#MY FIC

[theaftersundown]

the holy grail types of fanfic

[chainnoli]

This is literally me at my regulars (you know who you are ilysm 🫶)

[cranberrymoons]

okay. i would like to talk about Eddie sucking dick for the first time because I think it would be life affirming for him. and I think he's kind of nervous because it's something he's never done before and like. what if it tastes weird. you know. like. what if it tastes weird and feels weird and he doesn't like it. but it's buck so he's sure it'll be okay, and buck will be so so sweet about it if he doesn't like it. so okay. he is going to do this. and when he's actually in the moment he isn't really thinking about any of this because he's too in the moment; the overthinking happens ahead of time. but he's in the moment and his heart is racing hammering fluttery nervous, and they've been making out on their bed for the last 20 minutes and kind of grinding on each other and Eddie is soooo. he's so hard and so turned on and even just this? like this. buck's big giant broad body under him on the bed with half their clothes still on. it's so hot. and the solid bulk of him under eddie's hands is like. god. GOD. you know. and buck's got his shirt off but he's still wearing his sweats, and his skin is flushed and pretty and soft. and Eddie is kissing down his neck and over his jaw and before he realizes what he's even doing he's halfway down buck's chest, and buck's hands are in his hair and he's squirming against the pillows and his breath is hitching and Eddie is sinking his teeth into the soft little roll of his stomach and working buck's sweats down over his hips and sucking a kiss into his hipbone and dropping his mouth open and pressing his tongue against the underside of his cock and tasting him for the first time and bobbing his head and gagging a little in a way that makes him feel like he's made of fire. and breathing through his nose and dropping his eyes shut and losing himself in it and feeling buck's hands in his hair and fingers on his cheek and thumb pressing at the corner of his mouth like buck is trying to memorize how he feels right now. and when buck comes he tries to kind of warn Eddie or tug him off or something but Eddie wants to swallow because he wants to keep every part of buck inside him that he possibly can. forever. :)

[hyruling]

“So. How are you really?”

Buck stares into his mug, thumbs the smooth edge. The ride from the airport had been all stilted conversation; funeral logistics and small talk and updates on Chris, on Maddie and the rest of the 118. Eddie pointed out the Dairy Queen that opened a few miles from the house sometime in the two months he’s been gone. Buck told him about his gym flooding three weeks ago. It got pretty quiet after that, conversation ultimately turning towards the inevitable, and neither of them seemed inclined to break the seal. They made it home in record time by LA’s standards, and Buck pulled into the driveway with an uneasy sort of relief.

Eddie had hugged him, at least, in the middle of the crowded baggage claim. Dropped his duffel and wrapped both his arms around him, held him longer than anticipated. The scruff of his stubble scratched Buck’s neck, and just before pulling away, Eddie ducked his chin and pressed his mouth to Buck’s collarbone for one loaded second. And that had felt — normal. Not normal. Left him wanting more.

Now the coffees been brewed, the bag put away, suit hung safely in the closet. Their knees press together under the table, a grounding point of contact that he leans into. Eddie just looks at him, looking soft and rumpled from travel, and Buck wants to touch him again so badly his fingers ache with it.

“I’m—“ Buck starts. Stops. “I don’t—I don’t know, Eddie.” He scratches idly at his neck, an itchy feeling under his skin that he can’t settle. “I’m just kind of going through the motions, I think.”

It’s the most honest he’s been in weeks. He’s not sure it makes him feel any better.

Eddie nods and sips his coffee. Buck picked up a bottle of his creamer yesterday, and Eddie gives him an appreciative little smile around the lip of the mug.

“That’s okay,” Eddie says. “You don’t have to be anything right now.”

“That’s what my therapist keeps saying,” Buck says with a half-hearted laugh that Eddie returns. They each take a drink, and Buck asks, “How are you?”

Eddie sighs and looks towards the window. “I’m… it’s still a little surreal, to me. I haven’t been—I’ve been so removed out in Texas, it’s like—like it’s not real to me yet.”

“Yeah,” Buck says. His phone buzzes with a text from Ravi that he ignores for now. “I kind of feel that too.”

Eddie frowns, mouth twisting in a familiar way he hates.

“I should have been here,” Eddie says, hushed like a confession. He stares at the placemat, tears starting to form in his eyes. Buck’s already shattered heart breaks impossibly more.

“Don’t do that,” Buck tells him. Eddie shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “You can’t go down that road, Eddie. He—he wouldn’t want that.”

“I should have been here sooner,” Eddie clarifies, still avoiding Buck’s eyes. “I know—no one could have known what would happen. No one will ever know if I could have—if I could have changed anything. And I’ll just—I’ll have to live with that. But I should’ve gotten on a plane the second you called, I should have been here with you, I’m—fuck. I’m sorry Buck.”

“Hey, no, come on. Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie ignores him, gone somewhere Buck can’t reach him. His arm is right there, his hand clenched in a ball on the table only inches from Buck’s. He lays it over Eddie’s white-knuckled fist before can think better of it. It works, draws Eddie’s attention back to him, flicking between Buck’s hand and his eyes.

“Buck,” Eddie whispers.

Slowly, Eddie relaxes — he unclenches his fingers, lets them splay out beneath the weight of Buck’s hand. Buck watches, entranced, as he twists his hand around to hold Buck’s hand properly, fits his fingers between Buck’s. Squeezes gently.

He’s always had such beautiful hands. Big and warm and perfectly sized to fit in Buck’s, knowledge he doesn’t know what to do with now that he has it.

“I don’t hold anything against you, Eddie. You have to know that. You were exactly where you needed to be, Chris needs you more than I do. You—I’m not yours to worry about.”

