#Long distance Moving Los Angeles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chrissv4mp · 5 months ago

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౨ৎ i feel more and more like i was made for you

— word count : 1.3k

★ sum: billie flies across the country just to see you.

☆ pair: billie eilish × fem!reader

★ cws: some language, mentions of a long-distance relationship(?), fluff, a little suggestiveness but no smut.

☆ a/n: horrible at writing fluff, so js bear with me🙏🙏 this is more so a blurb than anything else 🙁

— tags: @livialifesblog @her-favorite @mseilishmwah @mxqdii @sophloveswomen @devynscomet @wiidfi0wer33 @muchloveforhacker @slutforsturniolos @br4ttyeilish @xoluvx

my navigation...

"Hey, mama," Billie speaks through the phone, her voice raspy from the late hour of night. She stayed up just for this call, the call that you and her had every other day. Her blue eyes stayed focused on your own e/c ones, smiling sweetly as her lips parted again, "How was your day?"

You gave her a shrug of your shoulders before you replied, a sigh falling past your lips, "Ts' fine. Would be better if you were with me, though." You frown, earning a quiet chuckle from her end of the line as she catches onto your mood.

The sound of rustling comes from her end as she switches her position on her bed, the bed that she's told you she would cuddle you in every night if you lived with her. The distance between you two hurt, but it's not like either of you could really move. Billie lived in Los Angeles her whole life, and you lived all the way in New York, so it wasn't particularly the easiest thing to do emotionally or physically.

"I'm always with you, 'member?" She holds her wrist up, a small chain with your initial on the front on display for you to see. You had a matching one, but with her own initial, on the opposite wrist. You remember the day she sent it because that week was probably the worst one you've had, and your girlfriends small gesture had lightened it and made it so much better, "Always, m'kay?"

"I want you in my bed, baby. Need you in my arms." You whine, tossing your head back against the pillows. Billie sighs at your saddened expression, running a hand through her hair as thoughts begin to flood into her mind one by one. Your lips curve into a smile as you watch her eyes drift away from the phone, chuckling as you catch sight of the face that she always made whenever she was deep in thought.

"What're you thinkin' about?" She just hums in response, ocean blue eyes moving back to her phone as she smiles at you. She laughs as you continue to stare, eyes never moving for a second as they stay focused on her beautiful face. Her lips were so pink, so full, and you just wanted to kiss them at all times, "What I'm thinking about is why you're staring at me like you wanna devour me,"

You did. You wanted to devour her every night. If you had the chance, you don't think you'd be able to stop, "Well, maybe I do." Your lip was tugged in between your teeth, your face flushing a light pink as you eyed your girlfriend through the phone. Before her lips could part to speak, Finneas' voice came from her line.

Her head turned to the side, and you almost moaned at just the sight of her neck. It was so clear and empty, and you just wanted to mark it up and let everyone know she was— "Fuck, I have to go. I'm sorry, baby girl, I promise I'll call you later, okay?" A quiet sigh passes through your lips as you nod, giving her a small smile as you both mutter your, "I love you's."

"Fuck," Is the first thing you hear your girlfriend say when you pick up the phone, eyes meeting the view of her hair thrown up into a messy ponytail and her face covered with a disposable mask. When you chuckle, she finally looks at you through the phone, "Baby! Hi, I missed you so fuckin' much,"

Your cheeks flush a pink hue at her confession, a cheesy smile finding its way onto your face as your lips part, "It's only been a night, Bils," You speak, taking your eyes off of her for the first time to look around at her surroundings, she wasn't in any place that you recognized, and—was that a backpack she was wearing? "Where are you?"

Billie tenses at the question, unnoticeable from the bad connection on her part. It was never this bad, so that was another thing that had you wondering, "Nowhere." She says quickly, a mischievous smile on her face as she brings the phone closer to her face, "Stop peeking, you creep." The sound of your laugh makes her own lips part in laughter as she rolls her eyes playfully.

"Just wanted to know why my beautiful girlfriend is all covered up, that's all. Also wondering why I can't see you that well," You whine in faux sadness, and Billie just shakes her head as she giggles. The question still lingers between you two as she makes her way through the unknown place, her eyes only paying attention to you every time she hears you speak, "I still have your location, y'know."

"Nuh-uh," She mutters, fixing her mask as she finally takes a seat at her destination, "You're a little pain, y'know that?" Billie smiles, throwing her hood over head before moving her mask to rest below her chin, "Impatient little thing, you are." She points through the phone, and you just scoff as your eyebrows furrow.

Her line goes quiet before you can protest, and your suspicions about her location only rise. Her line glitches, and then the call disconnects, leaving you with nothing but confusion and worry. Before anything else, you go to your messages and click on her contact, shooting her a quick text, "be safe, u got me on my toes over here"

The doorbell rings, and you tense up in surprise as your head turns to the front door. Your limbs are sprawled out all over the couch as you bite on your fingernail in nervousness, the unsettling feeling from the call with Billie a few hours prior still lingering in the cold air of your house. Your phone hasn't rung since then, and she didn't answer any your texts.

Maybe you were a little paranoid, but this was the first time she'd ever gone ghost on you. As you stand up from the couch and pass by the window, you catch a glimpse of a black backpack strap. When you turn the doorknob and open the door, you swear you almost scream.

Billie stood right on your doorstep, a big smile on her face as she stares over at you, "Is this the right house?" She mutters playfully, and before she can even laugh, you grab her hand and pull her into your embrace. Quiet sobs pass by your lips as you bury your head into her shoulder, holding her tightly as she slowly rocks you side to side.

"Yeah—fuck—It's definitely the right house." You whisper, sniffling before you pull away just enough to be face to face with her. You don't waste another second before your own lips meet hers in a passionate, loving kiss. Neither of you feel the need to pull away, even for air as you feel her hand in your hair pull you impossibly closer, "God, I can't believe you're here, baby."

Billie smiles, pecking your lips once again before moving her backpack off her shoulders and tossing it to the side carefully, "You better believe it," She whispers, eyes moving all around your face as she stares at you in awe, "So pretty. My pretty girl." Her lips don't seem to miss a spot on your face as she showers you in kisses, giggles escaping as you bathe in the affection you craved all the moments before this.

"Now, I remember you saying you wanted me in your bed?" She smiles, eyes darkening as she pulls away to take in the sight of you fully. She practically devours you with her eyes, and you can't even express what you feel before your lips come crashing onto hers again. The door is pushed closed as you push her against it. Tonight was only one of the very few nights that you would finally get to taste her, so why not take every chance you get?

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lila-lou · 3 months ago

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✨Houston - Pt. 1/2✨

Summary: While Jensen was away filming, a hurricane hit and you had to face it alone, burdened by a secret. When Jensen finally returned, relief and fear collided as you shared the news.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST

Word Count: 6986

A/N: No hate towards anybody. It's just fiction.

English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 🩷

Jensen had been gone for his new show in Los Angeles, filming for what felt like an eternity — over ten weeks now, with no real break in sight. The production schedule was tighter than ever due to unexpected delays when one of the main actors fell sick, which caused the entire shoot to be pushed back. You hadn’t seen him for over two months, and the distance was starting to weigh on you. There was no chance for quick weekend visits or even mid-week surprises. Everything had changed with this new project.

In those long ten weeks, Jensen had managed to get only three days off, and he used them to fly back to see his kids. You couldn’t fault him for that and you understood how much he missed them. Still, the loneliness lingered like an unwelcome shadow. Tomorrow, though, was supposed to be different. He was finally coming home, even if just for a week, and you had been counting down the days like a lifeline.

