#But then again. No one needs to know this was the year the national clicked for me lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fourmoony · 2 months ago

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𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐓: Chapter Three.

After breaking your ankle in the wake of a break up, you're determined to get through your senior year without any interference from James Potter. That is, until his loyalty to loose cannon Sirius Black lands him straight in your lap. Or, rather, your kiddie-skate group.

CW: language, abandonment, falling, mentions of broken bone and reconstructive metal work, cheating.

ITN Masterlist

You –

The ice is smooth, freshly pressed by the Zamboni. You should be nervous. Usually, you’d be nervous. But you’re tired. Exhausted, actually. If Pince knew how much you want to turn boot and skate off the other side of the ice, she’d probably have an aneurism. This is it: your chance to become a National Champion. The gateway to worlds, to the Olympics. And all you can think about is the gaping hole in your chest, the knot your stomach has wound its way into. The sound of James’ truck door slamming an echo in the back of your head.

The crowd is silent, and your programme music starts. Four minutes. You only need to make it four minutes. Four minutes until you can walk away and spend the summer wallowing. Four minutes that hang over you like a heavy weight.

You know this routine like the back of your hand. You’ve practiced it so much you could do it in your sleep. Spins, jumps, twists. Every one of them brings a different memory. James picking you up off of your ass, frustrated and angry, sending you back to try again with encouraging words and an even more encouraging kiss. He’d cheer when you landed and buy you chocolate cake on the way home.

The music is loud and overwhelming. It grates on your skin. Images of James, of your happiest moments, of everything you lost – they spin and jump along with you. Heavy as the rain that soaked you on the twenty-minute walk back to your apartment that night. It hurts too much, burns too hot.

Pince likes to say that careers can end in a split second. You know well that they can. All it takes is a bad jump, a distraction. You’ve seen it happen. Countless young athletes losing their careers over one bad move. One fracture, one broken bone, one chip on the ice. One second and it’s all gone.

One second and you’re on the ice.

One second and the resounding crack of bone slices through the crowd.

One second and the lights have gone up.

One second and your entire life leading up to this moment flashes before your eyes.

One second and the world stops.

One second before the shattered sob leaves your throat and it all goes black.

Your ankle clicks and crunches when you roll it. It’s uncomfortable, but not sore – and as much as you hate to admit it, Pomfrey is right; that’s progress. Your toe touches the ground, your calf burns, your ankle hits a breaking point. With a wince, you straighten it, repeat the motion. The stretch room off the back of the rink is empty this early in the morning. The hockey team doesn’t come in for practice for another two hours, the ice is fresh, and as soon as the feeling comes back to the ball of your ankle, you’re going to make use of the free time.

With a breath, you pull your leg up, run the edge of your nail along the skin of your scar. There’s no feeling against the skin, there. It comes and goes, the numbness. Your doctor’s say it’s a side effect of the surgery, the damage to the nerve endings, the pins, the screws. Your finger trails a pattern up your leg, back down, over the ragged ridges of the marred skin. It’s starting to feel normal, the ways you need to live your life. Stretches every day, physical rehabilitation, being barely able to wear heels, mobility, and flexibility issues. Lily likes to joke that you’re a walking-talking-live version of the Met Office. The change in weather is, admittedly, easier to assume with the metal work in your ankle.

It’s been hard – rehabilitating. It’s been sore and scary, and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight. Remus talks, often, about the limitations that his condition puts on his career. It’s nice, in a twisted sort of way, to have someone who knows your pain. In comparison, your pain is a nick on Remus’ radar. His pain is chronic, his bones brittle and damaged. His career will be short lived – but, you know without a doubt that his time in the NHL will be legendary, regardless.

The feeling comes back slowly, to the slow rhythm of your finger tracing up and down. You stand, after a while, and reach for your skate bag. You don’t bother with shoes, socked feet padding against the rubber flooring all the way down to the team box. To your surprise, the ice is populated when you get to the plastic door into the benched area. Sirius and Remus are skating laps around the ice, passing a puck back and forth. They don’t have their kit on, just joggers and their team sweatshirts. James is in the same attire, socked feet kicked up on the bottle shelf beneath the boards. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, hood over his hair. Stray, dark strands of chocolate brown curling out the sides. He looks tired. Exhausted, even.

His eyes follow Remus and Sirius around the rink, ever the dutiful, attentive captain. You know there’s millions of play ideas running through his head, critiques on players that aren’t even in James’ eyesight. It’s astounding, though you hate to admit it, how good of a leader James is.

“You’re all here early.” You say, setting your skate bag beside James on the metal bench.

Your ex startles, eyes wide behind his glasses when he looks over. It’s odd, to think over the Summer he’s somehow forgotten to remember your schedule. He used to know it off by heart. You skate every Saturday morning before the hockey team starts their practice. Realisation crosses his features, like the ghost of a past life passing through his eyes. “Shit, I’ll pull them off. Sorry.” James apologises, pulling his feet from the shelf and sitting forward like he’s getting ready to call Sirius and Remus in.

“No, it’s fine. I’m cool as long as they are.” You take a seat, unzipping your skate bag.

James nods, swallows. The silence is thick, almost suffocating. There’s no flirty conversation, no teasing, no kind words of encouragement. Things have changed. As much as James promised they wouldn’t – they have. It has a lot to do with how things ended, you suppose. As long as you were together, you’d always thought it’d be your careers, the distance, that split you up. Your ex-boyfriend places his feet on the rubber mats below the bench, bounces his legs. “They’ll stay out of your way, just watch out for stray pucks.”

“Got it. You okay?” You ask as you sit down to tie your skates. “You look exhausted.”

James’ hazel eyes follow Sirius and Remus around the rink. You don’t think they’ve noticed your presence, yet. Content in their own world. “Yeah. All good.”

It’s a lie. You both know it. But you’re not the person James is going to talk to about that, anymore. You don’t have a response for him, so you take your skate guards off and leave him to stew in the box. The air is cold against your face, a pleasant feeling. Sirius and Remus have scratched the ice a little with their skates and sticks, but it’ll be fine. They hear your blades scratching the closer you get, turn to you as you approach.

“Hey, I just want to run my routine a couple times before tomorrow. I’ll try stay out of your way.” You tell them.

Sirius’ eyes flick to James almost protectively, like he’s checking his captain, his best friend, is aware of your presence. Since you and James broke up, you haven’t heard much from Sirius. It’s not that he’s picking sides – though, you wouldn’t blame him for picking James. What they have is unique. They’re bonded. But it hurts a little. Stings, because there was a time where Sirius was one of your best friends. You’d all been close. It feels now, like Lily and Remus are the only ones who make an effort.

“You have practice tonight, your ankle going to be okay?” Remus asks, pushing the puck back and forth absentmindedly.

“How’s your knee?” You deflect.

Remus bites back a grin and scoffs good naturedly, but Sirius’ eyes fly down to Remus’ knee as though he’ll be able to see through layers of clothes and skin, right down to the muscle. He looks almost panicked. Then, he looks back up, icy blues lit with a fire you’ve never been on the receiving end of. “He’s fine.”

“Relax, Sirius. I know he is.” Your eyes burn, a little, “I’ll try stay out of your way.”

Remus mutters something to Sirius – likely chastising him. You’re on the other side of the rink, pretending not to care, so you don’t hear it.

They stay out of your way for the majority of your ice time. Only one stray puck gets in your way, and James calls out in a panic when you almost land on it. Instead, you miss a jump and shout a shaky thanks as you clamber back to your feet on the ice. He stays firmly in the box – making you wonder why he even bothered to come to the ice this morning, at all. Not that it’s any of your business. Remus and Sirius run drills on one half of the ice whilst you weave in and around them. It’s not until you’re on your last run through that your foot goes numb. It’s quick, instant. You land on your ankle, there’s no feeling there, your leg buckles.

You hit the ice with a nasty amount of noise. Skates scraping and clashing, a whoosh of pained air. Your hip hurts, a searing pain that you already know will need to be iced. It takes a minute to gather your surroundings, turning until you’re sitting up. “Jesus,” You mutter, angry. It feels like this will never end – the numbness, the frustration, falling. It’s been months of your ankle going numb mid practice. Months of falling on your ass. “Fuck!”

Remus is at your side in an instant, Sirius close behind him. “Okay, up. Up, C’mon.”

You know you can’t get up, but you refuse to admit why. No one knows. Not even Pomfrey, not even Pince. You can’t run the risk of needing a surgery to fix the nerve endings. Can’t risk having to sit this season out. “Remus, give me a minute.”

“No, the longer you sit there, the less likely you’re going to go again. Up. Now.” Your best friend holds his hand out.

He’s just trying to help. But there’s anger simmering in your chest. Hot and raw and you want to lash out. For the first time, you think you understand why Remus is the way he is. So, you look at him, really, truly look at him and you think he understands. James crouches in front of you, eyes brimming with concern. You hate how much relief the sight of him brings you. Remus turns and drags Sirius off. They go back to their own corner of the ice. Your eyes well with tears.

“What’s goin’ on?” James asks.

His hands rest on the skate covering your bad ankle. You can’t feel them. The thought panics you because what if? What if one day, the feeling never comes back and it’s too late? James notices the fear in your eyes, his finger reaches up to press into your calf and you flinch. A look of understanding passes across his features, brows scrunching and dipping in the middle. “No one knows?”

“No one can know.”

James looks like he disagrees, but he nods. “I’ll bare your weight to get you up. Feet flat or Remus will notice, but weight bare on your good ankle.”

He doesn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t care. It’s not his role, anymore. But you nod, regardless. Even if the idea of him helping you lights a furious rage inside of you because how dare he act like he gives a shit now? You need to get off the ice, though. So you give him both of your hands, left blade flat on the ice as he pulls you up. Your hip screams at you, but you ignore it in favour of James’ socked feet. He’s run out onto the ice without shoes on.

“You’re going to get frost-bite.” You murmur, eyes flicking up to find his already on you.

He looks sad. Nostalgic, maybe. “Worth it.”

Your heart cracks open in your chest as you let James lead you off of the ice, all the while praying he doesn’t go full James and snitch on you to Pince, thinking he’s doing you some sort of favour. You have it under control. You’re dealing with it.

Maybe just not as well as you’d originally thought.

Regulus –

Barty is lying, rather annoyingly, half on Regulus’ legs and half on the bed. But he won’t ask Barty to move. As much as a distraction he’s made himself, Regulus finds he quite enjoys the idea that Barty wants to be this close to him. The sketch book on his lap stares up at him tauntingly. There’s half-finished scribbles of planets and stars; none of which Regulus has the energy to perfect. He does, however, have a strong notion to draw the way Barty’s body is curling around his legs. Regulus isn’t sure how to feel about that, so he ignores it; because if he thinks too much about it, he’ll start to push Barty away.

He’s aware that this isn’t going to last. Just like he’s aware that after his thesis paper is published, he’ll be returning to Grimmauld Place. Taking over Black Industries is probably at the bottom of the list of things Regulus wants to do with his life. But the thing about Barty Crouch is that he’s persuasive. He’s irresistible, as Regulus has come to realise. It’s more than just his regal looking cheek bones and sinful smile, his toned body, and tattoos that make Regulus more inspired to draw than he ever has; if only to one day see one of his drawings on Barty’s pale skin – it’s also his carefree attitude, his rebellious nature, and the big, bold, ‘fuck you’ middle finger he holds up to the world that makes Regulus want to get wrapped up in him and never get free.

He wishes he could keep Barty, but he can’t. So, he won’t draw him. For now, he’ll enjoy his rebellious streak brought about by the sarcastic, smart mouth, piece of shit guy he met in the art supply store in the spring and worry about the calendar counting down his return to Grimmauld place later.

Admitting defeat, Regulus places his sketchbook and pencil on his bedside table. Barty stirs at the movement, head straining to look at Regulus with a devious grin. He threads his fingers through the soft strands of Barty’s inky black hair and smiles softly. It’s obvious his smile isn’t believable, because Barty huffs, pushes himself up until he’s straddling Regulus’ hips. He’s not in the mood for whatever Barty is about to initiate, but Barty seems to notice that because his eyes soften. “What’s on your mind?”

Regulus studies Barty. He really is very beautiful. He’d be easy to draw. The itch is there. But he can’t. So, he won’t. “I was thinking that I can’t focus when you’re lounging over me like a stray cat.” It’s obvious in his voice that it’s a lie. But the good thing about Barty is that he doesn’t push Regulus to talk when he clearly doesn’t want to.

“We both know that you’re the cat, in this relationship, Regulus. You’re all claws and uptight attitude.” The boy on top of Regulus quips, a smile that tells Regulus he’s rather pleased with himself.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not all claws.” Because Regulus knows he’s uptight.

Barty grins. It’s charming and knowing, practically dripping with sin. He reaches for the neckline of his t-shirt; acts like he’s going to pull it upward. “Should we look at my back?”

Regulus holds the hem around Barty’s waist and tugs, scowling. “No, let’s not.”

Barty laughs, collapsing on top of Regulus. He enjoys the weight, presses his fingers into his shoulder blades because he knows he likes rough touches. Gentle touches make him jumpy. He listens to Barty laugh for a while, enjoys the sound of it vibrating against the skin of his neck. He stares at the ceiling and wonders if he should tell Barty that one of the reasons he’s struggling to draw is probably because his estranged brother has cropped his ugly head up.

Barty is good with advice. Mainly because the majority of his advice is to get high and ignore all of your problems. His mother would pitch a fit if she knew all the shit Regulus was getting up to, these days. She calls once a week, always short and curt. It’s more of a call to make sure Regulus is behaving, than to check in on how he’s actually doing. He’s not sure what he’s going to tell her when she asks who his student assistant ended up being. If she knew, she’d likely pull him out of university all together and ban him from leaving the house ever again. Not that he had any choice in who it was.

“Sirius is my student assistant.” He breathes out, the admittance bringing a hollow ache to his chest.

He doesn’t talk much about Sirius. Mainly because it hurts, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that as much as he tried, nothing was ever good enough for his older brother. Not enough to make him stay. And Regulus knows that expecting Sirius to stay was unfair – maybe it’s more to do with the idea that he left him there. Scared, alone. Baring the crown that Sirius found too heavy. Barty lifts his head until his eyes meet Regulus’. Reading, trying to gage how he should treat this. He’s not sure if he wants Barty to get him high and help him say fuck you to his problems, or if he wants him to offer to kick the shit out of Sirius.

“Okay. Go on.” Barty urges, fingers tracing Regulus’ collar bones.

The feeling grounds him as he huffs and closes his eyes. Thinking. Trying to sort through his emotions because, really, he’s not sure how he feels about it.

“He said I’m just like our father. I was a dick to him.”

Barty smiles sadly. “You were surprised to see him.”

“I knew I’d see him, eventually. I mean, I’ve done a good job of avoiding him. But I thought, maybe naively, when I came to Hogwarts that maybe there’d be a chance he’d want to explain. But he didn’t. He just looked at me with pure hatred and stormed off into the stacks.” It sounds childish, the way Regulus’ voice takes on a petulant whine.

But Barty nods, like he understands. He doesn’t. He doesn’t have siblings, but he does have an uncomfortable family situation. So, he’s sympathetic, at least. “Maybe he’s scared to apologise because he thinks you won’t hear him.” Barty offers.

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just an asshole.”

The other boy scoffs amusedly, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You think he’d want me to be a part of his life? If I could forgive him.” Regulus asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

Barty presses his lips to Regulus’. It’s soft, caring. Rare, for them. “I dunno Sirius. I’ve never met him. But I do know that anyone who doesn’t want a part of you in their life is a fucking idiot. And you don’t need another idiot in your life. You already have me.”

He likes that answer, so he kisses Barty until they’re both a mess of tangled limbs and swollen lips. Until it turns out that there’s other ways to forget his problems. And all of them suddenly have a lot to do with Barty Crouch.

James –

He’s pacing. He knows he’s pacing, and he knows that his footsteps are clunking against the wooden floorboards, and that Remus will likely lose his mind if he continues. But James can’t stop. It’s how he thinks, how he processes. Years of thinking on his feet, of having to have a mind as sharp as a tack, having to move whilst processing a hundred different outcomes. The only outcome he can think of right now is you hating him even more than you already do when he inevitably goes to Pince and tells her that your ankle isn’t properly healed.

He did the necessary reading to conclude that prolonged numbness is definitely not a normal side effect of having a reconstructive surgery. A temporary side effect, yes. But it’s been months since your surgery. That’s not a good sign, according to a very reliable source (if you count Reddit as a reliable source; James isn’t sure if he does). And he knows he’s catastrophising. He’s prone to it. But he’s worried. And wouldn’t he rather you hate him that little bit more and eventually be able to get back on the ice next year (after another surgery, Reddit had confirmed) than risk it all now and never skate again? James doesn’t feel qualified to make that decision. He hasn’t been a captain long, and even then, it’s not like he’s in charge of people’s livelihoods. He wouldn’t have taken the job if that was the case.

James knows how much Nationals means for you – it’s the gateway to the World Championships, to the Olympics. He cost you that last year, and he hates himself for it. Is he really willing to do that to you again? He’s not sure. So, he paces. He loses count of how many times he picks up his phone and almost hits the green call button next to your name. He’s not even sure you’d answer, even less sure of what he’d say to you if, by some miracle, you answered. ‘I think you should miss out on Nationals again, this year, have another risky surgery and hope for the best. Okay, bye!’ doesn’t exactly seem like a good plan to him.

Remus is the embodiment of exhaustion when he pushes James’ bedroom door open and leans against the frame like a parent ready to chastise their hyper-active child. James cringes. Remus needs all the rest he can get. Between hospital appointments, hockey, and his classes, he never stops. “Sorry. I’ll try be quieter.” His voice comes out rushed and anxious, an alarm bell sounding off to alert Remus of his worry.

The taller boy tilts his head and studies James. Sometimes, he loves how perceptive Remus can be. It helps offence, and it generally means that he’s a better friend. But now, he shifts awkwardly because for the second time in the space of a year, he’s keeping a secret from his best friend. He hates lying to Remus. But your words play on a loop in his head. No one can know. You’d been so scared. Terrified, even, at the idea of everything you’ve worked for over the summer being ripped away from you. Call James selfish, but he doesn’t particularly want to be the one to do it. Even though he knows he should because it will be better in the long run.

“Or” Remus suggests, “You could stop pacing and tell me what’s going on with Y/N.”

James opens his mouth. Subsequently closes it because he doesn’t know what to say. He won’t betray your trust. He hates lying to Remus. But he knows, ultimately, if he really doesn’t want to talk about it, his best friend won’t push him.

He feels himself shrug, his best attempt at feigning nonchalance. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Remus’ honey eyes read like a book. He knows James is lying, scrutinising him whilst simultaneously trying to figure out why he’s lying for you. As far as Remus knows he’s on bad terms with you. And technically, that’s true. But James would give anything to fix that. He just hasn’t figured out how, yet.

“You know,” Remus pushes off the door frame, ever the one for imparting wisdom in the most dramatic of ways and pushes his hands into his pockets. “If I didn’t know well enough, I’d say you’re trying to decide her future for her. I can tell you right now, that won’t end well. Whatever it is she’s hiding, I’ve been there. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but one she has to do on her own.

“Don’t make her hate you any more than she does now, James. I’m still rooting for you.”

“You know?” James asks, throat dry.

“About the numbness or you cheating on her?” Remus asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he leaves James standing, alone, in the middle of his room with a sinking feeling that he’s let everyone down.