“Yes you are,” Eddie says. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s known, a simple fact of the universe. But to Buck, it’s as if the world that had stopped spinning two weeks ago shifts beneath his feet, shudders with the effort to start turning again.

Eddie doesn’t look away, even as his cheeks go pink right as Buck’s do. He doesn’t let go of his hand either, thumbs over Buck’s knuckles in a way that has the potential to ruin him.

“I’m—really glad you’re home,” Buck admits quietly.

Eddie smiles, soft and crooked — and though their world has irrevocably changed, Eddie’s smile still has the power to flood him with warmth.

“Me too.”

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

For the kiss prompt: #48 out of habit for bucktommy

Please and thank you! 🥰

For a while, Maddie had her doubts about her brother and Tommy getting back together. Their communication issues had been staggering, Buck had seemed to be too willing to go with the flow for six months before examining his actual feelings, and they seemed to think stealing municipal property was a love language. It wasn't that they were bad for each other, but she'd just worried.

But then they'd gotten back together, and she saw that something had shifted. They checked in with each other in little ways, Buck was talking more about actual future plans beyond dates, and Tommy seemed to be letting him in a lot more if the increasingly specific hypothetical advice Buck was asking her for was any indication. She also, privately, wanted to throw Tommy's father off a very steep mountain based on some of those hypotheticals.

She's enlisted her brother in shelf hanging duties while her husband and his boyfriend go play basketball together, and she's waiting as Buck makes sandwiches for her and him.

"We'll be back in a few hours, hopefully with all tendons intact," Chimney says, swooping down to kiss the corner of her mouth.

"Evan isn't coming, so I think we'll be okay," Tommy says, and Buck sticks his tongue out at his boyfriend as he drops the sandwich off in front of Maddie. "I'll let it go when it stops being funny."

Buck grabs a bowl of mandarin slices and his own sandwich from the counter and sits down with them. "Let me know when it starts being funny, I'll start laughing."

"No, it's funny," Chimney says, shouldering his duffel bag. "C'mon, Kinard, we're burning daylight."

And then Maddie sees her brother tip his face up like a sunflower seeking light, and before she can wonder why, Tommy's there to kiss him, brief and quick. It's the same way she looks for Chimney, knowing he'll be there with a kiss and a shoulder squeeze. The smile that follows is small and sweet, and Tommy drops another kiss on his forehead before grabbing his own bag. It's automatic, the kind of thing you do when you're settled and comfortable, and she's never seen her brother on the receiving end of it.

"Break a leg," Buck says over his shoulder.

"That a threat?" Tommy teases, and Buck throws a mandarin slice at him. Tommy catches it and pops it in his mouth. "Bye, Evan. Bye, Maddie."

"Bye, boys," she replies, smiling when she hears him and Chimney trash talking all the way to the front door. "So, things are good?"

Buck smiles at the sandwich he's currently tearing a corner off of. "Yeah. Things are good. "

"I can tell," she says, reaching across to squeeze his forearm. "He's good for you. You're good for each other."

He hesitates before turning his smile on her, bright and beautiful and precious. "Yeah. I've heard that before."

[kitcat-italica]

Read my fic (esp my more recent fic) and you will find:

-fondling balls

-kissing balls

-loving descriptions of the hair covering the balls

-lifting balls up to bare the perineum for more kissy kiss down there

-balls swinging back and forth as they fuck

-balls balls balls :) :) :) balls my beloved

i’m choosing to take this personally

[screamlet]

8x15/16 interstitial

about 800 words of seriously nothing. i'm fascinated by those two weeks between 8x15 and 8x16, so there might be a few short things set here and there.

---

It's been two days since Bobby died. It's early afternoon and no one has needed Buck yet, so he's cleaning the kitchen and trying not to flip out about Tommy being gone.

Not that he's gone. He's outside talking to someone on the phone, and Buck is doing his best to make this old linoleum sparkle so he doesn't creep up to the door and try to eavesdrop. Still, it's Buck so he can't help but quietly catastrophize.

Tommy has spent every hour since the lab disaster with Buck, and he has his first shift back in the morning. He's probably talking to his captain, or that colonel, or someone about whether he actually can go to work, or whether he's only on ground duty, or whether he's suspended. Maybe he's one of the volunteers from around the LAFD who are taking shifts at the 118 until everyone is back on duty, and he's going to be grabbing his stuff from Harbor and using Buck's locker, and—and maybe he'll be out there, in danger, and Buck will be here waiting for the next thing, waiting for something.

Before Buck can come up with a new set of anxieties that make him feel like his lunch is coming back up, the front door opens and shuts. Tommy's steady footsteps are coming to find him, nothing different about them, the same footsteps he's been hearing around the house for days. Sometimes they're all Buck hears when he's lying in bed, staring at the ceiling or the wall or out the bedroom window as a silent horror movie marathon plays in his head.

"Hey," Tommy says as he comes up behind him. He stands next to Buck at the sink and rests a hand on his back. "I was just on the phone with my captain and the chief."

"Oh wow, the chief, huh?" Buck looks down at his hands, thinking that was a little bitchy.

"He's very invested in my reckless insanity that keeps saving people's lives," Tommy replies. "Another spring, another—"

"Yeah," Buck interrupts. If he has to think about where they were a year ago, where all of them were a year ago, he might not make it through the conversation. "So what'd you guys talk about?" Buck clears his throat. "Your shift tomorrow?"

Tommy's hand rests heavier on Buck's back; force of habit, or need, or something, Buck leans into it.

"They said I was cleared to go back, regular duty, nothing on my record. No medal this time since they don't want the whole supervirus thing to get out," Tommy says. "But I told them I'm taking some bereavement leave. At least a week. More, if I need it."

Buck's head whips around, his eyes boring into Tommy's. "What?"