But now, as you stood by the large window overlooking the ocean, something inside you twisted with unease. The darkening skies in the distance mirrored the storm brewing in your mind. The TV in the background blared with warnings of severe weather rolling in from the Gulf, interrupting your thoughts with each alert. The meteorologist spoke of high winds and heavy rain, not quite enough to warrant an evacuation, but enough to make you feel a creeping sense of dread.

It had been two years since you and Jensen made the decision to move to Houston, settling into this beautiful, sprawling house right on the coastline. At the time, it seemed perfect. The ocean view, the sunsets over the water, the space and serenity. But now, as the storm warnings flashed across the screen, you wondered if you’d made the right decision. You had never been good with storms. The sound of the wind howling, the sharp crack of thunder — they had always sent shivers down your spine, leaving you feeling vulnerable and anxious.

The move to the Gulf of Mexico seemed impulsive now, in hindsight. Sure, Jensen loved it here, and the house was gorgeous, but you had always known this fear lurked deep inside you. Storms unsettled you, and the thought of facing one alone, without him by your side, only made it worse.

Your stomach twisted in knots as you pressed your forehead against the cool glass, watching the gray clouds gather on the horizon.

You groaned, feeling the frustration bubble up inside you. The anxiety gnawed at you, and the tension in your shoulders made it hard to relax. “Of all days”, you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself away from the window.

With a sigh, you grabbed your phone and dialed your best friend’s number, knowing she’d be awake even though she lived halfway across the world. Spain. Never having to deal with the heavy weather nonsense like hurricanes or tornadoes. You often teased her about how lucky she was to live in a country where the worst thing she had to worry about was a hot summer day or maybe some rain in the winter.

As you walked toward the kitchen, waiting for her to pick up, the soft ring of the phone seemed to be swallowed by the growing rumble of thunder outside. Your eyes drifted to the oven as you remembered the batch of chocolate cookies you’d put in earlier. Well, they were more Jensen’s favorite than yours.

The phone finally clicked, and your friend’s cheerful voice came through the speaker. “Hola, chica! What’s up?”.

You let out a heavy sigh as you reached for the kettle, flicking it on to make yourself some tea. “Hey… just trying to calm my nerves. We’ve got a storm rolling in, and you know how much I hate this stuff”.

“Storm? Ugh, I don’t envy you”, she replied with a sympathetic tone. “It’s like a whole other world over there, isn’t it? Here I am, in sunny Spain, sipping wine and you’re getting hit with storms again. Why did you agree to move to the Gulf in the first place?”.

You chuckled, a bit of bitterness in your voice as you pulled out a mug from the cabinet. “I have no idea. Jensen wanted the ocean, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. You know me—anything to make him happy. But every time a storm rolls in, I swear I regret it”.

As the kettle clicked off, you poured the hot water over the tea bag, the steam curling up into the air. You leaned against the counter, glancing at the oven timer. Just a few more minutes on the cookies. “I mean, I get it”, you continued, twirling the tea bag absentmindedly in the water. “He loves it here, and the house is beautiful, but I just can’t shake this fear. Every time the weather turns bad, I get this pit in my stomach. And it doesn’t help that he’s been away for so long. It’s hard to deal with all this on my own”.

She sighed on the other end of the line, her voice softening. “How long has he been gone this time?”.

You swallowed, staring down at the swirling tea in your mug. “Ten weeks”, you murmured, feeling the weight of that number pressing down on you. “Ten long weeks, and in all that time, he’s only had three days off. I get it, he used those to see his kids, which is exactly what he should do. But it’s just been… hard”.

Your friend stayed quiet for a moment, as if letting the words sink in. She knew how much you hated when Jensen was away for extended periods, especially when life got difficult. “Ten weeks… damn”, she finally said, her tone laced with sympathy. “That’s rough, chica. I know you’re strong, but that’s a lot, especially with this storm hitting now”.

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, feeling the tension rise again as you heard another distant rumble of thunder. “It’s just been one thing after another lately”, you admitted, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “And now this storm… it’s not supposed to be anything major, but you know me. I hate this stuff. The wind, the rain, it freaks me out. Always has”.

Your friend’s voice softened even more. “I remember. Back when we used to talk late at night during storms, you’d be on edge, counting down the minutes until it passed. I can’t imagine being by the ocean during one”.

You sighed, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah, and I’m here, in this huge house, by myself. Well, I’ve got Jensen’s cookies”, you added with a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but the fear still lingered beneath the surface.

“Wish I could teleport myself over there and keep you company”, she said warmly. “Though I’m not sure how much help I’d be. Maybe I could distract you with all my boring Spain stories. Sun, siestas, and sangria… You know, the usual”.

You smiled, even though it didn’t fully reach your eyes. “That sounds a hell of a lot better than storm prep and waiting for the power to go out”.

Another sigh escaped your friend. “You need a break from all this. Having him around will help, I’m sure”.

“Yeah, I hope so too”, you whispered, the longing for Jensen’s presence making your chest tighten. The thought of him walking through the door tomorrow, even for just a week, was the only thing keeping you grounded right now.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the kind that stretched just a little too long, and you knew your friend was working up to something. When she finally spoke again, her voice was quiet, hesitant. “Have you… told him yet?”.

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of her words settling heavily in the pit of your stomach. The unspoken truth between you, the one you had been avoiding for weeks. You took a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the counter for support as the familiar wave of anxiety washed over you again.

“No”, you whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear, your voice breaking slightly. “Not yet”.

Your friend didn’t rush to respond, giving you the space to gather your thoughts. You could almost hear the sympathy through the phone, her understanding of how complicated things had become. She knew you too well—knew the fear that had been gnawing at you since you first saw the two pink lines on the test, and how you had been holding onto that secret ever since, waiting for the right moment to break the news.

If there even was a “right moment”.

You closed your eyes, leaning back against the cool kitchen counter, the weight of your unspoken truth pressing down on your chest. “It’s not exactly something I can drop over the phone”, you added softly, more to yourself than to her.

“I know”, she said gently, her voice filled with understanding. “It’s definitely face-to-face news”.

You let out a heavy sigh, your eyes drifting toward the window where the dark clouds were still gathering. The irony wasn’t lost on you — the brewing storm outside wasn’t nearly as frightening as the one in your heart. Jensen had been so clear from the beginning, right from the very start of your relationship. He loved his kids, adored being their father, but he was done. He didn’t want more. He had been through the sleepless nights, the diapers, the chaos of raising young children, and he had made it crystal clear that he had no desire to go back to that. No more babies. No more starting over.

And now here you were, facing the very thing he never wanted. The very thing that might push him away, might change everything between you.

“I just…”. Your voice wavered as you struggled to find the right words. “He was so sure, you know? About not wanting more kids. He told me from the beginning that he was done, and I accepted that. I was okay with it because I love him. But now…”. You trailed off, biting your lip to stop your emotions from spilling over.

“Now, things are different”, she finished softly, filling in the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t even know how he’s going to react. What if he’s angry? What if this is the one thing that changes everything? I don’t want to lose him, but I can’t hide this forever. And the longer I wait, the harder it’s going to get”.

Your friend was quiet for a moment, letting the weight of your words settle. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with warmth and understanding. “You’re going to have to tell him, eventually. And yes, it’s probably going to be hard. But you know Jensen. He loves you. Whatever his initial reaction, that won’t change. He might need time to process it, but he’s not the type to just walk away”.