He’s not sure how Remus knows. Maybe you told him even though you’d told James you weren’t going to tell anyone.

An amicable breakup, you’d suggested. It’ll save us both the embarrassment.

He hates himself. Hates himself for all of the things he wishes he’d sat you down and forced you to listen to over the summer. Hates that he didn’t fight for you more. There’s so much you don’t know. So much you don’t want to hear. So much James wishes he’d done differently. Starting with how he wishes he’d run out onto the ice, consequences be damned, the minute he saw you land on your ankle, the minute he heard you sobbing in pain. He wishes he hadn’t walked away, feeling sorry for himself that he’d ripped Nationals from you. That, despite how hard he’d tried, he’d still failed you.

And he hates even more that he even considered doing it for a second time.

James sits on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, and he decides there and then that he’s not going to tell Pince. But he is, even if you fight him every step of the way, going to find a way to fix this for you. You’ll have a chance at Nationals if it’s the last thing James does.

And it starts with a call to Euphemia Potter.

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woso-dreamzzz · 11 months ago

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Ausenal

Arsenal Women x Teen!Reader

Summary: You join the other Aussies at Arsenal

"Yeah, all you really need to worry about is if the big girls will let you play with them," Kyra teased from the seat next to you, pinching at your cheek," They might not and then you'll be left on the bench!"

"Kyra!" Steph snapped from the driving seat," Leave her alone!"

"I'm just joking!" Kyra laughed.

You didn't really find it funny. You were a ball of anxious energy as Steph drove you and the rest of 'Ausenal' to training. You and Kyra had, technically, signed for Arsenal on the same day but you had remained stuck in Australia after because you had to sort out some stuff about school so Kyra had already met everybody before you did.

"It's not funny," Steph said," She's scared."

"I'm not scared!" You denied it even though you were definitely scared and, had you not been sitting down, you would definitely be shaking in your shoes.

"You don't have to be scared," Caitlin said, finally looking up from her phone," Everyone's cool. If anything, they'll just complain about another Aussie joining them. We're taking over."

"And by complain," Steph said sternly," She means tease. No one's going to complain about you, munchkin."

"Munchkin!" Kyra giggled, pinching at your cheek as you tried to pull away.

The nickname had stuck ever since your call up to the national team when they went through a bout of injuries that meant that the scrawny nearly-sixteen year old had been deemed one of the next best alternatives and you had never been able to escape since.

Playing with, as Kyra called them, 'the big girls' had been your dream for years but now that you'd made it, you couldn't quite believe it and your shyness had come out in full force.

"Alright," Steph said as you all piled out," Boots?"

"Yeah."

"Socks?"

"Uh-huh."

"Schoolwork?"

"Yep."

"Good." She adjusted your coat and smoothed down the flyaway strands of your hair that were sticking up. "Okay. We're training until lunch and then we've got a two-hour break before the gym session. Do you know what you're doing during that?"

"My schoolwork."

"And, do you-"

"Come on, Steph," Caitlin said, slinging her arm over your shoulder," We've been through this like ten times. Yes, she'll do her homework. Yes, she'll make sure to socialise. Can we go now?"

Steph sighed. "Go on."

Caitlin began to steer you away.

"And make sure she fills up her bottle before training starts!"

The locker room was just as loud as your old locker room back at Perth Glory and it settled you a little bit as you ended up getting changed next to Caitlin, staring straight ahead at your cubby.

The other girls took their time so you were left just sitting on the bench and clicking the heels of your boots together as you waited. You didn't really know your way around so you just had to wait until one of the older girls finished getting ready and took you to the pitch.

"Hey. You're that Australian kid, right? God, I thought Kyra had a baby face."

You looked up and then immediately looked back down.

Jen Beattie was standing in front of you.

"Hi." Your own voice was barely a whisper, hardly even audible over all the noise in changing room.

She leaned a bit closer to you to fully hear and you went rigid. You didn't particularly like new people in your personal space without warning. Hell, it had taken nearly a month for Kyra to be allowed close enough to hug you, let alone pinch your cheek like she did earlier.

"You're not as loud as Kyra, are you?" She asked and it was clear that she was teasing but it still made you feel nervous.

You shook your head.

"She's an angel," Caitlin said," But then again, everybody's an angel when compared to Kyra."

"I'm not that bad!"

"Yeah, sure." Caitlin's arm swung over your shoulders, giving you a little squeeze. "But this munchkin is still an angel."

You kind of wanted the ground to swallow you up. Your cheeks felt hot as the mention of your nickname and you looked bashfully.

"Munchkin?" Jen laughed," I like it."

Caitlin laughed too before steering you out of the locker room onto the pitch. You were thankful that the drills were fairly rudimentary today but still hard enough that everyone was exhausted enough to not talk.

You glanced around as you drained your bottle, skirting out of the way quickly when Kyra approached with her still full bottle, already angling it to squirt towards you.

Usually, you had Mini to protect you when something like this happened but now you had to fend for yourself, darting around the outskirts of the group so Kyra couldn't change you.

You zipped past Lia Wälti and Leah Williamson, sliding past them as Kyra tackled you to the ground. She kept you pinned to the ground with her own weight as she unscrewed the top of the bottle.

You squeezed your eyes shut in preparation but no water came.

"Leah!" Kyra complained," Get off! It was just a joke!"

"It's her first day," Williamson lectured," Don't traumatise her so early. We want to keep her for years."

"Are you okay?" Lia helped you up, patting down your shirt to get the grass scraps off it.

"I'm okay." Just like in the locker room, your voice was barely above a whisper but she didn't seem to mind, just smiling at you.

"Good. I'm glad. Kyra usually isn't that mean, sorry."

"She's not mean." You felt compelled to defend Kyra. "She's just a bit silly sometimes. She doesn't mean harm."

"It's nice that you two are such good friends," Lia said. Somehow, she managed to squish you between her and Leah as you all headed in from training for lunch.

"Mini...er...I mean Katrina, she says that Kyra's got annoying little sister energy."

"Annoying little sister energy!" Leah laughed," Oh, that's gold! I like that!" She swung her arm over your shoulders. "I like you, kiddo."

A piece of nervousness lodged in your chest came loose and disappeared as Leah talked. She didn't seem to need your input much and you were more than happy with that.

Before you knew it, you were sat at a table next to Steph with a full plate and soft conversation washing over you. You still felt nervous around the other girls but you felt more settled than when you first arrived today, most of your antsy energy replaced with good old-fashioned shyness.

"You need to get started on that Chemistry lesson," Steph reminded you as she set you up with your laptop and some snacks," And tonight, you need to remember to call Mini to tell her about your first day."

You nodded, plugging in your headphones and clicking start on the video that was set up for you. You got a decent way through your worksheet before it started numbing your brain and you rolled up the foil of your snack into a little ball and rolled it across the table to Kyra.

She frowned at first before grinning, flicking it back at you. You ducked and grabbed it off the floor to return it. Kyra caught the next shot and you threw it back with enough force that, when you headed it back, it landed in her protein shake.

You both burst out laughing, attracting stares that had you instantly quieting and looking back down at your keyboard.

"Are you being a bad influence again, Kyra?" Kim asked.

"I'm not a bad influence!" Kyra said, picking the ball of foil out of her drink and throwing it back at you.

It was still covered in protein shake so you shrieked and dived off your chair to avoid it.

"She's meant to be studying," Kim continued as you picked yourself up off the floor.

"Give her a break," Caitlin said," Surely all that schoolwork can't be good for your brain."

"That's not how it works," Kim replied.

"Let the kid have a break," Katie inserted herself into the conversation easily and you kind of envied that a little bit," She's been studying for nearly an hour now. I, for one, am pretty sure that Steph said something about making sure she socialised too."

Kim looked like she was mentally groaning but she finally relented. "Fine," She said," But you're explaining all this to Steph."

"Please," Caitlin scoffed as she beckoned you over to sit with her and Katie," She'll be delighted that this munchkin is making friends."

You face was stained red. "You can't keep calling me that," You said to her," It's embarrassing."

"Sorry," Caitlin said, not looking very sorry at all," But with Alanna and Mackenzie not here, one of us has to keep up with embarrassing you."

"Leave her alone," Steph said as she came back into the room, your saving grace.

"She's right," Katie said," We certainly can't call her munchkin, that's her Aussie nickname." She grinned teasingly. "How does pipsqueak sound?"

#woso x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal x reader #arsenal wfc #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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elly-grace · 6 months ago

Text

Friends don’t look at friends that way

Pairing:Joe Burrow x reader

Word count: 1505

September 2014

Today was your first day at Athens High School, but you weren't a freshman. Your dads business opportunity has led you here for your senior year. Only knowing the people on the dance team, which you were a part of. You honestly didn’t know them well enough to call them friends yet. The only person you knew on a personal level was your new neighbor Joe Burrow.

Joe was the quarterback on the football team, but he didn’t act like a football player. He was kind unlike any other football player you have had interactions with. He was smart as well. You could have an intellectual conversation with him.

Suddenly you are pulled from your thoughts by a knock on the front door.

“Let’s go Y/N don’t want you to be late on your first day.”

You and Joe had grown close over the summer. Often hanging out on the weekends.

“Coming, geez give me a minute.” you yelled through the door going to open it.

Once out the door you locked it and got into Joe's car. Of course Kid Cudi was playing in the background.

“Our schedules are the same,” You said after examining his schedule.

“That's cool!”

Joe knew that already he made sure he had the same classes as you. He enjoyed your company, but he would never tell you that. You could tell he was behind the identical schedules.

“You did this, didn't you?”

“Maybe,” You gave him a ‘I know it was you’ look and he sighed. “Yeah.”

“I mean thank you, I guess”

You both laughed as he pulled into the school parking lot.

“See you in class.” you said closing the car door. You didn’t want to walk to class with him or walk into the building with him because of the amount of attention it would attract. So you hurried inside and hoped that no one saw you get out of his car.

When you made it to your locker there stood Lacy the captain of the dance team.

“Hey, just so you're aware practice is on the field tonight. We have a game on Friday and the boys won’t be there till later.”

“Okay thank you.”

She walked away and you put your books in your locker and headed to class.

The only bright spot of your classes was actually having someone to sit by. Joe made sure to save you a spot in every class, even during lunch. But the school day was soon over and practice was in full swing.

The boys walk out of the locker room during your last run through of the halftime routine. Once Joe saw you he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. His friends took notice.

“Ohhh does Burrow have a crush on the new girl?”

“No, we're just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at friends that way man.” His team mate said then patted his back.

January 2016

Joe and You both ended up at Ohio State, both of you were buckeyes. You made it on the dance team and he was on the football team. Although he was redshirted he showed up to every game and every practice. There you guys met one of your best friends Sam Hubbard. He was part of the football team with Joe. They instantly became friends and Joe introduced him to you and things clicked. The three of us soon became an unbreakable trio. Often spending your weekends together, most of the time you guys just went to get coffee. You guys tried to go to the bar one time, but never again. Joe and Sam would get extremely protective over you, Joe even punched a man who hit on you. Your movie night tradition remained which now included Sam.

Both of them showed up to all of your dance competitions and performances. You showed up to all of their games. But today was a huge day, they both flew out to Florida to support you at nationals.

You were extremely nervous, you couldn’t focus. You were shaking running through the routine in your head over and over again. Joe saw this and knew he needed to help you out.

He ran over to you and gave you a huge hug, upon feeling Joes touch your nervousness faded. Your teammates took notice of your reaction to seeing him.

“Hey, you got this! I’m gonna go sit by Sam but I want you to know that I believe in you.”

He then turns his back and walks over to Sam.

“Wait, are you two together?” Sarah asks, pointing Joe out.

“No, we're just friends.”

“Really? Because friends don’t look at friends' way.”

You sighed, you knew she was right. You did have feelings for Joe but you two could never be together, it just wouldn’t work.

“And friends don’t do what he just did for you. I can tell he loves you.”

You tried to shake the thought from your mind. Joe couldn’t have feelings for you. Could he? No he could have any girl he wanted, he didn’t want you.

August 2018

Today was a rough day, Joe was leaving for LSU, he decided to transfer after being redshirted his entire career at OSU.

“Come visit me, I’d love for you to see me play.”

“I promise I’ll come see a game. If not this season then next season.”

Joe smiles and gives you a hug, once he pulls away he walks to the car. You waited until his car was out of sight then you ran to your room and started crying. Robin noticed and followed you.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” She said rubbing your back as you continued to cry.

“I think I’m in love with your son, and he doesn’t know I exist in that realm. He thinks of me as his best friend and that’s it.”

Robin knew the two of you loved each other. She had a similar conversation with Joe about a month ago. She couldn’t tell you that though. She just offered you a small smile and continued to comfort you.

First day of school

Today was going to be incredibly tough. You had to walk into school without Joe and Sam. You kept your head down, only paying attention during classes. You walked down the hall until you hit something hard.

“I’m so sorry.” You said keeping your head down.

“No worries. What’s your name?”

“Yeah, Im Y/n. What’s your name?”

“Cody, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You’re on the football team aren’t you. You look kinda familiar.”

“Yeah, I’m the tight end.”

“We’ll nice to meet you Cody but I gotta go”

“Wait can I maybe get your number?”

You smile and nod, grabbing a post it out of your bag and giving him your number. Then walked away.

It didn’t take long for you two to start dating, Cody was kind and sensitive. You went to every game, although it felt weird supporting a different number than Joes.

You were so busy with Cody you sort of forgot about your promise to Joe. You didn’t visit him and definitely didn’t see a game. But you did continue to call him every night.

After a few months Cody started getting really jealous of your relationship with Joe. He ended up making you block Joe's number. You listened to Cody, you thought you loved him. But by April you were sitting in your dorm crying because he broke your heart.

There was only one person you wanted to text, but you couldn’t bring yourself to text him. You had been avoiding him for a month what would he think if you reached out to him?

So you texted Sam, who responded right away. He came to your dorm with ice cream and movies. You sat and talked for hours, before Sam told you to text Joe.

You called Joe but he didn’t pick up.

Summer before Joes heisman season

Joe came home and didn’t even walk into his house. The first thing he did was go to your house. He let himself in using the hidden key. He was upset and hurt but most of all he was worried about you. Walking up the stairs to your room he heard crying. He opened the door and ran to you and hugged you.

“Shh it’s okay.” He said soothingly while brushing your hair.

“How can you be so nice after what I did to you?”

“Sam filled me in, am I hurt yes. But you are the most important person in my life.”

“I- I didn’t want to but, he made me.”

“Shhh I know, I know.”

You cried harder. You missed Joe so much, you missed his embrace.

“Don’t ever let a man make decisions for you again. You are strong.” He cooed in your ear.

You pulled away and looked him in the eyes.

“Joe?” you asked

“Yeah?”

“Friends don’t look at friends this way.”

“Friends don’t look at friends this way.” He said then kissed you. It was full of passion and need.

Thank you @funnyjb for proof reading ♥️

#joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #nfl x reader #nfl #cincinnati bengals #x reader #sam hubbard

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greynatomy · 1 year ago

Text

Espresso

Alex Morgan x Fem!Reader

I really liked how this came about when writing. I was scrolling through tiktok and this came around again of andrew garfield describing emma stone (which is the most romantic thing to describe a person you love).

Let me know what you think!

-grey

———

All of the United States Women’s National Team players are in the conference room, just finishing up a meeting with their coaches. Everyone is split up in their normal groups with the younger players sticking together. But there was one thing that they all have in common. It’s the love of one particular artist.

“Ohmygod! It out in five minutes!” Sonnett practically yelled for the whole world to hear.

“What’s starting?”

“The documentary all about how Espresso was written and put together.”

“Wait! That’s today?”

“Yes, Ashley. Come on. Keep up.”

Emily sets up her laptop, refreshing every second until the documentary shows up on Netflix.

“It’s right there! Click it.”

“I am, chill.” She swats Ashley’s hand away.

———

“Now, ‘Fairytale,’ what’s that about?” The interviewer asks.

A smile instantly shows up on your face.

“Uh, it’s pretty straight forward.”

“But go into detail. From listening to it once, I know it’s about how much you love someone and always wanting them close by.”

“That’s basically it.”

“Give me more man.” You both laugh. “Who’s it about?”

“Uh, I won’t be saying who, but she was-is pretty special. I’ve known her since we were kids. I was a pretty shy kid growing up, kept to myself most of the time, then she shows up out of nowhere basically demanding to be friends.”

“Then you became more?”

“Then we became more. She helped me open up and like the song says ‘with you I lose all my fears,’ she was always there to help me get by.”

You are now sat on a stool with your guitar and perform the song that was just talked about. (Fairytale by We Three)

“Are you still together?”

“Oh.” You let out a breathy chuckle. “No.”

“What happened?”

“I actually have no clue. It’s been, what? Thirteen years.” You start giggling.

“What’s got you gigglin’ over there.”

“Nothing, nothing. Just the number, that’s all. Don’t ask me about it.”

“Alright then, let’s backtrack. You said you don’t know what happened. How is that possible to not know what happened that led to the breakup?

“I just never got the closure that I needed, I guess. I mean yeah, she said she just didn’t love me anymore, but what else? What did I do? What could I have done differently? Just those questions that I have that haven’t and probably never will get answered.”

“Do you know what she’s up to now.”

“Uh, yeah I do. Not to sound creepy, but I’ve seen how she is and she’s doing amazing. She’s moved up in the world. A true inspiration, especially to her daughter.”

“So she has a child?”

“Yeah. And she looks so much like her.” You give a sad smile, a tear slipping from your eye.

“She must be real special to you, even after all these years.”

“She was like a shot of espresso, she’s like, being bathed in sunlight, she’s incredibly energetic and enthusiastic and she had this sense of play and fun which was, incredibly exciting. And then just like the sunset that illuminates her beauty she left, while like a dark night I got pulled into darkness.”

———

Alex Morgan sat in silence throughout the whole documentary. She hasn’t caught up with your career like you had done with her.

“I’ve never been described as a shot of espresso.” Ashley breaks the silence.

“That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Also very heartbreaking at the same time.” Rapinoe speaks up for the first time.

“But isn’t it weird that she’s still caught up on this girl after thirteen years?” Kelley questions.

“I don’t think she’s caught up, she just wants the closure she never got.”

“Man whoever left her just like that, we needa have some words.”

Alex excuses herself, saying she was tired and was gonna go up to her room. On the way to her room, she though about more of her life and the evens that happened in the past year.

She divorced her ex-husband after nine years, co-parenting—if you can call him seeing his daughter only when he feels like it.

And now that she’s thinking about it, the only reason she can come up with was not wanting to be the reason that you can express your love freely to the world. Alex isn’t out, she never was, never even planning to. That’s why she broke up with you because it wasn’t fair to you.

No, she just needs to tell you.

For closure.

Her thumb hovers over your contact, hoping it never changed.

Sunshine ☀️

Hi.

It wasn’t long until she got a reply.

Lover ♥️

Hey.

Sunshine ☀️

Would you like to grab a cup of coffee with me? To catch up?

Alex throws her phone on the bed, anxious to know what you would say. Her phone vibrating makes her grab her phone just as quick as she threw it.

