#Jeep Los Angeles

[jayyloyal]

M’s & M’s

[stoneyocean]

Join the wave Stoneyocean.com 🌊 👋

[lifeofatoxicartist]

𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢 🌴

[ninjatrashpanda]

Come Home And Be(e) With Your Man

Written for @bucktommypositivityweek Round 2! (Day 1: Make your own Season 8 opening disaster) Read on AO3 here!

To say that Buck was exhausted was an understatement. 22 million fucking bees. And hell, if it had been normal honey bees or whatever, that would’ve been fine! Honey bees are cute, little critters who don’t do anything to anyone who doesn’t deserve it, never mind that they’re a necessity for the environment. Honey bees rock! But no, it had been Africanized bees. Twenty-two million killer bees. Why? Just why?

It wasn’t like Buck’s day hadn’t been completely in shambles before that either. Every day was automatically in shambles when Vincent Gerrard was your captain. When he wasn’t getting on Eddie’s case for being “lazy,” he was on Hen’s about “keeping up with the boys,” or throwing mocking questions about Chinese take-out at Chimney. But, as awful as it was, Buck had been prepared for that. Hen, Chim and Tommy had warned him and Eddie about it, and had made him promise not to jump in and punch the son of a bitch in the face first chance he got. Even Eddie, the first time Gerrard threw a casual joke about “the wall” at him, had squeezed Buck’s shoulder and told him that it was fine (it wasn’t) and that it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Gerrard wasn’t worth getting fired over.

But the thing was, Buck was a minority now, too. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he was. And the first time Gerrard had decided to call him “fruity,” right after wondering out loud who between him and Tommy was “wearing the pants,” Buck had almost blown a gasket and thrown him over the station loft’s railing. He’d always theoretically known that comments like Gerrard’s hurt, and he had always, even back when he was still in school, gotten pissed off beyond belief when he overheard someone making them toward other people.

Having them directed at himself was completely different though. Working under Gerrard had made him realize just how small, how worthless an attitude like that could make you feel. He wasn’t too proud to admit that he had cried into Tommy’s shoulder the night that had happened either. Buck had tried to play tough at first, but Tommy had known it was an act, and a single “Evan” in that concerned, warm voice of his had been enough to make Buck feel safe enough to let it all out.

So, Gerrard had been reigning in terror for weeks at this point, and then a truck transporting twenty-two million Africanized killer bees had crashed on the highway, letting them lose on the citizens of Los Angeles, because why the fuck not, right?! It was tiring, in more ways than one, and at the end of that shift from hell, (He was half convinced the new C-Shift probie had said the “Q” word, and at least five times, if not more.) Buck hadn’t even bothered to go shower at the station, he just wanted to get out as soon as possible, even if it meant making his jeep reek of sweat and bee.

He wasn’t fully sure how he ended up making it to Tommy’s house, or even up the driveway to the front door. His legs felt like his shoes were made of concrete, Buck being barely able to lift his feet off the ground. Strands of his hair, which he’d left mostly in its naturally curly state because Tommy liked it that way, were sticking uncomfortably to his forehead, making him feel profoundly gross. He really couldn’t wait to stand under some nice, warm water, followed by cuddling up with his nice, beefy boyfriend on the couch to watch literally any movie that didn’t have bees in it, where he would probably fall asleep on Tommy’s shoulder, with his arms embracing him.

Even thinking about it made Buck feel full of bliss.

The moment he unlocked and opened the front door, (They had exchanged keys a month ago. Buck’s stomach had fluttered for days after, every time he remembered.) Buck was hit with the mouthwatering, unmistakable scent of Nonna Ricci’s special ragù. Tommy was making Arancini, a dish Buck had fallen in love with the moment he had taken a bite out of one. The smell alone was enough to slightly lift the weight on Buck’s shoulders.

Following the trail through Tommy’s living room into the kitchen, he found his boyfriend at the stove, his back to the door, fishing the crispy, perfectly golden rice balls out of the pot-turned-makeshift-deep fryer. He was humming a cheery tune as he worked, seemingly oblivious to Buck’s presence. Buck, in turn, simply leaned against the door frame and watched Tommy work for a moment. His eyes traced over Tommy’s broad shoulders, the way his back muscles flexed with every little movement, the way he was slightly swinging his hips left to right and left again in perfect sync with his little melody.

Almost subconsciously, Buck moved over toward Tommy, who now shot a small look over his shoulder with a small smirk on his lips. Wiggling his eyebrows a little, (and making Buck’s stomach do somersaults in the process) he turned back toward the stove, while Buck finally reached him and wrapped his arms around Tommy’s waist, his nose instantly landing in the crook of Tommy’s neck. The slight scent of vanilla and sandalwood on Tommy’s skin told Buck that his boyfriend had already showered himself, which didn’t really surprise him. With the whole ass bee-nado that had descended onto the city, clearly AirOps had pushed overtime the same as the 118 and, well, probably every station in LA.

“Hey, baby, how are-oof,” Tommy began before he got cut off by Buck collapsing against his back. Buck would feel sorry, but he couldn’t bring himself to right now. His legs had been shaky with exhaustion since he’d left the station, and Tommy was big, and broad, and firm and Buck just couldn’t help using him to lean on for a moment. If Tommy’s low chuckle was anything to go by, he really didn’t mind. “Didn’t even need to ask, huh?”

“I hate bees.”

Tommy let out a loud laugh at that and turned off the stove, the last of the arancini having been fished out of the hot oil. He slowly turned around in Buck’s arms, Buck lifting his head with a small whine at not being able to smell Tommy anymore. Tommy, not missing a beat, quickly silenced him with a soft kiss and reached up to card his fingers through Buck’s hair, an action that never ceased to help Buck relax.

“Yeah, I get it,” Tommy mumbled against Buck’s lips. “A whole bunch of them almost got into my cockpit during a MedEvac call. I don’t want to know what it was like actually having to deal with them hands-on.”

Buck hummed and moved his arms from Tommy’s hips to wrap them tightly around his lower back. His nose found Tommy’s neck once more, that beautiful scent entering his system again, almost like a drug he’d been on withdrawal from. Tommy wasted no time in burying his own face in Buck’s curls, tenderly nuzzling against his temple.

“Don’t do that, I’m filthy.”

“Mhm, sure, but I like you when you’re filthy.”

Tommy’s voice was low and playful, sending a shiver down Buck’s spine. His hands were gentle as they roamed Buck’s back, tracing soothing patterns that somehow made Buck feel like the weight of the day was finally lifting off his shoulders. It was moments like this that Buck simply couldn’t have with anyone else. He tried picturing coming home to Taylor like this, sweaty, and smelly, and tired, both mentally and physically. He was certain she’d be sympathetic and quick to agree to a nice, lazy evening in front of the TV, but there was no way in hell she would’ve flirted with him like that while he was in this state.

“Yeah? Well, this is a new level of filthy, Tommy,” Buck murmured into the warm skin of Tommy’s neck, inhaling deeply. He didn’t care if he was gross and covered in sweat and bee guts; in this moment, he just needed to be close, to feel Tommy solid and warm against him.

Tommy pulled back slightly, just enough to catch Buck’s gaze. His eyes were soft, and full of that gentle understanding that Buck had grown to love more than anything. (The L word had been on his mind quite a bit lately, but he ignored it for now. It was way too soon for any of that anyway.) He brushed a stray curl away from Buck’s forehead and let his thumb linger, softly caressing Buck’s cheek. “Shower, then food, yeah? I’ve got some fresh towels in the bathroom for you.”

Buck nodded, his exhaustion seeping back in as Tommy’s suggestion sank in. As much as he wanted to just melt into Tommy and let the world disappear, he knew he’d feel a million times better after a hot shower. Especially if said shower wasn’t alone. “Yeah, okay,” he sighed, his voice barely above a whisper. He still managed to put on an at least passable flirty smile. “I, uh, I could definitely use…a shower.”

Tommy pressed another quick kiss to Buck’s lips, his hand lingering on Buck’s neck, squeezing reassuringly. “I’ll have everything ready by the time you’re out,” he promised. “And we can just crash after, alright? Nothing but couch, blankets, and the worst movie we can find.”

With that, Tommy stepped out of Buck’s embrace and moved over to the refrigerator. Buck blinked several times as he watched Tommy take out a head of iceberg lettuce, which he took to the sink to wash it. What…was Tommy doing? Buck briefly wondered if Tommy was trolling him, but that didn’t seem to be something he’d do, at least not after a day like this. 

“Uh, babe?” he asked, getting Tommy’s attention. His hands were tearing the lettuce apart, the loose leaves landing in a large strainer Tommy always used to wash his veggies. Focusing on Tommy’s hands, however brief it may have been, actually made Buck almost salviate, so he met Tommy’s questioning look with a dark, heated one of his own. “I said I could use a shower.”

The exaggerated head movements toward the general direction of Tommy’s bathroom seemed to do the trick. Tommy’s mouth formed an enlightened “O” as he realized what Buck was playing at, right before he dropped the whole head of lettuce into the strainer. He seemingly forgot about it entirely right after as he walked toward the door in quick strides, pulling his henley over his head and throwing it aside to the kitchen floor in one fluid motion in the process.

With a wide grin, Buck followed suit, his own shirt quickly joining Tommy’s. As he followed Tommy out into the living room while opening his belt, Buck couldn’t help but let out a happy sigh. He had this now. He had Tommy. Tommy, who was supportive, who got what the job was like, who knew how to help him take the edge of.

Tommy, who was always there, always constant, always knew what to do.

Tommy, who Buck was sure he was in love with. And though it may be too soon to say those words exactly, Buck wasn’t scared about feeling them.

He was in love with Tommy Kinard. And he loved every second of it.

[userautumn]

on the matter of the heart

Evan Buckley / Tommy Kinard | 4k | Rated T

Summary:

Tommy does not shake. He's too old for that, and has seen far too much to let fear overtake his body like an unwanted animal. He was in the Army well before he became a firefighter, and he was a punk-ass kid watching his friends overdose and die on the streets of Los Angeles well before that. So when he hovers over the wreckage of the car accident and sees the mangled remnants of a familiar Jeep, he does not shake. He is steady as Lucy descends onto the highway and secures Evan to a backboard. Steady when she gets him into the helicopter and the smells of blood and gasoline immediately hit his nose like a foul thing. Steady even when they're en route to the hospital and all he can hear is the urgent sound of her voice as the team in the back desperately tries to keep Evan alive. On the outside, he is calm and collected, the stalwart firefighter and soldier he was trained to be. But on the inside, his heart is another matter entirely.

keep reading on ao3

tagging some friends! @kirkaut @kinardbuckleys @kinkdaddykinard @tenisperfection @buckera @dadbodbuck @agenttommykinard @apassingbird

[lotusbxtch]

SoCal to NorCal - Chapter 1: Malibu

Series Masterlist Series Pairing: husband!Joel Miller x f!Reader x boyfriend!Frankie Morales Series Summary: Joel is your rock, and Frankie is your ocean. So what happens when you bring the three of you together?

- or -

you and Frankie roadtrip up from Southern California to Northern California so he can meet Joel. A polyamory fic. This series exists in the Triple Frontier universe and is a Joel Miller AU/Triple Frontier AU. Series Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI

Chapter 1: Malibu

Chapter Pairing: Frankie Morales x afab!Reader x Santiago Garcia

Chapter Summary: You & Frankie visit your friend Santi at his Malibu mansion to kick off your roadtrip north, and you let desires guide the night.

Word Count: 6.9k

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI

Chapter Warnings/Tags: polyamory, threesome, multiple partners, MMF dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V (wrap it up pls!), DVP, multiple orgasms, multiple creampies, cum kink, spitting, alcohol consumption, mentions of food, gratuitous descriptions of male and female anatomy, heavy use of Spanish pet names/nicknames, Santi being a menace is his own warning, Frankie the PEK, Frankie has a big dick and so does Santi, Reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns, Reader is able-bodied, has breasts, and has hair that can be pulled, otherwise no description of Reader's skin color, size, body shape, hair color, eye color, or ethnicity, no use of y/n. Everyone is testing negative for STDs and Reader is on birth control. a/n: This is my very first series fic! I plan to have 3 chapters including this one. This one was meant to be a fun spicy little intro into the fic, but of course Santi being an absolute menace meant that this is absolute smutty filth and I'm sorry (not sorry). MASSIVE thank you to my sweet @for-a-longlongtime, who not only gave me the iconic Santiago line "guava goes better with pussy and mezcal," but beta read for me, bounced ideas around, and encouraged me when I wasn't sure that I could do this. Without her help, this fic wouldn't be in existence! Dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics, thank you! (Please note that the chapter graphic is NOT meant to be accurate to Reader — vibes only!)

If you enjoy my writing, please leave a comment, feedback or reblog! It would mean the world to me. Thank you!

“I think that should be everything,” you murmur, closing the back of the forest green Jeep. You card a hand through your hair while going over a mental pack list for the third time this afternoon. Behind you, you feel a soft kiss on your shoulder and warm, strong hands envelop your waist.

“You ready to ride then, sweetness?” asks your boyfriend, Frankie. You smile and lean back into his embrace. “Yeah, I’m really looking forward to this trip,” you say, turning to plant a kiss to his aquiline nose, and then another to his plush lips. You both hop into the car; Frankie navigates towards the coast, while small butterflies dance in the pit of your stomach as you think about how the two of you got here.

You and Frankie Morales met six months ago at the Santa Monica airport. In a bid to encourage team bonding, upper management at your job booked a helicopter tour of the Los Angeles skyline. Frankie was the pilot for your chopper. He charmed your group with his charismatic yet humble demeanor and fun factoids about LA, especially you – your coworkers insisted that he kept staring at you when you weren’t looking. But Frankie ultimately beat you to the punch and asked you out for drinks the following night. You accepted, and the rest is history. The attraction was palpable from the get-go, and Frankie’s go-with-the-flow attitude complimented your fiery personality to a T. You adored how detail-oriented he was in all aspects of his life – memorizing your favorite teas, asking about how your projects were going, knowing exactly how to make you see stars in bed with his fingers, his cock, and especially his tongue. You couldn’t deny that Frankie was the perfect addition to your life, and you to his.

Through those first few weeks, you both divulged the more challenging bits of your lives. Frankie told you about his daughter, Isabella, and how his struggle with cocaine almost ruined his life. His relationship with his ex-wife was strained because of it, but they co-parented well - it was their main goal to ensure that Isabella was never put in the middle of their struggles, that she always felt supported and loved by both of her parents. Frankie had lost his pilot’s license after he failed a random drug test, and he took that as a sign to do the work to fix what was broken. He was now two years sober, and back to flying.

You, in turn, revealed to Frankie that he wasn’t the only man in your life. For the last decade, you’ve been with Joel Miller, your husband of seven years. Joel was the steady compass of your soul, the man whose roots intertwined deeply with those of your heart. You’d loved Joel almost your entire life, having grown up in the same neighborhood, although your crush on him was secretive during your childhood. He was your older brother’s best friend from college, a transplant from Texas whose parents moved to the Bay Area when he was a teenager. You ran into him after getting your master’s degree and moving back to the suburbs of San Francisco, and something sparked between the two of you. Since then, you’d been inseparable. When your work requested that you spend a year going between NorCal and SoCal to establish the new Los Angeles area office, you knew it would be a challenge for your relationship. As it turns out, it was only really a challenge for one reason — your sex drive was incredibly high, and sometimes you were apart from Joel for weeks at a time. Phone and video sex worked as well as it could, but it couldn’t beat the real thing. One night, after a particularly frustrating video sex session — all of your toys ran out of juice and you’d left your charger at home, among other things — Joel surprised you by suggesting that you didn’t need to stay monogamous. 