"Yeah, see, they knew I was at the 118. Hence the whole ride-or-die, if they need me I'll come running thing, but I'm taking the leave to support my partner." Tommy's eyes meet Buck's for a moment, then drop. "So I'll be here however long you need me. If you need me."

"Need you?" Buck asks. "Or want you?"

Tommy meets his eyes again. It's that same timid look from their beyond-stupid morning after; they've had other ones since then, better in some ways and (much) worse in others. "I'm okay being a workhorse, Evan. You don't—"

"I want you," Buck says. "In every way, Tommy. Every way."

Tommy nods, even brings himself to smile. Buck does, too; he can't help it. It's been two days of automated tasks and emptiness and pain and helplessness, but he's smiled, too. There have been flashes of happiness, like tiny sparks in this darkness because Tommy's here. Because Buck's not alone. Because Buck's here with Tommy.

Another tiny spark, like a flare shot into the night, as their eyes meet and Buck leans in for a kiss. It's so gentle, barely a press of their lips against each other, but it hurts, too. God, it physically hurts to kiss Tommy and feel—light. Feel relief, hope, even joy. It hurts to feel them, even as it's hurt to be without them.

Tommy opens his eyes, immediately searching Buck's face for something. "So that was okay?"

A smile fights its way onto his face. "As always," Buck says, "It's better than fake mouth static."

Tommy laughs, and Buck feels like he'd been holding his breath until this moment. Tommy should never go that long without laughing, ever again. "I really did myself a favor, setting a bar that low."

"Who said it was low?" Buck asks. "You don't see anyone else up here with us, do you?"

Tommy's eyes drop to Buck's lips and he kisses him again, gentle and light. "No. No, I guess not."

[melodyofmbaku]

Her House, Her Rules (Smoke Moore x Annie x Stack Moore)

Warning ⚠️: They're a trio.

Preview: Annie was the center of their world, their matriarch, sun, moon, stars and the fucking sky where they were concerned.

Word Count: 1.94k

A/N: Ya'll gonna have me writing a fic a day and I kinda love it. Keep the requests coming 🤠💁🏾‍♀️

____

“Now you know she ain’t like you doin’ all that in the house Stack.” Smoke warned his brother as he saw him light up his cigar.

The boys were laid up on different couches opposite each other in just their boxers. It was a sticky southern summer day and they were taking no chances in the hot ass sun. They were both men of the night now. 

Stack had convinced his brother to join him in his world of eternity shortly after he turned. And his brother didn’t decline. Living in a world without his brother was unfathomable. 

When they told Annie, she struggled for a while - she didn’t want that life for herself but still wanted them in her life. Annie chose to love them anyway. She married them anyway. And that’s why she was the love of their life.

Annie was the center of their world, their matriarch, sun, moon, stars and the fucking sky where they were concerned. So when she expressed her dislike of them smoking in the house, it wasn’t a question of if the boys would smoke in the house. The boys, wouldn’t smoke in the house. 

Smoke's warning caused his younger brother to roll his eyes as he took a drag. 

“Well, this my house too.” Stack replied back with an impish grin. 

“Ion want no trouble. You not bouta fuck up my chance of getting some tonight cuz you wanna be smart Stack. Put it out.” The older commanded the younger. 

He shook his head.

“It’s just this one time and she ain’t here so she ain’t gon’ know. Unless you tell her.” Stack stared pointedly at his twin.

“You gon tell her?” He asked with a raised brow before sucking on his cigar once more. The flavour filled his dead lungs and swirled about for a bit before he exhaled. That was one thing he liked about being undead. The mechanics of his body worked differently. There’d be no choking over here. 

“We took vows man why, you always wanna rock the boat?” Smoke asked highly annoyed at his brothers antics. 

“Yeah yeah, I ain’t cheatin’. Just smokin’.” he took a hit of his cigar obnoxiously once more.

“I’m here bored as hell man. Can I live? You want some?” he asked his older brother cheekily.

He received a glare in response. Smoke still — smoked — obviously but just out on the porch, adhering to the rules his lady had for the house. The boys may have been undead, but her potted plants were not.

“I married her too Smoke. So if we gotta problem I’ll take it up with her myself.” 

And that was the thing with Stack, he was all bark and no bite because when his lady pulled up to the house earlier than expected he started singing a very different off key tune.

Annie's melodic laugh carried from the front porch into the house as her footsteps sounded on the wood, getting closer and closer to the door. 

“I’ll see ya’ll later! Next time bring a towel!” She yelled back at the girls whose car squealed off down the dirt road. 

“Shit.” Stack exclaimed frantically trying to stow away the evidence of his crime. 

She wasn’t supposed to be back yet. She said she’d be hanging out with the girls at the lake and coming home in the evening to make dinner. Stack's eyes found the clock, it was not time for dinner. 

The speed in which he ashed the cigar would’ve been comical if it hadn’t left a burn mark on the couch. 

“Fuck!” he spat. He flapped his arms about looking for a solution. 

The front screen door creaked open. She was here. 

Smoke glowered at him before rising to greet their wife. “Hey baby, you had fun playin’ in the water?” He’d angled himself strategically to block her view of Stacks soiled couch. He rubbed his hands on her arms, still a little damp from her dip. 

The move gave his twin enough time to throw a blanket over the mark and kick the cigar box full of evidence under the couch. 

“Yeah. Mary forgot her towel, so we had to cut it short.” 

She stretched up and kissed her husband long and deep before orienting herself around him to find her other one. Once her eyes landed on Stack she grinned. 

She tapped her lips expectantly and Stack closed the distance between them and ducked down before giving her a quick kiss.

She frowned at the small display of affection before she began unpacking her bag and recounting the events of her day. She covered everything from the moment she left the house until the second she landed back on the porch.