Lover ♥️

When and where?

~~~~~

no part 2

#woso x reader #woso #uswnt x reader #uswnt #woso imagines #uswnt imagines #alex morgan #alex morgan x reader #alex morgan imagines

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calumsrockstar · 10 months ago

Text

Bunny - Ashton Irwin

a/n: DADDY ISSUES NATION RISE! This is my longest fic until now, and it´s inspired by @rip-quizilla.

word count: 3k

Where you find a mysterious hot neighbor.

Contents: MAJOR AGE GAP (reader is 19 and Ash is 44), perv!ash, spanking, pet names, praise, unprotected p in v, oral (f and m recieving) masturbation (f and m), corruption kink, daddy kink

Older!Ash x Reader

You entered your brand new house, it was small, but spacious considering it was your first. Your mom and your dad finally let you move out, giving you all the privacy you needed.

For the first month everything was normal, until you heard almost every mom in the neighborhood talk about a handsome and mysterious Mr. Irwin. Only to notice that he was living right next to you.

You were curious, since moving to the neighborhood, you´ve never seen what he looked like, your window was right opposite his, but he always kept the curtain closed.

Adjusting yourself, you looked at the mirror and flattened your yellow sundress. It was a hot summer day, and what better way to quench your thirst than to deliver lemonade to your supposedly hot neighbor?

You opened the fridge to get a large jug of your homemade lemonade, and left the house, leaving the front door unlocked.

Walking to his house, you took deep breaths, and knocked on the door. Now you wait.....

A tall man opened the door, looking to be in his 20s. His light brown hair looked soft and curly. his skin sunkissed. "Hi there." He smiled. Making you forget why you were there.

Holy shit.

"Um-hi." You smiled. "I moved here a month ago and I ́ve never said hello, I decided to bring you some lemonade. Some friendly neighbor activity." You chuckled.

He looked you up and down, basically devouring you with his eyes. "That's awfully kind of you." You detected some kind of accent. "It 's no problem." You replied.

"Sorry if this is too direct but, how come i´ve never seen you before?" You asked him. "At my age, I don't go out of my house much honey, I like to read, play music." You raised an eyebrow. "Your age? Like 25?"

He let out a throaty laugh. "You flatter me." Making you smile. "How old are you?" You asked. "If you don't mind me asking of course." He grinned. "Guess."

"28?" He shook his head no. "30?" He shook his head no again. "35?" You asked, hoping you didn't say he was too old. "More." He grinned. "No fucking way." You replied. "40?" He clicked his tongue. "You're getting closer." Your mouth was practically on the floor. "I´m 44, sweetheart."

"What? That's insane." You smiled. "You definitely don't look or act 44." You said. "Hey, how is a 44 year old supposed to act?" He chuckled. "I don´t know, smoking cigars on your front porch, maybe?" You smiled. "I´m young at heart, you know." He leaned down to talk to you.

"How old are you, little lady?" He grinned. "I'm 19." He widened his hazel eyes. "19, wow. Basically a baby." You fake pouted. "I'm not a baby." You smiled, teasingly. "You are to me." He replied. You frowned. Did he actually think of you as a kid?

"What´s a young girl like you doing living all by herself?" He asked. "I just moved out, I wanted some privacy." You replied, making him raise an eyebrow. "Privacy, huh? You sure you´re not gonna throw any parties?"

You laughed. "That's not what all kids do these days, by the way. Maybe in your time, Mr. Irwin." You put your hand on your forehead. "That was rude, i´m sorry." He laughed. "How do you know my last name?" He smiled.

You turned pink. "Well, you must know that women talk about you." He raised an eyebrow. "Do they?" He chuckled. "Yeah, all the time." You replied.

"Can you tell me what they say?" He smiled, making you turn an even deeper shade of red. "Well, they all say you're really handsome and stuff... And how they wonder if you have a wife." You smiled. "No, I don't have one, sweetheart." He grinned.

Oh god yes.

"Oh, that's good to know. I mean, that's cool." You stuttered. Making him chuckle. "Well, I guess I´ll see you around, Mr. Irwin." You said turning your back. "Please, call me Ashton." He blurted out. "What's your name?" He asked. "It´s y/n." You smiled. "Nice to meet you y/n." I hope to see you soon." You looked over your shoulder and nodded.

When you turned around, Ashton couldn't help but look at your ass. It was sculpted and it drove him crazy. He could tell you were definitely trouble.

Ashton closed the door, and smiled. You were the only thing he could think of for hours. He wanted to get to know you, to know what your interests were, your life. He already was utterly obsessed. He felt like a teenager again, with hormones blossoming inside of him.

You were sweet and innocent, like a bunny. Something deep inside him wanted to ruin you.

You could not help thinking of him too. His tattooed arms, his curly hair, how his tank top hugged every place of him. How his shorts were tight around his bulge.

Shit. You wanted to fuck your 44 year old neighbor.

Ashton let his curiosity get the best of him. He finally opened his office window, to see if he could peek inside your house. Fortunately for him, this was the window directly opposite your bedroom.

After a long day, you decided to go to your bedroom to relax. Kicking off your shoes and getting out of your sundress. It was hot, so you absentmindedly left your bedroom window open, not knowing you had a spectator.

"Holy fuck." Ashton thought, his jaw was on the ground. You were wearing a lacy pink underwear set. The dim lighting in your room made you look ethereal.

Ashton was getting harder by the second. He knew this was wrong. Spying on his innocent little neighbor. But at this moment, he could care less.

You took off your bra, slowly. Ashton watched your breasts slip out of them, he thought he was dreaming. You were the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.

You reached in your bedroom drawer and found a pretty pink vibrator that you've stashed there. You laid down, tracing circles over your panties with the vibrator, letting out little whimpers.

"No fucking way." Ashton mouthed. He couldn't take it anymore. He took his cock out of his pants, bubbling with pre-cum. He felt like a pervert, but this turned him on even more.

Little y/n wasn't as innocent as he thought.

Taking off your panties, your pussy was on full display. Making Ashton´s mouth water.

You pressed the vibrator on your clit while you inserted two fingers inside of yourself, curling them. The shock made your back lift off the mattress, with a moan so loud you were sure your neighbor could hear.

All you wanted was Ashton. You wished his fingers were inside of you, you wished he was fucking you.

Ashton started to rub himself, watching intently. So what if you saw? He thought. His cock was throbbing, he was desperate to be inside you. Every muscle in his body ached for you.

You started to squirm, your clit throbbing with pulsing sensations that made you convulse in bed. While Ashton was shivering. This is the most turned on he´s been ever.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck." You moaned while you bit your lip, feeling that familiar feeling in your stomach. Ashton started fucking his fist, harder and faster.

"Fuck! Ashton!" You screamed when you came. Putting your hand to your mouth when you realized what you said. At the same time, Ashton came all over his hand, panting hard. His curls were sticking to his forehead.

Did she just say my name? She couldn't have.

-----

In the morning you decided to lounge by the pool, and get some sun. You put on your favorite blue bikini and put your hair in a bun and headed out to the garden.

You opened up the door to your yard, secretly hoping a certain hazel eyed man would stumble in.

Sitting on a lounge chair, looking at your phone you noticed a tall figure looking down at you.

"Fuckin´ hot today, eh?" It was Ashton. A shirtless Ashton. Looking you up and down with no shame. "Good morning Mr. Irwin." You smiled. "You're finally out of the house." You added. "I wanted to see you, darling." He replied. Your mouth turned dry.

"You wanted to see me?" You repeated, making him smile. "Why do you want this old man out of your garden?" He chuckled, making you giggle. "Nah, c´mere." You told him, making a "Come hither" motion with your finger.

Just to think those were the fingers that were inside you last night made him shiver.

You tucked your legs in and motioned for him to sit at the tip of the lounging chair. When he sat, you spread your legs to fit around his thighs.

The only thing separating your pussy from his back was a flimsy piece of fabric.

"So, where are you from?" You asked him. "I´m originally from Australia, but I moved here a few years ago." You nodded. "Why´d you move?" You asked, picking at his sunburnt shoulders. "I think I just wanted to move on with my life, start a new chapter." He looked back at you and smiled. "Fair enough." You smiled back.

"I haven't noticed your tattoos." You said, stroking your hands on his arm. "Yeah got a few of them, love, years of experience." He smiled. "This one's my favorite." You pointed at his snake tattoo on his bicep. "It's one of my favorites too."

"Do you have any more tattoos?" You asked, rubbing both of his thighs. "y/n..." He melted into your touch. "I'm just asking." You grinned, placing a kiss on his neck. "Jesus Christ." He chuckled in between shallow breaths. "Are you sure?" He asked. You muttered an "mhm."

"I´ve seen you eye fucking me, Ashton, when we first met, when I was taking out the trash, right back then..."

He stood up, turned to face you, and sat back down."Dirty girl... When I was in college you weren't even born yet." You shrugged your shoulders, smiling. You could feel a wet patch growing in your bikini bottoms.

"I was touching myself thinking of you last night." You whispered, making him grin. "Me too." He chuckled. "You just looked so pretty yesterday... Your window was open." Your mouth dropped. "You perv!" You smiled. "Hey, you´re the one touching yourself thinking of an old man fucking you." He grinned.

"You looked so cute squirming, bunny." This sent shivers down your spine.

"Please kiss me." You pleaded. He wasted no time. He held your face with his two hands and kissed you, the kiss was fervent, urgent. Your tongues battling between each other, barely giving you space to breathe.

"Do anything you want to me, Ashton." You told him. "Anything?" He asked. "Anything." You smiled. "That´s a very bold claim to make." "I mean it." You smirked.

"Stand up." He ordered, doing the same as you. "You brought this upon yourself." He smiled, as he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, making you scream and giggle.

He unlocked his front door and carried you inside. You observed three guitars and a huge drumset in his living room, complete with 10 pairs of drumming sticks.

He placed you on the couch that was big enough to fit four people, putting enough force for you to land with an "oomph."

"You look so cute, babygirl." He smiled, making you blush. You decided to make a risky move. "Thank you, daddy." You replied, waiting for his response.

You could see his eyes visibly darken, and his mouth turned into a grin. "Holy fuck, y/n." He smiled. "Want me to be your daddy?" He asked you. You could only mutter an "mhm." Your clit was throbbing, practically begging to be touched.

He trailed a finger through your bikini bottoms, making your whole body shiver. "So wet for me, and I haven't even touched you, bunny." He whispered in your ear. "Please, Ashton." You mewled.

He tugged at the strings of your bikini top and undid them. "You have such perfect tits, princess." He said, while fondling them. Placing his mouth on one and nipping at it, making you whimper. "So sensitive, too." He smiled.

Kneeling in front of you on the couch, he tugged on your bikini bottoms taking them off. You clenched your legs together, by instinct, blushing. "No need to be shy, princess." He smiled, gently pushing your legs apart and peppering little kisses on the inside of your thighs.

"Such a pretty pussy." He cooed. "Fuckin´ perfect."

He kitten licked your clit, making you let out a breathy moan. He looked up at you, waiting for your approval. You nodded and smiled, making him grin.

He grabbed your lower back with his big hands and pulled you closer to his face, making you gasp.

His pupils were blown out with lust. Dipping down to face your sex. Without warning, he dives in and you feel him licking a long strip between your wet folds.

"Fuck! Ashton." You exclaim, grabbing his curls and digging your fingers into his scalp. He winced at the pain, but he definitely enjoyed this.

You grind against his mouth, while his tongue draws circles around your clit. Throwing your head back into the couch, your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

The sensation was almost too much. His eyes never left you, enjoying the sight of you convulsing on the couch. Your pretty moans were like music to his ears.

He licks faster and faster. Groaning inside of you. "I'm getting- I'm getting close." You said in between shallow breaths. He starts sucking on your clit harshly, the sounds were borderline sinful.

You felt a tightness inside your stomach, like a cord waiting to snap. "Don´t stop, please." You mewled.

Your orgasm washes over you, making your whole body shake, clenching your walls around Ashton´s tongue. "Oh my God." You smiled.

Ashton surfaced, his lips were puffy and his mouth was covered in your slick. "Hi." You giggled. "Hi." He repeated, smiling. You covered your face with your hands, and blushed.

"Can I taste you?" You asked. "I-um, fuck yes." He stuttered. "Yeah, you can taste me."

He takes off his shirt and gives it to you. "Here baby, for your knees." You smile and bunch up the soft cotton material on the ground.

You kneel down in front of him, pulling his shorts down and snapping the elastic band of his boxers, finally freeing him. His erection sprang up at you. It was the longest and thickest cock you´ve ever seen.

"See how you make me feel, bunny?" He asked, making you smile. You pumped his shaft a few times to test the waters, making him groan deeply. "Fuck, y/n..." He moaned.

You kitten lick his tip, tasting his salty pre-cum, making Ashton´s whole body shiver.

Sinking down, you took his whole length, gagging. Ashton gently grabbed your hair, holding it to get it out of the way. Bobbing your head up and down, swirling circles around his tip.

"Fu-uck..." He moaned. "You're so perfect." He breathed deeply.

Soon enough, he was moving his hips, increasing his pace while his head was thrown back. "Makin´ me feel so good, sweet girl." He groaned.

He pulled himself out of you, grabbing you by the hair. "I´m not gonna be able to fuck you if we continue this." He chuckled. "Want daddy to fuck you, bunny?" He asked, making you nod. "Please, that's all I want, please." You begged, making him smile darkly.

You both stood up. "C´mere." He said, picking you up bridal style. You were still surprised as to how he could pick you up like you were nothing.

Taking you up a big staircase, you found yourself in a huge master bedroom, complete with another drum set, and vinyls hanging on the walls.

He plopped you down on the bed, a bit more roughly this time.

He looked around, opening a few drawers. "What 's wrong?" You asked. "Shit, I don't have a condom." He muttered. "I'm on the pill." You smiled, making him grin as well. "That's all you needed to say." He replied, taking off his shorts and underwear.

He climbed on top of the bed, hovering over you. "Daddy's gonna make you feel good, sweetheart." He smiled, you watched his eyes darken.

He puts a hand on your throat and pushes his mouth in for a kiss, hard, sloppy, hungry.

"You okay?" He smiles. "Yeah, just please fuck me Ashton." You pleaded. "Atta girl." He responded.

He grabbed your hips and slowly pushed himself inside of you, hissing at the feeling. The initial stretch burned, but slowly but surely you got adjusted to his size.

"Fuck, you´re so tight, bunny." He groaned, starting to pump in and out, guiding your hips, making you arch your back off the mattress, if they could, your eyes could roll into the back of your head.

"Please, faster." You exclaimed. You were lightheaded, becoming cockdrunk, letting out little moans that made Ashton go wild. "Want to ruin you, so nobody but me gets to use this pussy."

"Fuck! Just like that!" You exclaimed, feeling the pulsing wave of pleasure continue to grow inside of you, clenching around his cock. "You're taking me so well baby girl, won't last much longer with you clenching around me like that." He breathed rapidly.

"I'm close, Ashton." You repeated. "Cum for me bunny, let me feel that perfect fucking pussy." Those words were enough to make you cum alone.

You felt a familiar feeling inside your stomach. You felt Ashton´s cock twitch inside of you, meaning he was close as well.

You released yourself, gushing all over his cock, "Mphhhh.." You mewled and he filled you up to the brim with his cum, with a deep groaning sound,almost animalistic. he pulled out of you, letting his cum spill all over the sheets.

"Give me a second." He said, getting up and going to the bathroom, retrieving some wipes to help you clean up, discarding them in a trash can next to his bed.

"Was that okay?" He smiled. "It was perfect, Ashton." You grinned, looking up at him, pulling him into a kiss.

"Jesus, y/n, you´re gonna be the death of me." He curled his lips up into the kiss.

#ashton irwin #5 seconds of summer #5sos smut #ashton irwin smut #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin x reader #calum hood x reader #5 seconds of summer fanfic

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sukunasdirtylaugh · 9 months ago

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Addicted to the idea of an ex!convict geto who is on the run. You married him young at the fresh age of 19 in Vegas, only for him to ‘abandon’ your marriage never to be seen again. Nearly 4 years have passed and you’re now a moderately prestigious singer at mafia!gojo’s club, the blue dragon.

audiences stack up on weekends until Satoru introduces you to an associate of his called Kento. He’s tall, handsome, and mature in ways you didn’t know you wanted or needed. After a few visits to the club, he asks you out for dinner. A relationship instantly clicked with the businessman that suddenly everyone knew you were his. Until a mysterious letter appears on your doorstep one day. Attached is a familiar pink ribbon and all black lighter.

“My men wouldn’t do that,” your now boyfriend shakes his head. “No one knows about him but me.”

“Ken, you’re the only one to know about him. No one knows about him except you and Satoru. So please, if this is a prank, tell me.”

“I’m quite offended you think I would casually play with the emotions of the woman I have invested all my time in.” He says, “I’ll go talk to Satoru if he knows anything, but it’s for the best if you cancel tonight’s show.” You pull away from the protective hold he has on your waist and hiss. “I won’t cancel a show. Tonight’s the premiere, a lot of Satoru’s clients have invested thousands in tonight’s event.”

“Cancel it,” your blond partner whispers, “I’ll pay the difference, stay the night at my-“ but your agitated nature makes you turn him down.

“I said no! I’ll continue the show, and you can’t say anything about it. It’s my career, kento. And you can’t decide when to sing for me.”

He should have known it had to do with your hyper independence, your need to still depend on your own income after depending on what Nanami considered a reaction of yours after your relationship with a cowardly no good for nothing scum bag who left his wife.

After his disappearance, search warrants for him went on the national level until his presence was declared inconclusive 3 weeks later. Months later, it was rumored he was found dead.

But no body was found.

Now in tonight’s stage, everyone is dressed in the 9’s, with kento leaning against a wall with crossed arms, looking over the audience as you sing prettily. That is until you see a dark figure, long black hair with a familiar silver wedding band on his fourth finger. What sets him apart is the drink on the table.

Suguru.

(wrote this part one and this part two as a result^)

#I’m sleep deprived I should delete this but I’ve had this idea for over a year I need to post about this in order to shut up #so suguru didn’t die but he’s back #and his now ex wife is with a protective kento #it’s so messy I’m sorry but someone please understand the concept of mf #it #***IT #jeez #okay that’s it thank you for coming to my Ted talk #gojo #geto #Nanami #kento #Nanami kento #geto suguru #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #mafia Nanami #mafia kento

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lostloveletters · 8 months ago

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Damn Yankees (Bucky Egan x OFC)

Summary: The Great American Pastime puts Sergeant Holly Dean and Major Bucky Egan’s friendship to the test when her struggling Nationals play yet another game against his beloved Yankees.

Note: I introduce you to Miss Thing herself. By the way, the Yankees and the Nationals (also interchangeably referred to as The Senators back then) played 8 or so games against each other in mid-to-late June 1943, which I don’t think is a point of accuracy anyone cares that much about. Anyway, do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies. Internalized thoughts about death and loss. Holly and Bucky are extremely annoying about baseball so if that’s not your thing…

Holly didn’t flinch when the door to the Air Exec office abruptly opened, and she didn’t have to look up from her typewriter to see who pulled up a chair in front of her desk and made himself comfortable.

“Morning, Bucky,” she said.

“It’s a good morning to be a Yankees fan, Holly.”

The first time Major John Egan walked through the office door, restlessness radiated off of him. Holly didn’t understand why he was assigned to Air Exec in the first place. He didn’t seem to either, but he gravitated toward her, initially amazed at how quickly she could type. When the novelty of that wore off, her feverish devotion to the Washington Nationals made him hang around anyway.

“You’re not even from New York."

“Sure, but who doesn’t love a team that wins?”

She bristled at his gloating. “Being a Nats fan builds character.”

“You know what they say about Washington, first in war, first in peace, and last in the American League.”

“We’re second this year,” she reminded him.

Mostly because all of the good baseball players enlisted, including Bucky’s hero Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio, who had enlisted the USAAF earlier that spring. Bucky hoped he’d get assigned to Thorpe Abbotts at some point. Holly figured he’d stay stateside as a fitness instructor.

“Behind the Yankees,” he said.

“We’ll see after tonight’s game.”

“We’ve been wiping the floor with you.”

She scoffed. “Wiping the floor? It’s been pretty even wins.”

“You tell yourself that.”