You sniffed, wiping at your eyes as a tear finally slipped free. “I know… I know that. But it’s just—he’s been gone for so long, and everything’s already so strained. What if this is the thing that breaks us?”.

There was a long silence on the other end, and for a moment you wondered if the call had dropped. But then your friend spoke, her voice quiet but firm. “This won’t break you. Not if you’re honest with him. It’s going to be tough, but you can’t carry this alone. You deserve to have someone beside you through all of it. And… he deserves to know”.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her words. “I just… I’m scared”, you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of how he’ll react, and I’m scared of what this will mean for us”.

“I know”, she said softly. “But you’re strong, and you can do this. And no matter what, I’m here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone”.

You nodded again, grateful for her support even across the ocean. The sound of the timer beeping in the background startled you, pulling you from the heaviness of the moment. The cookies were done. You forced a small smile, trying to hold onto the sliver of normalcy that baking had given you.

“I’ll tell him when he comes home”, you said quietly, more to yourself than to her. “Face to face. It’s the only way”.

“You’re doing the right thing”, your friend assured you. “He loves you, and he’s going to be there for you, no matter what. Just give him time”.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Thanks. I really needed to hear that”.

“That’s what I’m here for,” she replied warmly. “Now, go enjoy those cookies, okay? And try not to worry too much about tomorrow. One storm at a time”.

You laughed softly, a bittersweet sound. “Yeah… one storm at a time”.

As you hung up the phone and pulled the warm cookies from the oven, the weight of what lay ahead still hung in the air. Tomorrow, Jensen would come home, and with him, the conversation that would change everything. You could only hope that, like the storm outside, it would pass without too much damage.

You placed the tray of cookies on the counter, their rich chocolate scent filled the kitchen, momentarily grounding you in something warm and familiar. You stared down at them, freshly baked and perfectly round, thinking about how Jensen always joked that your cookies were better than any fancy dessert. It was such a small thing, but right now, it felt like a lifeline—a fleeting reminder of the simplicity that used to define your relationship before things became so complicated.

You couldn’t help but think back to when everything was easier, when his laugh could chase away any worry you had, and when you both felt invincible. But now, that invincibility felt fragile.

The soft rumble of thunder echoed through the house, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling smaller in the vastness of the empty space.

You leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the cookies, your mind already racing ahead to tomorrow. You could picture his face, the familiar crinkle of his eyes as he walked through the door, probably exhausted but happy to see you. And you knew that the moment would come when you'd have to break the news. You’d have to see his reaction, whatever it would be—whether it was surprise, disbelief, or the worst thing you could imagine… disappointment.

You closed your eyes, fighting back the sting of tears. Disappointment. That was what scared you the most.

No more kids.

He loved his children fiercely, but he had drawn that line firmly in the sand from the start. The thought of him looking at you with anything less than love in his eyes, anything less than the warmth and affection you had grown so used to, made your stomach churn.

The truth was, you hadn’t planned this. Neither of you had. And the timing couldn’t have been worse. He was in the middle of filming a new project, already stretched thin from the demands of his career. You had been doing your best to hold things together, to be patient, to give him the space he needed while you dealt with this on your own. But now the secret was too big to keep any longer.

And still, you hadn’t even allowed yourself to fully process the reality of it. The tiny life growing inside of you felt surreal, like a secret you were keeping even from yourself. There were moments when you could push it to the back of your mind, pretend it wasn’t real, but those moments were becoming fewer and further between. You couldn’t escape the truth any longer.

Tomorrow, he would be home. Tomorrow, you would have to tell him.

You placed your hands on your stomach, your fingers resting lightly, almost protectively, over the slight curve that had begun to form. It was still small, easy enough to hide under loose clothing, but you couldn’t hide it forever. And you didn’t want to. Not really. You wanted to share this with him, to let him in on the secret you had been carrying for weeks. But the fear… the fear of how he would react made it feel like an impossible task.

You took a deep, shaky breath and whispered into the quiet kitchen, as if saying it aloud would somehow prepare you for what was coming. “I’m pregnant”.

The words felt foreign on your tongue, and saying them aloud didn’t make the reality any easier to bear. But they were real. There was no taking them back now.

As you stood there, staring out the window into the growing storm, you couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring.

Would he be angry? Shocked? Maybe he wouldn’t even know what to say at first. You played out a hundred scenarios in your mind, none of them feeling quite right. You couldn’t predict how he would react, but you knew that this was a conversation that would change everything. There was no going back once the truth was out.

The thunder rumbled again, closer this time, and you shivered despite the warmth of the kitchen. You reached for your tea and held the mug in your hands, seeking comfort from the warmth.

Just then, the phone rang, its sudden chime cutting through the quiet tension in the room. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name flash across the screen. Jensen.

For a moment, you just stared at it, your stomach flipping nervously. The sound of his name on the screen, so familiar, so comforting, felt like a jolt to your already raw nerves. He wasn’t supposed to call until later, closer to his flight time. Your fingers trembled slightly as you swiped to answer, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hey”, you greeted softly, trying to steady your voice, but you couldn’t help the slight quiver in it.

“Hey, sweetheart”, Jensen’s warm, familiar voice filled the line, and for just a second, you felt a rush of relief. “You okay? You sound a little off”.

You bit your lip, glancing out the window again, watching the heavy clouds roll in. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Just, you know, storm’s coming in, and I’m alone in the house. I’m probably overreacting, as usual”.

He chuckled softly, that deep, rich sound that used to make you feel safe. “You and storms, huh? You’ve always hated them. It’s just a little rain though, right? Nothing to worry about”.

“Yeah, just rain”, you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper as the truth of what you were really afraid of sat heavy in your chest. But you couldn’t tell him now, not like this, over the phone. Not when he was hours away. Not when he was expecting you to be waiting at home, smiling, with cookies on the counter.

There was a brief pause on the other end, and you could almost hear the tension in Jensen’s voice, like he wanted to say more but was holding back. Then he spoke, and his tone was apologetic, laced with that familiar warmth that you loved so much.

“Hey, I’ve got to get back to filming in a minute”, he said gently, “but I just wanted to check in on you. Make sure you’re okay”.

Your heart sank a little at his words. Even though you hadn’t expected this call, the idea of him hanging up so soon, when you were craving any sense of normalcy, left you feeling hollow. But you forced a small smile into your voice, pushing aside the anxiety for his sake.

“Okay”, you replied softly, clutching the phone a little tighter. “I’ll be fine. The house is safe, and I’ve got enough cookies to last a week, even if the power goes out”.

He laughed again, that low, comforting sound that almost made you forget about the storm inside you. “You’re always prepared, huh?”.

“Trying to be”, you said, though the weight of the secret you were carrying made you feel anything but.

There was another pause, and you heard some shuffling in the background—probably crew members calling for him. He sighed. “Listen, I’ve got to run, but I’ll call you as soon as I’m at the airport later, okay?”.

“Thanks, Jensen”, you whispered, the sound of his name bringing a soft warmth to your heart despite everything. “I’ll be okay. Be safe, alright?”.

“I will. You hang in there, alright? I’ll talk to you in a few hours”. His voice softened, and you could picture him standing there, probably with that concerned look he got when he knew you weren’t telling him everything.

“I will”, you promised, though inside, you knew it was going to be a long few hours.

“Love you”, he added quickly, and those words, like always, wrapped around you like a blanket.

“Love you too”, you whispered, knowing how much you meant it, but feeling the weight of the untold truth settling even heavier on your chest.

Then the call ended, and the silence rushed back into the room, the steady beat of the rain against the windows the only sound left.