“Are you sure, Joel?” you asked incredulously. “You’ve never been one to particularly like sharing.”

Joel huffed a laugh. “Yes, darlin’,” he replied. “Lord knows the new office ended up bein’ more work than either of us thought it’d be. I know how much ‘gettin’ yours’ can be de-stressin’ for ya, and I don’t wanna be the reason you can’t seek it. It’s not like you’d be askin’ someone to move in with us. If it helps you, it makes me happy. And it sure would give my phone battery and hands some relief.” He chuckled as you scoffed in mock indignation. “You don’t have to tell me anythin’ you don’t want to about whoever you get involved with. As long as you’re stayin’ safe and they’re treatin’ you as well as I do, then I’m okay with it.”

You sighed in consideration. “Let me think about it some more,” you said, picking at your rental’s bedspread. “It’s not something I’m going to take lightly.”

And then two weeks later, you met Frankie. Frankie was surprisingly relaxed when you told him about Joel, albeit surprised. He’d hesitated to continue things until you got on the phone with Joel and had him tell Frankie himself. After all, you’d checked with Joel within a few days of meeting Frankie just to make sure Joel was still okay with you being with another man.

You made sure to tell Joel when you’d be seeing Frankie, and Frankie didn’t contact you when you were back home with Joel. It wasn’t that either man wanted to pretend the other didn’t exist; rather, they each wanted to respect the other man’s time with you. Frankie wasn’t seeking marriage or starting a family; he wanted to continue using his time and energy on Isabella and getting his career back on track. And Joel was confident in and comfortable with your  marriage in a way that didn’t allow for unseemly jealousy to crop up. 

Gradually you told each of them bits about the other one, until one day Joel suggested that the two of them meet. You were game, but wanted to run it by Frankie first.

“He wants to meet me?” Frankie asked, wringing his hands a bit and looking mildly surprised. The two of you had just finished dinner at one of your favorite taco trucks in LA, and you licked the tips of your fingers as you finished your last al pastor taco, the warm, savory spices dancing on your tongue. Frankie took a sip from his Mexican Coke, his plush lips wrapping around the cool aqua glass of the bottle.

You nod your head in affirmation. “Just for a couple of days. We could make a vacation out of it. Joel suggested maybe we road trip up the coast.”

Frankie looked pensive. You don’t blame him, especially when the two men had made a concerted effort to keep their relationships with you separate. “You’re sure you want to do this?” Frankie asked, searching your eyes for any hesitation. You studied those dark chocolate irises, so similar to Joel’s. 

“Yes, Francisco,” you confirmed, reaching out across the plastic picnic table to touch his hand. The sounds of the city wrapped around you as the two of you gazed at each other. “Joel has my heart, but so do you. And I want both parts of my heart, my favorites, to be with me at the same time for once.”

“Ok, mi amor, let’s go then,” Frankie said resolutely, bringing up your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your skin.

Your thoughts bring you back to the present, with Frankie’s one-hand grip on the steering wheel and the warm coastal sun beaming through the windshield. The windows are down, allowing the salty sea air to filter through the Jeep. He flips on his turn signal and begins driving through a particularly posh part of Malibu. Giant mansions dwarf the street, pristine lawns and modern, open-glass architecture rolling by as you continue on. You let out a low whistle.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell does Santi do again to afford this?” you ask Frankie, eyes flicking to and from each house you pass by.

“Nothing,” Frankie chuckles. “When we got the money from that final mission that Santi and I went on, he invested the entirety of his share into the stock market. Well, almost everything.” He snorts at the champagne Range Rover in Santi’s driveway as the two of you pull up. Frankie, on the other hand, put the majority of his earnings into a trust fund for Isabella. The rest he used to set himself up comfortably but modestly. “Santi still does some consultant work for private security firms, but he just keeps reinvesting the money and using it to buy property and fund charity work,” Frankie explains.

“Can’t say I blame him, it’s a pretty solid strategy,” you respond, taking in the splendor of Santi’s Malibu abode as Frankie parks his Jeep. The three-story home is minimalist and modern on the exterior, with a combination of cool beige stone and warm wood paneling. No other houses are on either side of the building, so the property is ulta-private, and even has its own beach. As the two of you unpack your bags from the car, you hear a wolf whistle shriek from somewhere around the corner. Jumping slightly, you turn and then smile as Santiago Garcia strolls barefoot out of the house, his pale linen slacks and caramel vintage ribbed polo shirt fluttering lightly against his muscular frame in the sea breeze. 

“Hey pendejo, you finally made it!” Santi yells to Frankie, then turns to you with a “hi, hermosa,” and a kiss to your cheek. You wrap your arms around Santi’s torso, inhaling his sandalwood and cinnamon scent and giggling a hello. Frankie walks up, bags in hand, and tries to ruffle Santi’s perfectly coiffed curls. Santi dodges him and then goes in for a bear hug; Frankie smiles broadly as they rock side to side before clapping each other on the back.

“Good to see you, hermano, and thanks for letting us stay with you,” Frankie says warmly as he picks up your luggage and the three of you head towards the house.

“Not a problem, I’m in town for a consulting gig and figured it’d been awhile since we’d gotten together,” Santi responds ahead of you. You and Frankie follow him into the open-concept common area, admiring the sleek countertops, stainless steel fixtures, and plush yet subdued furniture. Light neutrals rule the color palette, with plenty of floor-to-ceiling windows to allow natural light in. You run your hand over the back of a velvet lounger, indulging in the texture against your fingertips. Frankie goes to the bedroom to drop off your luggage, while Santi starts pulling things out in the kitchen for dinner prep. Continuing towards the back of the house, you push open the sliding glass doors, letting fresh air in while you admire the view from the balcony. Below, the azure waves caress the sand gently, and the sound of the ocean encourages you to release all the stress from the last workweek. 

The boys get going on dinner as you slip on a silky emerald green dress - opting to go braless and barefoot - and dab on some rosy lip stain. The dress drapes lushly over your body, making it both comfortable and beautiful. After spritzing on some of your favorite perfume and putting on thin gold hoop earrings, you emerge from the guest bedroom you and Frankie are sharing for the weekend. Santi looks up and hums in approval.

“Damn, bebita, you look delicious,” he purrs as he finishes seasoning the steaks. “Do you always dress up for dinner with this chump or did you get pretty just for me? It’s okay, you can tell the truth.”

You roll your eyes at his cockiness and chuckle as you squeeze his bicep in passing. “Santi, don’t flatter yourself,” you retort, “I did it for myself. I don’t need to dress up for him to want to devour me.” You cross the kitchen to Frankie, who’s working on the caprese salad. Frankie huffs a laugh and puts down the kitchen knife, wiping his hands on a towel before to circling his hands around your waist. You lean into him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“That’s right,” he shoots back to Santi without looking over, “she doesn’t need extra dressing up; she’s stunning enough as she is.” He kisses your forehead softly as you gaze up at him lovingly.

“You’re right.” Santi lets his gaze scan over you approvingly. “She probably looks even better with nothing on.”

“Santiago!” you laugh. “You’re such an insufferable flirt.” You walk back over to the opposite side of the kitchen island from him, fixing him with a smoldering smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know, hmm?” Santi has always been relentlessly flirtatious with every attractive woman he meets, including you. Frankie’s never bothered by his antics, but you see his eyes flick towards the two of you, anticipating his response.

“Don’t tease me with promises you won’t keep, sweetheart,” Santi warns you, voice like rich caramel, sweet and smooth. You hold each other’s gazes for a moment before you break away, laughing softly and successfully ruffling his hair like Frankie wanted to earlier. That distracts Santi from the moment, as he huffs and runs his fingers through his curls to fix them.

A few hours later, the three of you are relaxing on the balcony by the fire pit after dinner, drinking mezcal margaritas and catching up on life. You sit with your legs across the cream  patio sofa, your back against Frankie’s side like you often do with him. His arm is draped possessively across your torso while his thumb rubs absentmindedly back and forth across your shoulder. Santi goes inside to fetch the mezcal bottle from the kitchen, having switched to just the liquor, and you stand from the couch to observe the beach at the balcony’s railing. The darkness of night has settled over the landscape, lending deep navies and turquoise hues to the water, and everything feels more hushed. 

As you inhale the coastal breeze, you feel Frankie’s warm body press into you from behind, and then his soft lips pressing a trail of kisses over your shoulder and neck. You hum happily, smelling his rosemary cedar soap on his skin, and press yourself further into him, lightly grinding against his hips. Frankie lets out a quiet groan and presses right back into you, letting you feel his hardening length against your ass. He begins to cup your breasts through the silken fabric of your dress, easily pebbling your nipples with no bra between his fingers and your tits. The heat of arousal starts to pool low in your belly as Frankie slides his hands down to your hips, grinding on you until he’s fully hard beneath his pants. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, and turn to the side to catch his lips, biting on his lower one and eliciting a louder groan from him. 

“Sweetness, I need you so badly,” Frankie whispers into your ear. When you quietly moan in response, you can feel Frankie’s hands slip down the silk over your ass and hear him shuffle behind you. Spinning around and opening your eyes, you see him on his knees, hat next to him on the floor, starting to ruck up your dress. 

“Frankie,” you hiss, grabbing his hands, desperate for more but concerned. “What if Santi sees?” 

“What if I want to watch?” you hear suddenly over Frankie’s shoulder, and you gasp when you look behind him and realize Santi is leaning against the open balcony door, sipping mezcal straight from the bottle. A fire ripples from the base of your spine upwards, and your gaze drops to Frankie, whose eyes have gone nearly black with desire but remain on you. Your lips pop open slightly, and you freeze.

“Well, querida, answer the man,” Frankie rasps. “Either you let him watch or make him go back inside, but either way, I’m eating this sweet pussy.” His hands slowly drag up your legs until he’s cupping your ass, squeezing the soft flesh, which rips a moan from your throat. As Frankie’s lips trail up and down your legs, you look back up at Santi, trying to read his expression. Gone is the molten chocolate of his irises; instead, you see glimmering adamant, dark and deep like the desire painted over every line of his face. But that heated gaze is still respectful – you know Santi would never cross your boundaries. If you truly didn’t want him to watch, he’d go inside the house, no questions asked. 

It’s for that exact reason that your desire thrums through you like a bass line, and you bite your lip. “Frankie, I need your mouth on me right now. I think Santi needs to see how hard you make me come.”

Frankie responds with a groan, while Santi lets out a deep purring sound. He moves to the couch, sitting with his legs spread, and takes another swig of mezcal as he takes in the sight before him. Frankie immediately yanks your soft lace panties down your thighs, and growls at the gossamer-thin string of arousal that connects your weeping center with your underwear.

“Fuuuuck, querida, you’re fucking soaked,” Frankie moans, inhaling the intoxicating scent near your glossy slit. You step out of your panties, and he grabs them, tossing them to Santi. The man on the couch catches them with one hand, bringing them immediately to his nose and sniffing deeply. 

“Goddamn,” Santi grits out, “she smells so fucking good, hermano.” He brings the gusset of the lace garment to his mouth, gingerly licking the slick off, groaning at the taste. You gasp at the sight, a wave of wetness trickling down your channel. “Tastes amazing too,” he adds, leaning back into the couch cushions and stuffing your panties into his pocket.

Frankie pushes your dress up to your waist and moves your left thigh to rest on his shoulder, spreading you open. He splays your lips open with his thumbs, staring at your pussy glistening in the fire’s light, on display for both him and Santi. He licks a steady strip from the bottom to the top, swirling around your clit at the end. You moan loudly, leaning back against the railing for support.

“Oh bebita, listen to those sweet sounds you’re making for Frankie,” Santi croons from the couch. “He must be making that pussy feel so good.”

“Yes, Santi,” you gasp, swallowing thickly as your eyes close in pleasure. “He’s so fucking good with his tongue.” You hear Santi rumble deep in his chest in response.

Frankie begins licking, sucking, and tapping on your clit exactly like he knows you like it, gripping your cheeks with both hands and massaging them. You writhe against his face, rocketing faster towards your impending orgasm. When you look up, you see Santi palming his cock through his pants, the bulge straining against the linen. Your cunt clenches at the image before you. Frankie can tell you’re close, so he slips two of his fingers into his mouth momentarily to slick them up and then plunges them into your warm cunt. You throw your head back, nearly screaming in ecstasy. Your grip tightens on the railing.

“I know you’re close, querida,” Frankie growls. “Let Santi see how pretty you look when you come.” Frankie then hooks his fingers just right inside of you and hits that soft spot that sends you into orbit, squealing. You feel everything tighten and then release, your orgasm rippling through your core and into your extremities. Frankie and Santi both moan at the sights and sounds of you reaching your peak, Frankie lapping up every drop of release from you.

“Good fucking girl, mamacita,” Santi says, getting up from the couch and stalking towards the both of you. Frankie gets off of his knees, easing your leg off his shoulder while wiping a hand across his drenched mouth. He knows exactly what Santi wants, so he moves back a couple of steps. You almost stumble, legs like jelly, and Santi catches your waist.

He tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, and his assessing gaze breaks through the post-orgasm haze you’re in. “I really want to taste that perfect cunt, baby,” Santi whispers. “Can I do that for you?” You look at him, hesitating for a moment only because this is a line you’ve not crossed with Santi before. You nod clearly at him. Santi shakes his head. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Santi,” you breathe. “Please put your mouth on me.” Santi groans in anticipation and starts walking backwards, pulling you with him. When you look at him in slight confusion, a sheepish smile passes briefly over his lips.

“Bad knees,” he reminds you, and you laugh. “Kneeling on concrete would kill me.” He tilts his chin to Frankie. “Fish, open the door to the bedroom. I’m gonna lay her down. And bring the bottle.” Frankie obliges, sliding open the other glass door to the expansive bedroom and grabbing the mezcal bottle.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers. You sigh a yes, and Santi kisses you softly at first, then deeper. He tastes like cinnamon, tropical fruits, and smoky liquor. Moaning quietly, you start to lose yourself in his kiss as he moves the both of you backwards into the bedroom. 

The California king size bed is draped in soft taupes and creams, the bedding a gauzy cotton that feels incredible on your skin as Santi gently lays you on it. He pulls your dress up your body, and you arch your back to help him remove it over your head. As your bare body is exposed to him, glowing in the low light, he sucks in a breath. Frankie places the mezcal bottle on the bedside table, then strips out of everything except his black boxer briefs, his length fully hard against his left thigh, and sits down on a sleek chaise lounger in the corner, watching you and Santi.

Santi strips off his shirt and then climbs onto the bed over you, slowly sliding his hands over your soft skin as he goes. You shift on the bed at his touch, back arching a bit and thighs rubbing together. He keeps his eyes locked with yours as he reaches your head, forearms bracketing either side of your face. His body is so close to yours yet not touching.

Moaning, you tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper curls and pull briefly. Santi bites your lower lip in response with a small growl. Sitting up, he grabs the mezcal off the bedside table.

“Open,” he commands, taking a swig from the glass bottle. You obey, and Santi leans over your open mouth and fucking spits the mezcal into it. You swallow, moaning at the taste, the alcohol and him. He kisses you roughly, licking into your mouth, and you whimper, your legs dropping open of their own accord.

Santi notices and chuckles darkly. “Oh, you liked that, huh?” he purrs. “Dirty girl.” He kisses and nips along your ear and neck, across your collarbone, and down your chest. Reaching your nipples, he swirls his tongue around and then gently nips each of them. You feel slick pooling at your entrance, starting to drip down your inner thighs. Santi traces his tongue down your belly and to the curls above your pussy, inhaling deeply. He pushes your thighs open further and groans at the sight.