“Well, we’re gonna win tonight.”

“Wanna bet?” he asked.

The incessant clicking from her typewriter stopped as she lifted her gaze to him. “When the Nationals win tonight, you have to do all of my filing tomorrow.”

“Alright.” He rapped his knuckles against the top of her desk as he considered his wager. “When the Yankees win tonight, you’ll do as much of my paperwork as I can get away with giving you tomorrow.”

Holly stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

Bucky gave it a firm shake. “Looking forward to my day off.”

“I’ll bring a radio to the hardstand tonight. Woody’s gonna be working late on Brady’s fort, so you can eat your words when no one else is around.”

“More like you’ll want Woody to tell you a joke to cheer you up when the Nationals lose again.”

Easy-going Woody was the perfect chaperone. Otherwise unnecessary, considering Holly and Bucky were both adults, but Holly quickly learned that just about everyone at Thorpe Abbotts had an opinion as to what constituted acceptable behavior between a man and a woman. She already had enough people talking about her, anyway.

Colonel Huglin approached, making a beeline for Bucky.

Holly resumed her typing without missing a beat, keys clicking along with the others in the room. “Good morning, Colonel,” Holly greeted.

“Good morning, Sergeant Dean,” he said, kindly enough. “Major Egan, I need to speak with you in my office.”

“‘Course, Colonel.”

“I’ll talk to you later, Major,” Holly said.

Bucky smiled, giving her a nod. “Sure will, Sarge.”

The game was technically at one in the afternoon on the East Coast, but the time difference made it a night game for those listening across the ocean. Unless Bucky got held up by Huglin, she knew he’d be there. He practically had the Yankees’ schedule memorized.

——

The summer sun wasn’t close to setting by the time the game crept up and Holly made her way to the hardstand. She kept the portable radio tucked securely under her arm while she walked. Silently prayed she wouldn’t somehow trip on the way and smash the radio to pieces just because she wanted to listen to a baseball game.

Woody waved at her in the distance, arm sweeping excitedly through the air.

“I haven’t seen you all day!” Holly shouted.

“Too long to go without seeing the likes of you!” Woody yelled back.

Woody, of course, being Private Kate Woodward, part of Ken Lemmons’ ground crew and her best friend on base, probably in general, the more she thought about it. Blonde hair in twin braids, green eyes that glistened with determination, grease smudged on her face, and a wrench in hand, Woody was practically the poster girl for the fearless wartime woman, in Holly’s biased opinion.

“What brings you to my humble hardstand?”

“Bucky and I are gonna listen to the Nationals-Yankees game. He has to do my filing tomorrow if the Nats win,” Holly said.

Woody laughed. “Good luck.” She scratched her forehead, marking her face with another streak of grease. “Just so you know, Brady might be coming out here later.”

“Checking on his fort?”

“I think he doesn’t trust me or something. He’s been coming around almost every day to see how the repairs are going,” Woody said. “I’m certainly not complaining about his company, though.”

“I’m sure.”

“Maybe one of these days he’ll give me a personal tour of his cockpit.”

Holly choked out a laugh, covering her mouth with her free hand. “Woody!”

“Get your head out of the gutter. I’m strictly talking planes here.” Woody grinned. “Your Yankee’s pulling up.”

Bucky parked the jeep next to the women, raising an eyebrow at Holly’s attempts to stifle her giggles. She handed him the radio as she climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hey Woody, how’s it going?” Bucky asked.

“It’s going, Major.”

He nodded toward the plane in question. “Everything coming along okay?”

“Just like Kenny said, it looks a lot worse than it is. It’ll be back in the air in no time.”

“Wouldn’t expect any less from you guys.”

She shook her head, an amused smile on her face. “I oughta get back to it. You have fun doing Holly’s filing tomorrow.”

“Hey, I thought we were friends!” Bucky shouted as Woody jogged away, leaving them to listen to the game.

Holly took the radio from Bucky, setting it on her lap. “I’ve used this one before,” she said. “It should pick up the station well enough.”

“How’d you get that out here?”

“Said it was your orders.” She smiled, tuning the radio until the boisterous announcer’s voice emerged from the speaker and nearly drowned out Bucky’s laughter.

“It’s a beautiful afternoon here in the nation’s capital folks! We’ve got the New York Yankees in DC up against the Nationals at Griffith Stadium. Now, the Nats have been down the past two games, but we’re hoping they’ll be able to rally this time around—”

“Is Early the starting catcher?”

“Yeah, pretty sure he is.”

“There’s a National I like.”

“‘Cause he’s the only person who might be chattier than you.”

“It’s one hell of a distraction strategy.”

“You’d know,” she joked, lightly elbowing him in the side.

Jake Early was one of Holly’s favorite players on the Nationals. Not a great hitter, but one hell of a catcher who took to imitating radio announcers and auctioneers or even singing to throw off opposing batters. It was one of the highlights of watching a Nats game in person, in her opinion.

“Have you ever been to a Yankees game?” she asked.

He nodded. “A couple. Listening on the radio is one thing, but seeing them in action? I felt like I got struck by lightning. How about you?”

“I went to a few Nats games every season growing up, but Stan and I went on a lot of dates to home games. One time he nearly broke his hand catching a ball that got hit into our section.”

Bucky shook his head. “What a souvenir, though.”

He knew about Stan. Everyone did. Bucky had the sense to not walk on eggshells if she brought him up. Holly had taken the news better than most people expected. She and Stan had a long discussion about it before he shipped out. Allowed herself to cry at night for a week or so afterward, but pulled herself together and pushed forward. At least, she tried to.

Every now and then, her sailor’s bloated corpse would inevitably be dredged up for curious newcomers to Thorpe Abbotts. Her ears rang with the whispers, always some variation of, ‘Her fiance—Navy, I think—yeah, at Midway—I know—poor girl.’ Stanley Conway’s ghost did little more than serve as an explanation to strangers as to why his former fiance could be…weird was the nicest way someone put it, though a plethora of less than complimentary adjectives had been applied to her and her odd behavior over the past year.

But Bucky liked her. Hung around her even when he wasn’t working in the office. Sometimes her melancholy made him do more of the heavy lifting conversationally. If he minded, he never told her. His friendship made it tough for her to remember to refer to him as Major Egan and not just Bucky, sometimes. Stan would be proud of this Holly, though, the one who made stupid bets on baseball games with an officer.

Bucky took out his flask, taking a swig before offering it to her. She regretted how quickly she accepted, her throat burning as she shoved it back in his hands.

“What is that?” she hissed.

“Whiskey.”

“That’s not whiskey.” She coughed. “You could put that in the gas tank and drive into town with it.”

“You’ve got the taste of a sailor, that’s what the issue here is. Should’ve joined the WAVES if you wanted rum.”

“I was going to. Stan said he didn’t think it’d be a good idea for us to be in the same branch and all that,” she said. “I kinda wish I had. The Service League is almost better than the Majors right now, especially the Navy league since they got Ted Williams.”

He balked. “You sound just like Crank! And DiMaggio’s in the Army league—he’s one of us!”

“So what? If it’s about who’s the best, Crank’s got a point, Williams can bat 400 no sweat.”

“DiMaggio did during his ‘41 streak.”

“Yeah, during his streak. Williams ended the whole ‘41 season with 406.”

“I was gonna be nice and drive you back after the Nats lose. You can walk, toots,” he half-joked.

“Woody can drive me,” she said, turning to glance behind her. Between the dusk and distance, she couldn’t tell if Brady had made his way out there yet. “I’m staying out here with her, anyway.”

“Want me to hang around?”

“If you want.”

“I’m asking what you want.”

She hummed, slouching back in her seat, a far away expression on her face. “I want the Nats to win.”

Bucky slouched against her, shoulder-to-shoulder. Glanced between her face and the radio a few times, hoping the Nationals would pull off something big for her.

He didn’t pry for details. Wasn’t quite sure how to ask her about it. Part of him was too afraid to know. He was afraid of a lot of things he’d never admit, but the place Holly drifted off to terrified him. So he took it upon himself to get her out of there. He talked about the game. And how he won the bicycles for Buck. And that he was just kidding when he said he wouldn’t drive her back to the womens’ barracks—couldn’t leave her and Woody out by themselves, after all.

Bucky didn't know how much time had passed before Holly finally spoke again.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

He blinked. “For what?”

“You know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I mean, the Yankees are down bad, and I’m having a ball,” he said. “So you’re apologizing for nothing, doll.”

He felt like someone poured club soda over his brain when she smiled, brown eyes glimmering gold. His gaze fell to her lips, his tongue darting out between his own for a moment. His shadow fell over her like a blanket as he leaned closer.

“And it’s strike three, you’re out for the Yankees in the top of the ninth!” The announcer’s voice blared through the radio, nearly making him jump in his seat. “That’s the game folks! The Washington Nationals win on their home turf against the New York Yankees—“

“We won! Oh my god, we won!” Holly sat up, nearly knocking the radio off of her lap in her excitement. She landed a few playful punches on his arm. “Take that, Egan!”

He rolled his eyes, smiling nevertheless. “It’s a good thing the Nats don’t win more often, because you’re the sorest winner I’ve ever met.”

“You can dish it out, but you can’t take it. That’s what I’m hearing.”

“Hey, I’m a man of my word. I’ll do your filing tomorrow,” he said, bringing his flask to his lips. “Damn Yankees.”

#bucky egan x oc #bucky egan x ofc #bucky egan #john egan #john egan x oc #john egan x ofc #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air x ofc #mota x oc #mota x ofc #mota fanfic #hbo war fanfic #hbo war #ch: holly

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forsetti · 5 months ago

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On Political Responsibilities: Put Up Or Shut The Fuck Up

As easily predictable as “The sun will set in the West,” a whole lot of Democrats are ONCE AGAIN falling for Republican propaganda and scurrying around like frightened little bunnies. This time it is about “Biden’s age.”

They should realize this is nothing more than a Republican ploy to sow discord among Dems and tamp down voter enthusiasm. This means either they are not very bright and their political hot takes should be completely ignored or they do realize but play along and parrot right-wing talking points either for attention or money, which really means they should be completely ignored.

Is President Biden old? Yes. Does it matter? As long as he has been and continues to do a good job pushing progressive policies it shouldn’t. When my maternal grandfather passed away at 91, he was still physically active, mentally sound, and able to do intricate, complex tasks. Because Pres. Biden had one bad debate (which is, no pun intended, debatable,) that doesn’t/shouldn’t mean a damn thing unless you are a frightened little bunny.

The right has been pushing, “Biden is too old,” since the 2020 election. They’ve also been pushing, “Biden is the head of a complex, international crime family who uses the Deep State and Dept. of Justice to do his bidding.” If you don’t see the logical problems between these two views, you are part of the problem and really shouldn’t be throwing out your political opinions like they are pearls of wisdom from on high.

Of course, it hasn’t only been the right pushing the “Biden is too old,” claim. The Far Left, especially the white far left, have been doing the same because they are still upset about Biden, with the help of black voters, kicking Bernie Sanders’ ass in the South Carolina primary and going on to curb stomp him on Super Tuesday. It doesn’t matter that Sanders is a year older than Pres. Biden to the far left. All that matters is doing damage to the person who beat their candidate of choice.* (*see also Hillary Clinton and the 2016 election.)

The media loves the “Biden is too old,” nonsense because it allows them to attack the president while hiding behind, “many people from both parties say….” However, the real reason they love it and push it nonstop is because it generates views/clicks which sells ads which generates profits. Any political race, especially one with national implications that is one-sided doesn’t get eyeballs on screens. If Pres. Biden was leading by 10 points, which in any sane country he would be, the race is all but over and no one is going to tune into media outlets for their “analysis” of the race. Any for-profit enterprise that relies on viewers HAS TO HAVE a horse race. The owners of these companies know this. The programmers know this. The hosts know this. The guests know this. It seems the only people who don’t know this are the frightened little bunnies on the left who flee to their holes any time someone in the media says something they don’t like or fear might be true.

All you have to do is look at the number of media outlets and talking heads who have pushed the idea that Biden needs to step aside because he “looked bad on television one time,” but not a single one of them has demanded the same of Trump for any of the legitimate bullshit he’s done. Just his role on Jan 6th should make him a toxic candidate, let alone his being found guilty of sexual assault, 34 felony convictions of fraud, and taking, lying about, and refusing to return highly classified documents after leaving the White House. Any one of these actions should be a reason to question and demand he step down as a candidate. Yet, NOT ONCE, has this happened in the media. That’s because they NEED Trump for horse races because it brings in money.

Just look at the post-debate analysis from the media who were intently focused on Biden’s speech patterns, how he looked, and how he sounded (all optics,) while completely ignoring what he said and the massive totality of Trump’s lies (all factual things.)

All of this “Optics Police” analysis has given rise to the whole “Biden needs to step aside,” idiot hot take.

When someone in the media says something like, “Pres. Biden needs to step aside,” a whole lot of Dems clutch their pearls with both hands and run to their fainting couch as fast as they can while screaming, “Pres. Biden needs to step aside!” because they are frightened little bunnies who have a compulsive need to parrot anything negative about their party and candidates, regardless of the source.

They are so afraid of losing elections that they do everything in their power to make sure elections are lost.

Let’s talk about the idea of Pres. Biden stepping aside. It is a remarkably stupid idea from remarkably stupid people. There is a reason the right has been pushing “Biden is too old,” “Biden is a criminal,” and “Biden cheated to win in 2016.” It is the very same reason Trump asked Zelensky to just lie about Biden being under investigation in Ukraine in 2016. Biden is the NUMBER ONE THREAT to Trump getting reelected. If the right believes Pres. Biden is the biggest threat to Trump, why in the fuck would replacing him on the ticket be the smart move? It wouldn’t.

I’ve read all the reasons for why Biden should step aside. They are all devoid of any logic, a basic understanding of U.S. elections, or American political history.

The latest reason for him to step aside is by comparing him to Ruth Bader Ginsburg and using her death and subsequent appointment of a right-wing hack, Amy Coney Barrett, to the Supreme Court. The same people on the left demanding Pres. Biden step aside are the same ones who blamed RBG for allowing Trump to appoint another conservative justice to SCOTUS.

It wasn’t RBG’s responsibility to prevent Trump from appointing a conservative justice. That responsibility was on Democratic voters in 2016 and they failed to live up to it. Don’t blame RBG for Amy Coney Barrett. Blame everyone on the left who decided to sit out the 2016 election or who voted third-party. They are the reason Trump was in a position to appoint three Supreme Court justices. While RBG was working hard to protect progressive ideals and rights, the people bitching about her not retiring were not doing a damn thing to help her.

It’s not like the far left wasn’t warned about the potential damage a Trump presidency would have, especially with regard to SCOTUS. They were, vehemently. Their response to being warned about what could/would happen to the Supreme Court if Trump won was, “Go fuck yourself. How dare you use the threat of years of progressive policies and rights being taken away to get my vote.”

These were the same people who now are screaming about how horrible the Supreme Court is hurting years of progressive policies and rights being taken away and blaming anybody and everybody other than themselves. They are the ones blaming Pres. Biden for not protecting Roe (something he has/had no way of doing.) They are the ones blaming RBG for not retiring (something that would not have made a difference because, even if she was replaced with another liberal justice, the Court would still be 5-4 in favor of conservatives and there was a good chance her replacement would not have been given a hearing and her seat left open ala Merrick Garland.)

The reason we have a 6-3 conservative Supreme Court is too many people on the left thought it was a good idea to not vote for Hillary Clinton in 2016. That’s it. Full...fucking...stop.

Many of the same people on the left who didn’t take the makeup of the Supreme Court seriously in 2016 are the very same people now demanding Pres. Biden step aside. Sorry, we are in this mess largely because of the horrible ideas and actions of these people. Why on earth should they be taken seriously now? They shouldn’t.

There is no “magic bullet,” to prevent Trump from being reelected. There isn’t some magical candidate out there, waiting in the wings for Pres. Biden to step aside so they can swoop in and save the day. There is Pres. Biden and VP Harris. That is it. It doesn’t matter if that is who you want. It doesn’t matter if you are upset about this or that policy or action. It doesn’t matter if Pres. Biden is 81, 61, or 91. What matters is winning the 2024 presidential election. That’s it. If/when that happens, then you can bitch and whine about not getting your dragon-unicorn hybrid in the exact color you want.

Do your fucking civic duty and vote for the candidate who will do the most good, the least harm to the people and policies you love. In the upcoming election, that choice will be, whether you like it or not, and you don’t fucking have to like it, is between Pres. Biden and Donald Trump. Either put up and do the right thing or shut the fuck up, now and forever about the state of politics in America.

A couple of days ago, Charlie Pierce from “Esquire,” tweeted this gem from Tbogg (one of my favorite old-timey bloggers.) It perfectly sums up exactly how a lot of people on the left view voting and my response to them.

"Every year in Happy Gumdrop Fairy-Tale Land all of the sprites and elves and woodland creatures gather together to pick the Rainbow Sunshine Queen. Everyone is there: the Lollipop Guild... ...the Star-Twinkle Toddlers, the Sparkly Unicorns, the Cookie Baking Apple-cheeked Grandmothers, the Fluffy Bunny Bund, the Rumbly-Tumbly Pupperoos, the Snowflake Princesses, the Baby Duckies All-In-A-Row, the Laughing Babies, and the Dykes on Bikes. Afterward, they spend the rest of the night dancing and singing and waving glow sticks until dawn when they tumble sleepy-eyed into beds made of the purest and whitest goose down where they dream of angels and clouds of spun sugar. You don’t live there. Grow the fuck up.” -TBogg

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seneon · 9 months ago

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月光 ݁ ˖ MOONLIGHT ── CHAPTER FIVE. THE WARRIOR THAT DIDN'T CEASE HAS RETURN TO FINISH HIS LAST TASK.

CONTENTS. ANGST. blood, cuts, wounds, false name usage, death and murder. sad sad, melancholic sadness. little extra chapter at the end. wc of three thousand.

moonlight series masterlist ₊ 𓂃 previous.

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆, blood dripped everywhere. sweat mixed it with the blood and into the surface of the wound it goes as an aching pain burned throughout the entire skin.

how did this happen?

how did you end up in the same situation all over again? like the war between nations and the war that is happening now. it is the same event that is happening all over again. except, nobody ever saw this war coming. this was impromptu, a fight against unknown enemies.

at the start, you remembered it all as clear as the day— of what you've been doing just before it led to this point. just like any other normal evening, you would cook meals for the mountain god and yourself. his bunny workers didn't need any food to survive, for they are the heavenly workers that were sent to assist rayne. but you still made little bunny treats for them.

dinner was then served, and you dined with the mountain god. nothing more, nothing less. just an average night in an average mountain with an average mountain god.

what consumed the averageness of it all was a single arrow that knocked over your spoon, still with soup on it, the second you put it near your lips. it left a faint scar in a single line that ran across your nose that blood started to run out.

rayne manipulated the wind and forced you backwards, his other hand moving to block any incoming arrows that were aiming right at you.

“y/n! are you alright?!”

“yeah!” you got on your feet and looked around in alert. “who shot those arrows?”

“i don't know. but surely they are not on this mountain because i don't feel any foreign presence.”

“it's definitely a skilled marksman,” you added, just as another arrow came into view right in front of you. with your instincts over hellish years of training under the imperial army, all you knew was how to dodge and deflect. so you deflected the arrow that was right in front of your face by pushing it away with your bare hands. that act caused the skin of your palm to tear apart, blood once more peeking through the cracks of your skin.

“you shouldn't have done that,” rayne scolded you. “i’m going to the direction of where the arrows are. you stay here.”

“no rayne, wait!”

too late. rayne has already flown to the mountain next to his. the arrow that was shot right at you was picked up, and you made a run after the mountain god.