The boys typically liked hearing about her days, especially because they didn’t really experience them anymore. They barely saw the people they grew up with now, unless it was in the dark of night. A juke, a party, a hang… then they’d show, because that’s the only time they could.

“I missed y’all.” Annie said before collapsing back into Smoke’s lap on the couch. 

“We missed you too princess.” Smoke responded stroking her arm once more. He was always touching.  

“What’d you guys get into while I was gone?” She asked, beaming across the room at Stack. It was their turn to share with her the events of their day. 

Stack spoke up quickly. 

“We was thinking we change up the sitting room. These couches bout old as hell, I bet Mr. Chow got the connect on somethin’ nice and new for us. What you think?”

She looked around her and she scrunched up her nose.  “What’s wrong with what we got right now?”

“Nothin’!” Smoke replied alarmed and eyes wide.  

Annie furrowed her brow. Maybe they could use a bit of a refresh across the house stylistically. She shared her thoughts contemplatively. 

“Ion know bout somethin’ new. But maybe we could ask the girls at the shop for some new fabric, maybe change that. She’ll be good as new. No need to spend all that extra money.” She gestured to their fully functioning, not that old couch. 

“We got more than enough money.” Smoke reassured her as he always did, rubbing her back. He was the bookkeeper of their little family. He handled the money stuff, he made sure they were always good. Budgets, projections, the whole 9. 

Smoke didn’t wanna get involved in this play at all, but he saw the potential and it could work.  They’d replace the couch, Annie would be none the wiser and he'd still get to draw moans out of her that evening. It was a win-win. He chimed in. 

“Nah mama, we wanna make sure it’s nice and new. Chow got some styles from up North. Lemme talk to him.” Smoke bent down and placed a kiss on her temple once more.

“Let us handle it baby.” Stack said from across the room. 

She hesitated before nodding. 

“Ok.. I’ll leave y’all to it.” She said as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep in her lovers arms.

Smoke had stepped out that evening. Had to go check in on some business things and he didn’t want to be in the house right now, he was a bad liar and the more he could avoid Annie the better. 

Stack stayed home and kept Annie company but unfortunately the couch incident was steady on his mind. He didn’t like lying to Annie; it didn't sit right in his stomach. That evening she kept smiling at him, feeding him and loving him and it was all too much for him. Why’d she have to be so good? 

She had resigned herself to her room to wind down before bed. Stack couldn’t do it anymore. He had to confess. 

He marched himself over to her room and knocked on her door. The boys made sure the second bedroom was just for Annie. There she could make herself up, or just have a space away from them whenever she needed it. There was only 1 Annie and two of them, they never wanted her to be overwhelmed.

“Come in.” her voice travelled across the room and through the door. 

“Hi baby.” She beckoned him inside. She was laying on her bed, reading a book. He stepped inside the room and shut the door quietly. He stayed at the door though.

One thing Stack couldn’t deal with was anxiety. Annie helped him with that, and alot of his other emotional regulatory issues. He bit his lip. “I can come over there?” 

Annie looked at him funny. “Of course.”

He walked over and kneeled beside the bed. 

“I have something to tell you. Promise me you ain’t gon be mad.”

Her lip quipped up. “That depends on what you bouta tell me Elias.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Her hand shot out to stroke his face lovingly. She had the sweetest spot for him. Elijah was daddy, but Elias? Elias was baby. 

“I promise sweet boy.”

Elias hung his head low before blurting out:

“Ismokedinthehouseandfuckedupyourcouchandimsorry.”

Annies face was deadpan. 

“You wanna say that again, in a language I can understand?”

He took a deep breath and tried again. Eyes still squeezed shut. 

“I was smoking in the house and fucked up the couch and I’m sorry.”

The room was silent for a moment before Annie broke it with her response.

“I know.”

“Now I know you mad —“ he stopped. His face scrunched up and his shoulders dropped the stress leaving his body like a waterfall.

“You know?”

She nodded her head. A small smile tugging on her lips. 

“Smoke told you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then how you know?” He asked bewildered.

“I checked it out when I woke up from my nap on the couch. I lifted up the blanket you threw over the burn when y'all thought you were being slick conspiring in the kitchen. You never use a blanket.”

And it was true. Stack ran hot. Sweaty all the damn time. The fluffy fabric being draped all over his couch was uncharacteristic of him.  

“You not mad?”

“I ain’t happy that you lied to me, but it was creative and I wanted to see how long you could keep it up.” she wore an amused smile on her face. 

He huffed before admitting.  “I been feeling bad all night.”

“Who's fault is that?” She asked raising a brow. 

“You right.”

He paused before her spoke up again. “So you not mad?” He asked to clarify once more. 

“No. I’m not mad Elias. Plus, y'all wanted to replace my couch with no fuss. I ain’t complaining… just know I’ll want new carpets too.” She responded, looking pleased with herself. 

“Good luck explaining that one to your brother with his budgets. Time for you to go Elias. Shut the door on your way out.” she said before turning her back to her husband.

He rose from her bedside and smiled before heading towards the door. 

“Night Annie.”

“Elias?” she called out.

He stopped, hand hovering over the doorknob. He was so close. 

“No more smoking in the house. Next time I won’t be as forgiving.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He responded before closing the door quietly and assessing himself. 

He was relieved for a second because he was no longer lying to his wife and she wasn't mad. His chest puffed up. See? Wasn’t nothing to worry about. 

That was before he realized the predicament he was in and he deflated quite shortly after.

He done traded one problem for another. 

New fucking carpets too?

Smoke was gonna whoop his ass. 

---

Taglist

@sarcastic-sunshines @chaneajoyyy

[sherriievalance]

ILL BE WATCHING YOU! paige bueckers.