“Goddamn, you’re drenched,” he grits out, shuffling down to put his face at your center. You glance over at Frankie in the corner, and notice he has his cock out, slowly stroking the length. You whimper at the sight and Frankie licks his lips. You feel a sudden pinch at your inner thigh and whip your head back to the man between your legs.

“Eyes on me, hermosa,” Santi orders. “I want you to look right at me when I eat this pretty pussy.” And with that, he dives in.

Santi is a messier lover than Frankie, who usually eats you out with absolute precision, priding himself with knowing exactly how to make you come as fast as possible, and repeat the process until you’re crying out from overstimulation. Santi, however, is licking at you like he wants to drown himself in your cunt. His tongue is everywhere, licking broad stripes across your slit, sucking on your lips and clit, biting at your thighs, shoving his tongue deep into your channel. 

“So fucking sweet,” Santi pants out in a daze, separating his mouth from your sopping cunt for just a moment, and then goes back in for more. You mewl and grip the bed sheets as he continues to ravage you.

Your moans of pleasure stir something in Frankie, who gets up from his seat and walks over to the bed, his need to touch you nearly insatiable.

“Frankie,” you whine as you see him, your eyes hazy with lust, reaching out to him. 

“I’m right here, querida,” he reassures you, then gets onto the bed, placing himself behind you. You scooch up the bed so that you’re sitting in between his spread legs, your back to his bare chest. You can feel his hard length against you, silken and hot, his precum smearing slick against your skin. Frankie kisses your forehead, then leans forward and grabs your legs behind the knees, pulling back and spreading you impossibly wider for Santi. The man between your thighs groans, slipping two fingers into you, making your back arch even more.

“Does our little slut like to be spread out? Do you like Frankie holding your legs open for me, bebita?” Santi growls, pumping his fingers in and out of you. You cry out at his words, throwing your head back against Frankie’s shoulder. One of your hands grabs Frankie’s thigh, and the other one grips Santi’s hair once again.

“Yes,” you respond, pushing his head back towards your dripping slit. “Lick my pussy like you mean it, Santi.” He groans deep in his chest and dives back in, and you feel Frankie bite the junction between your neck and shoulder in arousal. Santi continues pumping his fingers into you as he sucks your clit between his lips, swirling his tongue over it in tiny circles. You feel your orgasm begin to rise in your lower belly, intensifying with each thrust and lick. Santi feels your slick walls bear down on his fingers.

“That’s it, honey, I know you want to come for me,” Santi says.

“Give it to us,” Frankie whispers in your ear. “Come for me and Santi.”

Frankie’s command is all it takes to snap the tether in your core, shattering you into pieces as the pleasure courses hot through your body. You scream their names as your pussy gushes wave after wave of slick, running down your thighs and Santi’s fingers, into his waiting mouth, licking and slurping obscenely, his fingers continuing to press into your g-spot to prolong your high.

“God, I need to be inside you right fucking now,” Santi grits out, pussydrunk. He stands up and hurriedly shoves his pants and boxers down his legs, his thick cock springing free and bobbing slightly. You feel your mouth water; his dick is just as gorgeous as Frankie’s. 

Santi meets your eyes once again. “Do you want me to fuck you while Frankie holds you open, sweetheart?” Santi asks you. You pause, your pleasure-addled mind narrowing in on one idea – having them both.

“I want you both,” you moan. Santi’s eyes widen a bit and then dart to Frankie. They share a smirk and then Frankie turns to you in his lap.

“Querida, how do you want us?” Frankie inquires. “One at a time or at the same time?”

“At the same time,” you whimper. “I want you both in my pussy.”

Santi and Frankie groan in unison. Santi smiles wickedly, looking at Frankie. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, eh?”

“Just like we used to,” Frankie chuckles darkly, and your fuzzy mind tucks away their exchange for later. “We have to get her ready, then.” He slowly releases your knees and turns to you, kissing the side of your face and lightly nibbling your ear. He grabs your chin gently with his fingers, turning your head sideways to meet his eyes. “We’re going to work you open first, okay, baby?” he intones softly. You nod your head yes. Santi and Frankie’s eyes meet, and Santi opens the bedside table drawer, grabbing a bottle of lube and tossing it to Frankie. 

He catches it, reading the label. “Guava?” Frankie asks quizzically. “What happened to the mango-pineapple one?”

Santi shrugs. “I still have it,” he explains, “but guava goes better with pussy and mezcal.” You huff a laugh and Frankie smiles, kissing your forehead again and sweeping your hair out of your face.

“Guess we have an edible lube connoisseur here,” jokes Frankie, opening the cap and pouring some of the slick liquid onto his thick digits. 

The sweet, juicy fruit scent wafts through the air, and Santi grabs the bottle from him, doing the same while shaking his head incredulously.“It’s not my fault that you have no sense of refinement,” he retorts. Frankie just rolls his eyes and turns back to you.

“Are you ready, sweetness?” Frankie murmurs. You nod your head and breathe out a “yes, baby”. Frankie reaches in front of himself and slips his two lubed fingers into you, and you whimper softly. Santi follows suit, slipping two of his fingers into you next, kneeling between your legs. You feel stretched full but so turned on. They allow you a few moments to adjust, and when you nod your head, they begin swirling their fingers in opposite directions. A moan rips from your throat and you grab at the bedsheets. They continue swirling and pressing their fingers in and out, and the sight of your pussy filled with their fingers gets the both of them rock hard.

The cloud of euphoria in your head is all-consuming as they continue, your arousal reaching an almost painful peak. Suddenly you grab their wrists and both men stop immediately, concern crossing their faces. “Are you okay, bebita?” Frankie asks, his brows furrowing. 

You nod your head rapidly, and then bleat out, “I need you both inside me right now.” Santi and Frankie grin at your fucked out expression, looking at each other conspiratorially.

“Well, you heard the lady, Pope,” Frankie says. “Let’s give her what she wants.” He shifts you forward as he moves to the side, pulling his underwear all the way off. He lays on his back on the bed, his hard cock against his stomach dripping pre-cum. “I want you to ride me, hermosa, and then Santi is going to enter you from behind as you lean forward,” Frankie explains.

You nod your head in understanding and straddle his thighs, facing him. Frankie hands you the lube bottle. You dribble a stream onto his waiting thickness, and he hisses as the cool liquid hits his hot velvet skin. Grabbing his slick length, you shuffle forward and guide him into your channel, whining when he bottoms out easily. Frankie reaches up and grips your hips, guiding you to ride him.

After a minute, he looks over your shoulder at Santi, who is slowly stroking his dick. “I think she’s ready, Fish,” Santi says, and Frankie nods once. Santi gets on the bed, coming to his knees behind you and grabbing your hips. Frankie slides his hands to your back, gently pulling you towards him until you’re leaning forward, laying chest to chest, your pussy on full display for Santi, stuffed with Frankie’s cock. You hear Santi groan behind you at the sight.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this, bebita,” Santi admits as he slicks up his hardness with the lube. “Been thinking about being inside this pussy for months.”

“Well, now’s your chance,” you tease, looking back at him. “Better hurry before the offer expires.” Santi smirks at you as he places his hands on your hips.

The moment you feel the head of Santi’s cock slide into your pussy, you gasp as the sting of the stretch hits you. You hear Santi behind you grit out a quiet “fuck”. Slowly he continues sinking into your hot, wet heat. Reaching forward, he circles your throbbing clit softly, making you whine but relax, allowing him to slip deeper into you, inch by inch. Your pussy twitches and both Santi and Frankie choke on moans. 

When he fills you as far as you can take both of them, the three of you hold still. As the seconds pass, the sting gives way as you adjust to being this full. The result is rolling waves of lightning sparking through your veins with each minute movement inside of you. You let out a high-pitched whine as a knot of white-hot pleasure tightens in your core.

“Mierda, bebita,” Frankie moaned, “are you gonna come just from both of us being in you?”

“God, she feels so fucking good,” Santi murmurs, almost to himself. Both of them are gripping you tightly as you continue to whimper and whine, your high quickly building. Your breathing intensifies, and you start to shake. 

It’s so much, being so full of them physically, and the thought of them both in you - two of the most attractive, sexy men you know - is nearly making you lose your mind. But you don’t want to come before your boys have even gotten to move. It almost feels like a weakness, being this fucked out for them.

“It’s ok, sweetness, let go,” says Frankie softly, realizing you’re holding off for them. He presses a kiss to your neck and it’s your undoing. 

The brush of his lips against that sensitive spot right under your ear pushes you off the edge and you wail, your pleasure cresting as you jerk under their firm grips. They moan loudly, your pleasure stoking theirs. The three of you catch your breaths as you come down from your high.

Frankie looks up at you, eyes pitch black, swimming with devotion for you. Santi strokes your hips gently, his strong hands shaking slightly.

“How are you feeling?” Frankie asks you sweetly, rubbing his hands across your back, his thighs clenching from holding back. 

You take a shaky breath. “So fucking full,” you respond, and then giggle softly at your obvious observation. The boys laugh too, and then moan slightly as your bodies shift. Santi squeezes your hips and asks, “Are you ready for us to move, hermosa?” Your head is swimming in endorphins as you whimper out, “Yes, Santi. I need both of you to fuck me now.”

With that, the two men lock eyes and nod, beginning an apparently practiced dance of their cocks. As Frankie slides himself out, Santi pushes in, and then they reverse roles. You cry out in ecstasy. It’s so much more than you could have ever imagined.

Frankie and Santi start off with slow, shallow thrusts in and out, gradually stretching you around their lengths. When Frankie hits a particularly sweet spot, you moan fervently and more slick coats them, making them both moan back in response. The friction between their cocks and your walls is delicious.

“Fuck, bebita, you look incredible taking the both of us,” Santi says, gripping your hips harder, a sheen of sweat glimmering across his body. 

Frankie hums in agreement. “You’re doing so well, baby,” he praises. You preen at their words, arching your back to change the angle. Santi whimpers and kisses along your spine, worshiping your body. The room is thick with the smell of sex, guava, and mezcal, the squelching sounds of your pussy weaving between all three of your moans and cries of pleasure.

The boys begin to speed up the wetter you get, starting to fuck into you with vigor. You feel like your whole body is vibrating. Leaning down to kiss Frankie changes the angle once again, and Santi lets out yet another whimper as you slide your tongue along Frankie’s.

“Fuck, baby, just like that, that’s perfect,” he gasps, getting even harder inside of you. He starts to rub your clit in tight circles, making you yelp. “I want you to come one more time for us before we fill you up,” he continues. “Gonna make your pussy milk our cocks. C’mon, honey, you’ve got one more in you, I can feel it.”

“I don’t know,” you whimper. “I - it’s so much…”

Frankie lets out a growl. “Oh, querida, I know you can come for us one more time,” he says. “Just think about how full of cock you are right now.”

He’s right. The psychological thrill of having both men inside of you is the push you need. You start to shake again, everything tensing up. Both men moan as your channel pulls tight.

Santi leans down to your ear, still thumbing your clit. “Fucking come for us. That’s an order.”

You scream so loudly when your fourth orgasm hits you, that you’re grateful that Santi has no neighbors - because they definitely would have called the cops by now. Tears leak down your face from the intensity, and Santi whimpers loudly as he thrusts in and comes deep in you, his hot seed coating your walls. The tightness of your pussy and Santi shoving deep end up pushing Frankie’s cock out, but he couldn’t care less. 

When Santi’s strokes slow and then stop, indicating he’s finished, Frankie pushes him off of you, and roughly flips you over onto your back. He shoves your legs apart, and pushes his dick harshly into you. Boneless, you lay there, moaning and taking it, unable to say anything coherent except for Frankie’s name. Your boyfriend presses your legs even further towards your shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he fucks into you hard and fast, Santi’s cum forced out of you with every snap of Frankie’s hips.

“God, you look like such a goddess right now,” Frankie babbles, nearly snarling, “so full of cum. You like that? You want me to fill you up good? You’re gonna be leaking our cum for days, querida.”

“Yes, Frankie, yes,” you moan, “please fill me up. I love your cum in me. I wanna be so full of both of you.”

With a shout, Frankie bares his teeth and comes, getting as deep as possible and filling up your cunt just like he promised. You feel his cum thick and hot in you, triggering another moan. 

Frankie drops your knees back down to the bed, nearly collapsing down against your chest while the two of you pant heavily, trying to catch your breaths. Looking over, you spot Santi sitting up at the corner of the bed, looking disheveled but utterly sated, his now-soft cock still shiny with lube and your combined releases. 

You reach your hand out to him, and he crawls towards you, slotting himself next to one side, while Frankie hisses as he pulls out of you and lays next to you on your other side. He smothers your neck and face with kisses, and you giggle, feeling Santi pepper kisses across the top of your head and stroking the underside of your breast affectionately with his thumb.

You let out a contented sigh. “Wow, that was…”

Frankie hums out an “incredible” at the exact same time Santi rumbles a “so fucking good” to complete your statement, which makes the three of you laugh. Giggles subsiding, something they said in the heat of the moment suddenly pops into your mind.

“Wait a second,” you say as you sit up. Both men lazily look up at you, faces blissed out, waiting for your question. “Frankie, you said, ‘just like old times’... How many times have you double teamed with Santi?”

The two of them look at each other with nearly identical smirks. Santi pipes up first. “Well, back in our Army grunt days,” he explains, “when we’d go on leave together, we kind of had this habit of teaming up to pick up women.” Your jaw drops slightly, and Santi looks amused at your shock.

“It was a fairly effective strategy,” Frankie continues. “Trying to land a girl alone was a crapshoot. But with the both of us offering her a night to remember?” Frankie huffs. “It seemed like fantasy fulfillment for almost every woman we fucked together.”

Your eyes rake over the two of them, gloriously naked and handsome as ever, in bed with you. Yeah, you can see the appeal. 

“Okay, but who came up with the idea?” You ask, then immediately put up a hand into the air. “WAIT, no, I know exactly who… Santi, you slut!”

Frankie lets out a loud bark of a laugh as Santi rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest, annoyed. 

“Hey, don’t act like you didn’t benefit from it, idiota!” Santi grumbles. Frankie reaches over, finally successfully ruffling Santi’s hair. Santi flinches and bats Frankie’s hand away, making you shake with laughter as you lounge in the post-coital haze with your boyfriend and his best friend. You don’t blame those women they slept with one bit. This was a night you will surely remember.

No pressure tags: @mermaidgirl30 @legendary-pink-dot @nerdieforpedro @mountainsandmayhem @arcanefox207 @campingwiththecharmings @exquisit3corpse @gutsby @honeyedmiller @lavendertales @lu62 @luxurychristmaspudding @ozarkthedog @qveerthe0ry @swiftispunk @sheepdogchick3 @thatshortgirlwithglasses @wannab-urs @musings-of-a-rose

[charliemwrites]

Okay, Alejandro time!!

(He’s a keeper but not via kidnapping. Still a deranged arrangement tho lmao)

You’d been a hostage - a tourist or just a casualty of narcos, it doesn’t matter. The men said all kinds of awful things while you shivered in the corner, tired with ropes that would leave scars.

It all happened so suddenly. You had no warning, no instinctive sense that something was going to happen. One second it was all half-drunk men playing cards and watching football - the next there was a metallic clank and the world went bright and loud.

Alejandro is the one to get you out himself, cutting so carefully through the binds. He helps you up on shaky feet, makes a furious expression at the state of you. You can’t hear what he says over the ringing in your ears and the distant cacophony.

He gets you outside, sits you in the passenger side of a big black jeep. You shiver and shake, wide-eyed. When he tries to move away you cling, begging him not to leave you, please please.