there was no doubt about it. the arrow in your hand has the symbol of the mimihagi nation imprinted at the end of the arrow. what does someone from the mimihagi nation want from you? no— the question is, how did they even find you on the mountain?

your footsteps halted the moment you sensed an unfamiliar presence lurking around you. then the presence walked out from the shadows to reveal a man around your age, dressed in the clothing of a samurai. it clicked. you recognised this samurai. you remembered as clear as day that you stepped over his corpse while trying to run away from hell on earth. his hair that is oddly similar to the mountain god, half of it a sunflower yellow and the other half of it the darkest of obsidian.

did this samurai not perish along with the other corpses?

“in fear and terror that i traveled all over japan to find that one last survivor of the enemy army. and i finally found her,” the samurai said, a smile that looked so guilty displayed on his lips and his eyes that dropped in the pool of guilt. “i, samurai ryosuke yamamoto of the mimihagi nation, must fulfill my duty and kill all remaining enemies.”

this is bad.

before you could react, he swung his blade at you. ryosuke yamamoto servant of the mimihagi nation. the mimihagi are known for their skilful and talented warriors. no matter how weak their warriors are, each of them has their own specialty which builds up the army.

the sword you picked up became your temporary defense against a perfect blade. of course, it was cut down into two pieces and you obtained a mild cut on your fingers. there is no way you are going to win. you have nothing on you. no weapon, no nothing. just battle experience which led you all the way here.

where is your sword when you need it?

you tossed the broken arrows aside and made a run for it. there is nothing you can do empty-handed. you are a warrior who uses weapons to fight. you are trained to enter the battlefield with a weapon or two in your hand. you couldn't win this fight alone.

rayne ames scrunched his eyebrows together at the sight of a child with beautiful blonde hair holding an arrow with an awkward smile that shakily surfaced.

“what is ryoh’s child doing here? are you the one who shot those arrows?!” rayne exclaimed, demanding an explanation as ryoh himself came into view.

ryoh grantz, god of light. a god who has lived in this world for thousands of years, serving as one of the original gods that was chosen once the earth formed. clearly, if rayne were to fight him, one snap of ryoh’s fingers would send the mountain god back to light. it would be stupid to engage in a battle with a heavenly god.

“you have defied the divine rules of heaven by involving yourself with a mortal. let me rephrase that, boy. you failed as a mountain god by allowing a human girl into your sacred mountain and also, falling in love with her,” ryoh explained, his hand softly combing through his blonde hair. “you know it is wrong to be making love on a mountain that is sacred don't you, rayne?”

“what is so wrong with showing affection to the girl i love in a mountain that i ruled in?” rayne asked. he knows that the mountain he guards is sacred, blessed by all heavenly gods. true he might have gone as far as to kiss your lips or to caress your face a few times, but he knew that the mountain subjects didn't mind it at all. so why did the divine visionaries send a god of theirs to give rayne his judgment?

“you might or might not have forgotten, but you are not to allow a mortal to step foot into the mountain. the part of the divine tree is slowly starting to decay with the disruption of a mortal staining the soils of the mountain with her sins.”

ah yes... all the sins you committed in that war alone. all the burdens and blood that you carried all the way into a mountain you didn't even know that you weren't supposed to step in. all the blood on your blade that you have collected.

“she is a lost woman with a kind heart. she doesn't know,” rayne defended, and ryoh let out a sigh, giving his son a ruffle on his head. “there is no use arguing with you. but i tell you, your woman will die today, from the hands of another mortal in your mountain.”

the moment ryoh cease talking, rayne has already left. he rushed to your side, the wind creating havoc all around the mountain. through all the dust, leaves and soils of the ground, rayne swiped his hands to the side and brought all of it away. the image of finn ames burned into the back of the mountain god's mind.

“finn..?” rayne let out under his breath at the sight of a familiar face. the face of his late brother, a mortal far different than he is. but the samurai standing opposite of him isn't the brother that he knew. it was someone else with the appearance of his brother. regardless, rayne felt emotionally challenged by the samurai.

“now, allow this human boy to be the result of your judgment, rayne,” ryoh came into view and held the shoulders of ryosuke. “you know the rules. you shall not interfere with mortal battles.”

mountain god rayne ames felt like a mouse trapped in a cage. what do you mean he has to stand aside and watch as you fight against a man? but then again, rayne ames knows that you are a strong and great warrior who survived a great war all alone. this is the perfect timing too. your sword has finished its repair.

“partisan,” rayne summoned a sword out from the dimension where he kept all the swords in the world and pulled out your sword. “y/n!” he called out and handed your sword to you as you took it and immediately unsheathed it.

your blade… as beautiful and shiny as it could get. it was far different from the sword that your squad lieutenant gave you. this sword feels like it was made from magic, forged for days and nights. you could see your reflection in the blade, the blade that was brought back to life by the hands of the sword cane, as they call him, the master of swords.

“thank you, rayne!” you swung it once and aimed it at the samurai in front of you. “now, honoured samurai ryosuke, let's finish what i couldn't, yeah?”

...

you came this far with cuts and bruises all over, breath hitching and body shaking all over. your feet are unstable, going back and forth in small motions before it completely gave up on you and you stumbled to the ground. a mouthful of metallic hot red liquid forced itself out of your mouth, falling and staining your hands along with the blade that didn't belong to you.

“r-rayne..” your shaky voice trailed off, hands moving to catch the sleeves of rayne’s kimono. just to tug on it or to hold it. it didn't matter. what matters is that rayne gets back his senses. “stupid god rayne,” you added, managing to get a hold of his kimono sleeves before you gripped it as tightly as you could. “come back to me.”

the said man’s eyes slowly widened, the honey in his eyes starting to brew again. rayne glanced down at his hand where he held his greatest sword. but the blade is not pointed towards his enemy. it is pointed to you, rayne's lover, right through your chest. stabbed exactly where your old wounds remained and where rayne used his own herbs to cure.

fear spreaded throughout the entirety of the fearless mountain god. it was like a wave that washed over the island, causing calamity that was unseen to the world. the moment rayne snapped back to reality, he felt the desperate tugs on his arm where his sleeves were being pulled by your weak hands and your pleas for him to come back to his senses.

“y/n—” as swift and as painless as he could, he pulled out his blade and held your weakened body in his arms.

all this happened by seeing you fight alone and losing, rayne also lost his temper as he saw your skin getting dirtied with slices and wounds. he couldn't bare to watch you get hurt, so he broke another divine rule as in, interfering with a battle between mortals by using his magical abilities. he broke another rule— killing a human being. rayne ames murdered samurai ryosuke yamamoto who held the face of his dead brother, finn ames.

see, even divine beings commit sins.

you are about to be the next human being whose life he ends. that thought pains him. once a god commits a sin, they lose an authority of theirs or a piece of their mind. rayne in that moment, lost a piece of his mind and saw you in a view of hatred. divine punishment is already beginning for the mountain god.

“i’m glad you're back,” you said, a smile so broken forming on your face. your grip on his sleeve never letting go. you wanted to hold him as much as you could, with the little left and the need to just stop breathing. “rayne i really thank you for allowing me to be yours. but i can't any longer. i will enter hell and suffer in it for walking on corpses.”

“please stop talking,” rayne hugged you tightly, his head burying into your neck. he didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to do other than to murmur a string of apologies. guilt started to weigh down heavy on him, consuming him bit by bit.

you could feel his tears that flowed down your skin. the feeling broke your heart even more. to leave rayne all alone again. who knows what kind of punishment heaven or hell has in mind for him? his hug tightened and tightened even more, not wanting to let go. he never wanted to let you go. not when he found someone he actually loves and cares way more than himself.

it is unwise from the start, for a divine being to fall in love with an earthly being. there is such a big difference between them, and rayne knows it. he knows it all too well. he isn't someone stupid. he doesn't feel as if it is stupid to fall in love with you. in fact, rayne does not regret ever giving his heart to you.

“rayne i promise i will dance with you soon. so stop crying okay? please stop crying, rayne,” you held his face, your own tears fighting to make their debut just as you felt your end nearing. “i’m sorry, rayne.”

...

huh?

. . .

“y/n no no no no you can't... please no, don't leave me please please please…”

that night, mountain god rayne ames wailed at the death of his beloved. so did his sacred mountain, in which petals and soil all decayed and wilted for their ruler's lover. the moon cried it's tears too, turning it's moonlight as gray as it could.

“welcome to easton magic academy! today is a brand new day for all of us! to officially enter the academy, all applicants must go through an entrance exam to determine if you are qualified to be in easton or not,” the host announced, ignoring the fact that the students were fawning over a beautiful princess from the royal family who stood among them like a commoner.

from the side, blank golden honey eyes stared at the said princess stoically. the boy let out a scoff at she was unbothered by the crowd gathering all around her. on the other side, there were people who whispered to each other in a salty conversation at a royal who attends a magic school with common people.

to the princess, she already expected such a commotion from the moment she opened her mouth to urge the words of wanting to go to school like normal people. this was the only consequence she had to bear if she wanted to be a normal girl.

“leave her highness alone,” the boy with honey eyes stood in front of the princess just as everyone else gasped at the double line on his face. they knew instantly not to mess with someone who harbours two magic lines, for the double-liners are feared among the academy.

the said double-liner took a glance back at you and gave you a bow. when he glanced back up to look at you, something sparked. there was something in your eyes that felt so familiar, along with the single line that ran across your nose. the princess seemed to have felt the same way, as she looked around the boy's face where his lines are engraved.

the boy felt rude for staring too long, so he averted his gaze away and apologised. his voice and the way he apologised is all so familiar for the princess too. she doesn't know what the feeling of knowing him is. but she is curious. “may i ask what your name is? it would be great if i have someone i know with me.”

what is her highness saying? rayne asked himself, bowing his head once more. “my name is rayne. rayne ames. your highness, i do not understand what you meant by someone you know. we have never met before.”

“rayne ames, rayne ames.. ames rayne..” the princess said repeatedly, trying to get a single of her senses right. but nothing came to mind. the same thing went on for rayne, he couldn't shake the feeling that the princess right in front of him is just so familiar in a way that her presence felt like home.

princess y/n of the l/n family, a royal princess born into the royal family. the next heiress to the throne, one with power all over the nation. she who is right here in this magic academy with every other maguses.

“princess y/n, uhm, have we danced together before?” rayne asked, suddenly remembering a memory that was locked away long ago, finally unlocked.

y/n thought for a while before nodding. “we have, i think.” she said and looked at rayne. “i don't know why nor do i remember, but i feel like i know you. oh well… do you want to dance together someday? perhaps we can figure out what's so familiar about each other.” she said with a small smile that instantly made rayne nervous.

“sure,” he quickly said, trying not to sound like he was nervous or having a shaky voice.

“let's begin the first exam!”

“we shall converse later, your highness,” said rayne as y/n sighed. “i am equal to everyone here, so in this academy, i am y/n.”

“alright warrior y/n. don't complain to his majesty if i end up being better than you.”

the princess playfully punched rayne's shoulders. “do not worry, i have grown stronger, stupid rayne.”

ryoh grantz watched from afar, sipping on a cup of expensive tea and a slow surfacing smile. “they are once again together huh?”

THE END — or perhaps not..? could the two have eventually found out about their last lives? are they able to live peacefully with each other around?

NOTES. RAAAGGHH END END END oh rayne how i love you ):

TAGS ݁ ˖ @kyoghurts @anqelically @caelivir @bblade00 @ansbobcar @rjasmin2021 @lunarbaboon

#❨ MOONLIGHT ❩ ݁ ˖ ˚ ☽#rayne ames #rayne ames x reader #rayne x reader #mashle #mashle x reader #rayne x you #rayne x y/n #mashle: magic and muscles #mashle rayne #mashle imagines #mashle x you #mashle angst #mashle fluff

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whumping-newbie · 25 days ago

Text

Taking What Is His

Back from the dead to post a thing I wrote the other day for an extremely self indulgent AU to my longstanding, long suffering WIP :)

What do you mean it's been more than a year since you last posted. Not gonna lie, time is meaningless and a lot of stuff has happened. Either way, I hope you enjoy :)

Thanks to @justplainwhump for the support with this one, she's been a real rock these past months. I hope you know how much I appreciate it <3

Tiny bit of context that may help: The General is the de facto King of the nation after his successful coup to overthrow the previous King. He forcibly married the Crown Princess, and she has committed the grave sin of... saying "no" to him, so he feels he is allowed to teach her a lesson.

CW's: fade to black noncon, (male whumper, female whumpee), creepiness in general, forced servitude setting, forced to strip, threatened with a knife, cigarette burning.

There’s a distinct sound clicking down the wooden corridor. It’s subtle, rhythmic, and very recognizable. I turn a corner and find my assumption to be correct. One of my wife’s Maidens of Honour, the one with a prosthetic leg. The odd sound was her leg every other step.

What incredible timing.

“You.”

I call out to her, and she immediately stops, turns to face me, and stands aside against the wall as I approach.

“Good evening, your Excellency.”

Her greeting is stiff, her posture perfect as she bows her head, her long dark hair resting just so over her shoulders. I can’t help but look down at the rest of her. The maid’s dress is modest, just below the knee level, high necked and practically pristine. Of course. This girl is known to take great care of her appearance.

I do appreciate that very much.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her as I stand directly in front of her, barely a step between us, “a little late to be wandering around, don’t you think?”

It’s here that she does look up, ever so slightly, as she answers my question. “I was going to see if her Royal Highness needed anything from me before I retired for the evening, your Excellency.”

She speaks with an elegance that has not changed since the first time she set foot in this place, speaking to me no differently than she speaks to my wife in public. I can’t help but let out a small chuckle - clearly fate is on my side tonight.

“Of course. Come with me, I’ll take you to her. Save you wasting your time.”

With that, I turn back around the way I came, and it takes a second for her to register my order and follow me wordlessly. She knows this way does not lead to my wife’s bedchamber, but of course, who is she to disobey me when I know where my wife is?

She may be a simple girl, but credit where credit is due, she knows better to disrespect her betters, unlike a certain someone I know.

A few moments later, we’re back at my Imperial Office. It’s late, so of course there’s no one else around, meaning that when I open the door, turn on the light switch, step inside and wait for the girl to enter, it’s just the two of us.

The latch of the door clicks shut, and I slide the lock into place.

“Your Excellency?” she asks, and I barely catch the quiver in her voice. “Where is her Royal Highness?”

I don’t deign to answer her question, she doesn’t need one. Instead, I walk over to her, closing that distance between us even more than we did in the corridor. She is looking me square in the eyes, her stance firm, I can see her fists clenched by her sides. I must admit, if she is scared, she’s hiding it quite well beneath that bravado of confidence, like she knows what will happen here.

She hasn’t the slightest idea.

The girl clears her throat and speaks again. “Where is her Royal Highness?”

I reach for the side of her face, and cup her chin in my hand, relishing in the way she freezes in my grip. “That doesn’t matter.”

“But I -“

“Shh,” I push my finger to her lips, silencing her, “be quiet, girl.”

I want to savour this. The moment that I finally get to give my wife a taste of her own medicine. If she wants to be stubborn, I will make the consequences for her refusal severe.

Well. Severe for her and her friends. Me? I plan to enjoy this.

The girl’s breath shakes in my grip, and I pull her closer, practically feeling her heartbeat as I lean in for a kiss. She tries to lean back, get away, without directly fighting back. She tastes sweet, her lips soft and sensual, rather like the kiss I got from my wife our first night together.

It’s incredible how similar this feels to that very first night.

I pull back from her, keeping a hold of one of her upper arms. Her eyes are wide, her voice nonexistent, yet she does not reject me. Just frozen in place, and yet, I like her like this. I lean in again, and leave little kisses on her cheek to see how she reacts, she just barely turns her head as I leave the trail down onto her neck.

She shortly pulls her arm back, presumably testing my grip, but I don’t let go. She must realise that I am stronger than she thinks I am, given that she does not try that again. I can hear her breathing deeply as I move my kisses back up to her ear and whisper.

“Take off your dress.”

“What?” she croaks out.

I stand back up straight, “are you deaf, girl? What are you waiting for? Take off your dress.”

“Sir, why -“

“Are you going to disobey me, or are you going to do as I tell you?”

As I begin to speak, I reach for the knife in the sheath on my belt, which catches her attention and I can hear her breathing still. I haven’t even got this knife anywhere near her, as I had stepped back to give her some space, giving me the chance to get a good, long look at what she has hidden under her dress, what I’ve never seen in the years since she was first assigned as Maiden of Honour to the Crown Princess herself.

How many men can claim they will have seen this?

The knife is a convincing argument for her to do as she’s told, because she shakes her head shortly, before starting to undo the buttons on the front of her dress, her hands visibly trembling as she works the top one loose. Then the next. Then the next. Then the next

“Good. No need to be shy, is there?”

I move back a step and sit down in the armchair just behind me, in between the desk and the fireplace. I keep the knife in my grip, testing its sharpness on the tips of my fingers. Hm, it’s a little dull. Perhaps I should sharpen this. Either way, it seems like she does not want to test out the knife regardless of how sharp it is, because she’s now fumbling with the apron tied at the back, the buttons fully opening up the front of her dress, giving me a tantalizing taste of what she has hidden beneath it.

Once she has the apron untied, she drops it to the floor. As she tries to work off the dress from her shoulders, she quickly rubs one of her eyes before letting that fall completely, leaving her stood there in her underwear.

She’s quite the beauty under her clothes as well as in them, it seems. She’s not got much in the way of blemishes, but her slender figure is accentuated by the way she’s stood, legs tightly together, with her prosthetic leg ever so slightly in front of the “real” leg. The beautiful form of a dancer, with strong legs that have just the perfect amount of muscle on them to look like she could form complex dance moves without much effort.

I wonder what other moves she could do, if she really really tried.

She looks at me, and I can see her eyes are shiny with tears that she desperately is trying to hide, folding her arms in front of her, probably shivering in here. She’s somewhat obscuring her chest, but the way she’s done it has pressed her bra up, making those features look considerably more attractive.

I can’t help but smile. The girl has done very well so far. Let’s see how far she will go for me, in comparison to my wife, whom I helped undress on my wedding night, feeling her form in my hands as I unzipped the dress, leading her out of it and towards the bed.

Back to reality.

I nod in the direction of the sofa behind the girl here, still twisting the knife in my hands.

“Go lay down on that sofa.”

She doesn’t move, just cringes on the spot as she casts a small glance behind her at the sofa in question. One of the nicer ones in this place, a lovely green velvet fabric cover with rich emerald silk cushions in either corner. Quite the comfortable piece of furniture, and she’ll finally get to experience it.

However, here’s where she decides to be resistant. She shakes her head at me, soundlessly refusing my order.

That’s a pity.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” I stand up from my seated position, “are you sure you want to find out what the hard way entails?”

As soon as I say that, I take one deliberate step forward, and she all but falls backwards into a seated position on the sofa, gripping the delicate fabric in her hands, her chest moving quickly from her rapid breathing, her gaze firmly planted at the floor. I could swear I can hear a sob creep through that breathing, but it vanishes as soon as it began.