SUMMARY: You—a new student from ASU just transferred to UConn for cheer, and start to see Paige everywhere you go on campus. ( first part of a new series ) WARNINGS: Second person point of view, fluff, cheerleader!reader, and that’s it!

You walked to your first class, it also being your first day at UConn. You had been transferred from ASU to UConn because of cheer stuff. But the way you had felt right now you couldn’t put into words.

You were used to Arizona, the nice weather, the hot burning sun, and most of all; used to ASU. ASU’s atmosphere, and the fact you had so many friends there.

Now it’s just you in the chilly Connecticut weather as you most definitely underdressed. You had worn leggings and an athletic top—which it was way too chilly for you to be wearing just that.

But as you pushed your thoughts away you stepped into the class, immediately heading for the back of the class.

You get yourself settled and pull out your laptop, hearing the professor ramble about something until he is shortly interrupted by a girl rushing in.

You see her apologize to the professor as she lightly jogs up the steps, sitting right next to you.

You’ve seen her before—maybe. She looked familiar you thought.

You are though quickly snapped out of your thoughts as she asks for a pencil, “Yo, you got a pencil at all? I kinda need one..” Her voice barely above whisper but still being able to hear the sheepish undertone to her voice.

You nod, “Oh yeah! I only have mechanical ones.” You smile, whispering back to her as you grab the pencil out your water bottle pocket on your backpack.

The girl swiftly grabs the pencil, immediately starting to write stuff down. “Thanks.” She shortly says, her gaze drifting back to you every few seconds.

You ignore her, not in a rude way but in a ‘I need to focus’ way.

“What’s your name?” She whispered again, tilting her head as her eyes flicker over your face.

You blink, you sort of mumbled your name as you were more focused on the professor. “Whats yours?” You ask right after, sort of interrupting the girl.

“My names Paige. It’s nice to meet ya.” Paige nodded, leaning back into her chair.

You nod, smiling politely as you go back to your work.

The class had finally ended an hour later, you had a break in between now and your next class. So you decided on going to the gym area—to just practice stretching and stuff. You had heard that a few other cheerleaders would be there so you weren’t nervous at all.

After walking around campus in attempt to find it you finally did, as you walked in you saw one side of the court with the cheerleaders and the other side with the basketball players.

You shrug as you get onto the court, lightly jogging over to where all the cheerleaders are.

The three other girls quickly introduced themselves, you introduce yourself after and immediately started clicking with them.

As you guys were stretching your gaze fell on Paige—the same Paige you saw in your first class.

As if she could feel your eyes on her, her eyes look right at you, making eye contact.

You awkwardly smile for a few seconds then go back to stretching, all of sudden feeling hot.

Paige on the other hand kept looking back at you, you being right there. Knowing Paige she’s never been scared to talk to any girls, that just wasn’t Paige. She’s usually cocky and quick to sweep girls off their feet—but you were different. You gave this giddiness in her chest when she saw you, and even though she’s seen you twice she knows you’re the one.

Paige gets interrupted as Kk stands next to her, following Paige’s gaze. “Ooo Paige has a crush!” Kk sarcastically says, laughing as she nudges Paige.

Paige’s face flushes and shakes her head, “I do not.” She defends herself, pushing Kk away.

Kk shrugs, “I meannn it sure look like you do.” She pauses, “Just talk to her or somethin.” She nonchalantly says, her gaze flickering between you and Paige.

Paige shakes her head, turning around to face the hoop. “I can’t and won’t, she’s different, I can’t just talk to her. And anyways she looks straight.” She shortly says, stumbling her words a little.

Kk snickers, “You won’t ever know unless you do somethin.” She mutters, going back to the other girls.

Paige turns her head, frowning a little, her gaze flickering back to you.

But as soon as her gaze went to you, yours already on hers.

You feel a light pink blush creep up to your ears, you smile at her.

Paige awkwardly returns the smile, nodding as she swiftly turns back around.

After an hour your mini cheer practiced had finally ended. You were sweaty like crazy as all your baby hairs were sticking to your forehead.

You said your goodbyes to all your cheer teammates a few of them walking with you, as you gave Paige one last smile as you said goodbye.

Paige stumbles her goodbye as she smiled back.

Kk comes up behind Paige, nudging her shoulder. “Yo, look what ya girl left.” She snickers, nodding her head towards your Stanley that you had left.

Paiges eyes look over to where Kk was nodding, immediately feeling that same giddiness in her chest. “I can bring her water bottle back to her, and I could talk to her!” Paige says excitedly, rushing to grab your light pink tumbler.

Kk nods, “Mhm.” She hums, turning back on her heels as she feels proud of herself.

Paige awkwardly holds your Stanley, bringing it close to her chest as she walks down the path you just went down.

Her gaze shoots around as it finally lands on you, Paige feels a nervousness in her chest as she walks up to you.

“Yo, you left your water bottle back there, and I just wanted to bring it back to you, so you have water for the rest of the day.” Paige somewhat confidently said but still stumbled over a few of her words.

You give her a wide smile, ushering your cheer teammates away. “Omg thanks Paige!” You beamed. As you grabbed your Stanley your fingers brushed against hers, a small blush appearing on your face.

“I don’t know what I would do without it.” You continued, having to look up at her to make proper eye contact.

Paige shrugs, “Yeah of course.” She nonchalantly says, her gaze flickering around your face.

“Well I’ll see you around, yeah?” You asked, tilting your head as your eyes scans Paige’s eyes.

Paige nods, dropping her mouth but pausing as she thinks of what to say. “Um yeah, I’ll see you around.” She try’s to say in a nonchalant manner again, but failing.

You give her one last smile as you turn on your heels, your heart racing as what feels like a thousand beats per minute.