He shouts something to his men, then turns back to you. Gives you a once over. This time you can hear him cursing under his breath when he sees the damage to your bare feet. Another soldier brings a blanket that you’re quickly swaddled in.

You meet Alejandro. He takes you back to base, his sergeant riding in the backseat and trying to get your information. You give him what you can, glancing at Alejandro every now and then for reassurance.

He’s your savior, your angel.

On his base, you Velcro yourself to him, heart pounding when anyone else gets too near. He coddles you through the medics, through a debrief with his men, through a brutal punch to one of your arrested captors saying something nasty.

You shouldn’t be filled with warmth at the show of violence. But that it’s on your behalf means the world.

“Why are you letting me do this?” You ask, guilty as he leads you around for training drills.

“Because you need me, no?” he replies.

You do. “What… what if I never stop needing you?”

He hums as he considers that, head tipping side to side.

“Maybe you won’t. I will still let you be here by my side.”

And he makes good on it. As you heal, as you reunite with your family, as you settle into a post-trauma life, Alejandro lets you cling.

More than cling, he cares for you. Coddles you, just like he did that first night. Always hands you food first, and gives you extras from his plate if you still see hungry. tucks you into bed and gets you up in the mornings. Gives you little tasks for Los Vaqueros to keep you busy and keep you from feeling too guilty.

He starts calling for you by nicknames and you’re all too happy to perk up at “princess” or “kitten” or “cookie” exclusively. He starts pressing kisses to your temples, hugging you around the middle from behind while talking to his soldiers.

And because you’re always with him, you end up at a bar one night too. It’s loud, but the base gets loud too sometimes, so you don’t mind. What you do mind is someone making a pass at you after being told no - twice.

You stumble away, yelping for Ale and you all nearly get thrown out of the bar for the hell he unleashes. The night doesn’t last long after that and you apologize for ruining everything, trying to hold back tears. He shakes his head and bundles you in close.

“No, listen. I take care of what’s mine, yeah?”

“And… and I’m yours?” you ask hopefully.

“Yes, love.”

You nuzzle into him all the way back to base. Then spend the night in his room - not for the first time, though this instance is much… steamier than usual.

Ale is a romantic through and through. He takes you apart piece by piece with such care, whispering words of adoration into every inch of skin. He’s a proud man too, has to come twice before sinking into you with a sinful roll of his hips, hair falling around his face as he moans above you.

The next morning, he sees you in his shirt and has you for breakfast at the kitchen table. You follow him around that day with pretty hickies everywhere and his deodorant on your skin. He promises that you can move into his on-base apartment whenever you want.

Rudy helps the two of you the next day.

Still, you know he loves you. You know what kind of man he is. Good and brave and fierce. Loyal the way poets write. He would never stray… but you wish you had reassurance that you belong to him, and him you.

You get a bracelet that only he can take on and off, his name engraved proudly in the metal. He keeps the key with his dog tags. It feels right; you feel possessed. He gets this dark glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes when he sees you thumbing at his name.

A matching bracelet peeks beneath his sleeve when he raises his hand to call his soldiers’ attention. You keep the key on a necklace in the hollow of your throat on proud display.

When Valeria makes a snide comment about it upon meeting, you tilt your head at her.

“You seem like a very unhappy person.” And flounce off.

Alejandro laughs raucously about it still hours later, praising you while you sit in his lap and sip his beer.

[babygirl-diaz]

To spite the anon hate, what are some headcanons you have for bucktommy?

Oooooooooo thanks for asking, anon! I love talking about my BuckTommy headcanons!

Okay, so, everyone talks about how Tommy is the sugar daddy in the relationship (which fair because he does have a lot going on for him) but I have always headcanoned Buck as having a fortune left to him by a late relative and therefore, HE is the sugar daddy in the relationship. Hehe. I know it's a bit of a stretch.

Hmmm... I was just talking about this with another anon but I think Tommy is really ticklish in the neck and Buck takes full advantage of that. He kisses his neck all the time just to elicit a giggle from him.

What else... Buck likes to swoop Tommy away on impromptu getaways in his Jeep. Sometimes they just drive for hours on the I-5. But Buck's favorite spot is this hill from where you can see the lights of downtown Los Angeles. He and Tommy go up there and just sit on the hood of Buck's jeep and talk about everything and nothing.

Buck and Tommy both love to give each other gifts. Buck has sent gifts to the 217 a bunch of times and Tommy's coworkers tease him relentlessly about it, while Tommy just blushes. One time an edible arrangements arrived and Lucy received it. She read the note and then was like:

Lucy: If that kiss had gone somewhere, I would be receiving this fruit basket right now Tommy: It's not a fruit basket, it's an Edible- WAIT... What kiss?

Tommy loves pop songs and he is currently really into Sabrina Carpenter. One time Buck catches him dancing around in the living room with his headphones on while vacuuming the floors. He may or may not have taken a video.

Tommy is the little spoon and he is unapologetic about it. He loves being cuddled into Buck's arms and Buck loves holding him protectively.

Okay, that's all for now....

[nino-rox]

ANOMALY PART 1

STILES STILINSKI x MALE READER | O

Warnings : None, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf x Original Male Character, Teen Wolf SPOILER ALERT

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post.

Author’s Note : the car in the picture below is Y/N’s new car

“Y/N, I’m leaving for work. Make sure you don’t get late for school, and drive safe, honey!” You heard your mom say as you packed your back for your first day of school, “Okay, Mom! Have a great day at work,” You responded.

You had just moved to Beacon Hills with your mom a day ago because of her new job at a hospital here. The school was about 20 minutes from your house, and you’d only visited once before for admission.

You made your way to the main door, manoeuvring between the still unpacked cartons. Your new house wasn’t particularly big, it was a small 2 Bedroom, 3 Bathroom apartment on the 1st floor. It wasn’t fancy, but you liked how the windows opened into an amazing view of the town.

You sat into your new car; it was by far the thing you were the most excited about, after all… that’s how your mom managed to bribe you when you said you didn’t want to move to some small town and leave Los Angeles. Your new car was a Black 5-seat Volvo XC40 Hybrid. It was as beautiful as they come - the best breaks, sexy design, brand new release, Electric + Gas - And it felt amazing to drive.

With those thoughts in mind, you drove off to school.

Your mom had given you strict instructions that if you got caught skipping school, she would ground you until the next semester and take the keys to the car. As you reached the school, reality began to set in. You were in some faraway town, away from home, away from your only close friend, and didn’t know anyone. But at this point, it was nothing new to you. Your mom was a famous double board-certified general surgeon, and thanks to that title, her job always made her move around the country.

Perhaps this was why you looked down at your new school - Beacon Hills High School - it wasn’t as big, pretty, or well-known as your previous one. Still, on the upside, you had heard interesting stories about the place and how “weird” things kept happening, so you at least hoped you’d run into Bigfoot or something on one of your regular late-night walks. ( A/N: LMAO HE ABOUT TO REGRET THAT- Sorry)

As you parked your car, a chill went up your spine. You really had no idea what to expect. You took in your surroundings as you got down; the grass was long and wild, the buildings were old, and everyone was … well… they didn’t have the same flair as people in LA.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. It was a message from your best friend that said, “Hey, listen, Y/N, I’m super late for class right now. I wish you all the best for the first day at Beacon Hills. Oh, and don’t be a judgmental bitch, please. It is a town, not LA, but I’m sure you’ll survive. Don’t worry, stay safe and DO NOT GO LOOKING FOR DANGER…also, let me know if there are any hot guys. Maybe I can come over then.”

It was crazy how she basically knew what you were thinking, so you sent her a message saying, “No hot guys in sight … not one,” to which she replied, “STFU and get to class bitch.”

And as you walked towards the school entrance, you decided it was time to start working on becoming a bit more social and meet some friends here… or not, because who cares…right…?

As you locked your car and began walking to the entrance, you saw a blue Jeep parked next to it; it looked pretty banged up as if a lion had scratched it. You just hoped they didn’t accidentally scrape your car.

Two boys were getting out of the jeep. One was tall and athletic, the other an inch shorter and much skinnier. They looked around your age and looked like they were talking about something serious.

You continued walking in. Your first class of the day was AP (advanced placement) Biology. As you walked in, you prayed the teacher wouldn’t make you introduce yourself; you weren’t in the mood… but oh well.

The teacher spoke as you walked in, greeting and asking you to introduce yourself to the class.

“Hey everyone, my name’s Y/N Shepherd. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you!” You said as you saw a beautiful redhead who later introduced herself as Lydia Martin smile and wave at you, signalling for you to sit with her.

You welcomed the friendly gesture, smiling back and walking over to her before taking a seat.

“So, pretty boy, where are you coming from ?” Lydia asked. “LA, and thanks, you’re quite beautiful yourself,” you said, winking at her, which made her blush slightly.

You were always good at this part, faking a smile, being all friendly, sweet and social when really you never cared.”

Before Lydia could continue interrogating you, the class started.

Over the next hour and a half, the lecture went by.

After the lecture ended, Lydia told you that she would go find out where your locker was. She also gave you some tips on the teachers she thought would be easy and hard and things like that and warned you to not step out too late in the night in Beacon Hills. She mentioned that sometimes people hung out together outside of school and invited you along.

“Thanks! This will definitely help me fit in better,” you smiled.

Lydia smiled and walked off after showing you to your locker. As you began to open your locker, two boys suddenly ran up to you and held the locker door shut. You turned around, ready to rid anyone of the false notion that they could even try to bully you, but your gaze softened a bit when you saw the two boys from the jeep next to your car,

“Heyyy, man, sorry I kinda put some stuff … uh … in there and forgot to take it out last semester. Could you just give us a bit so we can take it out?” The shorter, skinnier one said, almost suspiciously, as if there was a dead body in there. “So? Take it out now. I need to put my stuff in,” you said, opening the locker as you noticed the taller boy sigh in defeat. Suddenly, your eyes went wide; the moment you opened the lock, a huge, maybe 10-foot iron chain began to fall out; the loud sound even made teachers step out to see what was happening. The skinny boy spoke up, “Yeah …. About that … uh.. we can explain … um, it was,” “Don’t bother, I don’t really care, just get it out before you make me late for class”, you interrupted, visibly mad that the whole school probably thinks “you” were the psycho who had iron chains in his locker - when that really wasn’t the case. “We’re really sorry about this,” the taller boy said, grabbing the chains and leaving you in peace. You were judging…you were really judging them. You didn’t care about the chains, but the fact that everyone’s gonna think it was you.

You made your way to your economics class, and to your most unpleasant surprise, both those boys were in your class. As if it wasn’t bad enough already, only one seat was left, and it was right beside them. You chuckled at the irony of the situation - You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or strangle them, so you decided to ignore them and keep it cool.

The class was easy; you already knew everything, so you couldn’t help but get bored. As you began observing the classroom, the skinny boy passed you a chit - you took it hesitantly - it read, “SO SORRY - Stiles.” And had a smiley face drawn next to “stiles,” which made you think. What the hell is a stiles?

You glance back at the boy only to see him grinning at you; at that moment, you feel something - confusion - before you can do anything, you hear the teacher call you to solve a question on the board.

While solving the problem, you kept glancing at the two boys - you could feel their stares burning through your skin. The teacher seemed impressed when you finished solving the question and said, “You see that, Greenberg? That’s how it’s done.” Damn, this man really hates this Greenberg dude, what’d he do? You thought to yourself as you returned to your seat.

You could still feel the two boys staring holes into you; you were beginning to get irritated. You needed to finish some work, and these boys clearly weren’t helping you concentrate.

As you tried to return to your book, the taller boy mumbled something and pointed his finger at you. You were really starting to lose it, but the two boys suddenly got up, telling the teacher they had to go and ran out of the class - what the fuck is wrong with those two, you thought to yourself.

A while later, you were finally done with classes for the day. So far, it had gone well. The teachers liked you, and your classmates did too. The only issue was the whole corridor thing with those two boys, but as long as you stayed away from them, you’d be fine, you thought.

You received a message from Lydia asking you to come to the benches outside the cafeteria. That’s where she was hanging out with her friends after school. You texted back, letting her know you’d arrive in 5 minutes. You were in the mood for a walk and wanted to get some fresh air after that awkward morning.

As you reached the benches, you were absolutely fucking appalled; how is it that wherever you went, you’d run into those two boys - they were sitting next to Lydia - you sighed, taking a deep breath as you walked over, putting on your best smile.

[translatemunson]

thought of calling you, but you won’t pick up • ttfd

chapter four of the tortured firefighters department

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, no descriptions of reader, banter (because i love it), reader is a math and science nerd, chris is here, mentions of food, hints of mental issues, proofread by my bye-lingual ass (let me know if i forgot anything)

You checked your phone again. Last night, Eddie texted that Carla would be joining you and Chris on your small field trip because he forgot he had booked her for the day. You never met the lady, but you were sure it was gonna be fine. With an extra adult ticket in your pocket, you waited.

Fifteen minutes and no sign of them. Maybe you should text Eddie and get Carla’s number? She was probably stuck in traffic, but that information would ease your worries — and you could help her avoid the even worse routes the apps were giving these days. At this pace, you’d wear off the soles of your white Nike Dunk and pull every single thread of your maroon sweater.

You were about to text Eddie when you saw the black Jeep Wrangler parking not a few spots down to your left. No fucking way, you thought as you marched into its direction.

“Let’s go, Chris, we’re gonna be late!” Buck helped the kid out of the car and picked up a small paper bag before closing the door.

“Hey, Chris! Are you excited?” You hugged him and kept your hands on his shoulder, finally looking at the one person you’ve been successfully avoiding. “Thanks for dropping him off, Buckley. Is Carla joining us later?”

“Actually, I’m on babysitting duty today.” He extended you the paper bag. “Peace offering?”

“What is this?”

“The reason why we were late.” He insisted you accept the bag. “C’mon, aren’t you curious?”

“He said you’d like it,” Chris added. 

You accepted the gift, peaking it before opening the bag and finding one of your favorite cupcakes from your favorite bakery. The one from the incident that set the whole “we could be friends” situation on fire.

“Can we call it a truce for today?” It was implied, but he was definitely saying this for Chris’ sake.

“Ok, just today. But this doesn’t make things magically disappear, Buckley.”

“Why do you call him Buckley?” Chris asked you, his head tilted in your direction. “I call him Buck!”

“She’s mad at me, little guy.” He took a step closer to you two, probably testing the waters. “Did you get the tickets?”

“Who do you think I am? But give me one second, I can’t enter the museum with food.”

“Take your time. Wanna see if we can get to the museum before Brains, Chris?” And off they went.

You were almost sure Eddie planned this out. Leaving you to babysit his son and his annoying friend, who everyone under the 118 roof knew you were avoiding. One hundred percent intentional, right? And of course he would be late because he drove all the way to Santa Monica to buy your favorite cupcake — someone gave him a tip.

You started to feel a bit sad for ignoring his calls and texts all week long. But you pushed it away while you ate the cupcake and watched the boys walking to the entrance. With your clean hand, you gave Buck the tickets and told them to go ahead and go all the way back after the main hall: it was smart to take advantage of the morning weather on the Nature Gardens outside and explore all the fossils and animals later on. 

You were just a few steps behind when you caught up with them in the outdoor gardens. As a newcomer to this whole Chris’ babysitter duty job, you left to Buck to finish the small walk around the main paths. It was a good opportunity to text Eddie and say that, even though you offered to take Chris to the Museum, you were only assigned to take care of one kid, not two. In his best single-father in the middle of a shift style, he texted you a ‘thumbs up’ back. Oh he was so hearing about it later.

The Natural History Museum in Los Angeles was definitely packed with exhibitions that could keep a child and adults entertained. You’d been there once, as soon as you moved to LA, almost a year ago now, and the featured exhibitions were different back then, but still a pretty good curating work after all.