You stood there for a moment, gripping the phone like it was an anchor. The storm outside was getting louder, the wind picking up, rattling the windows just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

As evening fell, you found yourself standing in front of the large living room windows again, staring out at the angry ocean. The waves were crashing violently against the shore, each one louder than the last, and the dark sky was lit up intermittently by flashes of lightning far in the distance. For the past hour, heavy rain had been pounding against the house, making any thoughts of sleep seem impossible. You hadn’t even bothered trying to settle down—there was no way you could rest with the storm growing more intense by the minute.

The wind had picked up, howling through the trees that lined the edge of your property, bending them until they looked as though they would snap. The way the branches thrashed made your chest tighten with anxiety. This was more than just a little rain. The storm outside was quickly turning into something far more dangerous.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to fight the creeping sense of fear that had been building inside you all day. It was hard to focus on anything else—the looming conversation with Jensen, the storm that seemed intent on tearing apart everything outside your door. You tried to drown out the worry by turning on the TV for the latest updates, hoping for some reassurance, but just as you were about to settle on the couch, the power flickered.

And then, everything went dark.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you stood frozen in place, listening to the sudden silence that filled the room. Even the hum of the refrigerator had gone quiet. No lights, no TV, no comforting glow from the oven clock. You fumbled for your phone, but a quick glance at the screen showed what you had feared: no signal. The storm had knocked out the power, and with it, your connection to the outside world.

You were alone.

A cold knot of fear twisted in your stomach. The walls around you felt suffocating, and the sound of the storm outside—the rain pounding against the windows, the wind howling like a creature trying to claw its way inside—made the house feel smaller than it had ever felt before. The darkness seemed endless, swallowing up the comforting familiarity of your home, and all you could do was stand there, staring at your reflection in the glass as the storm raged beyond.

And then, your thoughts went to Jensen.

Somewhere far away, sitting in an airport, blissfully unaware of how much the storm had escalated. The last time you had spoken, he had laughed, reassured you that it was just a little rain. But this… this was something else. You wondered if he had seen the news, if he knew how bad it was getting here. You couldn’t even warn him now, couldn’t tell him to stay safe, to stay put.

Meanwhile, in LA, Jensen sat in the crowded terminal, his phone in hand as he absentmindedly scrolled through old texts from you, his mind somewhere between exhaustion and the anticipation of finally coming home. He’d been waiting for what felt like hours, his flight delayed over and over again. The storm back home had been on his mind, but nothing in the forecast had seemed serious when he last checked. Just some heavy rain, maybe a little wind, but nothing out of the ordinary for Houston this time of year.

That was until an announcement echoed over the loudspeakers, the sound snapping him back to the present. The terminal buzzed with confusion as people around him started looking at their phones, murmurs rising into a collective hum of concern.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that all flights to Houston have been canceled due to an unexpected hurricane forming off the Gulf. Please make your way to the customer service desks for further instructions”.

Jensen’s heart sank as the words hit him. Hurricane? He immediately stood, his fingers instinctively dialing your number, but there was no response. Nothing. He tried again, and again, but each call went straight to voicemail.

His stomach churned with worry, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He had told you it was just a little rain, that everything would be fine. And now, a hurricane was bearing down on you, and he couldn’t reach you. He couldn’t even warn you.

The flight staff were swamped, passengers crowding around them, demanding answers, but Jensen didn’t care about the chaos around him. All he could think about was you—sitting in that house by the ocean, alone, probably terrified, with no way to reach him. He could see it in his mind, how you would be pacing around the house, trying to stay calm while the storm raged on outside. You hated storms. You always had.

And now, this.

He looked at the flight board, the bright red letters spelling out “CANCELED”, and felt utterly helpless. There was no way out tonight, no way to get to you. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried calling one more time, but once again, it went straight to voicemail.

Jensen clenched his phone tightly, his mind racing through all the possible options. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sit here, waiting, while the storm got worse. He needed to get to you, somehow, but there was no plan, no idea of how bad it really was back in Houston.

Meanwhile, back in the house, you stared out into the blackness beyond the window, the storm surging with more force than you could have imagined. The trees bent and cracked, the waves crashing against the shore with an almost terrifying strength. You had never felt so vulnerable. You had never felt so alone.

And Jensen, the one person you needed most, was miles away, waiting in an airport for a flight that wasn’t coming.

You pressed your hand against the cold glass, feeling the world outside crumble under the force of nature, and inside, you crumbled a little too.

The wind had reached a deafening pitch, and every gust felt like it was trying to tear the house apart. You could barely think over the sound of it—like a train barreling through, unstoppable and unforgiving. The trees outside the windows were bent almost horizontal, their branches flailing wildly in the storm’s fury. You could hear debris slamming against the house, the sharp cracks of branches breaking, and the deep, menacing roar of the ocean as the waves crashed closer and closer.

You glanced out the window and felt your blood run cold. The waves were rising—towering, dark, and violent—crashing up the shore with a terrifying force, each one creeping closer and closer to your porch. The stilts that your house rested on were supposed to protect you, but right now, even those massive beams felt fragile against the raw power of the storm.

A sudden surge of panic washed over you, stronger than any wave outside. You couldn't stay here, not with the ocean threatening to swallow everything. Your breath came faster, chest tightening as the reality of the hurricane fully hit you. This was no ordinary storm; this was the nightmare you’d always feared would come to life when you moved here. You needed to get away from the windows, away from the view of the violent ocean that made your heart pound with terror.

Without thinking, you spun on your heel and practically ran through the house, your footsteps quick and uneven as the wind rattled the walls. You headed straight for the guest room—one of the few rooms that didn’t face the ocean. It was smaller, tucked away in the corner of the house, but right now it felt like the only place that could give you even the slightest illusion of safety.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you reached the door and pushed it open, the beam of your phone trembling slightly from your shaking hands. You slammed the door behind you and leaned against it, breathing hard, trying to steady yourself. The room was dark, save for the dim glow of the phone, but at least here, you couldn’t see the ocean rising, threatening, looming.

Still, the storm raged around you, the wind howling and shaking the house. The walls creaked under the force of the gusts, and you swore you could feel the entire structure sway. The sound of the ocean never left your mind, though, the memory of those waves reaching higher and higher still vivid in your thoughts. You sank onto the edge of the bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as if you could ward off the fear creeping through your veins.

You needed Jensen. His presence would have grounded you, would have been the anchor you needed right now to feel even remotely safe. But he wasn’t here. You were alone. Alone in a house you weren’t sure could withstand the storm.

And then, the overwhelming sense of dread came crashing in again, accompanied by the helplessness of being completely cut off. No phone signal, no lights, no contact. The only thing louder than the storm outside was the storm inside you—the fear, the uncertainty, the crushing feeling of isolation.

Meanwhile, Jensen sat in the crowded airport terminal, his phone in his hands, staring at the same unchanging screen. The calls weren’t going through. He tried again, his heart thudding in his chest, each failed attempt making the knot of worry tighten further. Every time the call went straight to voicemail, it felt like a blow to his gut.

“Come on… pick up, baby”, he muttered to himself, running a frustrated hand through his hair. But still, nothing. Only that dead silence on the other end.

He felt sick. He couldn’t stop replaying the conversation from earlier in the day. He’d brushed off your fears, reassured you that it was just rain. You’d been nervous, but he had laughed it off, told you it was no big deal. “Just a little rain”, he’d said. Now, with a hurricane bearing down on Houston, those words felt like a cruel joke.