I carefully re-sheath my dull knife and begin working on undoing my own clothes, watching her shoulders move with every breath she takes. I can see her concentrated effort on steadying her breathing, but she still seems to breathe very quickly. I work my belt loose and undo my service uniform’s trousers, slipping out of my shoes then stepping out of my trousers, leaving them on the floor beside the girl’s discarded dress.

“Lie down on your back.”

She looks up at me briefly as I loosen my tie, and I realise that she has tears streaming down her face. Hm. I’ve never known this one to be an emotional one. I’ve seen one or two of those girls cry, especially since my revolution, but this one always seemed stone cold, uncrackable.

It seems I’ve found that spot with which I can break her.

Slowly, she swivels on the spot, lifts both her legs onto the sofa, and lies down onto the soft cushioning of the sofa, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She turns her head away from me, into the silk, her arms tightly at her side, her legs crossed over one another. It’s here that I can hear that tiny, tiny sob once again, her eyes screwed shut.

I take off my jacket, leaving just my shirt on, and make my move. Straddling her at the waist, I get a good feel at her upper body. Running my hands up her sides, I stop at her breasts, if only to see what she does. I can see her face screw up and she hisses through her teeth, clearly trying to ignore me as best she can, but that’s quite difficult when I’m sat on top of her getting a good feel at tonights entertainment.

Leaving her bra as is for now, I move my body into position above her, running my hands back down her midriff and working at her underwear. This action provokes another reaction from her.

“Please, please stop -“ she gasps out, her eyes open now, but still not looking at me, tears flooding down the side of her face.

I am now done with her underwear, and silence her cries by forcing my lips onto hers, feeling those little sounds at their source. She doesn’t try to buck me off, or fight me. My wife did that once.

She has not done it since.

I move away from her lips once again, whispering into her ear, “you don’t need to say anything else, girl. Just lie there and let me do all the work.”

With one last stifled sob, the girl closes her eyes and her mouth, looking away from me again. I’m ready, ready for my good time, all whilst a few of my men are probably doing the same to the other girls right this moment. I plan to enjoy every second of this, and every second of knowing that what my wife does not know will not hurt her.

And oh, I will get what I want from all of them.

---

The girl lays still on the sofa when I’m done.

I’m thoroughly satisfied with my time here, and am getting myself presentable - tightening my belt around my waist - whilst she just lies there, unmoving and silent. I will admit that she didn’t do much more beyond lay there and cry, but for the experience I wanted? I am more than content with that.

If I wanted more from a sexual partner, I’d certainly be more persuasive in getting what I want from them.

“How did you find that, girl?” I ask as I walk over to my desk and fetch a cigarette and lighter from the top drawer, “did you enjoy being fucked like you deserve?”

She does not answer me, does not even look in my direction, doesn’t even move. Merely acts like I hadn’t said anything at all. From here, her head isn’t visible behind the armrest of the sofa, but I have a good view of everything else.

I light the cigarette and walk back over to the sofa, taking a drag as I stop right at her upper body. It’s a bit annoying that she has ignored me, I would have thought she’d have it in her for a bit more respect than that.

I press the lit end of the cigarette into her shoulder and she instantly screams out, trying to move away from the cigarette, clutching her upper arm.

“Sit up,” I kneel down beside her, and she does as ordered, “tell me, was I your first time with a man?”

She blushes furiously.

“Am I to take that as a ‘yes’, then?” I can’t help but smirk. How interesting. I would have thought this one would have been snapped right up by some classmate during her teens, she certainly could have fooled me.

I pick up the discarded dress from beside me and throw it at her.

“Get dressed then clean up this mess,” I give the order as I move back towards my desk, “and hurry it up. It’s late, and I have to get up early in the morning.”

I continue to smoke the cigarette as I wait for my wife’s Maiden of Honour to finish what she had started. Little slut. I’m sure I can get more satisfaction out of her next time - satisfaction for me, that is.

Funny thing, that title of hers. She’s no Maiden anymore. And Honour? Well, the little minx certainly has none when I’m through with her.

She quietly yet quickly works at the sofa with what little we have in this room. She’s still in a sorry state - not yet dressed with her hair an absolute mess, the fresh burn from the cigarette is red and raw on her upper arm, and the tear tracks on her face have yet to dry.

By the time I’m finished with my cigarette, so is she with the sofa, and she quickly gets the dress and apron back on, tying up the buttons a lot quicker than she got them off.

“Before you go, girl…”

She freezes, not even finishing tying her apron behind her back, just holding it in her hands, both tightly at her side.

“Tell anyone about our little meeting, and I will make sure there are consequences. Is that clear?”

She nods.

Not good enough.

“I can’t hear you, girl. Am I understood?”

And then, in a display I’ve not seen since I first brought her into this room, she looks back up at me with a hardened stare. The tears are no longer flowing.

“Understood, your Excellency,” her voice, while weak, is certainly more akin to before than during our little tryst, “I won’t tell anyone about this, as you command.”

“Good. Now get out.”

She certainly didn’t need telling twice.

I’m not too far behind her in leaving the room, still relishing in the delights of fucking one of my wife’s so-called friends whilst she has no idea.

I’ll have to do this again sometime. Perhaps I should let my wife disobey me more often.

#my writing #my oc's #the general #cw noncon #POV: The General #fade to black noncon my beloved

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posttexasstressdisorder · 7 months ago

Text

GOP has gone rancid—and it isn't fair decent people have to keep cleaning up after them

D. Earl Stephens

April 23, 2024 5:27AM ET

People await the arrival of former U.S. President Donald Trump at a rally for Sen. Marco Rubio (R-FL) at the Miami-Dade Country Fair and Exposition on November 6, 2022 in Miami, Florida. (Photo by Joe Raedle/Getty Images)

This article was paid for by Raw Story subscribers. Not a subscriber? Try us and go ad-free for $1. Prefer to give a one-time tip? Click here.

I’ve heard more than enough from people identifying as Republicans to last for whatever is left of my life.

By words and actions, Republicans have proven they are not serious people, and most definitely do not love or care for our country. We have learned without any doubt during the past decade that there is no line they won’t cross, rule they won’t break, or lie they won’t tell to further their dirty causes, which have absolutely nothing to do with making America great.

They are incapable of good governance, and have settled into mob rule. The Republican-led House of Representatives is a complete and nasty joke, where members literally elbow and hiss at each other, and that is both true and terribly, terribly sad.

With help from our inept Justice Department and a bought-off Conservative Supreme Court, Republicans are making a mockery of the notion that our nation is protected by the rule of law. They know better than anybody, that this simply is not true.

They have exploited a system they have learned to eagerly spit on by refusing to allow nominations for Supreme Court Justices in some cases, while rocketing other Conservative nominees through the Senate in record time.

READ: Breaking our democracy is all part of the GOP plan

They call violent terrorists who attack our country hostages, and expect the press to keep swallowing it whole, because that’s what they do.

Cheating and underhandedness is in their DNA.

They are long past the point of no return, and will either pay for their felonious behavior, or will somehow be rewarded for it at the polls this November, in which case we are done with our Democratic experiment after 248 years.

It is now up to Democrats to once again save this nation from the sick arsonists eagerly trying to burn it to the ground, and that is helluva lot to ask, and isn’t remotely fair.

Here’s a damn truth we don’t hear near enough about: If the Democratic candidate for president was facing 91 felony counts, had been convicted of fraud, was a serial abuser of women, told a documented 30,573 lies in four years, spread a big, toxic lie about an election he lost, and praised dictators, the party and the people who support it, would drop him/her like a rock.

He or she wouldn’t stand a chance. They’d be banished to the nearest dumpster. No decent person would want to be associated with such obvious scum.

The people who vote on the Left and the Right in this country are not remotely the same, and I am way past sick and tired of hearing that they are.

Something as despicable and odious as Donald J. Trump could NEVER happen in the Democratic Party. We simply would not allow it.

That right there is an ironclad fact.

Democrats and left-leaning people are not perfect, because no person is, but we still believe in truth, decency and manners. ALL children are important in our world, which is why we believe feeding them and getting them the healthcare and the childcare they need is vital, and far more important than paying the taxes of filthy-rich, bloated billionaires. We still believe that how the United States projects itself to rest of the world and our children means something.

We love our country, warts and all.

We still believe that when we’ve made mistakes, or said stupid, hurtful things we should apologize for them, not recklessly double down like ill-bred maniacs.

We have not, and will not, surrender to the lowest form of life like Trump. It is simply not in us.

As of this writing, I am officially DONE listening to the unmitigated gall that “both sides do it” or “both parties are the same” because that’s a complete load of bullshit. It is brutally insulting to the tens of millions of people in this country who play by the rules, believe all people are created equal, and still know a damn lie, or attack on our country when they hear it and see it.

The people who populate the Left and Right in our country are wired differently, and it’s time this was said out loud, and repeatedly. It is also long past time our media reported this. Especially because they know it to be true.

In the newsrooms where I used to work, if something so obviously bad and as evil as Trump and his enablers had burst on the scene, we would have been sounding alarms and reporting on it 24/7. The man means us and our country harm. We know this because he is SHOWING US AND TELLING US THIS.

There is seldom a day that goes by without him saying or doing something revolting and egregious. The media doesn’t even bother asking his Republican followers in Congress to account for his larceny anymore. They just accept it as somehow normal when it most certainly is not and never can be.

There are two sides to the story that should be told in America right now. One is called, good, the other is called, evil.

The only reason our national press does not report on this legitimately and accurately is simply because they are pathetic cowards, plain and simple. They know they are failing, but are carrying on despicably, anyway.

I’ll always have ammo to burn addressing their egregious behavior these days, but for now, I want to continue unwinding this thread of how the Left and Right are completely different and how unfair it is that we have to deal with the never-ending recklessness on the Right.

Back in 2015, when Trump laughably announced he’d be seeking the Republican nomination for president, many prominent Republicans rightfully scoffed at the possibility. You’ll get no better example than Lindsey Graham’s evergreen tweet: “If we nominate Trump we will get destroyed.......and we will deserve it.” Graham went on to call Trump, “a jackass.”

The Bushes, Rubios, and other red-blooded Republicans all saw Trump for what he was: completely disgusting and ridiculous. That was before the big-mouth, lifetime loser started blasting them off the debate stage by imitating a slobbering, belligerent drunk at the end of the bar.

Instead of bouncing him from the party, they allowed him to play to the delight of the silent minority in America, who had watched him bravely fire people on his TV show, and lick his toilet seat by degrading President Obama with his putrid, racist, noxious birther blather.

These were the fine people whose tongues bled from self-censoring the bile that flowed from their broken brains, into their big, fat mouths, and had taken centuries to finally go out of taste in this country. It killed them that there were actually awful, hurtful things they could not say out loud anymore.

Now they were free to be themselves again, and let the sludge flow freely from their chapped lips.

Their freedoms had nothing to do with breaking free from any chains, or breaking glass ceilings. No, their freedoms meant having the permission from the very top to be just as disgusting and appalling as they wanted to be. It meant belittling the disabled, and dragging women into the gutter. It meant coddling Nazis and calling cities that terrified them with their sophistication, “s--t holes.”

Before we knew it Nazis and white suprematists were coming out of their caves everywhere and lighting their tiki torches. They were finally on the march to the point of no return, where their disgusting leader was waiting to tell them that he loved them.

Once you have coddled a racist, a traitor, a two-timer, a friend of our enemies, an environmental terrorist, a serial liar, and a sociopath, you are completely lost and broken. Done.

Now the mob rules the Republican Party, which makes it fitting they are represented by this two-bit thug, who is currently sitting in a court room for hiding campaign money he paid to an adult movie star he slept with named Stormy, while his wife was at home caring for a newborn.

Yeah, that’s good and wholesome and normal right there.

A few have broken free of the madman’s grip in the Republican Party, while others have tried, and have crumpled into a heap and back into the mud and slime.

In February, Trump’s very own attorney general, the morally corrupt, Bill Barr, stumbled into bravery and truth when he said that voting for Trump would be “playing Russian roulette with the country.”

By this past Wednesday he had once again devolved and said, but “I’ll support the Republican ticket” if Trump leads it.

Also in February, New Hampshire Republican Governor Chris Sununu said of Trump: “A--holes come and go. But America is here to stay.”

On Sunday, he admitted he had changed his tune and said: “Look, nobody should be shocked that the Republican governor is supporting the Republican president.”

That’s exactly right, governor: A--holes come and go, and apparently you will do everything you can to hang around for a while. You are a revolting person, sport.

Nobody should be surprised by these things anymore, because the Republican Party is irredeemable and incapable of surprises. They can ALWAYS go lower, and prove it literally every day.

This is what happens when you are morally busted and are not bound by any rules or self-control that guides the rest of us.

This is what happens when you surrender to depravity.

This is what happens when you rubber stamp abuse of women, lies, insurrection and support for dictators as anything in the vicinity of normal.

So what happens when standing by the truth and playing by the rules gets you nowhere as a political party and as a country? What happens when millions discover there is no justice and a depraved mad man once again has the keys to the kingdom?

Thanks to the Barrs and the Sununus, and the tens of millions of below-average, broken-down Republicans littering our country, we are terrifyingly close to finding out.

It is up to the Left to take out the garbage once again in America, because the Right has lost its damn mind, as well as its sense of taste and smell.

At what point can all this FINALLY be delivered as fact and shouted on Page 1?

At what point can we quit pretending that both sides are even remotely the same?

NOW READ: What most assuredly happens when Trump sits down with the New York Times

D. Earl Stephens is the author of “Toxic Tales: A Caustic Collection of Donald J. Trump’s Very Important Letters” and finished up a 30-year career in journalism as the Managing Editor of Stars and Stripes. Follow @EarlofEnough and on his website.

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seekforwarmth · 6 months ago

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lou!! how was it? how are you feeling!!

HIIIIII! omg idk where to begin.

i’ve been spending the last four days with Anitra @allwaswell16 and it’s been absolutely amazing! we got to see lots of cool stuff for the first time together, or for the second time in some cases. sometimes it shows when you’ve known a person online for seven years or so bc it’s so easy when it comes to hang out “in real life” 🥹

so anyway, we had been so lucky with mexico city’s traffic for the first two days (even on friday which was also pay day), but yesterday we got to experience the real chaos (and the scam that has become uber), so we couldn’t get there by the time doors opened and we missed Giant Rocks and the special merch for mexico city (Anitra got us merch anyway and we’re twining), but i was mostly sad abt missing my chance to finally meet An @lemelous (we’re going to meet soon so it’s fine but also it would’ve made my night way better that it already was!)

before the show, we got to trade some friendship bracelets and we got the material for the fan projects!

i got to meet in person my friend Fer @fforever-dreaming alongside with Mery @fuchsiasea (who i’m going to see very soon too!) and her sister. we only had a little time to talk but it was definitely one of the parts i was looking forward the most and a highlight of the night.

SO THE SHOW. it’s going to sound cliché but it’s an experience that you have to live it to understand it. that moment when the playlist pre-show suddenly stops and you see the stage is all ready, and then a couple of minutes after the lights go off and you know it’s starting??? priceless! i screamed a lot when Louis came out on stage and i just couldn’t really process it that i was finally seeing him after two long years!!! (which i know it’s a privilege itself bc there’s ppl who haven’t seen him).

when it finally clicked to me that he was there, i noticed the shirt which i LOVED! he looks so beautiful in polo shirts and especially that colour! (i especially loved that it was red bc it’s one of our national colours too).

it felt like it was a song after the other with no breaks. idk how the ppl watching the live-streaming felt but it went too fast! and there were so many emotions in the air! i screamed, i sang, i jumped, i participated in the projects, i teared up a bit during certain parts, I LAUGHED he’s so funny and so grateful for everything, that i just wanted to put him in a pocket and take him with me lol.

i couldn’t tell you which songs i enjoyed the most bc honestly i loved them all. i’m not a person who watches livestreams from fans, and even sometimes the videos i watch them with no audio just to see if i can make gifs from them lol so everything was a surprise for me and i loved it! i didn’t notice we were missing a song until almost at the very end but personally i didn’t need it bc he gave us so much of him already. i definitely wanted to listen to bigger than me bc it was my most listened to song in 2022 and i didn’t want to miss it. but like i said, i loved all the songs, the chats, the projects!!!

a quick parenthesis abt the projects. so originally there were three: sibwawc, walls, and saturdays. what you saw on the videos going around and the kmm project wasn’t talked abt (as far as i know, maybe i’m wrong), but we did it last year (thanks to the chilean fans of course) so i guess everyone knew that part was coming and just did it. like it looked so coordinated but it wasn’t planned (again, as far as i know) before hand. i obviously couldn’t see the rainbow lights from my section bc we were holding the same colour but when i saw the video and i saw that it worked, i loved it. and i guess you’ve seen the video where the crowd screamed “for every question why, you were my because” and it shows the crowd? we formed the mexican flag there. for saturdays i also think the project worked? i haven’t seen videos but if i’m honest i wanted to film that song for my friend who couldn’t be there so i did the project for half the song lol

the fireworks and confetti after silver tongues were so cool! i wasn’t expecting them so i was filming the whole stage and not really zooming on him? so when the fireworks showed up i felt like a child! it was just pure and genuine happiness in that moment.

lately i’ve been enjoying concerts more than when i was younger, idk why, but i scream more and jump more, and just live in the moment. and this concert even if i felt it was too short, it was still one of the best experiences ever!! i love Louis so much and i love my friends! 🫶🏻

#my show #interlouist #answered

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buddiedreams · 2 months ago

Text

strange look on his face | a buddie fic

read here on ao3

Summary: Eddie deals with the aftermath of Christopher's departure and a realization he wasn't expecting.

Warnings/Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Feelings Realization, Pining Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Pre-Relationship Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, POV Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Christopher Diaz Has Two Dads, Eddie Diaz Loves Evan "Buck" Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley is Christopher Diaz's Parent, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz First Kiss, First Kiss, Soft Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Gay Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Bisexual Evan "Buck" Buckley, Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, Christopher Diaz is a Sweetheart, Evan "Buck" Buckley Acting as Christopher Diaz's Parental Figure

Christopher has been gone for three and a half weeks when Eddie finally realizes. He’s been through six sessions of therapy with Frank, but it’s not Frank that makes it finally click in his head. It’s the most insanely mundane thing Eddie’s ever seen Buck do, and it hits him like a fucking freight train.