However, the moment Chris saw the Dinosaur Hall and the Dino Lab, you knew it was over for any other exhibitions. And could you blame him? The dinos were pretty badass and Chris was a very curious kid, so he kept asking you all the questions you could’ve imagined — and a few more you weren’t prepared for. You acted like his own private tour guide, proud of spending some time researching and studying about dinosaurs the last few days.

You almost missed all the attention Buck was giving to you while you talked. To be honest, you couldn’t tell who was more focused on you: the kid or the annoying adult.

After all that talking, you for sure were starting to feel a little tired and overwhelmed. Even with short breaks for some water, you still felt like you needed a reset. You signaled to Buck that you’re going to the restroom for a second, he kept reading Chris the charts about butterflies and insects.

You washed your hands and used some of the water on your neck, trying to calm yourself down. How did you go from wanting Buckley’s head on a plate to babysitting with him? Life was fast and unpredictable by the Pacific shore. One lady entered the restroom and stopped by the sink to your right, trying to get rid of the chocolate and ketchup in her hands. You saw her a few minutes ago, when you stopped to grab some water.

“Can I just say you are an adorable couple? And your son is so sweet.” Her tone was sweet and definitely meant well. But she was so wrong about everything.

“Oh, he’s not our kid,” you rushed to explain the situation. “We’re just babysitting for a friend while he’s working.”

“Well, just like my grandparents told me once: sometimes you’ll have a taste of what your life could be with a special person at the moment you least expected.”

You smiled at her through the mirrors. “Did they give you any advice on how to know if it’s the right one?”

“No, but you look like someone who knows how to find that answer.” She threw the paper towels away. “Sorry for being so cryptic. Have fun!”

She left before you could even thank her for… well, the advice. Not that you asked for it, but it did show up in a nice time. Or maybe not. You weren’t sure. Did that truce mean you could let yourself feel everything you were repressing for the past few weeks? Not just regarding Evan Buckley and his lack of manners, but about everything in your life.

After all the dinosaurs and lectures about natural history, you decided to wrap up and move on to the next stop on your list. Buckley helped Chris get down the entry steps and you took the directions back to the parking lot close to the museum.

“Thanks for your services, Buckley. You can just,” you motioned your head to his car. “Ok, Chris. What do you wanna do now?” You opened your Uber app to get a ride to the next destination.

“Not necessary.” Buckley took the phone out of your hands and stored it into his jacket pocket. “I’m also the designated driver for the day.”

“What happened to you getting out of my hair?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I thought we were in this together.” He gave you the classic — and a little bit sassy — Buckley smile. He paid for the parking. “C’mon, Chris, we have places to go.”

The three of you walked to his car, but you were still not convinced. It was your idea to babysit Chris for the day, all your plans were picked towards your goal: having a nice and chill day with him. You didn’t need Evan Buckley and all his golden retriever energy to disturb your perfect equation.

While you were hating on him, he made sure Chris was comfortable and safe on the back seat. 

“Why are you ruining my plans?” You didn’t move from the driver’s door. Maybe, if you were warned beforehand you’d had to deal with him, you'd grow some patience. But not today, not this fast.

“I’m not. Still your plans with Chris. Tell me where to go next, I’ll drive us.”

“Give me my phone back.”

“Are you letting me be your driver today?” He leaned against the car.

“What choice do I have, Evan?” You rolled your eyes.

“Hey, I’ve told you I’m sorry.” You stepped aside, finally letting him grab the door handle. “Also, none of my friends call me Evan, by the way.”

“And since when am I your friend?”

“Since now. Hurry up, he’s gonna grow impatient and snap at us.”

“He would never do that.”

“Wanna test your theory, future doctor?”

“Not at all.”

He closed the door. You went around the vehicle, still pissed at him for taking your phone from you. You jumped into the car and checked Chris.

“Ok, are we hungry already or can we check out this cool place before that?”

“Pancakes!” Chris shouted from his seat. “Please?”

“Sure! Ok, let me just,” you instinctively reached out for your phone, but it was still being held hostage by Buck. “Phone, please.”

“Here,” he handed it to you, an aux cable attached to it. “Put the address in the GPS, and please play something kid friendly, ok?”

“Excuse me? What do you think I listen to while I’m driving to work?”

“With that sassy attitude of yours? I expect the worst.”

Just to prove him wrong, as soon as you entered the address on the GPS, you blasted one of your personal favorites. “I stay out too late, got nothing in my brain. That's what people say, mm-mm,” you sang.

“That's what people say, mm-mm,” and Chris, in the back seat, joined you.

You were definitely getting under Buck’s skin. The fact that you picked a song Chris knew the words too left him in disadvantage because you were sure he wanted the taste of saying “Told you so” as soon as he proved his point. But he should’ve known better than to provoke you.

“And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate. Baby, I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake. I shake it off!” You sang it right by Buck’s ear, dodging his hand because he was trying to get you out of his hair. Well, how does it feel now, Evan?

Your queue was really impressive: it looked like you were up-to-date with what the younger generation was listening to — not that you didn’t enjoy the same songs occasionally, but you never kept your options too narrow. There was just one scary moment where you thought you added an explicit song, but you deleted it in time. 

Buck was too busy following the GPS directions. You were stuck with him for the rest of the day, which was a nightmare by itself, and kinda stuck into the endless LA traffic. Chris didn’t notice the animosity between you because you both toned it down — for him, only for one day. Most of it sounded like some friendly banter.

Under the upbeat pop song you were playing, you could hear him singing another tune, barely familiar, but still unrecognizable.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing.” He made a left turn, but kept on singing it. “If you could see it… been here all along… how could you not know baby.”

Without a warning, you typed the name of the song in your library and gave it priority in your queue. His fingers started tapping in the beat, and he started following the lyrics, saying the right words this time.

“If you could see that I'm the one who understands you, been here all along. So, why can't you see? You belong with me,” you two sang along together. But you really kept your poker face because you couldn’t give him any reasons to be even more annoying.

“Looks like we’ve arrived,” he announced, breaking the spell of one song.

Buck pointed to the restaurant you found a few months ago. It was located south of Santa Monica, a few blocks from the beach, but with the rooftop seats, you could definitely say you were eating by the beach. You parked not far from the entry, and you rushed upstairs to get one of those special tables, telling Buck to help Chris because you didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

On the very edge of the roof, your favorite table awaited you: closer to the corner, with a huge light blue umbrella over your head, the four seat table had the perfect view and vibes. You pulled a chair for your bag and greeted the waiter. She didn’t get why you were in a rush until she saw Chris on Buck’s back.

“Could you just pick a place with an elevator next time?”

“I thought you were the muscles, Buckley. Hey, Chris, let me help you.” You held him tight, removing him from Buck’s embrace and putting him on the floor. “I had to make sure we had the perfect table.”

Three stores of stairs, in a rush, were justified once you got to see the smile on Chris’ face. You could catch your breath later.

+++

Chris ate way too many pancakes. You’d have to do a lot of explaining to Eddie, but hey, if the kid was happy, how could that be a problem?

You had to cancel the last plan of the day — a trip to another museum — and settle down at an arcade close to the restaurant before ending your babysitting duty. Just buying you enough time to Eddie leave the firehouse and be home. So you were watching Buck and Chris playing some games while you tried to schedule some study breaks between classes and shifts.

“What’s wrong?” Buck sat down to your right. Chris was just in your sight, in case he needed more coins or any help.

“Nothing.” You turned off your phone screen, ignoring your packed schedule.

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” He gave you a little smudge on the shoulder. “C’mon, Brains, talk to me.”

“I’m just a bit tired, it’s fine.”

“You know, you can go home now, I’ll take him to Eddie’s. You look like you need a good night of sleep.”

“To be honest, I can’t go back home now because I’d feel guilty. My brain is all mushy,” you pointed to your head, “and I wouldn’t be able to study or relax. I would rather stay here, where my mind is focused on something else.”

“I know what you mean,” he leaned his body back, his eyes staring something beyond what you could see. “I support you distracting yourself, but this won’t go away just because you’re ignoring it, you know? Are you sure you’re ok?”

Being ok was a concept you weren’t sure about the past few days. You wanted to be ok, to look ok to everyone around you, but it was hard. You were just faking until you made it. The PhD program was starting to wear you off, and even though you loved it, the thoughts of giving up were taking every single inch of your notes and books.

But what would be your excuse to leave it unfinished when numbers, probabilities and hours of understanding the impossible things were half of your life at this point?

“Did I hit my head or something? Do you have a fever? Why are you being nice to me?” You swiftly tried to change subjects.

“We’re on a truce, remember?”

“Maybe we could be on good terms again,” you suggested. “I mean, if you ever eat my cupcakes again, Bobby will need to hire a new firefighter.”

“So we’re good?”

“We’re good.” Your screen lit up with a notification. “Eddie is gonna be stuck with an emergency, but Carla is on her way to the house. Should we just go?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go get him and then we drop him off.”

“Great.”

Chris black out as soon as Buck started the drive back to the Diaz house. The radio volume was low, and the orange and pink tones of the sunset were being replaced by the dark blue of the night. You found it hard to keep your eyes open for too long, and only noticed you took a nap when Chris was calling for your name, wanting to say goodbye before going inside.

“Thank you for today, Brains!” He hugged you, and it made everything worth it. “Can we do this again soon?”

“We’re gonna chase all the dinosaurs in LA, I promise.” You gave him one last huge and walked back to the car, watching Carla and Buck talking by the front door.

And there you were, back in the car with Evan Buckley. If he wanted to make a comment about how he was right, he let it slide. You connected your phone and entered the address to your house on the GPS. He took your phone from your hands, declaring “Now that everyone in this car is over 18, we can play the good stuff.”

“Are you sure you are old enough? Give me that back, Evan!”

“Hey! I’m driving. And you challenged me. I’m gonna show you what I usually blast in my car.”

You expected anything from Evan Buckley, even the worst genre of music, but nothing prepared you for when you listened to the introduction of ‘You Give Love A Bad Name’ blasting through the speakers.

The playlist had completely changed and moved away from what you played when Chris was in the car. Bruce Springsteen, The Beatles, even a little of Led Zeppelin, just to enjoy some classics you never thought Buck appreciated. But he was more than just a firefighter with a sassy attitude, some wrongs and lots of muscle.

You look around, panicking a little when you notice you’re entering your building’s garage. You were definitely expecting to be dropped off at the front of the building. What the hell was going on?

“What… How did you get the access?”

“So, funny story. Maddie told you about the place, right?” He turned his head to check your reaction. “Well, I was the one that mentioned that a unit was available when I was complaining about my ex neighbor… So yeah, we are neighbors.”

“You’re annoying, you know that, right?”

“I thought Maddie told you.”

Well, she almost did, but she was interrupted by your neighbor himself that night. Shit.

“For how long did you know this?” You pointed to the garage and between you two.

“For a few weeks, when I saw your car after the cupcake incident.”

“I pledge the fifth.” You disconnected your phone from his car. Well, it would only get awkward if you walked to your apartment in complete silence, so you asked, “Wait, so you were texting and calling me from across the hall? You’re unbelievable.”

“What? If I knock on your door, you’ve got a restraining order against me.”

You left the car at the same time, and walked to the elevators.

“I bet I could convince Sergeant Grant to arrest you.”

“You’d make her dreams come true.”

Same elevator, same floor. You took opposite directions: his place was to the left, yours to the right, on the corners of the building, just one unit between you. You waved him goodbye and entered your home. To your right, your kitchen and dinner table. The glass doors to your balcony were opened — your mistake when you left in a hurry that morning — and it felt more like home than you expected.

Under the stairs, your notes and books were scattered. Sundays were for studying and writing the thesis. Your gray couch held the books you were searching the other day, too busy to put them back in the high and long bookshelves you had on the wall. Your television was the least used electronic in the place.

You walked upstairs and threw yourself in the bed. Maybe you should’ve picked up his calls before, but now it wasn’t a problem anymore.

author's note: are we watching the beginning of their friendship? I THINK SO! yes, i love a slow burn, but i swear it's gonna be worth it, ok? hope you're enjoying this series as much as i am. also: i published a blurb, so check the series masterlist bc i kinda loved it, not gonna lie. ALSO, my lovely friend, casey, made a playlist for the series. just check the masterlist! see yall next week!

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 4/?

Read on AO3

Pairing: Buck/Tommy, Vampire/Witch!AU

I was not expecting to have to delve this much into political structures, but I can't lie--it's kind of fun.

“Do we get to know why we’re kidnapping one of Gerrard’s party favors, or is this another situation where I sleep better if I don’t know?” Sal asked conversationally as they made their way to the big SUV Lucy preferred to drive.

“You don’t sleep,” Tommy retorted testily.

Sal sighed, and Tommy didn’t have to look to know he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “He got car keys? Gerrard’s got a few on his cleanup crew that’ll notice if there’s more cars than bodies.”

Damn it. That was a good point. “Fuck, I don’t know. He was talking to a friend or a roommate earlier; they might have come together, but I don’t know. Lucy, can you…?” He shifted Evan in his arms, holding him so that Lucy could rifle through his pockets. After a moment, she came up with a peeling leather keychain, on which dangled a couple of keys, one with the Jeep logo emblazoned on it. Sal snatched the keys and shot Tommy a look.

“I’ll go check where the staff was parking. If I don’t find anything, I’ll make my own way home. We are talking about this later, Tommy boy.”

“Expected nothing less,” Tommy sighed, and then frowned. “I’m taking him to the apartments, though, not the main house.” Sal looked surprised, but just nodded and loped off towards the end of the estate opposite the gardens, where presumably all of Gerrard’s victims had been told to park for the night. “You drive, Luce. I’m gonna have to handle him if he wakes up before we get home.”

Lucy’s eyebrows climbed towards her hairline, but she didn’t question him further, just hurrying along to the SUV and unlocking it with a quick chirp from the key fob. He clambered into the backseat with Evan and spent an awkward few moments trying to sort of lean him comfortably against the window in the seat before giving up with a groan and just pulling the kid back against his chest.

“I’m biting my tongue so hard I’m tasting blood, Kinard. I just want you to know that,” Lucy said from the driver’s seat, staring at him in the rearview mirror. “Also, just how much handling does one half-drained frat boy need? Not that I’m judging you. Much.”

Tommy glared at her half-heartedly, before turning his attention out the window, restlessly scanning their surroundings for any of Gerrard’s people. The SUV’s tinted windows—darkest UV blocking glass they were legally allowed to have in California, of course—should keep them safe from any prying eyes, but he didn’t fully relax until Lucy had pulled them out of Gerrard’s compound and they were out on the highway.

Evan showed no signs of waking, and Tommy took the opportunity to finally take a (metaphorical) breath and really consider just what the fuck he had done. He’d gotten the witch out of Gerrard’s territory…but now what? The kid had already proven he was dangerous. If it had been anyone else in that parlor apart from Tommy or Gerrard himself, he had no doubt Evan would have been able to escape.

He also had no doubt that Evan would not have been able to get off the estate. Against maybe a handful of younger vampires? Probably he’d have been fine. Against dozens and dozens of representatives of every coven in the greater Los Angeles metropolitan area? He might have taken a lot of them out with him, but eventually he would have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers. But the fact remained that bringing him home was dangerous. It was stupid. He'd accomplished what he’d set out to do—which was get the witch away from Gerrard. The smart thing to do would be to have Lucy drive to the nearest hospital, use the thrall to blur Evan’s memories enough that he wouldn’t be able to identify Tommy, and leave him on a bench near the ER doors.

What was he thinking?