While Paige’s is also, feeling a blush appear on her face as she walks back out onto the court.

this is going to a multi-fic series so be ready 👻

[userautumn]

Just an idea, natalia helping buck with grieving bobby

Buck texts her on a Saturday to ask if she wants to meet for coffee.

She's blindsided, of course, because they haven't spoken for over a year but she's curious so she says yes. He looks terrible when she sees him, like all of that resurrection-light that was in his eyes after he came back from the dead has up and guttered out, leaving a dark emptiness in its wake. They make small talk, catch up on life and then work. He asks about her job, and she asks about his, and doesn't really notice that he doesn't answer the question until his breath hitches when he looks somewhere over her shoulder. It's a man, older, maybe mid 50s to early 60s. He's vaguely familiar, she guesses, with one of those faces that just skirts the edge of her memory. But then he's gone into the coffeeshop and she doesn't think anything more about him. Buck, though... he's still staring at the place the man was.

She reaches out across the table and touches his hand. He visibly startles like he forgot she was there.

"Hey." She tilts her head to meet his gaze. "Not that I don't love coffee as much as the next girl, but are you okay? Seriously."

He blinks slowly, eyelashes damp. "Bobby died."

He says the name with enough gravitas and weight that she thinks she's supposed to know who that is, but she doesn't. She never spent enough time with his family to be able to commit them to memory. She knows the word died, and suddenly a whole lot of things click into place.

"Buck."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't—I really did want to catch up with you, but then I saw that man and he looked—he looked just like him and—"

That man. The older gentleman.

And then she remembers who Bobby is clearly, Buck's father in every way but blood. The man who raised him, and shaped him, who knew him down to the marrow and molecules and everything in between.

He's shaking underneath her hand, a fine tremor that rattles through his entire body. She wonders if he even notices how precarious the thread he's hanging on by really is, one small nudge and he'll come crashing to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.

She clears her throat and slips into work mode between one moment and the next.

"When?"

"Two weeks ago. It's been on the news."

Two weeks. Still fresh, then. He looks almost offended that she doesn't know already, which makes a sort of sense, she supposes. The 118 is famous around these parts, even for people who don't work in response. She's seen the subreddits and the tumblr pages and 118-inspired amateur porn on Twitter in the LAFD tag. Which is to say that she should know, probably. But she doesn't watch the news, she doesn't keep up with social media. She sees enough death during her day job than to want to go home and turn on the television and be greeted by another act of violent misogyny, another genocide, another war.

Even she has to turn it off sometimes.

She stares down at the table, thinking, his hand still trapped and trembling underneath hers. "You know, there's this thing people say when someone dies: I'm sorry for your loss. We always shorten it to I'm sorry and hope the idea still comes across. But I've never really liked that much. It's well-meaning until you really sit with the idea of apology, of saying I'm sorry for the inevitable."

"What do you mean?" His voice sounds painfully small.

"I mean, when we're taught to apologize as children, it's always within the context of wrongdoing. Something has gone wrong. We've hurt someone, either through accident or intent. So our ingrained response to wrongness is an apology. But that just means that, when someone dies and we say we're sorry for it, we are associating death with something bad; and something that, more importantly, could have been avoided. But that's not true.

Death is the only thing we can count on in life. No matter what journey you take to end up on death's door, whether suicide or murder or cancer, the act of dying is morally neutral. It's not a flaw. It's not a failure. It's not an accident. It's not intentional. It is one of the only naturally unfolding things in the entire world. Yes, it feels bad for those of us who are left behind. It feels horrendous, actually. But the way we frame it, with an apology and a hope that gets better, like there was something that could have changed the outcome if we'd only been a little bit smarter, done a little bit more, is a cruelty we deal to ourselves and to each other."

There's a memory knocking at the doors of her brain—her grandma's frail, cold hand in hers while her relatives and the EMTs bustled around her. Strange, fleeting hands on her small shoulders saying sorry for a loss she had nothing to do with; the fear and guilt that if she'd checked on her grandma that night instead of falling asleep on the sofa, she would have been able to spot the symptoms of the heart attack before it took her away. But those memories are best left untouched for now.

Natalia watches him carefully. "Your journey is going to look at lot different from here. Your life, all the moments you thought you would have him for, are not going to happen and you will grieve him multiple times for the rest of your life. But that's not different from anything else in life, right? You make a wrong turn and the GPS recalculates. You pursue a different career than the one you studied for and hope for the best. You move out of your home state and pray you're making the right decision. You say yes to a date with someone who will either be the best choice you've ever made or the worst. Every moment that passes, every decision we make is a course correction, a change from where we began until we get to our destination. That's all death is. Why would I, why would anyone be sorry about that?"

"But he should be here. His wife needs him here. His son and daughter need him here. I need him here." His tears do start to fall then, though he doesn't sob. He doesn't stop staring at her face, waiting, wordlessly begging her to give him answers she's not entirely sure she has. "We need him back."

Her voice is soft when she says, "But you can't have him."

It's just five words. They shouldn't hurt as deeply as they do, but they do. Every time. She's given the same version of this speech to so many people she wouldn't even begin to know how to count them all, but each time, these words steal something from someone. She watches the way they land now, each emotion rippling out across Buck's face: grief, anger, despair, loss, love, all wrapped in one, tragic image.

"Every choice Bobby made, every single one, was a course correction that led him to his destination," she says with that same soft voice. "Maybe it was too soon. Maybe it wasn't. But he's there now and you've parted ways. I told you I don't like saying I'm sorry when someone dies, but you know what I do say?" He shakes his head and she squeezes his hand and meets his gaze. "I say thank you. Thank you for sharing your journey with me. Thank you for all the times we got lost together, for all the arguments, for all the large and small ways we found each other, healed each other, rebuilt each other. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for such a unique and irreplaceable love. Because that's what it is, right? No one will ever love you the way Bobby loved you, which hurts now, but god, Buck. What a beautiful imprint to leave on someone's life."