Jensen’s leg bounced anxiously as he stared at his phone, willing it to connect. He knew you were scared—he knew how much you hated storms, how even a thunderstorm would have you on edge. But this wasn’t just a thunderstorm. This was a hurricane, and you were alone, sitting in that house by the ocean, probably terrified out of your mind.

He had never felt so helpless. All the money in the world, all his connections, none of it mattered now. He was grounded, unable to fly home, stuck in a terminal while the storm raged on miles away, separating him from you. The worst part was not knowing what was happening. Were you okay? Was the house holding up? Had you found a safe place? Or were you sitting there, terrified, with no one to comfort you?

Jensen pressed the call button again, even though he knew what would happen. He didn’t care. He had to keep trying, had to do something.

When the call went to voicemail again, he groaned, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. This was his worst nightmare. He had promised to keep you safe, to be there when you needed him, and now, in the middle of the worst storm either of you had ever faced, he was stuck a thousand miles away, powerless to help.

All he could think about was your voice, that soft quiver in it when you’d mentioned the storm earlier. He should have heard the fear in your words. He should have known. But he’d been so focused on work, so focused on getting through the day, that he hadn’t really listened.

Jensen felt the weight of his guilt pressing down on him, heavier with each failed attempt to reach you. He needed to hear your voice, needed to know you were okay. But every minute that passed felt like an eternity, and the storm was only getting worse.

He glanced up at the airport monitors, the word CANCELED in bright red letters next to his flight number. His chest tightened. He wasn’t getting out of here tonight. He wasn’t getting to you.

For the first time in a long time, Jensen felt completely powerless.

Minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity. The wind outside had grown impossibly louder, the relentless howl of the storm wrapping itself around the house. You sat on the edge of the bed, your knees pulled up to your chest, listening to the chaos unfold outside. Then, you heard something—a deep, ominous rumbling that shook the walls, so loud and unfamiliar that it made your heart leap into your throat.

Your breath caught. What was that? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what had caused the sound, but it sent a wave of terror rushing through you. For a moment, you stayed frozen in place, every nerve in your body telling you to stay put, to not move. But curiosity, or maybe survival instinct, finally won over, and you shakily stood up, the beam of your phone barely steady in your trembling hand.

You tried to think logically—the cars. Bu both, yours and Jensen’s cars, were parked in the massive garage, safe when you had checked earlier. But now, with the storm surging stronger by the minute, you couldn’t be sure. What if the garage was already flooded? What if the rumbling had come from something hitting the house? The thought of the water rising higher, creeping into your home, made your stomach turn with dread. The waves had already reached your porch by the time you ran into the guest room, and there was no telling how much worse it had gotten since then.

You hesitated for a moment, then slowly climbed toward the small window at the far end of the guest room. The wind was howling so fiercely outside that it felt like the house was swaying beneath your feet, but you had to know what was happening out there.

As you approached the window, you felt a new wave of fear wash over you. The sky was black, save for the occasional, blinding crack of lightning that tore through the clouds, illuminating the storm for a brief, horrifying second at a time. You pressed your face against the glass, trying to peer through the rain, your breath fogging up the window. But it was too dark—way too dark.

You couldn’t see anything.

Your hands were trembling as you wiped at the fog on the glass, your tears only making it harder to focus. Everything outside was a blur—dark shapes, shadows, the sound of the storm so loud. You blinked hard, trying to clear your vision, but the tears kept coming, clouding your sight. It was no use. The storm had swallowed everything.

All you wanted was to see if the other houses were still standing, to know if someone else out there was going through the same terror you were, but the storm had cut you off from everything. You were truly alone.

Your sobs came in short, ragged gasps as you turned away from the window, sliding down the wall until you were sitting on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest. The fear, the loneliness—it was suffocating. You tried to breathe, tried to calm yourself, but every time you closed your eyes, you saw those waves, rising higher and higher, threatening to consume everything.

Jensen’s face flashed in your mind—his voice on the phone earlier, laughing it off, telling you it was just a little rain. How you wished he was here now, his arms around you, telling you it would all be okay. But he wasn’t. He was miles away, probably sitting at the airport, just as helpless as you were, waiting for a flight that wasn’t coming. And you hated that he couldn’t reach you, hated that you couldn’t even tell him how scared you were, how much you needed him.

Back at the airport, Jensen stood from his seat, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the departure board. He tried your number again, pressing the phone to his ear as he paced back and forth near the gate. He couldn’t stay still—couldn’t stop the gnawing panic that had taken hold of him ever since the storm had escalated.

Voicemail again.

“Damn it”, he muttered under his breath, his frustration boiling over as he ended the call and tried again. The same result. He could feel the panic rising in his chest, threatening to spill over into full-blown fear. You hadn’t answered in hours, and now there was no way to reach you.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…”, he muttered to himself, his fingers tightening around the phone. He couldn’t stand this—being so far away from you when you needed him the most. All he could think about was how he’d dismissed your fear earlier, how he’d brushed off the storm as no big deal. And now? Now he’d give anything to take those words back, to tell you that he should have been more worried.

The airport was buzzing with frustrated passengers, but Jensen couldn’t focus on any of them. The only thing on his mind was you, alone in that house by the ocean, and the guilt that weighed heavily on his chest.

He tried your number one more time, holding his breath as it rang, hoping against hope that this time, you’d answer. But when the call went to voicemail again, he felt his heart sink.

You stayed awake the entire night, your body too tense, your mind too restless to even think about sleep. The sound of the storm had been relentless, the howling wind and crashing waves making it impossible to focus on anything but the raw terror building inside you. For hours, you sat on the bed, curled up in a huge blanket, staring at the window as if waiting for the next strike.

You couldn’t bring yourself to pick up a book or distract your mind with anything else. It was like your brain refused to let go of the constant anxiety, clinging to the fear of what might happen next. The storm’s roar had felt endless, and with no way to check on the outside world, you could only imagine the worst. Every thud, every creak of the house made your heart jump, and your mind raced with thoughts of what might have been happening beyond the walls.

By the time the storm began to fade, just before dawn, you were so exhausted that you didn’t even notice when your eyelids finally began to droop. The wind had quieted, the rain now a soft patter compared to the chaos from hours before. Somewhere in that stillness, you drifted off without realizing it, your body giving in to the exhaustion and fear that had kept you alert all night.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 2

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melrosemovingca · 1 month ago

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royal-movingco · 29 days ago

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walters-transfer-and-moving · 8 months ago

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affordablelosangelesmoversposts · 2 years ago

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hotshotsxyz · 2 months ago

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living lies and compromise

(8b spec) (buddie) (879 words) spoilers for 8x08! set a few days after eddie returns from texas and i still managed to make it angsty :) i bet you'll never guess what band i stole the title from

The knock on Buck’s door isn’t entirely unexpected. He doesn’t know what to do with it, though, doesn’t know how to exist in this strange liminal space where Eddie’s back but everything is still different.

A few months ago, Eddie would’ve used his key and walked straight in. A few months ago, Buck would’ve welcomed him with open arms. As it stands, he hesitates. Just for a moment, but—

It’s been a long time since Buck was hesitant with Eddie. He hates it.

He opens the door, and the smile he greets Eddie with feels brittle and fake.

“Hey, man,” Buck says, trying trying trying to make it come out right. He hears it, though—it doesn’t sound the same.

“Hey,” Eddie replies. He hoists a six pack in the air, and if Buck squints he can almost pretend this is exactly what it used to be. That they’re what they used to be.

“Come—come in,” Buck invites. He can’t remember the last time either of them waited for permission like this.

Eddie swallows visibly and steps into the loft for the first time since—god, he’s not actually sure. Right after Halloween, maybe?