He wasn’t, that was the problem. He’d been riding on instinct from the moment he’d watched Evan burn Gerrard’s turn to ash…and his instincts were insisting he not let the witch out of his sight.

Tommy had not survived for eight hundred fucking years by ignoring his instincts.

A faint tremor ran through Evan’s body, a small grimace twisting his face. The delicate skin of his eyelids twitched and trembled, his eyes moving restlessly back and forth as though he was dreaming. With a soft sigh, he turned further into Tommy’s chest, his forehead brushing the skin of Tommy’s neck. The kid was ice cold—especially compared to the warmth that had been radiating off him before. Well shit, of course he was. He was a few pints of blood lighter and he’d been fighting for his life with his magic. He was probably going into shock. Fuck…he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had to worry about a human’s welfare. The only one he spent any real amount of time with was Lucy’s girlfriend—and not only did Lena decidedly not need Tommy fussing over her, she would be one of them soon enough (Lucy had already asked, and Alonzo had consented…but Lena’s mother was in the final stages of a long battle with cancer and she didn’t want to abandon her human life before her mother passed).

He twisted in his seat, searching through the multitude of things that had been tossed into the third row until he found a jacket he vaguely remembered seeing Ravi wear a few times crumpled up under some random books and an umbrella. He snatched it up and turned back to drape it over Evan, drawing another long look from Lucy in the rearview mirror. He sighed heavily.

“He’s a witch, Lucy,” he said without preamble.

Lucy did not slam on the brakes in shock. But the SUV did swerve a little. An angry horn blared behind them, and Lucy rolled her window down to stick her hand out and flip them the bird.

“Tommy, what the fuck? Are you sure?”

“He burned one of Gerrard’s turns to ash with a spell. Tried to flatten me like a pancake. And I could barely hold him in the thrall. So yeah, pretty sure.”

“What the hell is a witch doing at a vampire coven gathering?”

Tommy shrugged one shoulder, massaging his temple lightly. Sal insisted that they couldn’t get headaches anymore, but Tommy called bullshit. “Tending bar,” he said. “I don’t think he realized what kind of party he was working until it was too late.”

“His familiar let him walk into a den of vampires?” Lucy asked in disbelief. “Wait…where is the familiar?”

Another shrug. “I don’t think he has one. Like you said, no way it would have let him walk into Gerrard’s place. And there was nothing helping him when he was attacked. Even if his familiar was a damn fly, it would have tried to do something.”

“Is that—I mean, the only witch I know is Chimney, but—isn’t that…kind of weird for a witch his age?”

It was fucking bizarre is what it was. A bond with a familiar was considered part of becoming an adult among witches. Most were bonded with a familiar by fifteen or sixteen, sometimes earlier. But hardly ever later. Familiars helped witches regulate and control their power as they became fully functioning members of their covens. Granted, Tommy wasn’t exactly sure how a familiar was chosen for a witch. He would cautiously say that he and Howie were friends, but it wasn’t like they regularly traded coven secrets, and Howie had never offered up the story of how he’d come to be bonded with the wrinkly-faced bat that clung to his clothes and fluttered around his head constantly.

“It’s not normal, no,” he allowed eventually.

“Okay…okay, so I see why you took him out of Gerrard’s. No way in hell you could leave him there. But what are you planning to do with him?” she asked carefully. Too carefully.

“Lucy,” he said warningly.

“Kinard,” she replied in exactly the same tone. Then she sighed heavily. “You know we have to consider how much of an advantage this could be. You already drank from him!”

He shifted, unconsciously tightening the arm he had around Evan’s shoulders. To keep him from tipping all over the place, of course. The power of the witch’s blood still coursed through him, and would for several days…maybe even a few weeks. Tommy was already stronger and faster than anyone else in the coven, was stronger and faster than almost any other vampire in this part of California, but right now? He was fucking untouchable. Lucy was right…having access to Evan’s blood regularly would be an incredible advantage for the coven. Even if they limited who drank from him and let the younger members of the coven drink from those people regularly, the strength of the coven would increase tenfold. He knew why Lucy had to put the thought out there.

Alonzo’s coven was well-respected and well-liked. But they did not have the sheer power that was required to be politically important in their world. Tommy’s presence in the coven was the source of a lot of what political clout they did have. Even with their relatively small numbers, there weren’t many covens who were willing to anger a vampire who was close to measuring his age in millennia rather than centuries. Alonzo and Sal were decently powerful in their own right—both of them having been turned sometime during the early Renaissance—but apart from them the rest of the coven were all under two hundred years old. Most of them had been turned in the last century.

But no witch would willingly let themselves be used like that by a vampire coven.

Witch and vampire covens had an uneasy truce. In places like LA, with large populations of both, interaction was necessary to preserve the secret of their existence from the even larger human populations. That was how he’d come to know Howard Han. He and Howie had known each other for going on ten years, had spoken often in both official and unofficial capacities. He considered Howie a friend, and knew Howie felt the same. But they had never been to each other’s territory. Never been alone together. Every meeting he’d ever had with Howie had been conducted in a public place, or on carefully agreed upon and regulated neutral territory.

If the coven were to utilize Evan’s blood, they would have to force him.

Keep him locked up somewhere. Neutralize his ability to cast spells. Keep him a secret from every other witch and vampire in the city. And the worst part was, he knew Alonzo would consider it. Gerrard had been expanding his powerbase in LA for decades, and the very real possibility he would enter into a formal alliance with Ortiz had every coven not formally aligned with him on edge. The situation was becoming precarious enough that he knew Alonzo was considering if it was even worth it to stay in California anymore.

He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Evan what Gerrard would do to him back at the mansion. Gerrard’s solution would be to slice out Evan’s tongue and keep him chained in the basement of his most heavily fortified property and he would do it in a heartbeat.

Tommy had done unsavory things in the name of survival before. He no longer had to kill when he hunted, but there were hundreds, if not thousands of deaths under his belt in that pursuit. And that was just the hunting. Tommy had done many cruel, vicious things—in the name of survival or revenge or protecting something he valued or just because. The idea that he could be as old as he was with clean hands and a clean conscience was laughable. He certainly didn’t care that the other members of his coven still killed when they hunted, and far more frequently than he needed to. Tommy was no stranger to cruelty. It was true, though, that in general, Alonzo’s coven refrained from the worst excesses of their kind. That was what he liked about them, what had spurred him to join, and why he stayed.

The thought of doing anything the way Gerrard would turned Tommy’s stomach.

But it was one person—one stranger—held up against safety and protection for his entire coven.

“Tommy?” Lucy said again, and he shook his head.

“I don’t have a plan, Luce,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking beyond making sure Gerrard didn’t get ahold of him.”

“Well, you need to figure that the fuck out!”

“I know! Okay? I know. Look, just…just get us to the apartments. I’ll call Alonzo as soon as you’re gone and, I dunno, I’ll just see what he has to say.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…who said I was leaving?” She turned fully in her seat to glare at him, and he smacked the back of her headrest.

“Eyes on the road!” he snapped. “Fuck. And I said you’re leaving. Did you miss the part where I said this kid burned one of Gerrard’s turns to ash? Why do you think we’re not going back to the compound?”

“He’s thralled, it’s fine!”

“Lucy,” he said firmly. “No. I’ve never actually had someone fight me like that, I don’t know how long I can hold him.”

“So gag him,” she shrugged.

“Right, because waking up like that’s gonna inspire him to listen to me calmly and objectively.”

Another glare in the rearview mirror, this one suspicious. “Why do you need him to listen to you calmly and objectively?” she asked warily. “Tommy—we can’t let him go, you understand that right? Doesn’t matter what reason you had…and let me guess, someone caught you trying to sneak him out? It still doesn’t matter. You drank from a witch, completely unsanctioned. His coven could demand your fucking head. Even if by some miracle they accepted that you were trying to save him, the SoCal high coven has been trying to find a way to drive you and Gerrard out of LA for years. They hate having vampires as powerful as you in their territory.”

“I. Know,” he gritted out, although in truth he hadn’t been thinking anywhere near that far ahead. He’d just known he had to get Evan out of that mansion. Besides…if what he’d seen when he drank from Evan was accurate (and he still wasn’t sure it was…experiencing flashes and fragments of memories and emotions wasn’t unusual when drinking from a thralled victim, but he’d never seen anything that complete, that solid), the witch covens in the area might not respond for Evan the way Lucy thought they would.

“Okay, well, then what the fuck is the plan? Cause if you can’t answer that, we’re going to have to kill him. Tonight. Fuck, right now!”

“We’re not killing him.” The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was going to say them. Lucy turned to look at him again, shock plain on her face. The SUV drifted in its lane and another horn blared at them. Tommy rubbed a hand down his face, taking a deep, unneeded breath. “I am very aware of just how precarious the situation is, okay? But I don’t want to kill him unless we have to.”

It was strange, actually, how very much he didn’t want to kill the witch. If his position was reversed with Lucy or Sal, he’d be questioning if Evan had somehow cast a spell on them. But his instincts were screaming at him. Screaming. He had to listen.

“Tommy,” Lucy said softly, and when he looked at her face in the mirror, she was biting her lip, a worried frown wrinkling her forehead.

Without a word, he reached forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. Blindly, she grabbed it, rubbing her cheek against his knuckles. Lucy was not his turn. He hadn’t made her. But the one who had had completely abandoned her to her new life, cutting her loose only days after she’d risen. Tommy had been the one who found her, half-feral and on the verge of being declared for extermination by the local covens. He’d been the one who helped her regain her control, herself. He hadn’t made her, but neither of them really made that distinction anymore.

“Luce, do you trust me?” he asked softly.

“You know I do. More than anyone.”

“Then trust me. I’ll figure this out.”

Lucy swallowed convulsively but gave a sharp nod. She squeezed his hand one more time, and then let it go to concentrate on driving. They spent the rest of the drive in silence, until Lucy eventually guided the SUV into the underground parking garage of the apartment building Alonzo had acquired as a coven safehouse a few years ago. They’d gone to great pains to bury its ownership under multiple shell companies and shadow investors, and even occasionally rented out units in it to preserve the fiction. At the moment, it was completely empty.

The perfect place to bring what was essentially a ticking timebomb. It wasn’t like Tommy didn’t have the funds to buy the coven a hundred more apartment buildings if this went badly and Evan ended up burning the place to the ground. The witch was still deeply unconscious, but a little bit of color had come back to his face as Tommy gathered him up again and slid out of the backseat. His breathing and heartbeat were steady enough that Tommy wasn’t worried.

Lucy insisted on following him up to one of the loft apartments they kept furnished with the basics, dithering by the door while Tommy carried Evan up to the second floor and laid him down on the bed far more gently than was strictly necessary. He hesitated briefly, then mentally threw up his hands and made quick work of removing the witch’s shoes and belt. He searched briefly through his pockets, just to remove anything that might be uncomfortable to lie on, and came up with only his wallet and a pack of gum. He debated only a few seconds before flipping the wallet open, his eyebrow climbing when the driver’s license in the first plastic sleeve read EVAN DANIELS. That was weird…the kid had said his last name was Buckley when Tommy questioned him back at the mansion.

“Hey, Sal just texted! The keys matched an old Jeep in the staff parking area…what do you want him to do with it?” Lucy called up the stairs, breaking him out of his thoughts. He looked down at Evan again and closed the wallet, setting it down on the nightstand in easy reach.

“Have him bring it here,” he called back.

“Oh, so Sal gets to stay?” Lucy grumbled but didn’t try to argue further. Tommy rested his hands on his hips, drumming his fingers on his belt as he tried to think ahead for perhaps the first time tonight.

“Hey, Josh still does a lot of hacking doesn’t he?” he asked, going to the top of the stairs and looking down at Lucy. She looked up from her phone, a distinctly unimpressed look on her face.

“His literal job for Alonzo is erasing the coven’s digital footprint and keeping our finances straight, so, uh, yeah.”

“Think he could find out some coven information discreetly?”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m guessing we’re talking witch covens, not vampire. Ugh. I can ask…but if he thinks we’d trigger something, he’s not doing it.”

“No, yeah, no, that’s fair. Just…see if he can find out anything about an Evan Buckley.”

“That’s not a very unique name—do you have any other details, or are we just looking for what we can dig up in LA?”

Tommy thought back to the strange…vision or dream or whatever. “No, no he can’t be from California.”

Lucy’s glare turned disbelieving. “You want Josh to go fishing through coven records for a name like Buckley and the only geographical distinction is ‘not California’?”

Okay, when she said it like that…

“I think…I think he was banished,” Tommy admitted after a moment. “Probably a few years ago.”

“Banished,” Lucy repeated slowly. “A few years ago? But you said he was casting spells?”

“I know. I—I might be wrong. But there’s something weird going on here.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Lucy muttered darkly. “Fine. Evan Buckley, banished from anywhere in the United States except California…you do think he’s American, right?”

“I mean, if he’s not he does a really decent accent,” Tommy said with a shrug.

“You’re giving me ulcers, Kinard!”

He smirked at her, spreading his hands in a placating gesture. “They’ll heal. Now get out of here. See what Josh can find, if anything, and text me later.”

At that, the irritation melted off Lucy’s face, and she stabbed a finger towards him, her expression deadly serious. “Stay safe, okay?”

“You know me Luce. I’m hard to kill.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded, and turned to leave. Tommy watched the door close and the deadbolt engage with a solid thunk, and then he was alone. With a witch. Who he had bitten without permission and kidnapped, and who had already demonstrated a complete willingness to try and kill him. And who he absolutely was not going to be able to let go when he woke up, regardless of whether or not he particularly wanted to.

Right. What could possibly go wrong?

[stoneyocean]

Join the wave 🌊

Stoneyocean.com

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

New Fic: Long Death

HI. Anyway. Been sitting on this sucker for a while. Changed a lot bc of the finale.'

Here are the FIRST TWO CHAPTERS of an angsty Buddie vampire fic.

Summary:

In the summer of 2024, a never before seen form of vampirism breaks out in Los Angeles. Just as Eddie is about to get his son back. Six months later, Buck's life is permanently changed.

Snippet:

Buck dresses in pants made from a heavy, cargo material and a turtleneck. The latter part isn’t strictly necessary, seeing as the kevlar jacket he never fails to gear up in covers the skin of his throat. But Buck always finds the way it rubs against his sensitive scar tissue grating, so a turtleneck it is. Besides, the more real estate between anyone and his jugular, the better. 

He selects two hunting knives and slips them into sheaths attached to his belt. There’s a third one in the glove compartment of the Jeep at all times, just in case. Sophia says he should take a gun with him. He has one, locked in a safe, but doesn’t bring it with him if he can help it. They make him nervous. He brushes off her suggestion like always, jokes that a Texas upbringing has made her a gun nut, and keeps moving.

---

Tagging:

@epicbuddieficrecs @theotherbuckley @sevenweeksofunrepression @slowlyfoggydestiny @buckleybabyblues

@diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @aquamarineglitter @loserdiaz @steadfastsaturnsrings

@your-catfish-friend @incorrect9-1-1 @hawaiianlove808 @babytrapperdiaz @watchyourbuck

@lyricfulloflight @tizniz @aroeddiediaz @estheticpotaeto

@buddieswhvre @l0v3t0hat3y0u @mage8

As always, let me know if you'd like to be added to my writing updates tags :)

[livingdreams97]

Kylie Jenner -- "The Babysitter" (Part 1)

Kylie Jenner x fem reader/oc

Summary: Who would have thought that anwering to a babysitter job offer for the summer to a unknown family would let to meeting someone that would move your world.

Words: 4007

NEXT

Masterlist

(It´s not really well written but it´s something)

POV You

Relax Y/n, this is just a job interview. Just a job interview, just a job interview, just a job interview. I repeat myself over and over again inside my head. I pull up my metallic blue 2021 Jeep Wrangler two-door in front of the security fence and roll down the window.

