The Pitt crossover

Re: The Pitt crossover

Re: SexWorker!Buck / Cilent!Eddie

no subject

no subject

FILL: settle for the ghost of you

settle for the ghost of you: Eddie/Maddie grief sex

Re: FILL: settle for the ghost of you

Eddie/Father Brian - Confession Booth Sex

Re: FILL: settle for the ghost of you

Re: perfect symmetry 4/4

Re: ryliver - blurred lines

Re: Eddie/Father Brian - Confession Booth Sex

Re: FILL: Buck/Tommy fisting, plus some dacryphilia and barebacking just for fun

FILL: I never fit in (or felt home in my skin)

Re: FILL: I never fit in (or felt home in my skin)

FILL: I never fit in (or felt home in my skin)

no subject

Re: Eddie/Father Brian - Confession Booth Sex

Re: Ask a question/report a problem

no subject