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He drops the beer on the counter but makes no move to grab one.

Silence stretches between them. It’s not uncomfortable, necessarily, but it’s also not the kind that falls when everything that needs to be said is out in the open and everything left can wait.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” Eddie says finally, achingly quiet.

Buck shakes his head. “I am, of course I’m happy to see you,” he says.

“Please don’t do that.” Eddie’s eyes are wide and sincere, and if Buck’s not careful—

“Eddie,” he says, pleading, “I am, you have no idea.”

“Then why…” He gestures vaguely at the space between them. Why the distance? Why the reticence? Why aren’t they falling together the way they always have?

Buck bites his lip and steps into Eddie’s space to grab a beer for himself. He retreats, but he doesn’t go far.

He pops the cap off and sighs. “You left,” he says simply.

Eddie stumbles back against the counter. “But I came back,” he says. “And I thought you understood.”

Buck offers him a sad little smile. “I did. I do. But—coming back wasn’t the plan.”

“Did you… not want me to?” Eddie asks, small and a tiny bit incredulous.

“No,” Buck says, watching as Eddie’s disbelief turns to hurt. “I didn’t want you to come back. I needed you to.”

A wounded noise escapes Eddie’s lips. “I did,” he says.

“What about next time?” Buck asks. He wishes he didn’t sound so raw and ragged, but it hardly matters when Eddie’s the one listening.

“What?” He breathes, punched out like a cough.

Buck looks over Eddie’s shoulder, out the window and into the vague glow of night in Los Angeles. He takes a swig of his beer.

“I need you, Eddie, I still—the whole time you were gone it felt like—like I was missing a limb. And I can’t—I can’t keep needing you like this, not if I don’t get to keep you,” Buck admits. “So I just… I have to figure out how to stop. But I can’t do that when you’re here.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says desperately. “Please don’t. I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. You have me.”

“I’m not sure I know how to survive believing that again,” Buck replies.

Eddie takes a step forward, close enough now that Buck can feel his breath ghosting across his skin.

“Look at me?” he asks.

Buck’s never been able to deny him much of anything.

“I kept looking for you. I’d see something funny and I’d turn, because I wanted to see your reaction. The front door would open, and I kept thinking you were going to be the one to walk through it. Hell, every time I went to the grocery store I wanted to call you to make sure everything we needed was on the list.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes.

His hand drifts toward Buck’s shoulder, just like it always seems to, but this time it doesn’t stop. Eddie reaches until his fingers are resting against Buck’s neck and his thumb is slowly sweeping across his jaw.

“You need me?” he asks.

Buck nods.

“Good,” Eddie says in a rush of air. “Because I need you too, okay? So please don’t stop, please don’t pull away. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to stay.”

Eddie’s shoulders slump. He takes the last step forward and pulls Buck into a tight hug.

There’s this thing Buck’s been trying not to look at. It’s been growing in size, taking up more and more of his field of vision since the moment Eddie left for Texas. It’s been fuzzy and hard to discern, difficult to ignore but easy to avoid putting a name to. As he melts into Eddie’s arms, though, everything comes into sharp relief.

It’s need. It’s want. It’s love.

And the thing is, Buck knows how this goes. But what the hell? It’ll be a privilege, getting his heart broken by Eddie Diaz.

He clings a little tighter.

#you know when you have something important to do but you decide to write an angsty little spec fic instead? yeah #buddiefic #buddie fic #911fic #911 fic #911 #buddie #fic #abbie writes #911 spoilers

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y3sterdaysproblem · 29 days ago

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black dahlia - c.s.

summary: confident stripper meets cocky drug dealer. that’s it.

includes: eventual smut, mentions of drugs, strip clubs, cheating, toxic relationship dynamics

wc: 1.5k

intro

The dim lights. The bass thumping. The haze filling the air.

It all felt like home.

It has been home for the last few years, the nightclub staff becoming your second family, even sometimes feeling like your first.

You’d been dancing since you turned eighteen, always finding the night life fascinating, knowing since you were a young girl that this was the environment that you wanted to surround yourself with.

The day after your eighteenth birthday you had auditioned for a shady strip club not far from home, hoping to get the job since it was within walking distance and you didn’t have the money for a car. You’d gotten it on the same day, the owner of the club telling you that you were perfect since you were still so young and ‘innocent’. He was a weird guy that definitely stared at his dancers for too long, but you couldn’t ignore the fact that he helped get you to where you are now.

Once you’d become confident enough to start branching out, you’d auditioned at other clubs, surprisingly landing your dream job of being a dancer at the most popular yet exclusive club in the Los Angeles area, something you thought you wouldn’t achieve for years. The cover to get into the club was seventy five dollars alone, something that people who just wanted to look at half naked women weren’t willing to spend. People came to spend money, and lots of it.

Your family never spoke highly of strippers or sex workers like most people, always having something negative to say when the topic came up, but to you it always seemed so freeing and exhilarating. When you saw a girl in a movie that was supposed to be the damsel in distress, legs wrapped around a pole as she danced to some sensual r&b track, all you saw was empowerment. She wasn’t helpless, she was in control, commanding attention, owning her space. The way her body moved with confidence and grace made you wonder why the world had such a problem with it. To you, she was free, unburdened by the judgment that clung to the job like a second skin.

You’d quickly became one of the most popular dancers at the club, making the most money out of any girl there, which caused some issues here and there but it never discouraged you. You loved a little bit of drama at work, especially if it revolved around how much money you made. Some of the girls said it wasn’t fair, that your bosses showed favoritism towards you, but you thrived off of it. It only fueled you to do better and to make more money. You had so many regulars you couldn’t even keep count anymore, so many men that wouldn’t even think about spending their money on the other girls.

None of them really caught your eye, though. Sure, some of the men were attractive, but they’d never have you anywhere close to breaking any of the rules you had set for yourself. The most important one being that you’d promised yourself in the beginning of your career that you’d never sleep with any of the customers, no matter what they offered or how attractive they were. No amount of money could buy you like that, and you’d stuck to that promise.

The first and only time you’d ever come close, the first time you felt yourself genuinely flirting with a man, was tonight.

The club was humming loudly with chatter and music, girls rotating every so often on the stages, some of the dancers sitting at full tables, giggling at the unfunny jokes that were supposed to charm them, doing everything they could to get a big tip. You’d just finished your set and spotted a table in the back, all of them disinterested with the world around them, which was odd considering the environment.

You couldn’t make out any of their faces from here, but your curiosity got the best of you and you found yourself strutting your way to the group, your thigh high pleasures dragging on the ground as you weaved your way through the tables. You were barely clad in a black, two piece set, the fabric only covering what it needed to, not that you cared. You were confident in your body no matter what you wore, especially when you were at work. You knew you looked good, and that’s partly what made you so successful here.

You finally make it to the table and lean your hands on it, catching the attention of everyone sitting. You take in all of their faces, seeing them all checking out your body, but your eyes land on the person right next to you, his eyes locked on your face as you stare down at him. His face is dark, the brim of a hat preventing light from reflecting on his features and the hoodie pulled over his head not helping matters, but it’s enough for your heart to speed up a bit. He’s attractive, very attractive, and he’s gazing up at you with every bit of boldness as you, neither of you wanting to break eye contact.

He reaches up to his mouth and pulls the blunt from his lips, sucking in a slow breath before exhaling, smoke clouding around his face for a couple of moments before it dissipates. He tilts his head a bit, like he’s waiting for you to say something, and all you do is smile down at him, turning your body a bit to face him. “Not interested in my set?” You ask, inching your body closer so his head has to lean back to keep his line of sight on you.