His voice is watery and miserable, his face damp as his tears fall in earnest. He shakes his head. "I don't know how to do this."

"No one does. But we try. Every day, we try just a little bit more and eventually we stumble our way into something like healing."

"The car starts moving again."

Her mouth turns up into a small smile. Her grandmother's smile, her aunt always used to say. You're damn near the spitting image of her.

"Yeah," she says, and she's proud of the way her voice doesn't crack. "The car starts again."

Buck nods. He's silent for a long time as he wipes his face and gets his bearings. Eventually he extracts his hand from underneath hers.

"Sorry," he says after a while. "I didn't mean to get all..." he waves a hand as his voice trails off.

Natalia shrugs. "It's what I'm here for."

"I owe you another coffee, one with less emotion attached to it, but I do have to run. I promised May—Bobby's daughter—I'd help her pack her apartment." He pauses a beat. "She's moving back in with her mom."

Ah.

His face darkens with grief and Natalia lets him have his moment before she shakes her head and waves him off.

"Go do what you have to do. I'm just a phone call away. You know that."

They say their goodbyes and Natalia watches him jog to his car, then watches him pull out and continues to stare at the empty parking space for a long time. She twists the ring on her right ring finger, the gold polished and smooth, in just as good condition as it was the day her granddad proposed to her grandmother with it and lets her grief spill through her body.

This is a well-worn routine they have by now.

She breathes through the pain, through the loss and the memories until the phantom hands on her shoulders disappear and sound of the flatline fades.

In her mind, she says thank you. Thank you for the journey, Gram. It was lovely, and imagines she can hear her beautiful, warm voice saying it back.

Natalia takes a sip of coffee. Overhead, the birds chirp and sing, calling each other home.

[drivestraight]

loud roaring things | 11.3k, landoscar/norstappen

alpha/beta/omega dynamics. bitching.

take responsibility: part 1

summary:

Sure, Oscar had been hearing all the jokes and rumors of what Max had been doing to Lando throughout the season, and what Lando had been letting him do.

That didn’t mean that any of it had to be true.

blurb:

Oscar was never the sort of alpha who was into other alphas, but Lando was never really much of an alpha. Even back when he was, he didn’t look like one and he didn’t act like one. He was cocky sometimes and self-confident sometimes, he rode his shorts low and showed off the band of his underwear more often than not, but that didn’t have anything to do with being an alpha.

What mattered: how he acted around other alphas. He pressed his body into them, let them push him around, squeeze his neck, press their thumbs into his scent gland, went pliant, went docile whenever it happened. Never fought with them. Let George poke at him and let Zak roughhouse him and let Max do whatever the fuck he wanted. Let anyone do the fuck they wanted.

In the deepest darkest most shameful parts of Oscar, he thought, has always thought, since the moment he met Lando in real life, maybe, it would’ve been better, if Lando was just born an omega.

[andforyouevan]

Olive Branch

Heya! It's here, the 'Maddie disapproves' fic! I really hope you guys like it. Thanks to @firewasabeast for reminding me to finish it.

bucktommy - words: 6.4k - rating: teen - complete

“I don’t think your sister likes me very much.” His frown deepens. “Of course she does, why would you think that?” “Because I just overheard her talk about how I…” he pauses, then sighs. “How I hurt you.” Realization spreads over Evan’s face. “Oh.”

Or: Maddie disapproves of Tommy when he and Buck get back together.

Read on Ao3

[zarnzarn]

Hob Gadling as a husband is vastly different than Hob Gadling as a boyfriend.

Dream had known this vaguely- held old memories of how things settle after marriage, how arguments become commonplace with contentment, how people grow out into the reassurance to become different people.

What he wasn't quite expecting was the certainty.

He had no idea how much Hob was holding back in their courtship- or how insecure he must have felt, perhaps, to be so reserved. Dream had done his best to assuage the other's idiocies as they came up- why there was surprise that he would never choose to deal with this and that latest sycopanth when he had been tipped off that his husband was waiting for him at home in new clothing, he still doesn't know- but there annoyingly still seemed to have been hidden trepidations that he couldn't root out.

But proposing marriage seemed to have thrown all of this out of the window. The hidden steel-backed spine that Hob has had to prop him up all these years shines through much more freely now, and Hob is less and less afraid to show it.

("If I'd known how much you'd change if I married you," He'd snarled during one of their worst fights. "I'd have thought better of it."

Hob had put his hands on his hips. "Oh, is that what we're doing now? Alright, then." He'd poked his right hand into Dream's chest roughly, then held it out, one eyebrow raised. "Take the ring off then. No, you want a fucking divorce, take the damn ring off yourself, Dreamlord. Go ahe-"

"That's what I thought," Hob had said with due smugness 48 hours later- as was his right- as he slipped coffee and held the newspaper up for both of them. Dream hummed, curled in his lap and idly tracing his fingers over the many bruises over his husband's neck, and privately congratulated himself for the stroke of luck he finally seemed to have found, winning over a man who both loved him and liked him.)

"If you can't handle even the land parcel you currently have without Dream having to intervene every decade," Hob snaps now, crossing his arms as he glares at the Weavers of the Sa-Inaa'l galaxy. "How do you even have the audacity to ask for more?"

They hiss at him, raising their mandibles in threat. Hob raises an eyebrow back.

"It is not enough for our Weavers," The Elder says, voice even. "We cannot sustain on what we have."

"Not enough for your Weavers, or not enough for your greed?" Hob shoots back. "I've heard that the Sa-Inaa'l is being patronized now by the Western Forces. Just because you're willing to whore out your ancient art for money-"

"We do business with the Dream King, peasant ape," One of them snarls, banging a fist on the table. "We do not bargain with the likes of you!"