XY: Good morning.- the guy from the booth greets me, with a tablet in his hand and stands next to the window. -Your name and the name of the person you are coming to visit please.- he asks me and I give it to him quickly.

Y/n: Y/n Brown Davis and I don't know who I come to see honestly.- I answer a little embarrassed. -They called me for an interview and they only told me to come here and to go to house number 2432.- I explain watching him nod and type on the screen.

XY: You're on the list.- he confirms and takes a weight off my shoulders. -See if you turn right at the second exit and continue straight for about five minutes, You will find the house right away.- he explains to me and I thank him enormously.

He gets away from the car and opens the fence for me, letting me pass into the urbanization. I follow the instructions he has given me, seeing the mansions on both sides of the street and thinking about which celebrities will live in those houses. 

I know that some of the Kardashian Jenner family live in this neighborhood, but I don't know where their houses are and I don't really care much either. I'm not a big fan of them, I only watch the reality show when it happens to be on and little else. But my older sister is the opposite, she loves the reality and everything that has to do with that family.

I come from a family that has money, enough to live comfortably with some luxury; but not because of an inheritance or something like that. 

My mother is one of the best surgeons in all of England, working both publicly and privately; so she earns good money. My father is an architect and engineer, so he also earns well, but less than my mother. My parents have always told me that I have to win my money, that I can't be depending on them and that I have to start having work experience.

My parents are both English, my mother was born in Manchester and my father in Surrey. Both my older sister Olivia and I were born in the London Hospital. My sister is 25 years old and she is 6 years older than me, since I am just going to turn 19 in two months.

But now I live in Los Angeles, because I won a soccer scholarship at UCLA and I couldn't turn it down. But my first year in architecture is about to end, the summer holidays were approaching and I had decided to get my first summer job. 

I had spent three weeks looking for some job news or something that was appropriate to what I can do and in which I had a minimum of experience.

But since it was my first job, I didn't have much experience in anything. But I saw an offer about being a babysitter and I had experience in that. Maybe not officially through a contract, but when I was 15, 16 and 17 years old I worked to take care of the children of some neighbors for almost three years. So I had some experience, so I sent an email with my resume and information and a week ago they contacted me.

In that email only the date and time of the interview appeared, along with the address and house number. My parents were somewhat insecure when I told them about it, since they usually put a reference name and there was none in mine. 

So they were not very sure and they were a little nervous. But I assured them that because of the area it was in, it would surely be because it was someone important and they didn't wanted to give the address to anyone.

When I get to the house, I stop and look out the window at the beautiful mansion in front of me. I park the car on the sidewalk and get out of it, locking it. Although it's probably not really necessary takin acount the money that tis mansions costs. 

I walk nervously up the long driveway, noticing the flowers and decorations on the driveway.

I stop in front of the door, taking a deep breath and making sure my clothes are okay. I had decided on something simple and casual for the interview. 

Black and white checkered pants, with a black short-sleeved bodysuit and white platform All-stars, with a small black bag for the car, house, wallet and mobile keys.

I take another deep breath and ring the doorbell of the house. I quickly run my hands through my hair, making sure my light brown hair is neat and not completely tousled. The door opens, letting me see a woman in her 30s or so with a friendly smile on her face.

XX: Do you want something? - she asks me kindly.

Y/n: I have an interview here. - I answer a little nervous. -My name is Y/n Brown and I come for the babysitter interview.- I inform and I see how she nods in understanding.

XX: Come in and wait here for a moment please.- she tells me letting me enter the house and closing the door to disappear around the house.

I just look at the marble stairs in front of me, looking at the entire entrance with fascination and taking in the architectural details. 

I get out of my impression, when the same woman comes back and asks me to follow her. I quickly do so and walk almost on his heels and playing with my hands nervously.

XX: Come in.- she says opening a door for me and giving me another smile.

Y/n: Thank you.- I thank you and enter the room, seeing immediately that it is an office.

Kris: Good morning.- she greets me and I am surprised by the person in front of me, but I prevent the surprise from being external. "Please sit down." she offers me, pointing to one of the seats on the other side of where she is sitting at her table.

Y/n: Good morning.- I greet with a kind smile; sitting where she just pointed me out.

Kris: First of all I want to ask you some personal questions, okay? - she asks seriously, but with some kindness and I nod. -In your curriculum it says that you are from London, that you are 18 years old and that you are here for your studies, right? - she asks and I nod again.

Y/n: I was born in London and I study at UCLA with a full scholarship for my sports skills.- I inform her, watching her nod and write something on a piece of paper.

Kris: And what are you studying and why did they give you the scholarship? - she asks me looking at me over her glasses.

Y/n: I study architecture and I have a sports scholarship for soccer.- I answer with a small smile.

Kris: Being English, I need to know if there was any problem with the student visa or something like that.- she tells me and I swallow a bit nervously.

Y/n: There would be no problem, since before coming I studied and got dual nationality: so I have English and American nationality. - I explain, seeing how she points something again and reads something else.

Kris: In your resume you say you've worked three years as a babysitter.- read and I nod. -Because of that do you think you are more qualified than another person to take care of four children? - I wonder and I almost open my eyes surprised; I thought it would be one or two children.

Y/n: I don't think it's so much about being more qualified than someone else, with all the respect in the world. I think it's more of something vocational, if you don't like children, no matter how qualified you are, you will never give everything at work and that is something very important from my point of view. - I begin to answer her. -It is very likely that there are many other people more qualified than a girl of almost 19 years, who has only cared for two children for three years and who does not have an experience of 10 years as surely many other people will.- I say seeing how she stares at me. -But I love children, I enjoy taking care of them and it is a job in which it is never the same every day.- I commented and I see how she writes something more. - In addition to the fact that the number is not so important, if you are able to handle two; You can handle more and in a very effective way with some tricks. - I finish telling her and I see how she nods.

Kris: The vacancy would be for specific dates and on weekdays during the summer.- she informs me and I simply nod. -What availability do you have? - she asks me, bringing the pen closer to the paper.

Y/n: All?- I ask more than I answer. -In a week I finish the semester, the university league ended a week ago and I have the rest of the summer completely free.- I explain and she notes something.

Kris: If we went on vacation, would you be available to come and take care of the children wherever we went?- she ask me and I nod immediately, work and paid holidays? Who would say no to that.

Y/n: If the contract stipulates that then yes,of course I will.- I answer as professionally as I can.

Kris: If that was the case, we would pay for both the flight and the accommodation and more.- she informs me and I just nod without taking my eyes off her. -Okay, I'll discuss it with my daughter and I'll let you know the answer.- she comments getting up and I do too.

Y/n: I'll be attentive to the phone.- I inform her with a smile and shaking the hand that she offers me. -By the way, you have a completely impressive hall from an architectural point of view and it's beautifull.- I praise and she smiles hugely at me.

Kris: Thank you very much.- she thanks me walking towards the main door with me behind. -Thank you for coming and pay attention to the phone.- she tells me as a farewell, once I am at the entrance and out of the house.

Y/n: Thank you, Mrs. Jenner, it has been a pleasure and I'm glad I was able to have this interview. - I say gratefully and say goodbye walking back to my car.

As I walk to my car, I just wait for them to call me so I can call my parents to tell them I've gotten my first job. I'm sure they will be incredibly proud of me as it opens my first job alone and without any connection; like taking care of the neighbours' children.

...................................................................

I had been working as a babysitter for Kim Kardashian for a month, Kris called me the next day and asked me to come to her house again. When I returned the next day, she was waiting for me with Kim in her office and a contract ready for me to sign.

The kids are amazing, North has moments where she acts a bit like a diva and is usually a bit difficult. But you just have to let her have a little tantrum and she immediately listens to you. 

In addition to the fact that the three little ones stick to me, they listen to me right away and are very calm. So I don't have many problems with them.

I'm usually with them from 8 in the morning, while Kim works from her office or goes out to work; until 6,7 or 8 in the afternoon. There are also a few days, when I stay over and Kim can go out or relax with the family without worrying about her children.

I knew everyone in the family except for Kylie, Rob, Kanye, and Caitlyn; since when I have been with the family they had not been and we had not coincided.

But from those I knew, I could tell that many of the things they say about them are completely untrue and that they are incredible people. Today was Saturday and I had the day off, since Kanye has the children this weekend and since they are separated I don't have to work.

I was lying on the bed completely exhausted, because last night after coming home from work I went out with some college friends and I had had a little to drink.

I had come home around 7 in the morning, drunk and with a slice of pizza in my hand. So I had not planned to wake up early or at least not before 4 in the afternoon. 

But my rest is interrupted by my phone. I groan pulling my head out from under the pillow and reach over to pick up my phone from my nightstand. I put it to my ear and it's Kim.

She calls me to inform me that there has been a change in the holidays, the plane would take off on Monday at 8 in the morning and we would go to Mykonos for 1 week. But apparently the trip is early, so the plane takes off in two hours and I have a half hour drive to the airport. I thank her and quickly get out of bed.

I shower, leaving my wet brown hair to air dry and have a quick breakfast in twenty minutes. I put on a set of black underwear, a white Reebok tracksuit, with a short-sleeved top by Ralph Lauren and white Nike air force ones.

I put the clothes and the things I was missing in the suitcase and close it. I pick up the black Vans backpack, putting some tissues, a bottle of water, a headache pill, disinfectant wipes, my glasses, my sunglasses, my wallet, my passport, and a sweatshirt just in case.

I close everything and with my cell phone and house keys I run to my car. I dump all my stuff in the passenger seat, climbing in on the driver's side and putting it into gear right away. I drive as responsibly as possible, but trying to arrive as soon as possible so as not to be late.

When I make it to the airport, I park the car and put on my sunglasses so that my head doesn't hurt even more. I walk as fast as possible to where Kim had told me to, repositioning the strap of my backpack every two seconds and dragging the four-wheeled suitcase.

In the distance I see one of Kim's bodyguards, who signals to me and as soon as I stop next to him, he asks for my suitcase. I give it to him and he asks me to follow him to the private plane that Kim and the kids are on. I climb the stairs to the plane, immediately hearing the screams of the children and making my head hurt.

North: Y/n! - I hear her scream and how she hugs me by the waist.

Y/n: Good morning North.- I greet her, returning the hug as best I can due to the height.

North: Come play with us.- she says pulling my hand down the aisle of the plane.

Kim: Northie leaves Y/n alone for a few seconds and sit down, the plane will take off right away.- she tells her daughter, who immediately complains and starts a tantrum.

Y/n: Pay attention to your mother, the sooner you sit down the sooner we'll take off and the sooner we can get up to play.- I tell her and like lightning she sits in one of the seats.

I help Kim by getting the kids into the seats and making sure they're strapped in. I sit to the right of Chicago and Saint, while North sits across from Kim and Pslam sits on her mother's lap.

Kim: I'm sorry I called you and that you won't have yuor free weekend.- she comments and as I pay attention to her.

Y/n: It's okay, last-minute changes happen and it's common.- I answer with a smile, taking a pill from my backpack and drinking it with water.

Kim: Fun night?- she questions me with some interest.

During this last month, Kim has been very kind and we have a good personal relationship. She is an incredible person and since she is divorcing Kanye spends more time alone at home and I'm there. So we talk a lot and we are quite confident.

Y/n: Quite a lot.- I answer with a little laugh. - I arrived around 7 in the morning and I had barely fallen asleep when you called me.- I commented with a small smile, looking at the little ones and then at her again.

Kim: I'm really sorry.- she apologizes again, but I make a gesture with my hand and dismiss it as important. -Kanye has canceled his weekend, so my mother thought it would be better to bring it forward so the kids don't notice it.- she tells me and I nod in understanding.

Y/n: It doesn't bother me at all.- I assure her, since she has a lot on her and I don't want to make her think that it has bothered me or something, and feel guilty about it.

A few seconds later I start to entertain Saint and Chicago who call me, so they don't start complaining and give me a terrible headache. Five minutes later, a little girl runs into the plane and approaches Chicago.

Kim: Stormi, what are you doing? - she asks the girl and I already know whose name it is.

Kylie: Mom has changed planes for us.- I hear how someone responds, but I am only able to help the girl get on with her cousins and I hear how they talk without any sense, making Saint look at me begging.

I listen as the grown girls talk quietly in the background. I stretch out my arms to Saint and sit him on my lap, watching how the little ones fit better and I help Stormi put on her seatbelt.

Kim: And this is Y/n, the babysitter we'll have in the summer.- I hear how she says and as soon as I hear my name I pay attention to the adults. -Y/n this is the youngest of all, Kylie Jenner.- she introduces us and I get up with Saint in my arms and stretch out my hand towards her.

Y/n: A pleasure.- I greet and she shakes my hand with a small smile.

Kylie: So you're the amazing new babysitter for Kim.- she says when we separate our hands and I take the opportunity to greet Kris with a little hug.

Y/n: I think so.- I say with a small smile, sitting back in the chair and tying Saint and me with my seatbelt.

Kim: It's a shame that it's only mine during the summer.- she comments and I look at her curiously.

Kylie: And why is that? - she asks sitting in front of me and tying her own belt.

Kim: Because she knows how to control the tantrums of that onw over there.- she responds pointing to her eldest daughter.

North: Hey that's very rude.- she tells his mother looking at her badly. "I don't throw tantrums and I find it ridiculous that..." she starts to shout and I clear my throat making her shut up inmediatelly.

Kim: See, not even I have achieved that since she was born.- she says pointing to what just happened.

Kris: You did well to listen to me honey.- she says to her daughter sitting on my right side, across the aisle and in front of Kim.

The adults quickly change the conversation, as soon as it is safe to remove the seat belts me and the children go to the back to play. So I start playing with everyone, being very careful with Pslam since he is still small and can do damage.

Kylie POV

I stare at the girl in the back with my nephews and daughter, as I process what just happened with my niece. About how just by clearing her throat, North has stopped complaining to her mother and immediately shut up.

Kylie: How the hell did she made it? - I ask completely impressed.

Kim: I don't even know.- she answers looking at her children with a smile. -But I don't know what I'm going to do without her when the summer ends.- she tells me and I look at her confused.

Kylie: And why is that? - I ask curiously.

Kim: Because she's covering the summer shift and Nicole and Sara will come back to work in September.- she answers me with a little grimace. -Besides that she has to go back to university.- I commented and I looked at her surprised.

Kylie: University?- I ask with surprise, since she seems young but I didn't expect her to go to college yet.

Kris: Yes, honey.- she answers me with a small laugh. -She studies architecture.- she tells me and I nod processing the information.

Kylie: But how old is she, because I thought she would be 16 or 17.- I comment and they both laugh.

Kris: She's 19 and this September she'll start her second year of architecture.- she says and I look back at the incredibly attractive girl.

Kim: In addition to the fact that she is in the women's soccer team of her college and has a full scholarship for it. - she informed me and I nod, without stopping looking at the girl and paying attention to every possible detail of her.

Kylie: I'm impressed.- I comment sincerely.

Kim: Well, you will be even more so during the trip, because when you see how she is with the kids and how they listen to her immediately.- she comments and I look at her for a few seconds.

My gaze turns to Y/n, paying attention to the clear abs of her body that the t-shirt exposes and the perfection of her face. How her wavy brown hair falls over her shoulders and back. Her sharp jawline is exposed when she pulls her hair into a high ponytail, exposing her strong, feminine jawline.

I detail her for the rest of the flight, trying to hide it as much as possible and prevent my mother and sister from noticing. I don't want my sisters to find out that i'm checking out Y/n and spend the rest of the trip laughing at me for it. 