He laughs, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. His smile is perfect, his teeth bright in the purple lights of the club. “I’m here for business,” he replies, bringing the blunt back up to his lips. Once it’s settled there, you reach out, pulling it from his mouth and holding it out of his reach.

“Business? I’d love to know what kind of business you run if this is the kind of place you have your meetings.” You’re towering over him now, almost eight inch heels adding a significant amount of height to your frame.

He rolls his eyes, but there’s still a smirk on his face as he watches you. “You really don’t want to get involved,” he taunts.

You bring your hand up to your own face, slowly bending over until your hand is on the back of his chair and your faces are inches apart, placing the blunt between your lips and taking a big hit, then giving it back to the man in front of you. You smile, blowing the smoke into his face before leaning your lips next to his ear. “You really shouldn’t be smoking in my club.”

His body shifts in the chair, mouth opening to speak, when you both are torn out of the moment by a shrilly voice speaking from the chair next to him.

“Chris, you never let me smoke your weed!” She whines, pout evident in her voice. “Why does this… whore get to do it?!”

You stand up straight again and move your eyes to the blonde, preppy girl sat beside him, seeing her glaring back at you. “Who are you?” You ask her, tilting your head and smiling down at her, amused at the sight of her, clearly uncomfortable and out of place.

She picks her chin up and tries to appear more confident than she is, but it just looks pathetic to you and you want to laugh. “I’m his girlfriend,” she says, straightening out her back.

You can’t help it, you do laugh, but only a little bit. It’s a small bubble of laughter that doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. “His girlfriend and you can’t smoke his shit? He must not really fuck with you,” you comment with a shrug, and when you look back to meet the man’s eyes, Chris, you recall, he’s smiling like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. He was beyond attracted to not only your body but the confidence you exuded. It was refreshing compared to what he dealt with now.

The girl’s jaw drops in shock and annoyance, huffing loudly, but she has nothing to say back. She crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, clearly embarrassed by the situation.

You’re pleased, even though putting other women down wasn’t something you did for fun, it was something you enjoyed when it was initiated by them for seemingly no reason. You reach out to place a hand on Chris’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Well, she’s annoying, huh?” You comment, and he doesn’t respond, just stares up at you while he waits for you to speak again. “You ever need a break from her, come see me.”

Chris’s lips curl up again and he offers a curt nod, signaling your dismissal. You take the hint and turn around, heading back in the direction you came. Another one of the rules you had for yourself was to never look behind you at all the eyes staring as you retreated, but something inside you was compelled to turn around today, and as you kept your stride and turned your head, a smile bloomed on your face at the sight of the blue eyes staring back, watching you leave him.

a/n: welcome to my new series ! this will probably be a mini series turned au so I hope you enjoy 🖤

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manwithatruckmovingca · 1 year ago

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capseycartwright · 1 month ago

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i’ll be home for christmas (if only in my dreams)

It was a silly thing, Buck had started, right when Eddie first got to El Paso – we’re looking at the same sky, he’d quipped, on one of their nightly Facetime calls.

Even when they were far apart from each other, they were still able to look up at the same stars, and if they just remembered that, maybe the distance between El Paso, and Los Angeles, wouldn’t feel so cavernous. That’s what Buck had promised him.

for @winterofbuddie week one, celestial creativity.

ao3 link

Eddie had wanted to leave El Paso for as long as he could remember. He had never quite been able to voice that desire, not when he lived under his parent’s roof, because it had never felt like he could have opinions of his own, under the grand authority of Ramon and Helena Diaz. It’s not as though his first choice would have been to run away to the other side of the world, with the army emblem on his shoulder, but at least it had been somewhere else, he supposed.

Then he’d been discharged, and he’d come home, and Eddie had been too afraid of his own shadow to want to go anywhere – and he’d had bigger things to worry about, frankly, like keeping his head above water and his son alive as he did his best to navigate single parenthood.

Eddie had gone to LA for Shannon – he could admit that. He had wanted to run away from El Paso, to take Christopher away from the suffocating grip of his parents, sure, but he’d picked LA because of Shannon.

He’d stayed for himself, though.

Sometimes, Eddie felt like the only selfish decision he had ever made for himself in his whole entire life was staying in Los Angeles and making a life for himself there. He had never been good at wanting things for himself, but Eddie had wanted, when he got to LA and he had joined the 118 and realised he could have a life he enjoyed, and not just one he survived for the sake of his son.

That’s what made him ending up back in El Paso all the more ironic, really. Eddie had made one selfish decision for himself in his entire miserable fucking life, and then he’d had to walk away from that one good, selfish decision for the sake of his son.

It wasn’t permanent. El Paso wasn’t permanent.

That’s what Eddie had to keep telling himself, as he lived in his older sister’s guestroom, and went knocking at his parent’s front door every morning to see if his son wanted to talk to him. It wasn’t permanent, he’d kept reassuring himself, as he sat across the dining table from his mom and dad every evening, and justified why he was there, why he was going to keep being there until Christopher decided he was willing to come home.

Eddie would have moved permanently – but as he’d started to look for houses in El Paso, and as Buck had spiralled, everything had come to a head, and he and Buck had an explosive argument that had ended with Buck’s tongue down Eddie’s throat.

Buck would get snippy, if he knew Eddie was misrepresenting the romance of the moment – but in Eddie’s defence, the romance had come after that first, messy, argument, life-changing, ending kiss.

Buck hadn’t asked Eddie to stay – he would never get between Eddie, and Christopher – but he had suggested maybe it didn’t need to be such a permanent move. Not right away, at least – that maybe Eddie could work on rebuilding his relationship with Chris, first, and they could discuss it, decide together whether to stay in LA, or make the big move to El Paso permanently.

(Eddie really hoped it would be the former.)

Eddie’s hands shook, as he shut the screen door behind him, the chill of the December evening a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of his parent’s house, and the festive celebrations happening inside that he wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to participate in.

He liked Christmas – really, he did – but this year, Eddie was struggling to feel all that festive. Things with Christopher were a little better, and they were getting better every day, but every inch of progress he made with his son seemed to drive an even bigger wedge between Eddie, and his parents.

Coming out to them hadn’t helped.

It hadn’t been an entirely rash decision, on Eddie’s part – he’d wanted to come out to them eventually. Between kissing Buck, and the six weeks he’d been in El Paso, Eddie had done a lot of soul-searching and had come to the somewhat startling conclusion he was absolutely, definitely, a thousand percent gay. It hadn’t felt world-ending, to accept it either – not the way it would have a year ago.

It had felt right. Eddie had tried the label out for size with Buck, in the first instance, his boyfriend smiling proudly at him from the tiny screen of Eddie’s cellphone as Eddie had said it out loud. He’d told Sophia, over dinner, one evening, his sister and her husband giving him similarly encouraging grins and embraces. Eddie had told Christopher, one quiet afternoon when they’d gone out for a walk, and Christopher had responded with a simple ‘thanks for telling me, dad’ and that had been that.

So, sue him, for thinking he could come out to his parents and have it not be an issue. Everyone else had been so accepting, and kind, and Eddie had let himself indulge in the false hope that he’d get the same from his mom and dad.

His mom had immediately started crying, wailing about how she couldn’t understand, which Eddie felt was, quite frankly, overdramatic, and his father had looked at him silently with an expression of complete and utter disappointment Eddie wasn’t sure he’d ever forget.

It had sucked.