Buck is just sitting on the end of the couch, folding a load of his and Eddie’s laundry, grinning down at his phone. He’s texting Chris, Eddie knows—he’d asked with a strange pit in his stomach when he first noticed, thinking he was talking to Tommy and dreading the answer. Until Buck had looked at him, fondness so clear in his eyes that if Eddie wasn’t already sitting down, his knees would have buckled, and admits that he’s talking to Christopher. Eddie doesn’t even have to ask for Buck to explain that Chris was talking about going horse riding with his cousins, and how he was complaining that his grandparents didn’t want him to go. Buck gently admits that he’d told Christopher to be nice but to explain to them that he knows his own limitations and he needs them to trust that he’s being honest with them, and Chris had texted back to thank Buck for the advice and send a picture of the horse he was going to be riding.

It’s so stupid. Buck has been basically co-parenting Chrisopher with him for years, and this is what does it? Sure, Buck generally defers to Eddie’s judgment regarding Christopher, and Eddie’s always the one to dole out punishments in the rare circumstance that Chris needs one, but for all intents and purposes, Buck is Christopher’s other dad. Maybe it’s the combination of things he’s been talking with Frank about, or maybe it’s just watching Buck help to shape the confidence of his son, but it finally clicks into place in his brain and he draws in a sharp breath. It feels like a monumental shift and no shift at all, how much he loves Buck. How much he’s in love with Buck. Eddie’s sure Buck could see his frantic heartbeat in his neck if he looked over, but he’s focused on his conversation with their son, and all Eddie wants to do is cry. He’s not even sure why. He’s just so fucking overwhelmed that he rattles off a quiet explanation of going to the bathroom and all but flees from the room.

They have a shift in two hours, so he gives himself five minutes to freak the hell out before splashing some cold water on his face and taking a few deep breaths to collect himself. He can keep it together. He can. He’s apparently been in love with his best friend this entire time, just because he realizes it now doesn’t mean anything has to change. He’ll just… unpack this with Frank in therapy and then push it back into the box before he has to hang out with Buck again. Easy.

He lasts about ten minutes, which he thinks is actually fairly good. Buck has his head thrown back, laughing at something in the show he’s watching, and Eddie can’t help but stare. He’s seen Buck before, but it’s like he’s suddenly seeing him in a new light. Like he’s finally giving himself permission to look, which he absolutely should not be doing, but he can’t tear his eyes away. He’d always known objectively that Buck was beautiful, hell, he got hit on all the time on calls and when they went out, it’s not exactly a surprise to Eddie, but the sudden tightness in his jeans is a much bigger surprise than he’s ready for. He can’t pull his eyes away from Buck’s lips, the lines of his throat, and can’t help but wonder what that would feel like around his cock.

Holy shit, he needs the coldest shower on the planet right now. Instead, he shuffles just a little to relieve some of the pressure on his aching dick and focuses his attention on whatever show Buck is currently invested in, letting himself get distracted enough that he’s mostly okay once they head out for work.

He makes it through a couple hours of their shift without incident, until Tommy shows up to have dinner with them. Buck looks surprised and a little annoyed—what the fuck is that about—so Eddie assumes he hadn’t been invited, but it still makes him nauseous. He takes his normal seat on Buck’s left and sees Tommy giving him a weird look before taking the seat on Buck’s right.

Much to Eddie’s delight, Buck spends most of dinner chatting with the table at large, or tilting his phone so Eddie can see the pictures Chris is sending of himself and his cousins around a backyard campfire, sticky with marshmallow and grinning at the camera. It makes Eddie’s chest ache, in a good and bad way. He’s happy that Chris is having fun—he’d been able to admit that much to Frank too, which Frank had seemed impressed by—but Eddie can’t help but feel like he’s back in the army, missing his kid growing up. He knows it’s only for the summer, and that Christopher rightfully needed some space, but it doesn’t make it sting any less. Honestly, he thinks it stings more because he’d assumed that if Chris ran to anyone, it would be Buck. That Buck would have been the one looking after Christopher for the summer, that Eddie would still at least be in the same city as his kid. Not that it would have worked out anyway, since Buck offered the loft to Bobby and Athena after the fire, but it doesn’t make Eddie any less annoyed by the situation. His relationship with his parents has been getting better, marginally, but it’s like all of his worst fears coming true. They have Christopher now, and Eddie just has to trust that he’s going to come home at the end of the summer. It’s nerve wracking.

Buck walks Tommy out after dinner, and Eddie catches Tommy leaning in to kiss Buck, and in the back of his brain, he just wants. He wants Buck’s lips on his, wants to grab every part of skin he can reach, wants to lose himself in his best friend. And then his brain—his raised very Catholic brain—screeches to a halt as he realizes the implications.

He’s never been particularly religious, but he was raised in a Catholic household, so he’s still got some of the lingering ideas fighting for space in his brain, clearly. The particular one that’s bugging him right now is the one that reminds him that it’s a sin to be gay, to lust after another man. And while Eddie’s mostly able to reject it, since he sort of thinks it’s all bullshit anyway, there’s a piece of him that closes in on itself, and it makes his skin crawl. Normally, he’d talk to Buck about it, but that’s out of the question since he’d have to admit to the revelation he’s recently had, so Eddie turns to where Bobby is washing the dishes from dinner. It takes him all of three seconds to decide, and then he’s crossing the length of the loft to grab a towel and start drying.

Bobby glances at him but doesn’t say anything, which Eddie is incredibly grateful for. It takes him a couple of minutes of drying and putting the dishes away to collect himself and figure out exactly what the fuck he wants to ask, and how to ask it.

“Hey, Cap, you’re Catholic, right?”

Bobby turns to raise an eyebrow at him. “Yes. Is that what you came over to ask me?”

Eddie snorts. “Uh, not exactly. I—well, it’s sort of… complicated? I think I realized something about myself and, you know, I don’t know if I believe in that or not, but I grew up Catholic, so it’s still kind of, uh, infecting me I guess?” Eddie pauses, eyes widening in panic as he realizes what he’s just said. “Not that being Catholic is a bad thing! I just meant, you know, I don’t know if I agree with everything they teach, not that they’re bad people or something—” He stops when Bobby, chuckling to himself, puts a wet hand on his forearm and squeezes gently.

“Eddie, you don’t need to apologize to me. Faith isn’t for everyone, I know that. It’s helped me through some tough times, and it’s something that I think I’ll always hold space for because of that, but I don’t care what other people think of it. Besides, I don’t agree with everything the church teaches, either.” Bobby meets his eyes meaningfully, raising an eyebrow. “Particularly that they’re so unwelcoming to the queer community.”

Eddie swallows. “Right. So, um, I guess I was just sort of wondering about… confession? I haven’t been since I was a teenager, but I thought that it might… I don’t know, make me feel better about everything, I guess? But I don’t have a church I go to, so I figured maybe I should ask you. ”

Bobby raises an eyebrow at him. “Confession? Do you think you’ve done something that requires confession?”

Eddie bites his lip, resisting the sudden and overwhelming urge to look around and find Buck’s gaze. “I… I don’t know. Maybe? I just—I didn’t think it would matter to me but it sort of just hit me? My parents are God-fearing Texans, y’know, so…I guess it became part of my foundation when I was growing up?”

Bobby nods his understanding, taking the towel from Eddie to dry his own hands. “Sure, I can send you the address. But just so we’re on the same page? Not everything the Catholic church teaches is right, and you shouldn’t believe a lot of it. Especially when it makes you feel bad about parts of who you are. Okay?”

Eddie wants to throw up and also hug Bobby, and he isn’t quite sure which is going to win out, so he dries his own hands off and nods, shooting Bobby a small smile before whispering his thanks and heading off to finish up his chores.

They have almost nonstop calls until the end of their shift, so Eddie doesn’t even really get enough time to decide if he wants to try going to Bobby’s church or not. By the time he finally walks out of the station, a full two hours after his shift was supposed to end, he’s still not sure it’ll help, but it can’t hurt, surely, so he plugs the address into his GPS and heads directly there. He’s far too pent up from… well, everything, he wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he wanted to. Besides, there might not be anyone there to begin with. It’s after 10pm when he gets there, so he’s not expecting a whole hell of a lot when he steps through the surprisingly still unlocked front doors.

The church beyond the doors is silent and empty, at least from what Eddie can see. It’s just like the church he remembers at home—huge and overwhelming and uninviting—and it makes his chest go tight. He thinks about just turning around and going home, but he knows he’s going to lay in bed for hours trying to sleep, thinking about how he should have just checked to see if anyone was here. He sucks in a breath, sending a quick text to Buck to let him know he’ll be home late, and wanders inside.

It’s bigger than he was expecting, although that’s how almost everything in LA is, so he shouldn’t be surprised at this point. He still doesn’t see anyone, not that he’d really know where to look, but he’s already come this far. He settles into one of the pews near the altar, hands clasping together between his knees automatically. He thinks about praying, but he’s really not sure what that would even do for him, or what he would say, and the thought of doing it makes his skin crawl just a little bit. He ends up just sitting quietly, trying to sort through the thoughts whizzing through his head and organize them into some semblance of a plan, some direction to go from here.

“Can I help you?”

Eddie startles at the voice, turning to find a priest watching him. “Oh, uh. Maybe. I don’t—this isn’t really my thing.”

The priest smiles gently, nodding to the spot next to Eddie. Eddie nods back, scooting over just a bit to make more room for him to sit. “So what brings you here so late, if it’s not really your thing?”

Eddie clears this throat, squeezing his hands tightly. “I, um. I think I might be in love with my best friend.” He doesn’t want to look, but the priest doesn’t say anything after a while, so Eddie glances over at him. He’s just waiting with an eyebrow raised. “He, uh… he’s a man,” Eddie adds, preparing for the worst.

Except, it doesn’t come. The expression on the priest’s face doesn’t change, which is… confusing. Although, Bobby had sent him here after his rather pointed comment about the queer community, so maybe…

“I know most churches within Catholicism will tell you that’s a problem, but we don’t believe that here. For what it’s worth, as someone who has studied the Bible, I think they’re wrong anyway. The most common quote people use is wildly misused.”

Eddie blinks. “The don’t lay with another man one?”

The priest nods. “It comes from Leviticus, which explains the rules God laid down for Moses’ people. It’s been passed down for centuries, like a game of telephone, and most people disregard a lot of the things in that book anyway. It instructs us to kill adulterers, tell us where to buy slaves from, not to eat anything from the water if it doesn’t have fins and scales. A lot of it is commonly disregarded, and yet it’s used to isolate a community that just wants to practice their faith like the rest of us.”

Eddie swallows, his throat suddenly too tight. “So… it’s not… I’m not… I don’t even think I believe in Hell, actually. I don’t even really know what I’m doing here.”

The priest smiles. “Did you grow up Catholic?”

Eddie nods. “Sunday school and everything, yeah. Stopped going once I got my girlfriend pregnant, mostly because my parents were embarrassed and didn’t want me around for people to gossip about, but I honestly didn’t really care that we stopped going. I used to just zone out for mass anyway, I just never really cared about it. Never… connected with it, or whatever.” He feels like an idiot saying all of that to a priest, but he’s already here. Might as well do something to try to sort through his feelings, and there’s no way Frank was going to take his call at ten at night.

“That’s understandable. A lot of people who grow up in a faith-based family struggle, especially in their adult life. Faith is an intensely personal thing, and no two people worship the same. Some people don’t even worship at all, and that’s okay too. Not everyone needs to. Your faith is between you and whatever higher power you believe in, if any.”

“But that’s… is that how it works? I remember learning all the rules when I was younger, about how to act and what was… you know, okay?”

The priest hums. “Sure. Different churches have different beliefs. Honestly, beliefs even differ between priests. But I’m not going to tell you that being attracted to your male best friend is wrong, or that it’s going to damn you. Jesus taught that the most important thing was to love thy neighbor no matter what, that’s what I try to live by.”

Eddie sits back in the pew, taking a deep breath. This… isn’t what he expected. Honestly, he’d sort of expected to be told that he was an abomination and that he should leave before he burst into flames. This is the exact opposite of what he was expecting, and it’s kind of freeing. He’s not even really sure if he believes in a god, and even if he did, he doesn’t think a god would care who he decides to sleep with, but to have that reinforced by someone from the religion he was raised in? That taught him that being gay was a sin, and that there was nothing worse than being a sinner? It’s a relief.

“Tell me about him, if you think it will help.”

Eddie smiles. “He’s… he’s the best person I know. He’s been through so much and he’s still unflinchingly kind, I don’t know how he does it. He’s incredible with my son. Honestly, I think my son might like him more than he likes me. And he just fits, you know? I didn’t even realize I was in love with him until yesterday, but he’s basically been my partner for years. He helps me with my son, we spend basically all of our time together, and the house always feels so empty when he leaves. God, I just want him to stay,” Eddie finishes in a whisper, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I want him to be where he belongs, with us.”

“Have you told him that?”

Eddie shakes his head. “He’s dating someone else. I don’t… I can’t get in the way of that. I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself if I ruined a relationship he was happy in.”

The priest chuckles. “If he’s happy, you telling him won’t make any difference. Either he’ll realize that he’d rather be with you, or he’ll stay in a relationship he’s happy in.” He leans toward Eddie, a conspiratorial smile on his lips. “But just between you and me, platonic best friends don’t typically co-parent children together.”

Eddie blinks. “I… hadn’t thought about that. I just assumed he was doing it to be a nice guy, but… I don’t know, I think I might be biased? I mean, I want him there when I get home, I want him to do school pickup with me and go to parent-teacher conferences. I want to take us on family vacations and have Chris wake us up way too early on Christmas. I don’t think I can see past it now that I know, you know?”

“You might be biased, but maybe he is too. It takes two, and from what it sounds like, he’s spending just as much time with you and voluntarily helping you with your son.”

Eddie nods, running a hand through his hair. “And God’s not gonna, I don’t know, strike me down with lightning if I kiss him?”

The priest snorts. “No. I imagine God has better things to be doing.”

They sit in silence for another few minutes, until Eddie feels like he’s calmed down enough to face Buck. He murmurs a thank you toward the priest, who nods and tells him to get home safe, disappearing through a door behind the altar. Eddie clears his throat, fishing his keys out of his pocket and heading back to his truck.

Buck’s Jeep isn’t in the driveway when he gets home, which is… weird. Buck’s become much more of a homebody while Chris has been gone, although Eddie suspects that’s because he’s mostly been moping around the house and Buck has been looking after him. Still, he had expected Buck to be here when he got home, and the lack of a message or call letting Eddie know he was going elsewhere is worrisome. He opens their message thread, debating whether he should send a message, before deciding against it and switching to Find My Friends.

Eddie swallows, biting his bottom lip. He knows exactly where Buck is, because he’s been there too—Tommy’s apartment. The sight makes Eddie physically ill, so he closes out of the app and takes a deep breath that does nothing to stop the roiling in his gut. Alright, so maybe not confessing his feelings, then. He still feels like he’s bursting to talk about them, though, so he does the only logical thing he can think of—logs into the account he uses to schedule his therapy appointments and takes an open spot for tomorrow morning. They're off anyway, and he needs to get this off his chest sooner rather than later, before he does something stupid like word vomiting his feelings all over Buck.

He must’ve fallen asleep on the couch at some point after checking on Christopher through his mother, because the next thing he knows, he’s hearing keys in the front door over the sound of whatever is playing quietly on the TV. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, shutting the TV off and trying to decide if he should scurry off to his bedroom before he has to face Buck, but he doesn’t get a chance to make a decision either way before Buck’s walking inside. He’s struggling, and Eddie’s off the couch before he can even consciously think about it, taking a cardboard box from Buck’s hands with a confused look.

“My stuff from Tommy’s,” Buck says, like that explains literally anything.

“Why are you bringing your stuff back from Tommy’s?”

Buck raises an eyebrow at him. “Uh, I broke up with him? Kind of thought that would’ve been obvious since I’m lugging all my shit home. Honestly, I don’t even know how this much of my stuff ended up at Tommy’s place to begin with. I don’t think I’ve been there more than a handful of times.”

Eddie’s sure the rest of whatever Buck’s saying is important, but the only thing his brain can process at the moment is that Buck broke up with Tommy.

“You okay, Eds?”

Eddie blinks at him, plastering on a smile he hopes doesn’t look as fake as it feels, and nods. “Yeah, yeah, all good. I’m sorry about you and Tommy.”

Buck waves a hand toward the corner of the living room, so Eddie drops the box there. “It’s fine. It wasn’t gonna last anyway. He was really fucking annoying with the whole Gerard thing, and I think he mostly just tunes me out all the time anyway. I hadn’t even talked to him in, like, a week. I don’t know why he just showed up for dinner.”

Eddie blinks. “What do you mean ‘the whole Gerard thing’?”

Buck frowns at him, sitting heavily on the couch. “What do you mean, what do I mean? You were there. He was being really homophobic toward Hen, and snidely racist toward her and Chim.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “No, yeah, I know that. I meant what do you mean Tommy was annoying about it?”

“Oh. He basically told me that he dealt with Gerard for years and that I should just keep my mouth shut and do my job. I tried to get him to understand that it’s my family he’s attacking, but… I dunno. He didn’t seem to get it, and whenever I’d try to vent about it to him, he’d just pull the whole ‘should’ve just kept your mouth shut’ thing.”

Eddie frowns. “That’s… why did you let him treat you like that?”

Buck snorts. “Did you miss the part where I said I broke up with him?”

“No, I heard it, but Gerard’s been gone for two weeks. Why didn’t you break up with him before?”

“Oh, uh…” Buck rubs a hand over the back of his neck, and Eddie can see his cheeks reddening. “I actually, uh, hadn’t really seen him before now?”

Eddie blinks. Blinks again. Licks over his bottom lip and crosses his arms over his chest as he thinks back. Because he knows Buck is right. Hell, they’ve been living together for the better part of a month now, and Eddie knows that Buck has been here basically the whole time, blowing off his boyfriend to comfort Eddie. He feels less bad about it knowing that Buck was kind of avoiding Tommy anyway, but he still feels bad. He hadn’t intended to monopolize so much of Buck’s time. “Shit, because you were here. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Eddie, you didn’t do anything, okay? I was kind of done with Tommy by that point anyway, and I’d rather be with—” Buck cuts himself off, sending a panicked glance in Eddie’s direction. “Be here. Cause I know you’re having a tough time with Chris gone and honestly I miss him too, so it’s kinda nice being here. We can mope together.”

Eddie snorts. “God, aren’t we a pair of sorry bastards.”

Buck hums. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Eddie’s pretty sure his heart has beat its way out of his body entirely. This is far too intimate for how raw he’s feeling right now, so he gives himself a minute of buffer so Buck doesn’t think he’s fleeing, and then flees to his bedroom with a mumbled goodnight. He changes into his pajamas and slips out to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed, praying silently that Buck stays on the couch and Eddie doesn’t have another reason to swallow down his suddenly so clear feelings.

He’s exhausted when he finally gets into bed, but then his brain decides to be a traitorous asshole and give him the idea that his bed would be far more comfortable with Buck next to him in it. Eddie has the overwhelming urge to punch something, so he aggressively fluffs his own pillow, rolling over and pulling the blanket over his head.

He needs to talk to Frank, he knows that much. And Buck, probably. Although, strangely enough, Eddie doesn’t really doubt that his feelings will be returned. He has a sneaking suspicion that Buck might have just been waiting for him to catch up, which just makes him sad. What if he hadn’t ever caught up? What if he’d just married some nice girl and struggled through it, instead of the clusterfuck that led him to where he is now? He thinks he knows the answer (that Buck would have resigned himself to just being Eddie’s best friend and taken whatever scraps he could get) but it honestly just makes him feel worse about everything.