So I try to be discreet while I look at her, feeling a certain pull in my stomach when I see her bite her lip or run her tongue over her thin but perfect and plump lips.

Those lips that call you to savor them and kiss them until your lips are sore. To kiss them until you feel like you'll faint from lack of air, until you feel like your lips will droop and you lose the feeling of reality.

I have never felt so attracted to a woman as i am right now. Yes, I am capable of appreciating the beauty of a woman, in a platonic and non-sexual or romantic way. But I have to admit that she would made me do anything for her and not complain one bit. 

In addition to my clear attraction to her, I haven't had sex for a long time and when I say a lot, I mean a lot. So just by seeing her body and some of her gestures I'm already starting to get turned on.

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 1: THE PETRICHOR OF DUST-STORMS

synopsis: you and logan take on both the weather of the divide and three unsuspecting ghosts.

word count: 1.6k

ships: Keegan Russ/Reader, Ghosts team & Reader

notes: if anyone would like for me to start a taglist, feel free to ask ♪ (also there is a teaser/prologue, so read that before reading this! otherwise you'll probably be confused lol)

WHY DOES EVIL WEAR A FACE SO FAMILIAR? MASTERLIST

Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that humans, at their cores, are little more than untamed beasts – some more wild than others. 

When you and Logan were separated, each put in isolation so that the torturers could begin their work on you, you both were reduced to primal instincts. Higher motor functions were a waste. Both you and Logan’s amygdalas were cranked into overdrive, overpowering any other brain function and making you both aggressive animals – ones that bite and snarl and bleed.

Rorke was the one to make you both kneel, to push on the backs of you and Logan’s necks and threaten you both with collars. The Federation broke you both, and Rorke built you back up in his very own image. That image is neither clean nor godly, but it’s his image nonetheless.

He molded you both into beasts of anger – anger towards the Ghosts. You want to take from them what they took from you, from Logan: a chance at a normal life. In this life, you want them to suffer. You want all of them to die in fear and in pain. You want to have your revenge. Against Elias – against Keegan. You want to call it your own, to make your anger god’s anger. You want to watch through the iron sights of your pistol as they cower like dumb animals.

You want to be the one to deliver the killing blow. The chance to kill Elias was taken from you, and you won’t miss such an opportunity with Keegan. 

The man is always on your mind, like how Elias plagued Rorke, how Hesh plagues Logan. And your obsessive thoughts have borne a speculation – the gaping wound cut into the earth must be hiding him. This was only further confirmed by information the Federation was able to acquire and decode. Three of the Ghosts are heading out for Death Valley.

When the Federation invaded Texas, they worked their way up Route 45 until they reached Dallas. They took Fort Worth, a city just barely to the west of Dallas, and marched along US-20 until it merged with US-10 and onward. They followed the highways, taking Las Cruces, New Mexico, Tucson and Phoenix in Arizona, and finally ending when they secured Los Angeles, California (but only with reinforcements from Tijuana, because LA didn’t go down without a fight). 

But Death Valley, that blight upon California, remains relatively untouched. Every now and again, it becomes a demon’s home and is renamed to “The Divide.” Terrible storms, containing both sand and lightning but no rain, rip entire companies apart. But those companies are ordinary soldiers – the Ghosts are not ordinary soldiers. Neither are the Ghost hunters. 

And so, with the recent acquisition of Bakersfield, California, it only makes sense that the Ghosts would be on the frontline near Death Valley. 

The tops of Dante’s View Peak provide some refuge from the heat trapped in the lower parts of the dried-up basin. It’s the middle of September, so the temperatures up here are in the mid-eighties. You’re just glad you’re not in the actual valley – it’s over a hundred down there. 

From up here, you can easily see over Badwater, and all the way out over to its adjacent basin. Heat haze obscures your vision, but with your binoculars, you can easily see as three figures move by the east shore of the basin, some distance away from Badwater Road. They’re dressed lightly, with loose-fitting but all-covering clothing. Keffiyehs cover their heads and most of their faces. Their packs look heavy, adorned with military-type gear and automatic rifles slung across their chests. A few yards away is a doorless Jeep, supposedly their way of coming into the valley.

You take your binoculars away from your face. “Looks like… four klicks out.”

Logan grunts, gesturing for the binoculars. You hand them over, and he brings them up to his eyes. He adjusts the focus wheel and finds the men through the lenses. 

SEE, Logan signs. THREE?

“Yeah,” you say. “I didn’t see anyone else. And I doubt the valley could hide another man from me.”

Logan shifts how he’s kneeling as he takes the binoculars away from his face, crushing locoweed beneath his boot. You find yourself faintly wondering if watering them with blood would throw off their blooming season, given how little water they’re used to. You find yourself not really caring. 

Instead, you take off your pack and lay it on the ground. Once you’ve double-checked everything, you start to assemble the Lynx sniper rifle you’ve been carrying for the entirety of this assignment. Once you affix the suppressor, you prop up the bipod close to the edge of the lookout. 

You lay on your stomach and set the recoil pad against your inner shoulder, trying to ignore the rocks digging into your front. When you look through the scope, all you see is the pseudo-barren sands of the valley. You feel Logan pull on the material of your shirt, prompting you to aim a little more left. 

You see the men’s feet first, then you move so you can see their entire bodies. They’re talking, gesturing at the water in the basin – possibly arguing whether the water is worth the risk of drinking. You wouldn’t be surprised, given the weather. 

You click your radio on. “This is Resol-Dos. We’ve found the suspected trio. Requesting permission to engage.”

“Nice of you to finally fuckin’ check in, kid,” Rorke’s voice comes through the radio and into your earpiece. “Permission granted.”

“Firing. Standby,” you say, your voice flat. You put your finger back in the pistol grip and breathe in, then out. 

You squeeze the trigger, and the bullet rips through the leftmost man’s throat, spraying his companions with blood. He clutches at his neck as he’s thrown backwards. The other two men react immediately, grabbing their guns and looking for the source of the crack of gunfire.

You don’t give them the time to find you. Another bullet is fired, and digs into the man in the middle, finding a home in his chest. You fire another round, and he collapses. 

The last man standing fires aimlessly, hoping to hit something. He’s panicking (righteously so), and he’s swiveling his head around as he tries to find the glint of your scope. You fire, and he stumbles back, clutching his gut as he continues firing. You silence him with a bullet to the chest.

You pull away from the scope after a second and click your radio on. “Suspected trio has just been taken down. Requesting permission to confirm kills.”

Rorke’s voice comes through the radio and into your earpiece again. “Yeah, go ahead.”

You sit up and start disassembling the rifle. “Check your guns. We’re going down to check the bodies.”

Logan pulls the clip out of his Bizon and confirms that there’s no issues as you pack up. The only evidence both of you leave behind are crushed flowers and five spent bullet casings. 

It’s an hour-long hike down to the Badwater bodies. They haven’t moved, which… is to be expected. All three of them are laying in a mass puddle of blood. 

“Go check the Jeep,” you tell Logan. “I’m gonna check the bodies.”

You kneel by the leftmost man. His blood is clotted, but still stains his keffiyeh from when the wound was fresh. You pull the fabric down. You grab his chin and move his face side-to-side. You don’t recognize him. 

You stand and check the other bodies. You don’t recognize any of them. 

“Logan,” you call. “Come check these.”

Logan grunts and moves over, his eyes flitting over the dead men’s faces. He shakes his head.

“Fucking seriously?” You mumble under your breath. You click your radio on. “Bodies are not Ghosts. Repeat, no Ghosts have been eliminated.”

“The info was bad?!” Rorke shouts, peaking the audio. “Christ! Someone’s gonna get their ass handed to ‘em. Take pictures and get back to base.”

“Understood.” You click your radio off. “Lo, find the car keys. Rorke says to take pictures.”

Logan kneels and begins rifling through the men’s pockets and packs as you pull out a compact camera. You line up the shot and take a few pictures – one of the corpses, one of each of the men’s faces, and one of their packs and their gear. 

After a minute, Logan holds up a ring of car keys, jingling them. You hum in response, pocketing your camera before heading for the Jeep. He hops in the driver’s seat while you get in the passenger’s side, setting your pack at your feet. 

You set your foot on the edge of the Jeep where the door would normally be and check behind you. Logan starts the car and puts it in drive as you continue looking.

He taps your arm, then draws two fingers across your skin, silently asking what’s wrong. You sigh. “Just checking we’re not being followed. It’s a wide-open valley, after all. And those gunshots would’ve been heard by anyone around.”

Logan takes a deep breath and rests his hand on the steering wheel again. He manages to creak out, “Storm.”

“Yeah. I can smell it, too,” you say. You adjust yourself so that you’re sitting in your seat properly, facing ahead. “Make tracks. We have a mole to find.”

Something’s on the horizon. It’s not just the ozone of the storm you can smell – something’s going to happen. Something big… something bigger and more terrible than the storms of The Divide.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

just really needed a hug sort of hug

for the soft prompts <3

Uhhhh this is a little angsty and vibey sorry about that! Set a few years in the future in a world where the lightning strike had bigger and longer lasting impact on Buck than it did in canon. Send me soft prompts! The rest I’ve done are on a03!

Eddie is pinching the skin by his elbow, the shiny part where it's new. Well, a few months old at this point, Chimney supposes, but he still gently smacks the man's bicep as he passes him to sit at the table.

"Quit it, Diaz."

Eddie makes a face at him but he puts his hand flat on the table. He then makes another, more stressed out face, and waves the hand in the air in a vague but emphatic motion.

"I want to call Buck again."

"You were on the phone half an hour ago."

"Yep." His palm presses into the wood again. "I am aware of that."

Chim hooks his left ankle over his right knee. "You two ever get word…"

"Every test came back fine- within normal- they didn't find anything. They have no fucking idea why his blood pressure dropped like that." Eddie crosses his arms. "Between the two of us we've funded the Los Angeles ambulance budget for the fucking year and the best advice anyone had was for him to 'rest and drink plenty of fluids.'"

"Shit."

"Mhmm." Eddie's knee is bouncing anxiously, and he looks exhausted. He has looked exhausted, frankly, since a fourth story floor went out from under him in June and he gained the dubious honor of being the first member of 118 A shift to sustain third degree burns. He doesn't pinch at it again, but he's gripping the scarred bend of his arm tight enough that it might fall under Buck's strict instructions to tell him to leave it alone. "He shouldn't have been back at work yet."

"He seemed fine, Eddie."

Eddie exhales, shaky and unpleasant. "He seemed like he was getting better from the flu, and then Chris found him on the kitchen floor. He seemed better on Thursday and then-" he shakes his head, breathes in, blows the air out slowly. "I've told myself that a lot today - he was ok when I left this morning, he’s fine, he’s texting me, it’s going to be ok. But he was ok when I left those mornings too." He blows out air again, and it whistles through his clenched teeth.

Chimney thinks Eddie wouldn't appreciate it, but he thinks very hard and loud that the universe should give the Diaz family a fucking break. He extends his leg so his boot taps into Eddie's.

"He was doing so good- he felt good in a way he hasn't in a long time." Eddie makes direct eye contact for the first time this conversation. "We were talking about him working towards recertification. Coming back here. He really does love the call center and he’s good at it, but he misses being a part of the team, still. And then-" he makes an unhappy little sound. "He exhausted himself taking care of me and now this… We can both say 'healing isn't linear' until our mouths bleed but he’s almost back to where he was right after the strike and- and he's disappointed, I know he is and just- just not knowing what life is going to be like one day to the next- It's just been… a rough fucking year." Eddie's mouth turns up in a real grimace of a smile. "But we have experience with those. So… we'll just keep getting through it."

Two memories play out in Chimney's head.

First: A beach day, sometime in the first summer after Buck and Eddie were married. The jeep had arrived first, but as Chimney did what Maddie referred to as his Dad Jog to the trunk of his own car to start unloading he noticed that none of its occupants had got out yet. From the place he was standing he could see Buck, lit up golden in the afternoon glow, twisted sideways in the passenger seat and gesturing wildly as he talked, absolute glee written all over his face. Eddie in the driver's seat and Chris, unbuckled in the back, leaned their whole bodies towards him like plants seeking photosynthesis. Chim had wondered if the sun had been lonely before it had planets to orbit it, and then laughed at himself for being poetic, and anyway he wasn't sure that's the order the universe formed in. Buck would know, he'd have to ask him.

Second: Thursday, when Buck had made it through pneumonia like a champ and then gone back to his job at dispatch only to take a nap in the break room that no one could really wake him up from. It gets more ethically dubious by the year for any of the 118 to treat each other what with their tangled web of marriages and less official family ties, but Maddie had sounded panicked over the radio, and they’d been the closest first responders, and Chimney is certain that even if they weren’t nothing could have stopped them from coming for their brother, son, husband. Chimney remembers Eddie kneeling in front of the couch, the exact quiet tone of his voice as he’d said “Honey, I’m right here,” and the lethargic movement of Buck’s hand coming to weakly grip his shoulder. But the real thing, the clip that’s going to stay in his mind forever and repeat without permission, is looking up from establishing a line in the ambulance and watching how Eddie was curled down towards his partner as he tried to keep a flash of blue appearing between fluttering eyelids. Eddie was talking and Chimney doesn’t remember any of the words because he was also stroking his thumb over Buck’s brow and Chimney can’t stop thinking that he has never seen a human being touch another that gently.

Eddie’s phone buzzes and he looks at it, huffing a laugh and scrubbing a hand over his face. “He’s asking about pasta shapes. Wait- is he in the kitchen?” He frowns and hits dial, and the phone only gets out a single ring before Buck picks up.

“Hey,” his voice drifts, tinny, into the room and Chimney feels some tight little thing in his chest relax a little.

“You better not be cooking, Buck, you’re on speaker so I have back up if I need to yell at you.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Buck laughs. “I’m exploiting child labor.”

Distantly, Christopher says “Hi, dad.”

“And you’re not helping at all?” Eddie raises his eyebrow and Chimney bets Buck can see it, miles away at their home.

“Chris is doing all the work, I swear, and we’re just gonna dump on the sauce I made, uh- Wednesday? Tuesday? Whatever, I can supervise boiling water. I didn’t even pick a pasta shape, c’mon, farfalle or fusilli?”

“Fusilli. You should be resting, Buck.”

Buck sighs, staticky over the speakers. “All I did today was move from the couch to the kitchen table, and I walked very slowly. I’m wrapped in a blanket and everything.” There’s a faint rustling sound and then Buck continues in a quieter voice. “I promised I’d tell you if something felt wrong. I’m alright, Eddie.”

Eddie bites his lips, and then takes the call off speaker and steps towards the kitchen. “You’re ok? You feel alright?” He spins his silicone wedding band around his finger as he listens. “Yeah. Yeah, before you wake up, probably.” He says “Buck” and Chimney always wondered how Eddie said that name and made it mean so much, folding in care and exasperation and adoration like he’s laminating butter between layers of dough. “Alright, I love you. I love you. Yeah. Tomorrow.”

He hangs up and as he exhales the alarm goes off overhead, because of course it does. Eddie starts towards the stairs but Chimney hurries forward and grabs him first and pulls him into the tightest hug he can. Eddie clings onto him for a moment, and they can only spare seconds for this attempt at comfort but he looks grateful when he pulls back, looks a little less tense.

"I love you, bud," Chimney says, and Eddie actually laughs at him as they head down the stairs. Chim swipes at the back of his brother in-law in-law's head as they pull on their gear and load into the engine and Eddie dodges with the practiced ease of a man with siblings. When they're in their seats and headed to the scene, though, Eddie leans forward and knocks his elbow into Chimney's knee.

"Love you, too." Eddie smiles. Three silhouettes in a car. A gentle touch. Things are going to be ok.