Eddie had excused himself from dinner, got behind the wheel of his rented car, driven to a Dairy Queen carpark, and had a complete and utter mental breakdown into a chocolate sundae. It hadn’t been his proudest moment.

“Hi, baby,” Buck’s voice was warm, as his boyfriend picked up the phone.

“Hey, honey,” Eddie tried to sound upbeat as he responded, wanting to rise to Buck’s sweet petname with one of his own. He liked the way Buck was so soft with him, open and honest with his affection even via words.

“What happened?”

Eddie should have known he was physically incapable of lying to Buck.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing – you sound sad,” Buck countered. “It’s Christmas day, and you sound sad, Eddie – so it’s something. Talk to me.”

Eddie settled himself down on the front porch steps, tucking his phone under his chin. “I hate Christmas.”

“You love Christmas,” Buck corrected. “Normally, at least. What happened, Eddie?”

“It’s just – everything feels weird, and awkward,” Eddie sighed. “Sophia and Adriana won’t speak to our parents directly – they’re just pretending, for the kids sake. Abuela threatened not to come for Christmas dinner, and only turned up because she, I quote, didn’t want my useless excuse for a father to pretend as though she wasn’t there because she had a problem with me being gay, when her real problem is with her own son being a bigot.”

This got a laugh out of Buck. “I love your grandmother.”

“Me too,” Eddie couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Christopher is…” he trailed off. “He’s okay. He liked his gifts – he seems to not know what to do, though, with the way my parents are being.”

“They’re different with you than they are with him,” Buck offered. “It has to feel confusing for him that the grandparents who treat him so kindly, treat his dad the way they do.”

That was putting it nicely. Eddie’s parents – well, they weren’t bad people. Eddie wasn’t going to claim they were. They just weren’t the best parents to Eddie. He’d been dealing with their expectations his whole life, and coming out as gay had upset their plan for the perfect white picket fence life they’d envisioned for – no, demanded of Eddie. Eddie had even heard his mother weeping in the kitchen, wondering how on earth she’d tell her bible group that her precious only son was gay. A practising gay, at that – because when Eddie followed up his disastrous coming out with the admission that he had a living, breathing boyfriend, that had sent his already hysterical mother to another planet.

“I feel like I made everything worse, by coming here,” Eddie admitted quietly, though he was certain no one inside of the Diaz household would hear him over the Christmas music that was blasting in the living room as his family played board games. “I don’t want Christopher to hate his grandparents. I just want him to want to come home, with me.”

“You haven’t made anything worse, Eddie,” Buck’s reassurance was gentle. “Baby – you haven’t made anything worse. Being there, working on things with Chris – that’s the right thing to do. You can’t control the way your parents act around you. If they want to show their ass and make their grandson mad at them for treating you badly after you came out – well, good. I hope he does hate them. They’re being shitty parents.”

Eddie knew he should talk about it. He knew he should – and could – sit and hash out all of his complicated feelings about his parents, and Texas, and the way El Paso made him feel like he couldn��t breathe, the town constricting around his chest, locking him in a cage he had so desperately tried to escape. A cage he had escaped, until Eddie’s own mistakes had driven his son back here, to the one place Eddie had hoped he’d ever be back in. He could do that, but –

“I miss you Buck,” Eddie breathed. “I wish you were here.”

“I know,” Buck’s tone was sympathetic. “But hey – if you look up at the stars, then you and I are looking at the same stars, Eds. That’s something, for now.”

Eddie smiled. It was a silly thing, Buck had started, right when Eddie first got to El Paso – we’re looking at the same sky, he’d quipped, on one of their nightly Facetime calls. Even when they were far apart from each other, they were still able to look up at the same stars, and if they just remembered that, maybe the distance between El Paso, and Los Angeles, wouldn’t feel so cavernous. That’s what Buck had promised him.

Eddie watched as a car pulled up across the street from his parents’ house. Someone visiting family, he guessed. “You can’t see the stars in LA,” he joked. “All that light pollution.”

“No,” Buck agreed. “But I can see them from El Paso.”

Eddie felt his heart shudder to a stop in his chest. “What – what?” he looked across the street and saw Buck emerging from the car – an Uber, clearly – his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, phone in hand.

Buck ended the call, looking left and right before he jogged across the street. “Hey,” he looked almost bashful, as he greeted Eddie.

“Buck? Are you really here?” Eddie couldn’t quite believe his own eyes. Buck was here, in Texas – not in Los Angeles, where he was supposed to be spending Christmas Day with his sister, and Chimney.

“I’m really here,” Buck promised, setting his duffel bag down on the pavement. He looked tired, but happy, all the same, wearing an LAFD hoodie and his familiar crooked smile. “Is it okay that I’m here?”

“Of course it’s okay you’re here!” Eddie shoved his phone in his pocket, jogging down the few steps between him, and Buck. “I just – why are you here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, I just – I don’t understand.”

“You sounded so sad, the last few times we’ve spoken,” Buck explained. “All I’ve wanted to do – since you left, really, but especially since you came out and your parents and everything that happened – is to hug you, Eddie. It’s our first Christmas together, and we weren’t spending it together, and it’s been killing me. I was sitting on Maddie’s couch last night, moping, and she just fixed me with one of those, I’m your big sister and I’m smarter than you looks, and she asked me why I wasn’t with you, and I didn’t have a good answer for why not. So, I booked a flight – and I’m here.”

“You booked a last-minute flight on Christmas Day to see me?” Eddie loved this man so much he could physically burst with it. No one had ever done the whole, grand gesture thing for Eddie – and now, here Buck was, having spent God only knows how much money for a Christmas Day flight just to come and see Eddie. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve a man like Evan Buckley – but Eddie would stand there and thank every star in the sky for sending him Buck if it meant he got to keep him forever.

“Eddie,” Buck’s expression was bright, as he answered. “I’d have walked from LA to El Paso if it meant I got to spend Christmas Day with you.”

Eddie would lie and argue the point with his sisters later, but he absolutely, definitely launched himself into Buck’s arms, there and then, wrapping his arms tightly around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Thank you,” he couldn’t hold the tears in, and they were happy-sad, the weight of an awkward Christmas and six weeks in El Paso not quite lifted, but the happiness of seeing Buck outweighing everything else.

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you,” Buck murmured, pressing a string of kisses to the side of Eddie’s head. “I’m here. I’m here, baby. Merry Christmas.”

Later, Eddie would laugh at the bravery it took to kiss Buck right there and then, on his parents front lawn, with his entire family looking out the living room window to see why Eddie wasn’t coming back inside – but there and then, he didn’t have it in him to care too much about the fact that all of his parents neighbours could see as he pressed his lips to Buck’s in a grateful, messy, somewhat salty kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” Eddie replied, cupping Buck’s face in his hands. He hadn’t gotten to have this, Buck, for long enough before he’d had to get on a one-way flight to El Paso, and so it still felt like a novelty to get to hold him. The blue of Buck’s eyes was brighter than any star, or moon, or planet. Eddie was big enough to admit that was dramatic, but entirely true. He was happy to be dramatic about Buck. “I love you.”

Nothing was better. Objectively, nothing was fixed. Eddie’s son still looked at him sometimes with a coldness that made Eddie’s heart twist in his chest, because he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to fix it, and Eddie’s parents were, well – they kind of sucked, if he was being honest about it – but Buck was there, and he was holding Eddie like he was something precious, and that was everything Eddie needed, there and then.

Buck pressed a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose, and Eddie couldn’t help but giggle, the sound bright, and light, in the midst of one of the worst Christmases Eddie had ever had. “I love you more.”

#evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic

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