He needs to talk to Christopher.

The thought hits him like a brick to the face, because of course he needs to talk to Christopher. He hasn’t even spoken to his son since he left, only getting updates on his time in El Paso from his own mother and Buck, since Chris and Buck are still texting almost constantly. Still, if he’s… depending on what happens with Frank tomorrow, he’s going to have to suck it up and call Chris and hope to a god he probably doesn’t believe in that his son answers.

“I’m in love with Buck,” Eddie blurts out, less than thirty seconds into his therapy appointment. Frank has the audacity to not even look surprised, which makes Eddie scowl. He really had been the last one to catch up.

“What made you realize?”

Eddie scrubs a hand over his face, sighing. “It’s stupid.”

He hears Frank sigh and winces, already knowing the therapy speech that’s about to be leveled at him. “Eddie, there’s nothing stupid about your feelings. Where they come from may not always be logical, but the feelings themselves are worthy and you’re allowed to have them.”

He takes a sip of water, mostly for something to do, and nods. “Yeah, I know. It’s just, of all the things that could’ve clued me in, it was… basically nothing. He was just folding laundry on the couch and talking to Chris. And, yeah, he was giving Chris advice on how to handle my parents doubting his abilities, but that’s—he does that all the time, you know? Gives Chris advice, helps him work through problems. I honestly don’t know what made it click.” He lets out a long breath, clearing his throat. “I think it was just the domesticity of it all. Like we were just spending a day hanging out before work and our son was out with friends. And I just… I wanted that, you know? I want him there all the time. I want to make dinner with him and Chris and spend our days off taking him to the zoo and the science center, waking up to Buck in my arms every morning. I want to be able to not second-guess myself every time I go to touch him.”

Eddie’s breathing hard when he stops his rant, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He doesn’t usually talk that much in therapy, and Frank seems a little surprised by his sudden outburst.

“So what’s stopping you from discussing your feelings with him?”

Eddie blows out a breath. “I… I think it’s Chris. I mean, not that I think he would be upset if I dated Buck, but I think… I think that after what happened, with Marisol a-and Kim, I don’t want to just jump into another relationship. I know I really hurt him and I want to get better for him, you know? I don’t want him to come home and I’m already dating someone else, I just… I want him to see that I’m trying to get better, and I don’t think he’ll see that if he comes back and I’m already dating someone else.”

Frank closes his notebook. “I’m impressed with your progress, Eddie. You’ve been doing well.”

Eddie blinks at him. “I… have? I don’t feel like much has changed.”

Frank smiles. “It may not feel like it, but I don’t think you registered what you just said to me.”

“What did I say?” Eddie asks, frowning as he spins his last admission around in his head.

“You told me what you want. You want Christopher to see that you’re working through your issues and improving, and that you want Buck. A month ago, you wouldn’t have said those outright. You would have danced around the admission until I pulled it out of you. I barely said anything before you were admitting your wants. That's an improvement, Eddie. It may not seem like it, but admitting that you want things is a step closer to letting yourself have the things you want.”

Eddie squirms in his seat, clearing his throat. He wants to refute it, but he knows Frank is right. He’s always struggled with wanting things for himself, especially after Christopher was born. His parents had always instilled selflessness in him, and made sure he understood that as a parent, Christopher was his priority, nothing else, even if they often disagreed about what that meant.

“I want to take Buck on dates,” Eddie whispers, eyes pointedly fixed on his hands. “I want to be able to take Buck to dinner and leave Chris with Abuela, or with his friends, and just… be with Buck. Is that awful?”

Frank sets his notebook aside, sitting forward. “No, Eddie. That’s not awful. You’re a parent, so of course Christopher is a priority, but he shouldn’t be your only priority. It’s important that you’re happy, too. We’ve discussed your affair at length, but it boils down to this: your unhappiness directly hurt your son. You were unhappy in a relationship because of your trauma regarding Shannon, which led you to make decisions that ultimately hurt Christopher. You simply returning to your sessions with me was an incredible step toward progress, and you’ve made great progress working with me. Chris will be impressed, even if it takes him some time to sort through his feelings. And, more importantly, you’ll be showing him that it’s important to make sure you are content with your life while taking care of others, that sometimes it’s okay to put yourself first. You’re a first responder, you know better than anyone. Your oxygen mask needs to be on before you help anyone else.”

Eddie nods, picking at a loose thread in his jeans.

“I do think you should call and talk to him. From what you’ve said, his anger stems from being lied to by you. I think, if you want to pursue things with Buck, you need to be upfront with Christopher about it.”

Eddie blinks, looking up at Frank. “You think he’s angry because I lied to him?”

Frank raises an eyebrow. “You think differently?”

Eddie shrugs. “I think I just assumed it was because she looked like his mom. That it brought up, y’know, unpleasant… feelings. For him.”

They talk about Eddie’s feelings with the whole thing—his unresolved feelings regarding Shannon and their relationship, and why he thought something with Kim would help fix that—and by the time he leaves, he’s absolutely drained. He’d like nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed for a nap, but… Buck’s at home. He really needs to have a conversation with Christopher, preferably without Buck in earshot, so he grabs a coffee and muffin from a nearby coffee shop and heads for the park the three of them frequent. He could probably use the fresh air anyway.

His mom picks up on the first ring, which Eddie still finds hard to believe. They’ve never talked as much as they have in the past month and Eddie appreciates it beyond belief. Chris still won’t talk to him, so he gets all his updates through Buck or his mom. He thinks he’d be going a little crazy if he wasn’t getting any at all, so as angry as he is at his parents, he’s grateful too.

He asks if Chris is around and if he’d be willing to Facetime, and much to his surprise, Chris agrees. His mom passes the phone to him and then Eddie’s laying eyes on his son for the first time in almost a month and he’s so fucking happy he could cry.

“Dad? Is everything okay?” Chris asks quietly, frowning.

Eddie chuckles wetly. “Everything’s great, mijo. I promise. I, uh, I actually wanted to talk to you about something, if you don’t mind sharing some of your time with your old man.”

Chris wrinkles his nose. “You’re not that old. What do you want to talk about?”

Eddie clears his throat, taking a sip of his coffee and setting the cup on the bench beside him. “So, we’ve talked about sexual orientation before. How Denny’s moms love each other and that’s wonderful, and how Buck might end up loving another man, or maybe a woman. You remember?”

Chris nods, pushing his glasses up as he settles onto a bed. Eddie recognizes it as his childhood bed, which brings up all sorts of feelings that he really does not want to deal with at the moment. “Yeah, Denny’s moms are lesbian and Buck said he was beesexual?”

Eddie chokes back a snort. “Bisexual, yes. So I’ve been working with Frank, do you remember him? He’s my therapist, I go to him and he helps me… sort through all the stuff in my head?”

Chris nods again. “Like when I went to see the doctor after the tsunami and they helped me talk about Mom?”

“Yeah, exactly. So Frank and I talked about it and I wanted to tell you. I’m gay.”

Chris frowns. “But you loved Mom, didn’t you?”

Eddie smiles. “Yeah, buddy. Your mom was my best friend. But I didn’t love her like Denny’s moms love each other. Does that make sense?”

Christopher’s face screws up as he thinks, then nods. “Like Harry’s dad, right? They were together but then his dad told them he was gay?”

“Exactly. I loved your mom, but more like a best friend than a partner.”

Chris nods. “So if you’re gay and Buck is bisexual, does that mean you love each other now?”

Eddie chokes back a laugh. Leave it to Chris to get straight to the point, especially when Buck is involved. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, mijo. I know you’re getting older and that we can have more open discussions about these things, and I wanted to include you. I know what happened with Marisol and Kim upset you, and I want to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

Chris looks away. “You lied to me, Dad.”

Eddie’s heart aches. All he wants to do is wrap Christopher in his arms and squeeze, but he can’t. So he settles for Frank’s suggestion and is as honest as possible instead. “You’re right, and that was wrong of me. I shouldn't have treated you like that, I’m sorry.” He lets the apology linger as he eats some of his muffin. “I wanted to know what you thought about me possibly dating Buck. I know after everything that it might bring up some complicated feelings, so if you want me to hold off on dating anyone, I absolutely will.”

Chris chews his lip. “But you’d be dating Buck? Right? Not anyone else?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No one else. I want to date Buck. I haven’t talked to him about it yet, I wanted to talk to you first.”

Chris looks away again, and Eddie hates how worried he looks. “Would he leave?” Chris whispers, glancing back at Eddie.

“Why would he leave?” Chris sniffles. Eddie wants to hug him so desperately that his hand twitches. “Chris, why do you think Buck would leave?”

“Everyone you date leaves,” Chris says quietly, averting his gaze again. Eddie’s pretty sure his heart has snapped in two.

“No, Chris. I don’t think he would leave,” Eddie says gently. “I think Buck really likes being with us, and I think he’d like to be with us even more. If we did date, I mean.”

Chris bites his lip. “Can I talk to Buck about it? After you talk to him? I want him to promise.”

Eddie blinks against the tears stinging his eyes. “Of course, mijo. I’m going to talk to him when I get home, and then we’ll both call you, okay?”

Chris nods. “Dad, do you love him?”

Eddie smiles. “Yeah, Chris. I love him a lot. Almost as much as I love you.”

Chris nods again, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “I just want you to be happy, Dad. Buck makes you happy.”

Eddie feels like his entire chest has been cracked open. “Yeah, Chris, he really does. He makes us both happy, right?”

Chris sits up quickly, eyes widening. “Wait, does this mean Buck is gonna live with us?”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “Yeah, maybe in the future. I think he’ll go back to his loft when Bobby and Athena find a place to live, but we can talk about that. Do you want him to live with us?”

“Well yes, obviously! Then we could hang out all the time! It’d be like movie night every night.” He’s grinning now, which makes Eddie feel infinitely better than before. Plus, he’d like Buck there forever too, so he can’t exactly blame the kid.

“Alright. I’m gonna go home and talk to Buck. We’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay Dad. Love you.”

Eddie smiles, taking one more look at his kid, just to reassure himself. “Love you, Chris.”

It’s quiet when he gets home, which is still jarring. He and Buck don’t make as much noise as a nearly-teenage boy, so the silence makes his chest ache. Still, he’s buoyed after his conversation with Chris, and he’s even whistling to himself quietly as he kicks his shoes off and sets them on the rack near the door, hanging his keys on the key rack.

“Eds? That you?”

Eddie smiles, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He’s felt off-balance since Christopher left but, even with… this whole thing looming right now, he feels more in control than he has in a while. It’s nice. “Yeah, back from therapy. Beer?”

Buck hums in the affirmative, so Eddie heads for the kitchen and grabs two out of the fridge, popping the caps off and grabbing a bag of chips. He can hear some shuffling noises in his bedroom, so he drops the beers and chips on the coffee table and heads for his bedroom. He knocks on the frame, smiling softly when he finds Buck putting laundry away.

“You don’t want to nap?” Buck asks, not even bothering to turn to look at Eddie. He looks so at home here, putting Eddie’s laundry away, and he suddenly has the overwhelming urge to take the four steps into his bedroom and kiss him.

“No,” he says finally, clearing his throat. “Session was actually… really helpful. I Facetimed with Christopher after, that’s why I’m so late getting back. I feel good. Is that silly?”

Buck turns to look at him over his shoulder, a small smile on his face. “No, it’s not silly. Took about a dozen sessions with Dr. Copeland for me, and a screaming match on the phone with my parents, but after that it really started to help, and I stopped dreading going.” He bumps the drawer closed with his hip, turning to face Eddie fully. “You Facetimed with Chris? That’s big. How did it go?”

Eddie lets out a breath, sitting heavily on the bed. “Actually pretty well, I think? He’s scared and upset but I think he’s coming around. That, uh… that actually wasn’t what I talked to him about.”

Buck sits down next to him, leaning back and raising an eyebrow. “What did you talk to him about?”

He suddenly feels like he could throw up, which is annoying. Buck’s bisexual, he’s not going to give a shit that Eddie is gay. Still, it feels like admitting it will open a door toward a relationship for them, and as much as he wants it (because he does want it, almost as much as he wants Chris back home) he’s fucking terrified. He’s pretty sure Buck feels the same way he does, and obviously he needs to confess to find out for sure, but there’s a part of his brain that’s insisting that Buck doesn’t feel that way and that his admission will ruin everything.

Buck wraps a hand around Eddie’s wrist, squeezing gently. “You okay?”

Eddie clears his throat, staring at their hands with a little bit of wonder as he finally chokes out, “I’m gay. I told him I’m gay.”

Buck’s hand tightens around his wrist, and Eddie has the desperate thought that he’d like to know how Buck’s fingers feel between his own. He hears a soft exhale beside him, but he can’t bring himself to look at Buck. He can’t see whatever’s playing out across his best friend’s face right now, or he’ll never get the rest of his confession out.

“I also asked if he would be okay if I were to… date someone. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to be uncomfortable with it.”

He can hear Buck swallow beside him, and he wants. He wants to just turn and kiss him until neither of them can breathe.

“O-oh. Eddie, I’m so honored that you told me,” Buck says quietly, but Eddie can tell he’s holding back. Waiting for the rest of whatever Eddie has to tell him. “Who, uh. Who did you ask him about dating?”

Eddie swallows past the knot in his throat, sucking in a sharp breath as he forces himself to turn his head and look at Buck. He’s fucking terrified, but he needs to see Buck’s reaction, good or bad. Buck’s already looking at him, a mixture of fear and hope swirling in his eyes. It’s enough to push the words out of Eddie’s mouth. “You. I asked him about dating you,” he manages, eyes locked on Buck’s face for any sort of reaction.sa

He feels like he waits for hours, but then Buck’s mouth is tipping up into a sunny grin and Eddie feels like he could float.

“God, you have no idea how badly I was hoping you’d say that,” Buck murmurs, slipping his hand down to intertwine their fingers. “Before I—what did Chris say?”

Eddie laughs. “He asked if you were gonna live with us forever, cause that meant basically every night was movie night. And that he was okay with it, but only if it was you. And he wanted to talk to you about it, so we’ll have to call him later.”

Buck grins. “God, I love that kid.” He squeezes Eddie’s hand as Eddie laughs in disbelief.

“Have we really been this stupid? We could’ve just… been together this whole time?”

Buck hums, thumb swiping over the back of Eddie’s hand. He doesn’t even think Buck realizes he’s doing it. “You know, when I broke up with Tommy, he asked if it was because of you.”

Eddie blinks, meeting Buck’s gaze. “Me? Why?”

Buck snorts. “Eddie… it wasn’t Tommy’s attention I was trying to get.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, looking down at their joined hands. “You wanted my attention?”

“I always want your attention,” Buck confirms, giving Eddie’s hand another squeeze. “And I want to date you. If that wasn’t clear. I mean, fuck, Eddie, I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked me to.”

Eddie’s head snaps up, meeting Buck’s gaze. There’s a fondness in his eyes that Eddie has seen directed at him before, but it’s… has he really missed it this whole time? God, if he’d just realized what he had in front of him, maybe he could have avoided this whole mess. He wants to dissuade Buck, explain that he’s a walking nightmare right now and that no one in their right mind should date him, but he doesn’t. He can’t. Instead, he bites his lip and whispers, “can I kiss you?”

Buck doesn’t even bother verbally answering. His free hand cups Eddie’s cheek and then he’s leaning in slowly, clearly giving Eddie enough time to back off if he wants to. He doesn’t. Buck’s lips are on his in half a breath, and he feels like his heart might beat straight out of his chest. He’s always been sort of indifferent to kissing, but this… Buck’s mouth on his is really something else. He needs more of it. He drops Buck’s hand, reaching out to grab his waist and pull him closer. Buck huffs a laugh against his lips, but seems to get the memo, shuffling closer until their legs are pressed together. Buck’s hands are so gentle on his face, and Eddie’s not exaggerating when he says it’s the best kiss he’s ever had.

He’s not sure how long they sit there, just reveling in the fact that they get to kiss now, but at some point they’d shuffled so that Buck was comfortably straddling Eddie’s lap. Eddie’s hands are under Buck’s shirt, tracing the miles of warm skin beneath. They’re mostly just stupidly grinning at each other now, but it’s fucking incredible. They’ll have to move at some point, Eddie is sure, but that’s for later Eddie to deal with. There’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be right now.

They Facetime Chris a couple of hours later, and Chris is beyond ecstatic. He wastes no time asking Buck to move in permanently, and Eddie even manages to agree, saying that maybe he should just stay. Buck stares at him, and Eddie gives him a soft smile and a shrug.

“You basically live here anyway, Buck,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through his curls. They’re soft, free of product since they’re off today, and Buck leans into the touch. “Besides, with the housing market like it is? Who knows how long Bobby and Athena will need your loft?”

Buck bites his lip. “A-are you sure? I mean, it’s a big step, isn’t it? Moving in?”

Eddie snorts, and he can see Chris roll his eyes on Buck’s phone screen. “Buck, I don’t really think anything would be a big step for us at this point. Like I said, you basically live here anyway. Even before you gave Bobby and Athena your loft, you had two drawers in my dresser and a chunk of clothes in my closet. We keep all of your favorite foods in stock, and you cook dinner here most nights. You even brought your own pillow over because you stayed here enough to complain about the shi—bad couch pillows.”

Chris laughs. “Heard that! Swear jar, Dad!”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but smiles and drops a dollar into the jar on the coffee table. “Honestly, it would probably make more sense anyway,” he continues, hand absently carding through Buck’s hair. “We’d be able to see you all the time, we can just carpool to work. I know Chris would love to have you here.” He drops his voice lower, murmuring, “I’d get to wake up with you in the mornings.”

Buck blinks quickly, eyes watery. “I-I would love that. I just don’t want to mess this—us—up.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Buck, you could never mess us up. Okay? After everything we’ve been through together? An earthquake, a tsunami, me being buried underground, you being struck by lightning? God couldn’t tear us apart even if He wanted to,” Eddie says with a grin, pulling Buck into a kiss.

“Ewww! Oh no, wait, you’re going to do this all the time now, aren’t you? What have I done?”

Buck huffs a laugh, settling against Eddie’s side as they both turn back to Christopher. “Sure are, bud. You wanted this!”

Christopher pouts, but Eddie can see right through it. He knows his son well enough to know how excited he is. “I know, but I didn’t think about you guys kissing all the time! You’re gonna be so gross!”

Eddie grins. “Well, as your parents, I’m pretty sure it’s our job to be gross.” He can feel Buck stiffen against him and drops a gentle kiss to his forehead, whispering, “you are his parent, Buck. Have been for a while.”

Chris clears his throat, so Eddie turns his attention back to Buck’s phone. “I want to stay for two more weeks. My cousins are going to a summer camp then, so if that’s okay, I’ll come back then?”

Eddie sags with relief, draping his arm around Buck’s shoulders. “Of course, bud. You know you don’t have to come back then if you don’t want to, right?”

Christopher nods. “I know. But I know you only lied to me because you were hurting. I’m still mad about it.”

“You’re allowed to be mad about it, mijo, okay? I know I really hurt you, and I’m sorry. I never should have let things get so… twisted up. I should have gone back to Frank as soon as I realized just how deeply everything was affecting me. I can’t go back and fix it, but I can promise you that I’ll do my best to be honest with you from now on, and I’ll keep working through things with Frank.”

Chris nods again, hugging a pillow to his chest. “Thank you.”

Buck smiles and presses a kiss to his temple. “I’m proud of you, Eds.”

They chat quietly for a little while longer, Eddie tucked into Buck’s side as they listen to Chris fill them in on all the fun things he’s been doing over the summer. Eddie’s warm and comfortable and his son will be back home in two weeks, and Buck will move in, and everything will be as it should. He smiles to himself, sitting up to press a kiss to Buck’s cheek and wrap an arm around his middle.

It was a pain in the ass getting here, but here is pretty damn good.

#buddie #buddie fanfic #buddie fic #gay eddie diaz #bisexual evan buckley #my writing

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