"Mind your tongue," Dream says mildly. "He is my husband in my ways, his ways and yours. Also, he is older than most of you."

"He is not even of royal blood!" The Elder bursts out, the first show of emotion from them that Dream has seen from them since they were a juvenile. "Surely this is unbefitting of your station!"

"Oh, because you're so befitting of yours. How much have you lost in profit within one year again?"

"You are out of place!" One of the younger ones shouts. It is amusing as always when they look Dream's way after saying it, as if Dream is in any way capable of putting Hob back in any places whatsoever. Dream is lucky if he gets Hob to listen to him once a week. Dream has not won a single conversation about food since the rings slid onto their fingers. They are quite satisfied with this setup, overall. "You are nothing but filthy peasant scum."

"Filthy peasant scum who is right about his information," Hob snaps. "Don't think we don't know that you're trying to distract us from the topic. Also fuck you."

Dream stirs and stops admiring the pitiful expressions on the Weaver's faces- honestly the farmer's market suffer his husband more than they are, the dramatic things- to look over at his husband, frowning at the last bit. He cannot decide whether that was hurt or frustration. Better not to take the risk.

He stands. "As entertaining as this has been," He cuts into the shouting. "My husband is correct. You will not receive any more land than you have. Also- my consort is worth a hundred generations of your Elders. Do not try to ever say or imply otherwise, or I shall make you regret it."

They are all cowering in the corner when he is finished speaking. He dips his head in dismissal and they shakily bow and scatter out.

Hob huffs as he watches them go, scowling. Dream drifts over and presses a kiss to his cheek. "I hope you don't believe their words, lover."

"I stopped feeling insecure about this whole prince thing the fifth time you shoved me into a scratchy outfit, ducks," Hob replies. He softens as he turns to Dream, and kisses his cheek back. "Don't worry."

"I worry," Dream returns. "I love you."

Hob smiles. It is not as wide and awe-filled as it used to be, and Dream feels pleasure hum in his throat at the sight of it. "I know."

[cranberrymoons]

strange, you never knew

may/ravi | rated t | 782 words | post-8.16 coda, grief/mourning, first meeting

She runs into him at the wake. Runs into him literally, with her little cup of punch and her plate of canapes balanced on top of it. There’s a napkin clutched in her other hand which she’d picked up to sort of use as a tissue and also to sort of use as just a napkin because she hasn’t been able to make herself cry yet.

[read on ao3]

a little inspired by the idea of grief as a galaxy of emotions and also by this post from beautiful @jeeyunspetrat and all of its tags <3

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

Can i get a bucktommy kiss nr.17 to distract, please 😘

Tommy's life used to be a lot simpler before he got tangled up with the 118 again. He'd had a few years of relative normalcy and quiet, and then Howie had called him asking to fly into a hurricane and nothing had been simple since then. He'd looked into a pair of blue eyes and his entire life had turned into one long series of complications.

For example, he used to just be able to give exes a birthday present and be done with the whole thing, but this is Evan. Evan, who takes care of everyone without expecting anything in return, who looked Tommy in the eye one day and told him he loved him and asked that he please stop running from that. Evan, who is turning 35 but trying to not make a big deal about it, because his birthday has rarely been a big deal, and so Tommy wants to throw him a surprise party.

Evan, who is home an hour early.

He meets him in the driveway with what is hopefully an apologetic smile and an excuse that he forgot to ask him to pick up some stuff at Home Depot for the gazebo they're building over the next few weeks.

"Do you want to go later?" Evan asks, and Tommy sees his eyes shift almost over his shoulder and realizes that someone might be looking through the curtains.

Thinking fast, he grabs Evan and kisses him, whirling them around so Evan's back is against the tailgate of the truck and facing away from the house. His boyfriend makes a soft noise against his mouth, and Tommy almost forgets why he's doing this in the first place. When he breaks the kiss, he feels dazed for a moment, and Evan is doing that thing where he licks his lips and tips his head down and looks at him through his lashes.

What was Tommy doing?

He sees the flick of a curtain out of the corner of his eye and remembers.

"So, definitely later?" Evan teases, his fingers curling in the space between the top buttons of Tommy's shirt.

"N-no, we should go now," Tommy says, even though he wants nothing less than to have to go out in public and pretend he doesn't want to be somewhere with Evan wrapped around him.

"You sure?" Evan asks, leaning in to nip at his bottom lip and then his chin.

Tommy is not God's strongest soldier, but there are a half dozen people in his house setting up a party. He can't ask them all to leave for a quickie. There's food in the oven, there's streamers being set up.

"Unfortunately, yes," he says, nuzzling Evan's neck and flipping off a cackling Howie in the front window of the house.

As he gets into the truck, he texts Maddie so she can take over the rest of the set-up.

Maddie

Got it! Chimney says to tell you your distraction technique sucks. I'm sure you did your best 😊

Tommy feels Evan squeeze the inside of his thigh as they back out of the driveway and sighs.

Maybe they can find a dimly lit parking garage near Home Depot. That'll keep them from the house for a while.

-

Later, when Evan looks properly surprised and looks at Tommy with a sunny smile and teary eyes, Tommy thanks Maddie profusely for taking over in his absence.

"The extra half hour you bought us really helped," she says, patting his back. "Also, you might want to put something on that rash."

He claps a hand over the stubble burn on his neck. "Is it that bad?"

"You look like you got wiped down with sandpaper," Howie adds unhelpfully. "Good trip to Home Depot? Saw that the truck bed was empty."

"They were out of wood," Tommy lies, squirming past the two smirking Hans.

"Oh, I'm sure there was plenty of wood!" Howie calls at his back, and Tommy hears the distant sound of a high five.